Bad Day

10/06/08

I need to preface this entry by saying: this is the worst “case of the Mondays” ever.

Being Monday, we planned to go to Ho to work in the Bridge office. We needed to access some files so we could find out where the past proposals were sent on ANYO’s behalf. We also need to make worksheets for our student presentations, and print them at the office. On a more personal note, we needed to exchange money, get a phone, and get more toilet paper. We had also planned on getting some vegetable pizza from White House.

The day began like any other day—we were up at 5:30, showered, and finished breakfast by 6:45. We played with Jessica for a little bit, and began to get ready for our trip. We packed our backpacks, but I conveniently forgot to pack the rest of our toilet paper, or our ponchos. At 7:30, we walked to the roadside to wait for the bus to Ho. On Monday and Thursday last week, a bus came by, which then goes up the mountain. Shortly thereafter, maybe 5 minutes later, the second bus comes, which then takes you to Ho. We sat there with the chief, who was going up the mountain, to teach at his primary school in Agorkpo. Again, the bus is supposed to come between 7:30 and 8. We waited, reading our books next to the chief, until finally the first bus came at 9:15. We waited a few more minutes, and Tony came by, surprised we were still there. He informed us that there is only 1 bus that goes to Ho today, and that we should have got on the bus that goes up the mountain, and then gotten a tro-tro to Ho. This would have been nice to know, so I asked him how you know when only 1 bus is coming. He shrugged and replied, “It depends.” *sigh*

Divine was with us so he suggested we just “catch a car” which means hitchhike to Ho. As you may be able to imagine, not many cars come through our village. Finally, a car came by, and with Divine doing all the talking and negotiating, they agreed to drive us to Ho for 3 cedi, as soon as they picked up another person in our village they were waiting for. They were waiting for that person a very long time. At 9:45, the bus came back down the mountain, and was actually headed for Ho. As we stood in line to board the bus, people—adults—yelled “yavoo, yavoo!” in an extremely disrespectful manner. They repeated, “Yavoo! There’s no room. You have to stand.” We acknowledged and said that’s ok, that we have legs, we can stand. Again, they would repeat it. All the while, people were cackling and yelling “yavoo” and other things in Ewe. I paid our fare, but the conductor owed me 8.40 in change, which he wrote on my ticket. We stood, packed between people, for the hour and 45 minute bumpy ride to Ho. About 10 minutes into the journey, the conductor passed me 8 cedi, and said we would get the 40 pesos later. I asked to confirm, “Ok, you’ll give me the 40 pesos later,” and a bunch of people roared up in laughter, yelling, “Yavoo, don’t you understand English!? Yavoo!” Everything else was in Ewe but this was the first time I felt uncomfortable in Ghana because of my skin. Kids will shout “yavoo,” but always in a cheerful, curious way. You never hear adults saying it. The bus had rows of 3 seats, then a narrow isle, and another row of 2 seats, which was packed as we stood in a single file line in the isle. I have bruises from bracing myself between the two rows of seats, so as not to fall into anyone, or forward and create a domino effect, when the giant metro mass bus swerved around potholes and goats. The woman sitting to my left was incredibly rude. We had to hold on to her headrest to stable ourselves and she would push Denise's arm away, over and over. She would bang her head against my hand too, clearly wanting us to know we were in her way, as her large hips spilled over the seat into the isle. Denise and I spoke our frustrations in Spanish, and endured the next 90 minutes in silence, listening to the radio personality speak in Ewe urging the listeners to do something. The forceful tone reminded us of old communist propaganda.

To cheer us up, we opted to make our first task in Ho getting the vegetable pizza. On the way, we thought we’d stop at a bank to exchange some currency, but both banks we stopped in were filled with people waiting. I mean, it looked like the MVA on a Saturday morning. We figured we’d eat first, and then maybe less people would be at the bank later in the day.

