tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19397940222152704082024-03-05T08:34:15.858-08:00Katie and Mo - GhanaMohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16222544357707092780noreply@blogger.comBlogger31125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939794022215270408.post-25231715234876893862009-06-11T18:40:00.000-07:002009-06-11T18:42:43.733-07:00Home!Back home in NYC right now. . . as of a few hours ago I guess. Expect a call from one of us in the next few days if we like you; if you don't get a call, please please take the hint and don't embarass yoursleves grovelling for us to take you back into our fold. You're DONE! Later.Mohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16222544357707092780noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939794022215270408.post-17285415464776253562009-06-04T02:52:00.000-07:002009-06-06T03:42:12.703-07:00The trip north, south, north, and then south for good.<span style="font-size:100%;">May was, well, interesting. We left the comforts of Accra behind, endured the 12 hour bus ride from Accra to Tamale, stayed in Tamale a night to recuperate, and then trotro'd it to Bolga and then on to Bongo. BUT, before we left Accra we bought a portable DVD player since, as many of you know, our laptop, may it rest in peace, is no longer fully with us but our "The Wire" and "Weeds" addiction would need feeding. But, as things go here in jolly ol' Ghana, the plug to the player "spoiled" after one charge (the night before we were leaving for Tamale). "No worries," we assured ourselves "it is only a 12V DC plug, how hard could it be to find one here?" Ah, 10 months in the country and yet still so naive! We scoured Tamale. Then we scoured Bolga. "Oh, they are finished," which does not necessarily mean that there were any to begin with and some guy bought the last one only minutes ago, for all we know they have been "finished" since the beginning of time. When we returned to our house in Bongo it was full of surprises (but still locked and safe, so none too horrible). First, our front porch looked like a goat latrine, piss and poop EVERYWHERE. I mean piles in some places. Then, we discover that someone used the plug that exists on the outside of our house and blew the fuse so now half of the house has no usable sockets (no more sleeping in the bedroom). The water was not running and, thankfully Mo spared me actually having to see it, but big red ants (we call them "latrine" ants because they hang around bathrooms and latrines) had made our toilet their new home. Mo said that the toilet was FULL of eggs and larvae. I was outside and all I heard was Mo going "Oh my god, oh my...I'm gonna puke this is so disgusting!...oh NO. WHERE IS THE RAID?!?!"<br /><br />So, there we were up in Bongo with no work to do (the maps were not arriving in country for another 5 days) and suffering severe cases of Wire-withdrawal. After 3 days and both of us completing a book each, we decided to take a 10 hour bus ride down to Kumasi to meet the maps and the person bringing the maps there and say all of our Kumasi goodbyes so that we would not have to stop with all of our luggage when we make the last trip south.<br /><br />The meetings in Kumasi went really well. I met with the Provost ("Dean") of engineering who was/is one of my "research contacts" here in Ghana and he was very impressed with all that we were able to accomplish in our 10 months here (yay us!). We met Deron, Lori and the boys in Kumasi as they were heading north to Burkina on vacation and then circling back south to stay with us one night in Bongo. It was nice, gave us that extra motivation to do some more touristy things in Kumasi. And (this is my bragging point) I was able to lead Lori through the 10% of the Kejeta market that I knew AND find the section/stalls that I was looking for (even though Mo says it was by mistake)! (I was impressed with myself even if you all aren't). Then, back on the bus for 8 hours followed by a 3 hour trotro ride all in one day back to Bolga, but this time with a variable voltage/plug converter box thing that was just about as large as our portable DVD player and a good pound heavier.... defeated the whole "portable" part, but it worked!!!<br /><br />Handing out the maps to all of our contacts was extremely rewarding, it was the main purpose of the research. Some were neutral on the whole affair, but the majority were very thankful and, even more importantly, interested in my explaining the significance of what was represented. I had maps to go around (thanks to my mom and her laminating skillz) and most were enthusiastic to bring the results to their chiefs and local assemblymen. I also had a final meeting with the District Assembly Director where he actually called other employees to come hear what I had to say (which meant I had to explain my maps several times), which just made me feel amazing.