goats, cars and other Yevu musings from 2003

11.01.03

Six weeks. The anxiety has hit.

It started months ago in my dreams.

I would be tooling around the valley doing nothing in particular--driving on the freeway, sitting at the kitchen table, walking down the street. And WHAM! Why am I not in Ghana? Did I finish the project? I didn’t say goodbye. Why didn’t I finish the project? What good is it for me to plan for five months and be home early with nothing to show for it? It is going to be too expensive to fly back now. How did I get here? Why am I home? Wait, why am I thinking this? I was in Ghana, and now I am back. It doesn’t make sense. Am I dreaming? And WHAM! I’m awake, my heart racing, fighting to catch me up with reality.

The dreams have stopped, or at least abstracted themselves a bit, but the anxiety is still there. I can feel it in the morning, gradually filling me up. I start fighting to find a drain or a leak when it starts lapping against my waist. Time will be gone before I know it.


11.02.03

Sometimes I feel like the cover illustration of the Little Prince. My horizon tangential to the world. Sitting on the beach engulfed by the sky, I can feel the earth curve away, launching me to the edge.


11.13.03

Now the shift to work.

Besa, the country director, is now piling on projects, and I am becoming more and more aware of the ingrained politics. When I first came, he had fewer expectations for my placement. Now, in addition to researching the materials and architecture of Woe, I have a full list. Most of the adjustments are my own expansions, but there have been recent additions: * compile a complete index on building materials, their origins, and related construction methods. * identify structural archetypes, offering analysis and criticism of building techniques and designs. * draw a complete map of Woe (identifying zones, areas for future development, boundary lines, population distribution, etc.) * working with Anne + Adri, conduct number of group discussions, targeting current lifestyle in Woe and growth for the future * create a GIS-like database on Woe to analyze the community dynamics (with a task force of 9 recent SS graduates, it took us over two weeks to complete.) * provide both written and photographic documentation of the research * tutuor Asida (which unfortunately stopped a month ago.) * draft up a house design for Noah * provide basic editing and layout advice for any/all publications * create a resource database on universities and scholarships/financial aide.

Now, here is where Besa jumps in:

* resolve the heated boundary dispute between Woe and Anloga (30+ properties were mis-numbered by the Land Valuation Board--the chiefs and elders have been in disagreement for over 10 years. My being here is the ‘ideal’ opportunity to reinvest in the issue.) * create a 10 minute audio/visual profile on Woe that can be used in presentations and marketing * create a 10 minute a/v presentation on the involvement of CCS in Ghana * research the Agor beam as a construction material in Woe (translation: hike in the bush for a morning, watching a crew of 18 men chop down and split a premature coconut tree, to advise Besa on the productivity of creating a small Agor beam export business. My suggestion to him: invest in bamboo.)


11.16.03

I have six coconuts here, ready to break my fever. It’s been four days now, and the hospital isn’t open on Sundays.

Note: Although convenient, coconut milk is better directly from the coconut, not bottled from the fridge.


11.18.03

Bah bah da ba pa ba dah!

Malaria!!

Well, I continue to be amazed at what this project is being used for.

Laying the groundwork for a practical Senior secondary school in Woe. Sparking a Homecoming event in March that will

This is a little odd.

Here is your official two week notice of my return. (Huh. It sounds so final.)

* * * * * * * * * *

An e-mail of introductions:

* * *

(26.09.2003)

One hour and 43 minutes.

That was the time it took for the vibrating full-body massage to turn back into a pumpkin, otherwise known as my tro-tro from Accra.

One hour 44 was jumpy, dusty, irritating, and unfortunately, set the tone for the following 2 hours and 27 minutes.

* * *

(27.09.2003)

“You’ll shoot your eye out.” -- Major Mary Keti to her 12 year-old son, Ben.

The Red Ryder BB Gun of Ghana is a fantastic double barrel needle launcher (that I had to admire after Mary left for the kitchen).

