Ghanaian Idol?

Actually, it's called Mentor 2.

It's a combination of American Idol and Big Brother, and is apparently similar to a show in the UK called Fame Academy. The contestants live together in a house during the week, and are filmed 24/7 I think... and then on Sundays, they come together, perform, and one gets voted off. It seems that reality tv is a worldwide phenomenon... not entirely sure how I feel about this...

It's a pretty entertaining show, although I haven't seen the weekly portion - seeing as we lack a television, and a living room for that matter, but don't get me started. Luckily, we have an in at TV3, so we get to go and watch the live taping of the show on Sunday nights. It lasts about 3 hours and although we've only been to two tapings, I am fairly sure we're all pretty hooked. Some of us are a tad more star-struck than the rest... [Shanika, haha]

Being in this audience really must rival American Idol though... perhaps it is because we have attended weeks which have African themes (first: Ghanaian high life, second: Mother Africa), but the audience gets totally into it. All the men wave handkerchiefs, and people sporadically get up and start dancing if they feel so moved... it's hilarious!

This week was awesome, because one of the guys sang Paul Simon's "Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes," which is such a fantastic song, and the whole audience was incredibly receptive! I think he ended up getting the most votes. I'm actually quite surprised how often I hear Paul Simon here... I love it though!

Anyway it should be fun to see who ends up winning... I'm not too sure what happened to the winner of Mentor 1, but it seems like the contestants for this round are having loads of fun performing, and a few of the judges are producers, so you never know I guess.

In other news, today is officially 8 weeks.

Although I am thankful it is not snowing here... the heat is getting increasingly intense, and soon will be unbearable. People have already begun to sleep on the street outside our place as it is apparently much cooler. Somehow I think the prospect of sleeping alongside the rats in the open sewer is enough to make me sweat it out inside though... see, still a bit of a princess.

This next part of the blog comes courtesy of Trish... it is a long time coming, so I apologize for the delay [I've added a few comments]. It actually happened 2 weeks ago. Our team name at quiz went from being: "There's a rat in our kitchen" to "The rat is dead." Read on:

For a little while now, there has been a rat in our kitchen. For some reason or another, it hasn't bothered me so much (maybe because, as a throwback to 207 days we had the mice). Anyways, Lindsay and Laura, who I share the kitchen with have been asking Mummy (our landlady, who is basically our Ghanaian mother) to do something about it for awhile, and she's tried, but the rat has maintained his presence.

Last night, we came home from Quiz Night at Champs (which we came in 3rd place...which is a feat for us, considering we usually come in dead last. We sort of cheated, but that might just be a technicality), and as we walk into the kitchen, Lindsay starts screaming, Laura starts screaming, so I decide the only logical thing to do is start screaming as well. Turns out the rat had made an appearance. Here I would like to note that Trish and Lindsay were barely in the kitchen when they realized the rat was on the windowsill... I was fully inside and spent 30 seconds trying to figure out how to run AROUND the rat... needless to say, it was full on pandamonium.

Of course, Mummy comes running down, asking what happened, and is telling us to come in, and me and Laura are laughing our asses off, because we're terrified, Lindsay is just plain terrified, and Mummy is telling us how she's had all the holes bolted up, but now the fight "has to be physical". Yes, this is what she said. Up until this time, she really didn't believe we had a rodent problem... so the fact that it finally appeared was probably a good thing.

So she starts calling in her driver and her carpenter to come in. She begins talking to the in twe (the local dialect) and we have NO idea whats going on . By this time, its me, Laura, Lindsay, and Mirciea (this hilarious Romanian guy who lives next to Laura, and keeps calling me an American...grrr...), Charlie (the other British guy I work with, who's like a big brother here, and therefore me Laura, Lindsay are constantly hounding with questions) and Vicky (who's recently arrived, queen of the tro-tro system and just loads of fun) -- anyways, my point is, there's a crowd. And we're all very entertained, waiting to see what's going to happen next.

Of course, the carpenter and driver come out with big sticks, and march into the kitchen. Sticks. I kid you not. And they're moving our furniture, big time, just clearing the place out. Not just tables, but counters. Yes, apparently the counters can be moved. Mummy is instructing them what to do, and we're all in the courtyard, waiting to see what happens/laughing our asses off.

