Dee Dub Is Tired and Cranky, July 3, 2010

But just barely amused. Yesterday I rode three hours on a rickety tro with no springs to interview some girls who have applied to attend our leadership camp. Just a few basic questions, and got mostly the same answers from all. Tell me some qualities that you think a leader needs to have. “Neatness, punctuality, and dependability.” Tell me one or two things you know about the United States. “Obama is president, and Ghana beat the US football team.” One girl also said she had heard that two men got married to each other? And had to go to court? But that probably isn’t true. Then three and a half hours back, on three different tros, and it’s the end of a long day. My backside does not have enough padding any more for such long rides in such dilapidated vehicles.

So today I want to just take it easy, and I am sick and tired of insects, goat poop on the porch, ants in my closet, warm beer, no electricity, petty village feuds that are just like office politics at home, and, mostly, sick and tired of kids. These kids have definitely taught me the difference between status and authority. I have lots of status here, and so does the kid who can talk me out of a biscuit, a pen, or an empty water bottle. However, I have absolutely no authority. None. Zilch. So no matter how many times I tell them not to go through the garbage, they do. If I catch them they run away laughing, but always come back. And there is nothing there they want, so they just leave it scattered all over the ground and the porch. I have fantasies about rattlesnakes, or mouse traps, or thoughts of botulism, etc. I know you are all proud of the work I am doing here, and especially the mature, adult ways I have learned to deal with conflict resolution. So you will be pleased to learn that I called an eight-year old boy an asshole. At the top of my lungs. And then threw the rest of the garbage on the ground and slammed the door. Way to go.

Talked to Colleen later, and she reminded me that at home scavengers go through their recycling, and then leave what they don’t want on the ground. And she often wants to shout that they are assholes, but it’s two am and she would have to get dressed and go outside so she just shines it. So all things are the same, and I giggled a lot while we were talking, and then it was late enough I let myself pour a glass of box wine and count my blessings.

July 4, 2010
Today is better. Last night I made a nice soup for dinner, and yesterday in the lorry station I actually found some fresh green beans. I am cooking them with some cocoa yam and bacon bits, so it smells sort of like the way my Texas grandmother cooked green beans, ham hocks, and potatoes. I think maybe I’m homesick, as well, but didn’t realize it. I am prepared for that at Christmas, Thanksgiving, and my children’s birthdays, but not the Fourth. Sometimes I do feel like such a stranger in a strange land, but it’s because EVERYTHING here is different, and I usually get over it. I remember spending July 4 in Paris alone, not the best way to be in Paris, ever, but I joined a bunch of strange Americans. Not weird strange, you understand, just travelers who were mostly unknown to each other. There was a restaurant that put on a little celebration for American tourists and ex-pats, and it was a nice way to spend some time. Another time I was in Peru at about 14,000 feet with some other American hikers, and we had some wine and a lot of laughs. Then last year, here in Ghana, I and some other trainees were at a tourist site at a small hotel at the top of a mountain. No wine, but the staff built us a bonfire and we sat around and told stories. Ghanaians don’t get the thing about bonfires. Everybody has a burn pile in their yard, and most people cook outside using wood or charcoal, so they don’t understand why we would waste wood just to sit and look at the flames. So ordinarily I wouldn’t be so nationalistic, or miss home on this particular day. But it’s Sunday morning, the church drums are really firing up, and I will go eat some distinctly American food. So Happy Fourth.