<br /><br />Then there was this one night while in the main room lying on my stomach with my feet dangling off the edge of our mattress on the floor watching The Wire, the sun had just set and since we can't turn on the overhead lights in the house at night because sooo many bugs find their way in as a result, we were in the dark, but had not yet placed the mosquito net around us. We were actually thinking that maybe we won't use the mosquito net anymore since it is really hot out. All of a sudden I feel something tickle my foot, but I just tap it and I don't feel it anymore. "Must be the mosquito net dangling over my leg, it must have brushed up against me," I tell myself. It happens again and again I bang my foot on the ground and again it goes away. The third time I feel it on my foot, then on my calf, then on my thigh before I jump up and knock it off. Now remember, it is dark, so all I see is a big shape scurrying across the mattress. I was figuring it was going to be a lizard, but now it is so big and moving like a bug that I am thinking a giant roach, but Mo finds the flashlight and it turns out to be the relative of the <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzhfwr7rk27or6lqLxkpl_YV26cfJ5vkbt7DXv0qoRER3DasmX5194rj7Y3TOQNtD1VRiIwPkDdrWVYfs4vQ5Gjv30_TXKIjpaZtBpIz3FHPNqWa2dI0Nalvu4MtQIuJg2ZjfAhWn2QiQ/s1600-h/2nd.jpg">giant hairy orange spider</a> that we trapped and threw outside! Now, completely creeped out, I go into what Mo describes as "flash dance" mode (but I could tell he was equally as creeped out since he promptly picked up the DVD player and we moved the operation into the room with a working overhead light. Not 15 minutes later, we see it (or another?) scurrying INTO the room and under the bed. After much noise making and strategic "flushing of the enemy", we get it out from under the bed (and spiders everywhere forgive us) slap a shoe on it. After careful inspection of the corpse, we see past the hairy legs to the large fangs and decide that mosquito nets are a necessity! (We actually have figured out what it is....<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Solifugae">here</a>).<br /><br />Then, after selling and giving away all that we could, we boarded our last bus "south" and settled in for a long ride. As luck has it, though, two hours into what amounted to a 15 hour ride, I fall ill (chills, headache, stomach ache, nausea) and start my "I will not vomit or poop myself" meditation. When we pulled into Kumasi (9 hours into the ride) (the first place with a "toilet" instead of just a "urinal" (yes, in the other stops there are only women "urinals" as well as men's)) I jump off the bus a roll of tp in one hand and my toilet fee in the other and run in the direction of the toilet wanting to make the most of this 5 minute stop...but...what?....the toilets are locked? Why? Because it is RAINING! "Yes."<br /><br />Long story less long, eating solid food again, hanging out at Deron and Lori's and just relaxing our final days in Ghana in good company.<br /></span>Mohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16222544357707092780noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939794022215270408.post-5758961560679505012009-05-02T03:32:00.000-07:002009-05-02T04:06:28.730-07:00One of our last posts...We have received many emails asking why we haven't updated the blog in so long given that we are now in a position to be doing so daily (those emails are in my head, mind you. . . no real person gives two dookies about us updating this blog or not). Well, upon arriving in Accra, and the day before Katie was ready to hunker down for a 36hour work session, the OSX side of our computer froze. Then it beeped, then it exploded and now it lies somewhere in the MacBook shell, its remnants still smoldering. It was truly a sad few days in the House of Kdmoghana. Not only had our computer left us in the most serious of lurches, but our self worth was relegated to close to nil since our consumer culture dictates that what we buy is the quickest way to social acceptance. With that in mind, it should come as no surprise that it has taken a while to come to terms with the fact that we had a Mac that burned to the ground and are now using its shell to run Windows XP (not even some obscure Linux distro!). We bought a Mac for its reliability, ruggedness (as much as a laptop can actually be rugged), and what it says when we're emailing at the coffee shop but ended up doing some of our most important work on the four-eyed, bug- and booger-eating Windows side. It's a good thing that no one really reads this blog for I'm sure if news of this gets out our hipster cards will surely be revoked and we'll have to learn all those damn programming languages to get into the defiant-to-a-fault open-source crowd. ANYWAY, most of our Mac stuff should be backed up on our hard drive, and if we don't have ALL of our photos, we should have most of them.