What you need: 1 rigid stick roughly 9”-12” in length (small scale lumber (1”x2”) will work well) 2 old ballpoint pens 2 clothespins a hand-full of rubber bands a small arsenal of pine needles (toothpicks, broom bristles, or any other slender projectiles)

What to do: clean the stick of any stray knobs or twigs, ending with a straight shaft disassemble the ballpoint pens discarding all but the shafts. to create the double barrel, place an empty shaft (point out) flush to the end on each side of the stick, and secure with many rubber bands make sure to leave at least 1/4” between the end of the launcher and the first group of rubber bands in alignment with the barrels, secure the two clothespins, grips out, pinchers towards the barrels at the opposite end of the stick thread a rubber band between the stick and a ball point pen, it should rest in the 1/4” space left between the end of the launcher and the first group of rubber bands thread the other barrel to load the launcher, feed a needle (base first) into the barrel, stretching the threaded rubber band around the needle base before pinching them with the clothespin pinch the clothespin to release the rubber band, therefore launching the needle

Note: You really could shoot your eye out. The distance between the barrels and the clothespins should be no longer than your shortest needle. Keep a small supply of rubber bands on hand incase the threaded band snaps. Although the launcher is best designed for those around pine trees, I think a shorter, modified gun could do mildly impressive damage with toothpicks * * * (02.10.2003) For all those who have ever had to wake me up when I was asleep and stubborn, I apologize.

* * *

(30.09.2003)

the rain permeates everything. redirected by the tin… puddling on the sand flattening the footprints in to slow polished dunes.

pressing down on the land the only things resisting are the frogs and the waves jumping up in response

* * *

(08.09.2003)

“Crackle hissss. . . Have you found anything yet?” “We ain’t found sh*t.” --Spaceballs (while ‘combing’ the desert)

* * *

(09.09.2003)

Jiggers.

For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

* * *

(11.09.2003)

Save the ‘Road Kill Game’, tro-tro games vary from car games only in their degree of morbidity.

#4: Which Body part would I incur severe damage if we got in an accident right now?

#7: The Emissions Test. ‘That car will pass.’ ‘Oh dear goodness, no.’ ‘Yes.’ *deep breath holding… holding…* ‘Well, that’s a no.’

* * *

(22.09.2003)

Reason #12 for washing while you go:

* * *

(19.09.2003)

If you want to draw attention, have a yevu ride a bicycle. If you want to draw a crowd, have a yevu drive a car.

* * *

(02.10.2003)

I am honored to be in the presence of the ‘Saved By The Bell’ guru.

* * *

(02.10.2003)

“Why are you learning how to do that?”
“Do you even have coconuts at home?” they all ask.

But who knows when I’ll need to make my own coconut oil, cook akple for 8, build a shade canopy with only wood, a machete, and some wire, or climb a coconut tree.

It’s all a part of my training. ;)

* * *

(02.10.03)

Do you think under the 3-year warrantee on my laptop “removal of dust” and “general maintenance” will also cover ‘removal of ants‘?

* * *

(06.10.03)

For the first time in 3 months I feel like I am back in high school. Girls club.

* * *

(11.10.03)

Nsync--made it to Ghana.

* * * * * * * * * *

09.07.03 -- at time of sending

Alive.

That is how I was eaten last night.

Ok. Now on to the show.

* * *

08.13.03

It is the small random things that catch me by surprise.

I was down the way, helping Gershon water his tomato plants one afternoon. I thank him dearly for his patience, but for all of his instruction, I never quite mastered ‘even distribution of water from a bucket.’ I can effectively pummel four or five plants per throw. (They droop under the pressure. Gershon now waters in the morning.) After about an hour with the bucket, he borrowed the hose from a neighbor. I had been watering a nice (gentle) spray over all of the tomatoes when I saw a kid on the path with a remote control car. A commercial gas truck, actually. I thought of my yellow truck at home, with the big fat tires. Even it would have some problems conquering the terrain. I watched this toy in awe--It was the most responsive car I’ve ever seen. The kid was directing his remote like a steering wheel, working the antenna in the direction he wanted the car to go. It was so tight and exact. I hadn’t seen any remote control cars in Ghana, much less here in Woe. Batteries are expensive. The sand and dirt would fill the gear work. I stood there with my hose watering, curious and amazed, wanting a car for myself, watching him play. I have been open and ready for everything here: Ghanaian time (which, for the record, puts Puerto Rican time to shame), speaking Ewe, thatched roofs, chickens, akple and kenkey. And I realize mid-fascination: the remote wasn’t really metallic, shinny, or straight.