The rat shows up, and basically all hell breaks loose. There are a series of at least between 35 and 124ish loud bangs which sounds like the rat is being beaten to a bloody pulp, but its turns out that they just keep missing it. The sucker is fast.

Mummy comes out and demands Charlie\'s shoe. "Charlie, give me your shoe". Right, because that\'s the next most logical step after the sticks. Charlie respectfully refuses, so Mummy then turns to Mircea, who has been gleefully watching all the rat bashing, and demands his shoe (ours are too flimsy) to which he replies "but Mummy, I don\'t want rat guts all over my shoes". If you knew him, this is hilarious.

The mayhem continues, and a variety of other sounds that just lends way too easily to the imagination continue to be heard, and we all watch as Mummy screams at either the carpenter, the driver, or the rat. Vicky starts going "Why not just the poison, Mummy, why???", which is also hilarious. [to elaborate a bit here, she refused to put down poison about three times... something about a dead rat stinking, which is understandable, but still, better than a LIVE rat no?]

The beating continues. Apparently, accuracy takes hold, and the rat is hit for the first time, and then beaten repeatedly. Mummy starts screaming that "You are the devil!! Gracious God! You are the devil" and other religious type things, as the rat...well....gets beaten.

After it's death was pretty much confirmed, Mummy walked out and declared: "The battle is over", and then sprays our entire kitchen with Raid. Yes, Raid. Not entirely sure why...

What Trish didn't quite get to, was an explanation of the disposal of the rat. I think it's probably sufficient to say: it was cremated. We affectionately refer to the spot as "the rat shrine." In retrospect, it was by far one of the most, if not the most gruesome thing I have ever seen...

I have a few more interesting things to share, but I'll save them, seeing as the rat story is probably more than enough insight into my life for one day!

Happy Halloween folks... I fully intend on eating sweets later, although who am I kidding, it's not like I really need an excuse now is it?

Not so black and white

Black.

White.

I am not generally one for describing someone's 'colour.' It is a pretty useless point of reference, and becoming quite un-PC in certain parts of the world.

A few weeks back however, I discovered something interesting about the use of these terms in Ghana, and maybe Africa more general (SSA anyway).

I was in a taxi and the driver and I were chatting away happily when he mentioned that I was 'white.' You can imagine that I was quite taken aback, as I feel quite far from 'white,' especially as of late, as I am slowly catching up to Shanika [any day now...]. I laughed and corrected him, saying I was certainly not white! He insisted though, that I was in fact white, also laughing at me.

After this exchange I gave it a bit of thought. How interesting that "white" in this context doesn't refer to skin colour, as it would in North America... instead it simply means foreigner.

I have since tried to explain this, that "white" encompasses all foreigners, and that "Obruni" seems to have the same general meaning... but many people (foreigners I mean) seem to not quite believe me. How could "white" possibly mean anything but "white skin?" I find this exceedingly odd, as it's a pretty terrible and inaccurate way to describe people anyway... white = foreigner seems far more inclusive and appropriate!

A typical afternoon

I usually manage to set out right at 4:30pm. Often however, I am delayed by conversation that leaves me grinning to myself as I leave the office and amble down the three flights of stairs to street. There I say goodbye to the man who sits day in and day out by the front of our building. I can’t quite figure out what it is he does, and I usually can’t make out what it is he says to me the majority of the time… but you get the sense he is very genuine, and this makes me smile.

I walk close to the side of the road, to avoid being hit by a car or a tro, although in spite of my best efforts I usually think to myself: I think I almost died just there, at least once a day. I try to quickly pass this place with a sign suggesting they rent cars (definitely is not the case), and the men making cement blocks.

The air is warm and filled with a rather distinct and pungent smell… my suspicions are frequently confirmed by the random man turned away from me, engaged in a rather common activity that results in many the sign: No urinating here. It is something I am still not used to, although I am getting much better at avoiding the random puddles.

As I walk up toward the Total filling station (read: Shell, Ultramar, etc.) I notice how full the open sewers are after the heavy rain last night. Full not only of water (and the like), but of black plastic bags (a Ghanaian staple it seems), old sashay packets, orange peels and probably many other much more disgusting things I won’t mention. I say good afternoon to Jamila and Deese, my banana ladies… they wish me a nice day and I do the same, smiling once again and I walk past the filling stations and car wash, which is not an actual car wash, but rather a spot on the road where cars are washed. As per my usual routine, I go into the Total shop to buy another 1.5 L Dasani, because some of the Ghanaian brands have an unpleasant taste (and they are the same price). The ladies ask: Where is your friend? (They mean Shanika) And I tell them she has already gone home… impeccable memories I begin to think, and then it occurs to me that there can’t be THAT many Obrunis (foreigners) that come in everyday to buy yogurt (in the morning) and water (in the afternoon).