<br /><br /> The good news is that despite having to put a suit on just to check our e-mail (Get it? Because we're using Windows just like all the other cubi-dorks in the world? No? Tough crowd.) Katie was able to finish her work. Since we can't upload any of our photos we'll post some maps in just a bit. But know this: while I am at most times as useless as a plate of hog jowls at a vegan pot luck, my extensive background in internetting (yes, it's a verb) proved much more useful than one would think (insert your own pornography joke here:_____). I saved the day on more than one occasion while Katie "Queen of Flipping Out at Everything" Alfredo sat quietly in the corner and allowed me to work my magic and DID NOT look over my shoulder for the entire time, soaking my shirt in tears. Um, yeah. Here's Katie.<br /><br /> Well, wouldn't you freak out if you worked really hard inputting data and such just to see it all beep and explode in front of your eye??? (M: No.) Right!?!?! (M: Wrong!) It's not like I can bring in our machine to the nearest Apple store and have my data recovered (or even access the data on our external hard drive since it is formatted for our Mac....hmmmm). But, despite all this, I have succeeded in processing just the necessary data now and will go through (or back through) the rest when I have a more reliable machine to work on. But....here is one of the maps<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz5N_7DhkCB5qGpM1AnmFe39ARaQEelJu2Y8yG8hehOqZ6sWgzhwelTTOkfvIGTQZNZUk65rgT2tgKZQuwUmBjoVKWExA15VU6bgieIZR4u8G0iFuuuz4mzFSv6YgDPcvwJQOKNGdY884/s1600-h/Map1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 247px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz5N_7DhkCB5qGpM1AnmFe39ARaQEelJu2Y8yG8hehOqZ6sWgzhwelTTOkfvIGTQZNZUk65rgT2tgKZQuwUmBjoVKWExA15VU6bgieIZR4u8G0iFuuuz4mzFSv6YgDPcvwJQOKNGdY884/s320/Map1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331180103533471378" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyZcCs7ywh37FltnXZysANqSPP5CyFKeXuzX2gzL40TQh6ecwd3kFZ5KmnS11Z-JGFAUWr6gQeZxnPIScHg2YsM5P8mQnUOZR1kNqdzxauh9qh2EyOR_XHcxxcTHC-aUlIJCM8ikBZ6WA/s1600-h/Map2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 247px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyZcCs7ywh37FltnXZysANqSPP5CyFKeXuzX2gzL40TQh6ecwd3kFZ5KmnS11Z-JGFAUWr6gQeZxnPIScHg2YsM5P8mQnUOZR1kNqdzxauh9qh2EyOR_XHcxxcTHC-aUlIJCM8ikBZ6WA/s320/Map2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331180103448550034" border="0" /></a><br />As you can see, Bongo has a lot of fluoride! Way more than was expected. The shading is just an interpolation of the data points. I sampled eight of the capped wells, none of which produced unusually high numbers, and so it is safe to say they are not tapping into any separate aquifer. So, this is just scratching the surface of all the information and data that we gathered, but I thought it would be nice to show you all (if anyone is still reading our blog that is) the fruits of our labor. In total we tested 286 wells (but visited more including the capped and newly drilled ones), all by bicycle, over the area. Now the difficulty is to bring these maps (I made one for each governance in the district) to the community members and try to explain why they have capped wells when other areas have higher levels of fluoride but still have access to their water. It should be interesting!<br /><br />But, in case any of you are wondering when we are getting back, we now have our plane tickets and are leaving Ghana on June 11th! So soon! Our time is rapidly ending and we are dreaming of salads and fresh herbs! Yum. Being in Accra for April has been really fun and Deron and Lori (the other Fulbrighter family we are staying with) and their two boys Jasper and Dashiel are AWESOME. We went and visited the big dam on the Volta river in Akosombo, went bead shopping, and have eaten our weight in bananas and avocados and pineapples. It's been relaxing, well except for the whole computer failing part. We head back north to Bongo in a couple of days for the last stretch of work, and then we are done! It really has gone by quickly! We miss you all and hope to see everyone soon.Mohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16222544357707092780noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939794022215270408.post-60951422740315905592009-04-07T07:19:00.000-07:002009-04-07T07:26:53.124-07:00<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">So first I should start with an apology to our fans: sorry we have been delinquent with our posts. But here is a recap.