The gas truck--the most responsive remote control car ever--was a shaped aluminum tethered to a stick. Welcome to Brie’s culture shock.


A few thoughts for the record:

If I had a dollar for every time someone has proposed to me, I would have seven dollars.

Sweeping sand, although tedious, is actually a worthwhile chore.

If you scare a frog while walking to the bathroom, despite the many attempts by the frog, it will not be able to jump ‘through’ the fence.

Never underestimate the joy and convenience of perforated toilet paper.

If you are afraid of bugs: Why Ghana?

When being introduced to a group of children, I am always surprised at who I’ll meet. Last Tuesday: Etso, Etse, Mode, Kofi, Besa, Doris and Fred.

The Yevu-Recognition Phenomena: I am convinced the critical distance for Yevu recognition is somewhere around a ½ mile. That is the point at which a child can identify a yevu, yell “yevu yevu” repeatedly to get their attention, fail to see the waves of response, and continue, with even more energy and determination, their calls for being noticed. A “yevu, yevu” will escalate, moving from a simple yell and wave to a full arm sweep, jumping up and down, and/or running back and forth in the sand. Note: If the children would just run forward, they would move within the critical recognition distance and see the responding waves, saving quite a bit of time, energy, and possible frustration.

Humidity can, and will, seal an unused envelope. (Huh. Who knew?) :)


Today, riding the tro-tro was like being on a ride at Disneyland.

Jessica and I were heading back from Keta. We were ushered into our vehicle (not “Ratty”, “Mr. Toad”, or “Weasel”, but “God Saves”. Yes, “God Saves”. I guess some of these tro-tros need all the help they can get) by a lovely attendant (the mate who sits by the door and collects money). There was theme music playing (Celine Dion, of course. Tro-tro music is Celine, Peter Gabriel, or Christian rock. I would say the music was “blasting” except that the bass speaker was blown so it was the high shrill hiss of the treble piercing our ears). Wilson, the mate, welcomed us aboard, and we started on our journey. We passed the Keta market (nice and slow, so as not to miss the waves and nods from the merchants) and turned towards the main road. There were a few bumps in the road (magnified of course by the ’fantastic’ shocks of the tro-tro) starting the initial buildup of the ride. Characters were introduced (we picked up about 8 other passengers). Friendly animals sang along the roadside (goats, goats, goats) There was conflict (the mate didn’t have enough change), and a villain (we stopped for change, and the man helping us, evidently a friend of the mate, pulled him out of the tro-tro as we were leaving, wrestling the him to the ground, laughing. It was only after the driver took off after him with a switch that he let go and ran.) Lots of bumps and jolts (lots of bumps and jolts). High speed turns (in the middle of Woe, the road bends sharply and curves back again--it’s pretty tight, there are lots of people, and in a tro-tro going 70mph, it counts as an adrenaline rush). And the gradual slowing with a jolted stop (this translates to: Brie was glad the ride was over. --She had contemplated the consequences of puking out the window, if she could get it open, puking in the tro-tro, or trying to convey the immediate need to pull over to the driver: right hand over mouth, left hand in the air?-- Brie was glad the ride was over. She sat in the sand for a while, breathing deeply, fighting the nausea. Brie was thankful it was cool and there was a breeze.) Not quite the “wildest ride in the wilderness”, but it was close.

* * *

08.15.03

I guess I should describe Woe a bit, since my only descriptions have come through in goats and tro-tro’s.

I know I am close to home when I pass George Forman, welcoming visitors in all his cement glory, with his star-spangled shorts and gloves in the air. The radio stations from Accra and Ho start to cut out. The goat per mile ratio gradually increases. Drivers start the continuous tapping of the horn, whether there are pedestrians to alert or not.