I wander up past several vendors selling cheap cigarettes and Milo (like chocolate ovaltine) mix, oranges, cookies and more; wait for a break in the line of cars in order to dash across the road to catch the tro. I usually wait in the same spot, where the guys looking over from the building above tend to make noises at me which suggest that I am a cat, or some other small animal. I ignore them, as I tend to do when people hiss at me, or make comments that perhaps are intended as compliments but come off as anything but. This is just normal, I would say it takes getting used to, but it does still bug me. What I can say though, is that you do eventually get better at ignoring it.

Several tros pass, most of them making hand signals, which makes it easier to differentiate. The one going to the Circle tro “station,” makes a circle (innovation eh?), and the one going to 37, which is my tro simply points. It sounds random. I know, it is, trust me. The hardest part is determining where they are going when they shout and don’t use the signals though. Until now I would have never guessed that “Circle” and “Thirty-Seven” could possibly sound alike. Here they sound identical. So far I haven’t managed to make a mistake… so far being the operative. A tro stops and pulls up in front of me. Attracting even more attention, I run with my backpack to catch up to where it has stopped, confirm in fact it is going to 37, and climb into the back seat. Usually the ride from Pig Farm (where I work – NOT an actual pig farm… just the name of the junction) to 37 is pretty empty. I can often get a seat to myself, and the mate (who takes the money, calls the directions etc) seems to charge less than when we come in in the morning. I pay 2,000 cedis (20 cents) and get 200 back; it is a steal when compared to the taxi fare.

The journey is short, and if I am lucky we get an “idyllic tro” (this is an oxymoron if there ever was one) that plays awesome music. Usually we are let out before pulling into the station, because there is a line up of tros and shared taxis all trying to pull in at once. We hop off one by one and walk into the “station.” I realize the quotations are getting annoying but there isn’t another word you can use to accurately describe their purpose. Station. The place the tros meet? Right. Well it is a massive place, with hundreds of tros (this may be an exaggeration… but it certainly seems like there are well over a hundred). The ground is unpaved, which makes for a spectacle the day after it rains. Most recently my flip flop came off in the mud, making those around me nearly collapse in laughter. I had to admit, I would have done the same… I did recover however, a few awkward hops later.

You can buy many a thing at these stations… papaya, eggs, razors, cloths, nuts, plantain chips, sashays… the list is almost endless. As I trudge over to the side where tros go to Osu (my neighbourhood), I pass many of these vendors, walking around with baskets of their goods atop their heads. It is a skill I tell you, although, here it seems to be more like second nature. Man, woman and child.

The Osu side is much busier and abrasive than the side going to Pig Farm. I haven’t quite figured out why. It might be because usually there are loads of tros going to Osu, and therefore many more mates yelling Osu, and their friends hanging around asking the random Obruni: How are you?

Luckily I usually don’t wait, and hop right on the tro to Osu. An older woman gets on with two small schoolchildren and appears to be complaining about me taking up far too much room (my backpack is sitting on my lap, but I am squashed up next to the window). The lady next to me speaks in my defense, and I lift my back to show that we are in fact knee to knee. The older woman sighs, quite exasperated, and gets off the tro with the children. This is what I imagine happened, as all conversation on the tro takes place in Twi. In fact, people generally converse in Twi over English all over Accra… it makes for some interesting situations, and although everyone does speak English (at least most people do in Accra), there are many of the same challenges associated with being in a country where you don’t know the language.

The tro takes off reasonably quickly, and we don’t encounter too much traffic, which is a plus. Traffic in Accra is notoriously bad. It seems as though everyone drives, which was kind of odd at first, but enough people do that it can be gridlocked for hours in any given area.

I have taken to getting off at Koala (the grocery store) and walking to the gym. I gear up to ask the mate to stop at Koala, we go around the roundabout and pull up across the street from Koala... "Mate, Koala bus stop." I hop out and walk past vendors on Oxford street (the main street in Osu… wildly busy, ALL the time) selling souvenirs: paintings, jewelry, wooden carvings, you name it. Up past another Total filling station, and down a road that probably wasn’t even meant for cars to drive on.