We arrived at White House, went out back to the open air patio, and saw that some of our volunteer friends were already there, so it was nice to sit and chat with them. They informed us that the office was closed for some reason and no one could get a hold of Bismarck or Joy. With the office closed, our options for work were severely limited. Without the files, we couldn’t get anything else done on the library project until Thursday, and without the printer, we couldn’t prepare worksheets for the student presentations. This was really frustrating. As we considered our possible back-up plans, a girl came over to take our order. She is expressionless as you speak to her and slowly takes the menu and scuffs her feet all the way back to the kitchen. Denise and I were the only ones left at the table, along with an older British guy we met, when our food arrived. Alas, they were out of vegetable pizza. I did order a vegetable salad, but this came drenched in mayonnaise, which some of you may know I can’t stand. I ordered chicken with potato chips. The chips are French fries, so that was a nice treat. I tasted the chicken but opted to stick with the fries. As I finished my last French fry, the clouds became dark and the wind shifted.

The ensuing rain storm came up very quickly, leaving us dashing from the patio thatched umbrella to the covered restaurant 50 feet away. By this time, it was getting late and we had so much work to do. We couldn’t go to the office, since it was locked for no reason, so we needed to get to the internet café to use the computers. It was just a block and a half away, around the corner, but the rain fell like buckets from the sky, leaving us reluctant to leave the dry restaurant. The Brit gave us a black plastic bag that we draped over our backpacks containing our cameras and important papers. My flip flops are very slippery when wet, so I couldn’t run. We braced ourselves, and stepped out from under the beaded curtain of White House, into the monsoon.

I gasped as I stepped into the cold shower. The rain hit hard and after a few seconds in the storm, we were soaked through. I stepped very carefully over the drainage ditch along the road. My feet were slipping already so each step was a miracle if I didn’t fall into the road or the ditch. The drainage ditch is lined with cement on either side, and large cement blocks waited to be set over the ditch to form a sidewalk. Some blocks were in place; others were broken and fallen through. Most of the ditch however, was not covered yet, and the blocks lay stacked unevenly or lean from the road next to the ditch. These uneven blocks were my stepping stones. Water resembling rust-orange paint rushed beneath me, almost overflowing the ditch (which is 2 feet deep). Crossing the street was just as nerve-racking. Cars sped around the corner and I couldn’t run over the rivers of orange lining the street, so it was like Russian roulette trying to cross without slipping.

We finally made it to the internet café, every ounce of clothes dripping on the floor. We sat down at the computers, paid our 20 pesos for 25 minutes of use, and began working. Not 4 minutes later, the lights went dark and every computer shut down. We later realized it wasn’t the power going out… the internet café didn’t pay their electric bill. The guy running the place said he had to make a call, but that the electricity would be back soon, in the next hour or two. Just then, Bismarck and Joy pulled up in a car, it was 2pm. They unlocked the office, which was great, but the computers with the ANYO files were still corrupt from a virus so we couldn’t access them. The printer was also out of commission.

To kill some time we figured we should run to the bank—it was surely not to be crowded in this weather—to exchange some currency. We were already soaked, so we figured another jaunt in the rain wouldn’t hurt. I left my backpack in the Bridge office so it wouldn’t get wet. We walked to the nearby bank, which was the most developed building I’ve seen in Ghana yet. This was fancier than the airport, and actually had air conditioning! The floor was white tile resembling marble slabs, and the carpet (carpet!!!) and décor had a very modern feel. Pendant lights hung from the ceiling and the leather furniture in the waiting area looked brand new. Walking in, Denise and I looked like homeless kids. A police officer opened the door, looked us over, and directed us to the glass enclosed tellers. We each walked up to a window and asked to exchange money. The guy asked for my passport. I said I didn’t have it with me. He asked for any picture I.D. I didn’t have anything with me—I had left everything in my backpack at the Bridge office. He asked my name, and I said Christine Brown. He said, “No, my name is Christian Brown!” Glancing at his name tag he was trying to hide, I knew he (Frank) was lying, so I replied, “Well you know what? My cousin is Chris Brown, you know, the singer? Pretty cool, huh?” He smiled and asked if I was kidding, which I admitted. Obviously, do I look like I’m related to Chris Brown??? After this, he smiled and agreed to exchange my money this time, but next time I needed I.D. I agreed, and passed him $100 bill I had in my pocket. It was soaking wet—that I couldn’t help. He held it up and exclaimed, “THIS is how you people handle your MONEY?!?!” Gee, I’m sorry sir. I didn’t know I had to protect my pockets from today’s monsoon in West Africa!!! I kept that part to myself, but inevitably, he gave me a really hard time about exchanging it. Denise had an equally hard time, as one of her bills had a small tear the size of a splinter, and they wouldn’t take it. She was getting very frustrated and started explaining our horrible day to the teller, who clearly couldn’t give two shits about our day. I looked at her as if to say, “Stop. Breathe. Calm down.” She looked at me and said, “I know I have to calm down.” They exchanged the rest of our money and we headed back to the office.