* * *

09.06.03

Well, so much for my describing Woe, or getting this e-mail off any sooner. 6 weeks… wow. I apologize for being two months in and not effectively describing home, or what I am working on.

* * *

09.07.03

And it will be a little while longer. I’m sorry. It has taken me three days and multiple hours to just get this one off. I have managed to load some pictures onto shutterfly.com. Hopefully they will give you a small idea of Woe.

I typed this last night… it is rough and unedited, but it’s a start.

--- The village itself is about three square miles (3x1) bordered by the Keta Lagoon and the ocean. Although there are some families that have moved to the area, the population primarily consists of descendants from the founding families. Nuclear families were/are quite common, so history and paternal lineage influence the growth of the area. There are some common zones: the township which is made of the original ‘family’ houses (cement block construction), the farming strip (mostly block, with some local materials), and the fishermen/fishmongers strip along the coasts (primarily local materials). The structures made from local materials – woven palm leaves, reeds, thatch, etc. – are innately adaptive and readily available. The block structures reflect a different social status, since their construction requires both a significant financial investment and structural expertise. Although cement block construction has been in the area for 50+ years, it is not evident when you look around. The style hasn’t changed or adapted. In fact, there is very little adaptation of the buildings to climate, program, or location. The structures are standard 4-wall compartments, with symmetrical windows, pitched roofs, and the occasional stoop or porch. Electricity is expensive, or shut-off, but there is no shift to bring in sunlight with larger windows or clerestories. The climate is temperate and the breeze is constant, but walls are still solid masses and orientation hasn’t changed. Theft is not a problem, but “security” keeps coming up as a reason for the design. The most adaptive thing about the block structures is that some tin roofs have been treated to withstand corrosion. I have been asking “why” quite a bit when I am walking around, but I have never received answers that make sense. No one seems to know why things are the way they are, or why they haven’t changed although the needs are evident. I am working now on a survey series, to see if I can’t learn more about the history and development of the area.

My first few weeks were a little frustrating. I was told that there was an immediate need for architectural and planning assistance, but with everyone I met (District Assembly, the planning department, etc.) there was no energy in that direction. It finally took a meeting in mid-August with Togbui, the chief, to have a better sense for what was needed. We were talking about the history and background of Woe, and I asked what he would like the village to be in the future. In 5 years? In 10? Everyone in the room was suddenly very excited. I learned later that that question had never been asked before. Although the chief, the elders, members of the community all had ideas of the growth of Woe, they have never discussed goals or the strategies for achieving them.

So my placement now has turned into a visioning program, working with many different members of the community to assess Woe now, and where they would like to be in the future. It is bringing up issues of planning, economics, architecture, social dynamics, and others. Togbui wants me to “dig deep into the heart of Woe” and help them move forward.

I am still working on drawing up a complete map of Woe, but I hope to be finished by the end of the week. Two new volunteers are coming in and will help me with some of the social and anthropological studies. When school starts up again, I’ll have a team of senior secondary students interested in architecture and planning helping me with the maps. I’ll set up afternoon workshops—helping me, and in turn, giving them some experience and knowledge before attending university. ---

There is quite a bit going on, and much more that is coming up, but I am excited and happy. I can’t believe I’m already two months in. I made up a schedule for the next three months, and realized it will go by faster than I want it to. :)

So, that is it for now. It took long enough. I hope things are going well at home. I keep hearing fun stories about power outages and gas shortages. And thank you for the letters… (I have replied, but I have ‘small-small’ faith in the speed of the Ghana Postal Service.)

