It is the rainy season. So, I shouldn’t have been surprised when it poured all day yesterday. Normally (and especially in Accra), it just drizzles for twenty minutes then stops. Not yesterday. And of course, I was on a trotro winding my way up into the hills when the bulk of the storm hit. Trotros are notorious for breakdowns (irritating) and crashes (frightening). And as I stare out my window watching the web the rain forms in front of my eyes, I watch the median, which I’m separated from by a thin sheet of metal. Given my recent adventures with transportation, I don’t expect this to go well. But, in fact, it was uneventful, thankfully. The driver slowed down, after seeing a smattering of cars lining the ditch, and maintained that speed the remainder of the trip.
Category Archives: Ghana
Religion, Everywhere.
Each morning, on the bumpy ride to work I stare out the window, confronted with signs such as “Jesus Saves Hair Salon.” Or, perhaps, “Our Redeemer Construction.” Reading these, you might think Ghana is religious. You would be right. Predominantly Christian, but with a strong Muslim following, with a smattering of other/local religions, Ghana is like most of the developing world, fiercely religious. I found in Tanzania, when asked if you were religious, the answer was, yes, of course-catholic to be specific-lest you want an hour lecture (out of concern, not malice) about your after-life, regardless of your true beliefs. So, I’ve taken a cautious approach and change the subject whenever possible. As a side note, those signs, which constantly provide entertainment aren’t just religious, like east Africa (Bling Bling Barber Shop comes to mind)-there are plenty of other, I’ll say, interesting names and signs postings (often on the back of trotros). For example, next to the previously mentioned hair salon is a wall with a note spray painted large enough to likely see from a plane: STOP URINATING HERE FOOL. Apparently, it’s problem.
Nomenclature
I was born on Tuesday. I’m telling one of the workers who stopped me on my way to the clinic. November 4th, 1986-election day, though I don’t tell him this. I had been walking the half-mile stretch from my house to the farm clinic, caught up in observing the road. I was thinking it fascinating that when the sun was out the ground took on a light cafe color, but as the sun went behind a cloud, a deep orange tinge seeped up, seemingly from under the dirt. If there was water it swirled, thick, making the ground appear like wet clay that could set at any moment. I don’t know why I found this so interesting, as my eyes followed the short staccato of patched grass lining the middle of the road. I’ve been in my head more than usual lately. I think without an outlet of an “other” to relay my observations, they’ve been building up in my head, causing me on occasion to all but completely remove myself from the present. The worker who stopped me had jolted me out of my head as he said hello, in Twi. He spoke more, my dumbfounded expression made him smile, and laughing switched to English. “You understand?” No, I admitted, I didn’t. He then asked me what day I was born, meaning day of the week, not date. I told him Tuesday, and he told me he would call me adina (or was it adima), either way, I had heard “edema” as in cerebral edema. I thought this strange, until repeating, I realized that isn’t what he had said. I kind of liked edema though, I’m not entirely sure why. Each day of the week has a name associated with it, a nickname of sorts. The little boy in the house shares the same day as one of many Johns who work here, so he has taken to calling him “name.” People, I’ve noticed have many names here, I’ve yet to figure out exactly why.
The Gift of an Uneventful Day
The past day or so has been pleasantly, uneventful. After a a hectic weekend, the slow pace has been a welcome change.
Yesterday, the day was spent at the University, mostly in meetings. In the computer lab, Sheban, Jame’s graduate student found me and informed me we had a meeting (of which, I had just learned). He led me to the graduate student’s conference room, and long, narrow dim-lit room with a white-board in front. He handed me a marker and requested I went over Elisas with him. He sat down expectantly. I did my best, I’ve never been a strong teacher, but he seemed to understand, and I was able to field his questions adequately. We spent the next hour talking, I learned where he had gone to University (Cape Coast), and that at 28, he was finishing his master’s program. This is very common, many people work for several years before attending university to save up money. Public education costs about $1,000 USD a year for room and board, average incomes range from $1,000/yr-$3,000/yr. The government officials of course pull in six-figures.
Colliding With The Earth 