I pass by Venus and Sunshine Café (the salad place), two good restaurants. Some foreigners stare at me. Seems like they have that problem too… I am still doing it. You wonder: who are you, and where are you from? Do you live here? Are you a diplomat, or a kid of a diplomat… it's a constant guessing game…

Finally I come to the street which has piles of red dirt along it. This makes it very treacherous to walk along, as there is only room for one car to pass on a two way street. An old man shouted for me to move out of the way on my first trip down this road. I thanked him profusely… the cars don’t slow down here. Now I walk constantly turning back to make sure a car isn’t going to come barreling through… people often say the first thing they would do for Ghana is make sidewalks… as I have had numerous close calls lately, I couldn’t agree more.

When I used to take a taxi, I’d navigate my way to the gym by following the “Care” signs. I think they are for Care international, the NGO, but I am still unsure. Anyway it is foolproof and I always end up in the right general area this way. Walking however, I actually pass Care. I casually stare past the gate into what seems to be a massive parking lot. Still unsure if it is the NGO or not. Likely it is… Accra is after all the NGO capital of the world. Or so it seems.

I walk a few steps further up the road, kicking the red dusty ground, which explains why my feet are NEVER clean. I turn at the corner of the road and walk up to Pippa’s gym. An oasis with AC. My short walk has left me sweating before I even reach the gym. What ever will I do when it gets really hot I wonder?

Every Man for Himself

Lindsay and I have a theory. When you come from a family with two (or more) brothers, you develop a certain style of eating. This can be best described as: "Every man for himself" - the 'man' of course in this context, is not gender specific. We figured this out when dining with our friend Naureen (one sister) who eats rather slowly and actually knows how to stop when she is full (I think that is called restraint...). We were eating at Venus (good pizza), and Lindsay and I managed to finish an entire pizza (each) before Naureen finished her meal (which was significantly smaller...). Her food had arrived about 15 minutes prior to ours.

Growing up with brothers (multiple) makes eating a constant competition. If you see a box of cookies on the counter, you best fill your pockets, because when you come back, there may be all of one left... IF you're lucky. I think this has made me a) always eat a lot and b) eat like the food might in fact vanish if I look away for too long... Until now though, I kind of didn't realize that this may stem from something tangible, i.e. having two, lovely, brothers, with enormous appetites!

Anyway, it's my theory and I am sticking to it. All I can say really, is thank God for the gym... otherwise there would be waaay more Laura to love when I get home. Yikes.

I think this whole food thing was fuelled in high school too. Everything was always/is still always centered around eating. It is such a social event. Not that I am opposed to it... that is just how it is. I don't really get those people who don't enjoy food like I do, you know the ones I mean, the people who "forget to eat..." WHO does that? Weirdos. A special thanks goes out to Sabina here, who will always indulge with me at home, usually in the form of pizza... What I would give to have a ridiculously big meal at Olive Garden with you ladies right now!

Right so I realize that wasn't really about Ghana per se. But it was. Since we have no real place to hang out in our 'apartment' we are always going out after work to eat. So we seem to get on this topic of the "theory" quite frequently.

I do actually have a great post waiting in the wings, but I have to transfer it from my laptop, which will hopefully happen tomorrow.

I guess I will leave off with a final thought.

Before last week I was strictly focusing on material things. I mean in terms of safety. I'd think to myself: so, I have my ipod, and this much cash... how would I feel if someone steals that? I'd feel most secure when I had little or no money on me, nothing valuable and no purse. This all changed last week, when I realized that no matter what material possessions you might have, you yourself are a target. I debated about writing about this, mostly cause I thought my mom might freak out, or my father might fly here... ahaha, but I thought I should as it changed my entire perspective on feeling safe and secure. The other night we were walking from our place to Naureen's (perhaps a 7 minute walk). It was night, and there were quite a few people around, so it felt quite comfortable... Anyway we were walking in a group of about 6 girls, but we were all dressed relatively nicely (not that this should make a difference, but I do have a whole other theory on this... which I will save for some other time). This group of guys, who seemed totally harmless (three of them) were walking in the other direction, and I honestly didn't give it a second thought. But they kind of got closer to us (I still wasn't thinking anything of it), and one of them reached out and grabbed my ass. [Mom and Dad, please don't freak out] What shocked me was my reaction... I general envision myself punching someone in the face if they every do something like this... but I didn't even react until a minute later. It was so unreal and unexpected that I barely let it register. At the time I thought to myself, wow I can see how girls might be like: did that really happen? And totally second guess themselves...