Love you all. I miss you. Brie

* * * * * * * * * *

“The goat is a wicked animal.“ -- Megabuio Ameevor

Goats. In Woe alone, the population easily surpasses the alley cat per capita ratio of any major US city. Tall goats. Old goats. Plump goats. Unbelievably fat goats. They are everywhere. A few are tethered to trees or stumps. Others are “free range,” roaming the streets and the fields, scrapping through anything they can get their mouths on. Granted, this is not feeding time at the local petting zoo. These goats are not overly hyperactive around people, so there is no need to move name tags, wallets, small children, hats, and stuffed monkeys out of reach. They do, however, scavenge everything else. Grass. Trash. Crops. Grave sites. Tro-tro’s do not slow for them. People turn a blind eye. I asked Megabuio how the village addressed the goat surplus.

* If you were a farmer and could capture the culprit, you could take it to the elders of the village (or to District Assembly if the goat caused excessive damage), and they would assess the situation and decide on modes of support and repayment.

* If you intentionally harm a goat, the same punishment will fall on your family. If you cut a goat’s ear as a deterrent, within your family, a child would be born with a disfigured ear. If you brake a goat’s leg, someone in your family will experience the same injury.

Since I’ve been here, I have seen two goats hit by tro-tro’s. One was square rolled over. The one cried and screamed, and no one seemed to mind. All of us yevus, however, just stood there in astonishment. (John had just bought a knife at market, and debated putting it out of its misery. No sooner had we agreed that he would probably not be able to deliver a swift death, the little goat got up and hobbled off crying.) Megabuio’s response to injuring a goat with a car:

* The goat should not have been in the street. There is no punishment for that.

He followed up with a comment on how it would be better if goats were edible, laughed, thanked me for my question, and retired to the office. Ok.--so there we are for goats.

As for Megabuio, he is the CCS site director here in Woe. If you have ever seen The Neverending Story (the first, not the awful successors), imagine Falcor, the Luck Dragon, but 65 years-old and Ghanaian. A guardian, wise in his ways, a bit sarcastic, and full of wit and humor. He is graying a bit, and has a developed cataract in his right eye, but he is always smiling. All of his characteristics reflect his amusement with the world--which is so endearing. He takes our questions with a laugh, and mocks us with a high-pitched “Yes?” when we call him. Thankfully, he takes my curiosities on goats, polygamy, fishing, architecture, and every other topic of Ghanaian life with patience, always sitting down for a discussion and waiting for my questions to exhaust.

Within Ghana, each regional assembly as chosen one clan to induct visitors. “Lucky for you, Megabuio is part of that clan,” he says, always referring to himself in the third person. So I am now, and will always be a member of the Blu clan. As for my Ghanaian name: Aku Korkor (spelled “k“ - backwards ‘c’ - “k” - backwards ‘c’) Sefakor (again a backwards ‘c’).

Aku: Wednesday born Korkor: second consecutive daughter within the family Sefakor: the ‘truth’ consoles

I am learning Ewe (ey-wey), slowly but surely. The women in the market cheer when I respond correctly to “Yevu, Afua?” (White person, how are you?), and clap and hoot when I ask how they are in return, “Ey, mufua. Wo ha efua?). The kids still yell and wave, but once we get through “How are you?” and “What is your name?” we have tapped the extent of their English. Although the kids on the beach were probably right, I had a interesting time yesterday trying to explain to them that my shoes were not the safest place to keep dead fish and crabs while they played.

* * * *

There was a party in the compound last night for some of the volunteers who are leaving. Including all of us, the drumming group, and people from the community, there were easily 150+. In the Volta Region, everyone dances the Agbadza (known amongst the volunteers as ‘the chicken dance’).

* bend your knees and get your butt out a bit (you will be in a slight squat)
* with the music, alternate picking up your feet (not stomping or full removal from the ground, just keeping time)
* arms: this is the part that throws everyone. Angle your arms so your elbows are behind you and your hands are about waist height.
There are three parts, that work in conjunction with one another.
1. Back: alternate in time pulling in (pulling your shoulder blades together) and pushing out (arching your back like a cat)
2. Elbows: with your back, your elbows will move back and forth (imagine you are holding a broom handle behind you, parallel to the ground, and your elbows can slide along that axis)
3. Hands: held just in front and along side your torso, move your hands from mid-chest down to waist height. Your hands will be fairly relaxed, although some dancers do add snaps of flair.