<br /><br />After Ai left, Mo and I headed back to Burkina Faso for a mini vacation, but I guess we needed a reminder about how tiring vacation can often be. In Ouaga we just hung out in the luxury (TV and half-working A/C) of our hotel and ate some great food. In the picture below (bottom center photo) you can see that we feasted on french bread, strawberries (yes, Burkina has a strawberry season!), olives, mangos, pears, local yogurt (our favorite), goat cheese (also locally made), and a huge bag each of cashews and sugar coated peanuts. We were in heaven. We went back to the good brick oven pizza place and had goat cheese pizza and beer (the SoBBra pic). Then, we decided to take the train from Ouga to Bobo since it was described as a "pleasant"ride and we thought it sounded all romantic and such. . . well, I guess we forgot the whole "it is still in West Africa" part because I can’t say it was all that "pleasant"! If we had taken a trotro it would have been around a 5 hour ride; the train took 11! Plus add people chomping on chicken bones all around us, the battle of music being played loudly on several people's phones and the general inconsiderate pushing nature of west african transit. That all being said, it was not "pleasant" as the book said but rather long and arduous (Mo: much like a Monty Python anything). Then when we arrived in the Bobo station we had to fight to get off the train because people mobbed it trying to get on (the train continues to Ivory Coast). I had to punch and push my way through the crowd to get free (good thing dad taught me how to throw them elbows in soccer!). It was actually kinda scary, I was on the steps debarking when a flood of people was released and they all came running at me. I went to take the last step to reach the ground and they pushed me back on my butt and started to trample over me (Mo was still on the train trying to get our bag) so I threw ‘bows and started to punch people in order to free myself and stand up. I waited a good five minutes for Mo to get free of the train and apparently he had a similar experience in the cab of the train (one guy who was also trying to leave was attempted to crawl through him while the flood entering was pushing him from the other direction as well). I would not recommend train travel in West Africa!<br /><br />That being said we ate some veggie pizza when we arrived at our hotel and watched 90210 and Dawson's Creek dubbed in French(two shows I wouldn’t normally watch in the US, I think I actually used the word "excited" when I saw what was on!). Bobo had a couple of supermarkets nearby our hotel and so we had (top left pic) hummus and baba in a can (not too bad when you are craving them), <a href="http://www.kracks.com.sg/">Kracks</a> (aka non Frito-Lay approved Pringles), and sachet milk (you can get anything in a sachet here!). <br /><br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZP_KLl9zEUtTjUSq09Cvf2QIbt8P_XPzXxBoMIjKZozefpDkaTxLquXgJmYpUHdSZ_MpwkJEKDeSs0XLDvxaRTPKBMZy27bxo9lJS6uP1R_PyjIQBFODDVopGEn-YhD7FOQOxBWBgy2w/s1600-h/pictures08.001.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZP_KLl9zEUtTjUSq09Cvf2QIbt8P_XPzXxBoMIjKZozefpDkaTxLquXgJmYpUHdSZ_MpwkJEKDeSs0XLDvxaRTPKBMZy27bxo9lJS6uP1R_PyjIQBFODDVopGEn-YhD7FOQOxBWBgy2w/s320/pictures08.001.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321954433987645426" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> Bobo was really cool and we did “touristy” things there like go to a museum which was described as being full of masks and information on local tribes, but had a visiting “special” exhibition that was more about Switzerland than anything else (did you know they use masks in celebrations in Switerland?). But they did have permanent examples of different housing styles (below the top left photo is of me and Mo sitting in a Fulani hut). We also went to a <a href="http://courantsdefemmes.free.fr/Assoces/Burkina/Gafreh/gafreh.html">woman’s cooperative</a> where they turn gross plastic bags (which are off-puttingly referred to as “rubbers” here. “Yes, Madame, I would like a rubber for my food,” or “Please put your bananas in this rubber,”) into fabric which is then sewn into handbags. Pretty cool. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEwocMgT1hcHzWm6k6VP3uC8kvs9bpbe8uGVM2tOaGDdKkcxoXLcTBFw1kGdAwANVeZfouRaLsTJRiMZWaojlYZtgwkGkxqIYN4MUvBgY-jWqDvstfnmqtfBP4xc-XGTG4Wu8wDx90XIY/s1600-h/pictures08.002.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEwocMgT1hcHzWm6k6VP3uC8kvs9bpbe8uGVM2tOaGDdKkcxoXLcTBFw1kGdAwANVeZfouRaLsTJRiMZWaojlYZtgwkGkxqIYN4MUvBgY-jWqDvstfnmqtfBP4xc-XGTG4Wu8wDx90XIY/s320/pictures08.002.