Anyway, needless to say I was disgusted, went on a small rant about men being animals with no restraint... ahaha, and now feel like I am more aware that as a woman, especially a foreigner, it is necessary to extra cautious and aware of who is around you at all times. I'm not going to be paranoid, but I have changed my mentality about safety. At the end of the day material possessions are not the only thing people can take from you. In fact, who cares if they do, I mean those things can be replaced. Being safe has to do with your physical person. Well, I feel like it was a good lesson for me, and all the other girls I am with too. We're now aware that this can happen and it pays to be extra cautious...

I feel like ending on that note would be bad... but I don't have a whole lot else to say right now. Tomorrow's post will be a nice one, I promise!

Eating bananas makes you a mosquito magnet

Finally I have managed to post a few more pictures after outsmarting my computer... long story. Anyway the three below are stolen from Charlie, so I can't take credit... looks nice though, doesn't it?

Labadi Beach

More of Labadi

Bishop, our cute friend from across the street, the sand monster

(at Labadi Beach)

Me and Mary Morgan (isn't that just the best name for a journalist ever?)

Lou and Charlie

Bishop and Trish (and ice yogurt... jealous Sonjel?? Fan Yogo!)

"Does anyone else call Mummy's husband Daddy?" - S. Bennett
Me and Trish laughing our asses off...

At Louise's party. From the left: Mary, Trish, Lou, me, Shanika

Happy Belated(?) Thanksgiving

Has Thanksgiving passed me by? Was it Friday or is it today? Hmm... certain people have been leaving messages that include the phrase: "turkeypants" for a few days now, so I am rather unsure if it has in fact passed or not. Ah well, not likely I was going to get a nice fancy dinner anyway, so I suppose I will get over it.

A bit about this morning/this weekend: It has begun to get increasingly hot. The kind of hot which is making me sit with a sashay (waterbag, the cold variety thankfully) hanging out of my mouth at all times, or else I break into an uncomfortable sweat. Water seems to reduce your body temperature pretty fast, which is lucky for me... the AC in this office seems to not quite reach my cubicle, devastating I know. Anyway, at least I have a window... so I can see the rather hazy/cloudy sky - yes, the weekend was definitely nicer weather than today. Sunny, blue skies (which we haven't seen a lot of, surprisingly), plus fifty... I exaggerate, perhaps 45? We almost passed out walking to Naureen's on Sunday. We took a taxi instead of walking for ten minutes... yes it was crazy hot.

Unfortunately however, this is just the beginning. Apparently it starts getting hot now, and by February you get sweaty before you even leave the shower... ah good times. I guess I was beginning to enjoy the mild heat, and cool nights... so much for that.

This morning's adventures included: one tro ride, and one ride in a shared taxi (exactly what it sounds like, a taxi that random people get into and is therefore cheaper than getting a 'private' taxi). I am rather impressed that I managed to pay for my fare to work, a massive loaf of bread (like a baguette but soft), and a yogurt for LESS than taking a regular taxi to work (I still have change for the way home!), I'm pretty sure it is going to be impossible to justify taking a taxi alone again ever.

Okay so I HAD this amazing post about the concert, in detail... but then my computer turned off with no notice. So it is lost forever. I MAY try to write it again tomorrow, depending on if Trish bribes me with plantain chips... We'll have to see though, it was bloody long... sigh.

"Did you think you had Malaria?" - concerns of a hypochondriac

Finally a few pictures...

My apologies for the massive delay... if you had my internet connection, you'd understand though, I assure you.

Me avec corn rows... here it is, finally! I am sitting with Shanika, pre-party... fun times! Not entirely sure long they will last, as one by one they fall out in my sleep... it took three hours, and YES it hurt, imagine THREE women all pulling on your hair, add that to the fact that I am generally a bit of a whiner (no comments please family), and you end up with quite the intense headache!

Me and Naureen - our first trip to Makola Market... summed up in one word - MAYHEM.