So, all together: You are squatting, alternating your feet, shifting between two positions with your torso.
1. Back tucked in (shoulder blades together) - elbows back and together - hands up
2. Back pushed out (shoulder blades apart) - elbows apart - hands down

The villagers really enjoy watching us (the Yevu’s) dance. We are not very good at coordinating all of the elements. We are all equally clueless. You can dance, you can get laughed at by a huge crowd of people, but you still don’t know how ridiculous you actually look. I think we’re all too nice to one another to be honest. J Some of us can’t move our torso but flap our arms “in time.” Others don’t have the back-up-forth-down combination right, and end up moving swinging bent rigid arms forward and back. I kept getting called out last night: small children, some of the nurses from the hospital, a woman from the village. My quads were burning but every time I sat down, someone else would pull me up. (The Agbadza is almost like a continuous wall sit, except that you get to move your arms to music and it never stops. Feel the burn!) After an hour or so of dancing, Megabuio stopped dancing for the farewell ceremony. We each had to stand up and introduce ourselves in Ewe. I was the last in line, and was cheered when I stood up. (There were a few nudges and chicken wings made in the crowd.) Then Megabuio was talking about our being a part of the community (in Ewe, so I‘ve been told).

Some of us are here for three weeks… Some of us are here for five months. (Whoops from the crowd.) Will the five month individual please stand up. Sefakor has only been here for three weeks. Look at how she dances: with such grace and confidence. Imagine where she will be after 22. (Again, whoops from the crowd.) She will be a native very soon.

Now, when I was taking ballroom, I had extreme difficulties with “style and grace,” clumping around on the floor as best I could. Little did I know it would just take a chicken dance for me to find my niche. Chicken dance = grace. It’s almost an oxymoron. So much for my being inconspicuous in a crowd.

For a quick bout on my placement, since I haven’t really written about that yet. For all of my concerns, I will be fine. Woe is not so developed that I have deficiencies I can‘t address. I have broken down my placement into research stages, so that even when I leave, someone will be able to continue the work.

* materials study - photographic documentation - written description: quality, process
* map of Ghana - map material orgin: manufacturing process, transportation, etc. - list imported materials/orgins
* document tools and methods of construction - tools and uses - history + evolution
* research building archetypes
* construct a village plan - label archetypes - identify zones (if possible) - population - future growth, etc.
* individual structure/compound study - type - location - materials - residents (including qualitative analysis) - plan/section/dimensions

I just met with the country director yesterday, and he is really happy with my plan. I am heading to District Assembly and Ghana Telecom early next week to compile any village plans and drawings they have on file. School gets out in a few weeks, and Besa is going to organize a ‘troop’ of high school students to help me survey. He will look for students interested in planning and architecture, so this survey and research can also be an educational experience.

Things are going well. I am excited to get moving. It is a little weird, since the group I came in with is leaving. We started with a house of 16 volunteers, and as of Monday, we will only be two. New volunteers will come in next week, but I’m not sure how long they are staying. “I am no longer a Christian. I am a Godest.” --Besa


* * * * * * * * * *


07.16.03

I’m currently sitting in the kitchen at our house in Woe, typing this e-mail. (I‘ve been advised by previous volunteers to write e-mails on a reliable computer, and transfer them by disk when I get to the internet café. A dial-up connection in a developing country isn‘t necessarily the most reliable.) J It has been about two weeks, and after a four hour tro-tro ride, and 12,000 cedi I will finally be able to access the internet.

This is the first day I think it will actually rain. It was overcast when I woke up this morning, but the clouds have gradually darkened in the past few hours. It’s probably mid 80’s and absolutely beautiful. I’m not cold yet, but I could be in a sweater and quite content. The day-guard here is sitting just outside, humming loudly while trimming his nose hair with a full pair of scissors. I don’t think he’s humming anything in particular, but his range changes as he tips his head for a different angle.