There was nothing more we could do since the printer wasn’t working and we couldn’t get to the files. By this point, the internet café had power again so we checked our email with our remaining 21 minutes we had from before, and did some research or our upcoming sex education talk for the JSS students. Our patience was nonexistent at this point, so we left, and caught a taxi next to the orange river of rain and dirt along the road. The driver, Gideon, recognized us from driving us back to the village last week, so we started to make some small conversation. I zoned out, looking out the window at the lushness of the land around us. The mountains were covered in green, with trees and vegetation everywhere. The rain had created an intensely thick mist that draped over the mountaintop like hot fudge on a sundae. Gideon had the windows open to let in the cool air the rain brought. I wasn’t completely dry yet, so I was shivering a little in my wet tank top and cotton capris. My flip flops were mostly dry but still a little slippery. I ignored the cold, and was thankful we weren’t in a bus full of unfriendly people.

When we arrived back to the village, we bid goodbye to Gideon and saw Divine waiting at the roadside. We waved, and quickly went to our room to change into dryer clothes. I wore jeans for the first time here, along with my old softball t-shirt. Jessica ran up to greet us, and we decided to go on a walk by the schools, just to stretch our legs and breathe some of the cool dusk air before it got too dark. Divine joined us, along with Beatrice’s daughter, Praise, and with Jessica on Denise’s shoulders, we all trekked off through the village. We got to the schools and were just moseying around when we saw a path going off into the woods. We asked if we could follow it, and Divine told us it goes to the cemetery, and began to lead the way. It was really interesting, and the walk was night. The evening air was misty and cool, which was easy to enjoy since I was nice and dry. The cemetery is lined with what looks like mangrove trees. The plots are dug 6 feet deep, but a stone or marble slab the size of the coffin sits on the ground. Divine explained who the people in the first row were—their late headmaster who died in 2005, another man who brought electricity with a generator to the village in the 1960s, all men who made a significant contribution to the village. Leaving the cemetery we took a different path leading us past a villa. Yes, a villa, at the edge of our village that we had never noticed before. The daughter who grew up there was actually named Miss Ghana in 1995. Now she is an actress on television, but I’m not sure if she acts in Ghana or the UK or the US. Standing in the middle of the road (something you don’t have to really worry about here), we said goodnight, and Divine invited us to watch a movie sometime while we’re here. Denise and I looked at each other with surprise, and asked, “Do you have a TV with a movie player?” He nodded, and we began to think that maybe everyone else has a fan, and a TV, except us! Haha!

We went back home and dinner was waiting for us—fried rice and boiled down cassava leaves (you may think you’re getting spinach, but really, you can’t escape the cassava). It was good, but really oily. Afterward, we held our first computer training lesson for Tony and Emil. The computer training went very well. Both have had a little bit of experience on a computer before, so we didn’t need to show them the concept of the hardware. We went over minimizing and maximizing a window, how to open Word, how to save a document, how to make a folder, how to find the folder, and open up a document from it. This took about an hour, but we did make some progress.

By the end of the training session, we were exhausted and headed off to the toilet, one last time for the night. I should mention here, that several times in the last few days, Denise has screamed or freaked out in a hyperventilating manner, over a spider in the bathroom. Returning to the room, Denise started to have a freak out when she opened the door to our room. I walked in behind her, and gave her a hard time for gasping over a silly spider. She gave me a look. “No Christine. It’s not a spider. It’s a giant rat that just scurried across the floor, and under YOUR bed.” As I stood on a chair, I apologized for doubting her freak out purposes, and waited while she went into the room and chased it out from under my bed. I have now decided that under our circumstances, being squeamish about rats (and spiders) is perfectly acceptable.

We finished getting ready for bed, and we went outside to “make toothpaste spit on the ground,” as we were told. I stood on the very top step, behind Denise, accidentally squirting her with water. She laughed since she knew there was no way I was getting off that top step, for fear the rat might attack. We went to sleep, but I didn’t sleep for long. My stomach was upset from the oily dinner, so I proceeded to get sick several times, all through the night. Yay Monday.