This is the group of us that traveled to Cape Coast. We're eating (long overdue) at Hans Cottage, which has loads of alligators/crocs (I think the latter) in its moat... pretty neat.

Well as it seems, uploading pictures is quite the chore… so instead I am going to try for an exciting post. I do realize pictures are better, and I apologize, but it takes a long time to send some E-MAILS folks… so you can imagine the fun I have attempting to upload a few photos.

Anyway I am long overdue for an update, so here goes.

I was sick for a few days, hence the hiatus. I just had the flu, not malaria, don’t freak out. Although the flu was massively uncomfortable, particularly because our power outage “schedule” has gone [okay I want to write a-rye – how do you spell this? is it even a word or something I have made up? I am writing it anyway…] arye. SO, instead of three days on, one half day off, we have had 4 days of random power outages… mostly beginning in the morning, but a few overnight. It is rather hellish to try and sleep sans fan if you are already hot because you’re sick, PLUS you are using a mosquito net… I thought I might not last through until the morning on a few occasions. Luckily I did, and can continue entertaining via the web. [I imagine many a sigh of relief]

I need to say a bit about my landlady right now… we all call her “Mummy,” [don’t worry real Mom, until I start calling her random things like M and M, you have no need to worry about being replaced J ) and she is LOVELY. Her kids are all in America (am I sounding like a non-North American or what) so we are her “children” in Ghana. She is ever so sweet, and kept asking if I was fine, when she found out I was sick. She calls her children (all five) every night to make sure they too are fine, and we were sitting upstairs late one evening, so we chatting with one of her girls who is in Toronto studying engineering I believe… pretty neat.

Anyway I am rather thankful for our fantastic set-up, and probably think this to myself once a day, or every few days at least. There are a great group of us living in the ‘compound,’ which has made this month literally fly by. We often discuss how hard the transition must be for those individuals who lack the immediate support network. I really can’t imagine.

I have started taking a tro to work, mostly to save money. It costs a fraction of what it does to take a taxi, and only means I add about an extra half hour each way… plus it is far more of a real experience, and let’s face it, more money saved = more money I can spend on coffee at Vasili’s (one of two places I like to get REAL coffee). Anyway it seems worth it in the long run… especially if I do end up traveling in East Africa post-internship.

True to form I should mention something about a new treat I have discovered. Papaya with lemon. It is pretty amazing actually… no one seems to enjoy papaya here, but I have been buying it from Florence, our lovely fruit lady, pretty much daily… anyway my supervisor at work brought some that had lemon on it… the taste was about a thousand times better. I probably won’t be able to eat plain papaya anymore.

I wonder if it is beginning to get cold in Canada yet. I have been informed that in a month’s time I won’t be able to put jeans on… this is rather unfortunate as it is proving to be a good way to avoid mosquito bites at night. We’re lucky to have arrived in September, because it has been quite mild and really eased us in… although I already feel about 15 shades darker, and the sun is intense in a way that makes me feel like standing still is a surefire way to get skin cancer.

This evening is the concert! Jay-Z AND Beyonce. Pretty insane I know. Most of us wouldn’t have bought tickets if it were in Canada/our respective countries… myself included, but in GHANA? I mean it would have been a shame if we hadn’t! We are planning on queuing at six, although it starts at eight… apparently it will be mayhem. This does not entirely shock me.

This weekend should be rather relaxed, especially if tonight is insane, which it definitely will be. I am hoping to get a t-shirt for Ben… who turns NINETEEN today! For those of you who know him, that definitely should make you feel like an old timer… I mean, my baby brother is 19… when did we get so damn old? Happy Birthday buddy… I miss you guys! Lindsay is back on Sunday, so we’ll likely eat ourselves silly… back to the gym on Monday, which is good – this flu has taken a serious toll on both my appetite (a miracle?) and my gym routine. My parents sent her a lot of stuff to bring back, which is kind of exciting… a backpack without a broken zipper, some fun shoes, and a few dressy things… hooray. Who knows WHAT I will do when I get to the UK… ahaha hopefully it won’t be super cold!