The CCS house is about a ½ mile from the beach, so we have constant breezes cooling off the day. There are currently 10 volunteers, and a staff just shy of that. We live in the largest house on the block, occupying only the yard and the first floor. The second is still vacant, and has the comfort of a barn loft. It just started to rain. The thatch and sand take it like it’s nothing, but the aluminum roof chimes with how much is coming down.

I’m wondering now if we’ll still take the tro-tro to Ho if it’s raining. Coming in from Accra the first night, I thought if a tro-tro drove in anything less than perfect conditions, they would never make it. A tro-tro: imagine an old 1980’s 12-seater van, boxy, clunky. Now, completely strip it down--no upholstery, no window cranks, sometimes no windows. Unbolt the existing seats, and move them all back. Add another seat, a free standing bench, and individual seats that fold down from the end of each row. Most things are crudely welded together, and if you’re lucky, there are no rust holes open to the road. If you saw a tro-tro in the states, it would look worse than most of the cars that are up on blocks. You abandon safety just by looking at them, but with just a spit of petrol, you’re up and running with 20+ of your closest friends. Last market day I was in one with 25 other people and their goods. The van door couldn’t close… people were out windows. I never though I could sit for that long on so little of one butt cheek, but it is possible. And evidently, it’s possible all the way to Accra and beyond. They like to put the Yevwos (white person) up front, although every tro-tro I’ve ever seen abandoned is smashed head on, so I keep bidding for the back.

My first week here, I was placed with a group from the American-Jewish World Organization helping to build a school a village over. Over the past three weeks, they had done everything from packing the foundation to casting the bricks they needed to build. By the time I came in, they were moving sand in from a pit 1/3 mile away, packing it down to establish the floors. On my first day, I was given a head pan and shown the way. By 10.30A I had a bruise the size of a saucer on top of my head, and I could swear I was at least an inch shorter. I used my handy-dandy hat (that I thought would be for shade) to hold on to the small foam square I was given, and was very grateful. Only two shovels-full at a time, but walking through loose sand in the humid day is tiring. Unbelievably slow. The school children would help us for a few hours each morning, and there were two community-labor days where the village came. Just when I thought I was getting comfortable with the head-pan, a 6-year old and a woman in her late 50’s would pass me with loads significantly larger than mine. By the end of the week, my bruise had subsided a bit (J), and we’d filled three classrooms (15’ x 15’ x 2’ish).

My placement started this week, and I’m glad that I have five months to work. Woe is about 3 miles wide, and 1 mile from the lagoon to the ocean. Most of it is farm-land or undeveloped, with small clusters of mini-villages throughout. Most of the villagers are either farmers or fisherman, which is reflected in the community. $1 = 8,000 cedi. The local fisherman, after pulling a net cast 3-4 times a day with 25-100 others (depending on the net size) will earn about 2,000 cedi a day. Farmers make a little more than that, but their worth is primarily in land ownership. The village is made up of block buildings (mostly owned by farmers or net owners) and those made from local materials. Palm frawns are woven for walls, fences, and roofs. They are stripped, and the ribbing is used for structural support. I will go next week and the week after to learn how to weave and thatch. The man who’s children will be teaching me is also a net owner, and although he laughed at me, he will get me onto a fishing line. (He also told me that starting in November, the sea turtles start to come ashore and lay their eggs. By December some will start to hatch and have to work their way back into the sea.) It’s funny, I know I’m here. I can see everything around me, and still, some things still seem like a part of my own imagination.

I will try and set up a photo page through my yahoo account, but it will depend on my ability to transfer the files. I’ll try and send update e-mails as often as I can. Ghana is about the size of Oregon, but with road conditions and tro-tros, it can take over 24 hours to drive through. Ho is only a few hours away, but the trip can range from 3 hours to 8 or nine.

I didn’t do such a hot job of getting all of my mailing addresses together before I left, so if you could e-mail or snail mail them that would be great. I have letters and envelopes ready. (I paid 30,000 cedi for a group of 10... 15,000 more and I could pay for an Xray at the hospital.) It’s unbelievable.

I love you all. Thank you again for your support and encouragement in making this happen.