People keep asking what I am doing in my job – why this is interesting I am not entirely sure, but I suppose it is worth a mention! I have been doing a variety of things, including helping draft and edit grant proposals for various projects that WANEP needs funding for, gathering background research for presentations/articles, working on my own research for the joint paper Lindsay and I are writing on children in the post-conflict peacebuilding process [specifically DDR for those poli sciers out there], and beginning to think about my personal pet project: peace education stuff… more on that later though. I enjoy the people I work with, especially my supervisor… I am especially happy to have the opportunity of working in a very local organization; it is providing me with a quite unique experience so far.

Last night quiz was absolutely shameful. We named ourselves Team Lindsay in honour of her absence, and disgraced her name… we came in second to last. But wait for it… the ONLY team we beat did NOT speak English well… absolutely horrific. We sat there thinking, we are rather smart individuals… aren’t we? Apparently not.

I am resisting paying for the internet at this café (instead I am leaching off of El Italia’s network which is next door), so it is taking ages to load the blog… hence the massive post.

Anyway I guess I better call it a day and sign off here… hopefully that was a decent enough post to make up for my lack of stories this week… it’s insane that I have been gone a month… do write and send updates!

Corn Rows, Canopies, and Collective Cooking

Welcome to Monday.

It's rather interesting how much I have come to value the weekend. I am beginning to think that being able to take ANY time off and setting your own schedule may be preferable to the whole Monday to Friday deal. Although this will probably be contested by all of you still in school, I do like having the freedom to, well, not do work if I choose.

We did have a rather productive weekend though. It was however, as usual, too short.

I finally made it to Labadi Beach - a public beach, referred to by some as an "activities beach." Very fitting description. I do have pictures, hopefully I will be able to post some tomorrow... just keep checking in. The beach was insane. I think the best part was that it looks EXACTLY like every picture I have ever seen of it. It is in fact super beautiful. I was expecting it to be much dirtier than it was too... granted there were lots of random plastic bags floating in the water, but once you got past that, the sight of the ocean was really something else. To contextualize the dirtiness comment... the beaches here are full of garbage. Well some of them. Unfortunately they have been used as dumping grounds and in many places are full of waste. Luckily however, the current is not as bad as in Togo or Benin (Sonjel, don't worry!), so you can go in the water, if it happens to be clean enough, which it was at Labadi. All over the beach there are people playing football (soccer) and frisbee, and loads and loads of vendors, selling everything from plantain chips to paintings to puppets. It is quite a sight, and also super fun!

In other news, I spent three hours getting my hair braided on Saturday (also pictures to follow). I was informed at work this morning that I was ripped off. I should have paid 30,000 cedis (3 USD) instead of 80,000 (8USD). That seems rather insane as I paid 30,000 to get to work today. In any case, I was more than happy to pay 8 dollars, 9 with tip... I mean THREE hours, with THREE different ladies pulling my hair?! Apparently I now look half African, or so the ladies at work have told me. Pretty awesome. Fariba - I am awaiting your comments. Oh and if you're wondering, yes it hurt, holy crap.

On Saturday we wandered down the road (recall from the picture of my street) looking for a canopy and chairs to rent for Louise's going away party. We couldn't find it, so luckily this girl wandering by helped us find the RANDOM canopy rental place/shop - I really can't stress how random this was, and how SHOCKED we were that we even found the place. Anyway, they brought the canopy to our place, set it up in our courtyard and we were set for the evening. It was a pretty great party, and again, I will post pictures later. Loads of people showed up to say bye to Lou (who is going back to the UK before she goes to Senegal), and I think it wrapped up around 4am. I think my Doxy(cyclene) [for malaria] is making me a granny though, because I want to sleep at 11pm every night...

I have another gross bug story... but at the risk of people thinking that bug stories have characterized my time in Ghana to date, I will refrain. It's not the case I assure you, I just find them rather entertaining... and imagine you all do too.

Tonight we're taking a crack at collective cooking... a few of us bought Jay-Z tickets on Saturday (concert is THIS Friday!), so we're kind of broke. We'll see how long this cooking stint lasts... Actually I think that needs a qualifier: Our stove (me, Lindsay and Trish) doesn't work. If it is turned on it will electrocute you. We're not talking ouch, and move on, we're talking it will throw you across the room... so we have to cook upstairs with Shanika and Mary. Anyway it is sort of a shame we don't have our own stove, as I do miss cooking/eating vegetables/not ingesting vats and vats of oil everyday... ahaha. RIGHT.

As of tomorrow I will have been in Ghana for one whole month. Now isn't that just insane?