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321954434729235554" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> So now back to Ghana. For my mom, I have included some pics of our house (complete with goats and everything!), but let me explain. Working clockwise from the top left, our beautiful pink house. Next is the sink and stove set up where the ants decided to move their home that time. Next (bottom right) is the hallway. Bottom center is the bathroom/toilet rooms and the big green container is full so that when the water “is finished” (aka, our connection is cut) we can still flush the toilet and wash our pretty faces. Finally, Bottom left is our living room with is currently functioning also as an office, lab, and bedroom (it has become so hot at night that we now sleep on the living room floor). </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb-oQMApzVZeNR8a7te44sO4DVtXssK-3Fx8b1dEtrtDELQYU6BSWFOY_7iOpVHX0DEieAC1wibAlejLljbgu1SrX4IRZMYPlNbp43yYG5623PjYYfHXZS9tPJI4m1yeKsUYFZQekRYzQ/s1600-h/pictures08.003.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb-oQMApzVZeNR8a7te44sO4DVtXssK-3Fx8b1dEtrtDELQYU6BSWFOY_7iOpVHX0DEieAC1wibAlejLljbgu1SrX4IRZMYPlNbp43yYG5623PjYYfHXZS9tPJI4m1yeKsUYFZQekRYzQ/s320/pictures08.003.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321954430961223826" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> The next pics are of Mo with a goat (no surprise), a stall in Bongo market, and the bats that apparently live in the trees shading the market (makes me want to wash my produce a little more carefully now that I have noticed them living up there).</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvaFC-XVSG7nRLqaNv7xBbsnUfTK3e_Lv2yGbLrkh_aTJzv3KlGmk52SOeQ9nO8rswOMqcKBWNQvo3mYH6CFXsTDbZwX_0OSvTBPerkXdpeGoG66Xycmh2r6sniyDTRALWpe2bicnkSZA/s1600-h/pictures.001.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvaFC-XVSG7nRLqaNv7xBbsnUfTK3e_Lv2yGbLrkh_aTJzv3KlGmk52SOeQ9nO8rswOMqcKBWNQvo3mYH6CFXsTDbZwX_0OSvTBPerkXdpeGoG66Xycmh2r6sniyDTRALWpe2bicnkSZA/s320/pictures.001.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321954158056424498" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> Below are some of my favorite Bongo moments. I have started to take weaving lessons (as you can see) and my teacher (Apuko, pictured with me) is really nice. I love being in their workspace and just listening to the chatter of women (even though I don’t know what is being said). There is something about the rhythm and tone of a group of women hanging out that is just so comforting! Then, I was able to help some women out in Feo plaster one of the local houses and, I guess as a result, was challenged to a dance off (and yes, I was “served”)</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguoMXgxfZQlJvWSXovetfZPX3W3VWpChGryVD9v6T2fAZIWiO59M00Be242oyTR8JG16u66bUYHdFO5K-wuQpn86xEkx26TJZfcnwrDXeq_yJWU-1qGovlYg5N7JkPy7GiWIKa52ET_sA/s1600-h/pictures.002.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguoMXgxfZQlJvWSXovetfZPX3W3VWpChGryVD9v6T2fAZIWiO59M00Be242oyTR8JG16u66bUYHdFO5K-wuQpn86xEkx26TJZfcnwrDXeq_yJWU-1qGovlYg5N7JkPy7GiWIKa52ET_sA/s320/pictures.002.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321954161176104642" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> The day of plastering ended with drinking pito with the cheif (no surprise there) and listening to this “small boy” play the local guitar with such awe-inspiring skill. Two strings, a few bottle caps, half a calabash and a dead goat are all he requires for a 45 minute show. He’s making ours as we speak.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyug1EYPqXlMVahSPwSXXONcYKoBwN1xA9H66Jw0SQ7RJK6hNXvc9HdRSOMlW8vraPFY90FKlTV6BlUjmH1R3bCJ3GSU__9ritscNN6NfBYwNCMBtnXcA8PI5N7akBxemYVuMjrn2qacY/s1600-h/pictures.003.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyug1EYPqXlMVahSPwSXXONcYKoBwN1xA9H66Jw0SQ7RJK6hNXvc9HdRSOMlW8vraPFY90FKlTV6BlUjmH1R3bCJ3GSU__9ritscNN6NfBYwNCMBtnXcA8PI5N7akBxemYVuMjrn2qacY/s320/pictures.003.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321954153821344322" /></a><br /></div></div></div>Mohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16222544357707092780noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939794022215270408.post-64781478501972409152009-03-11T04:07:00.000-07:002009-03-11T04:12:32.756-07:00<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> As you read this, Katie and I will have passed three whole days since our last official day of fieldwork. After meeting with the many helpful community members who directed us to the functioning boreholes, we set out by ourselves to what Katie believed would be a representative sampling of the non-functioning boreholes. It was on these excursions that we realized a few things: GPS-enabled knowledge of these sites and your relative location to them means nothing and will never supplant local knowledge; we were smart not to have done these samples on the days when we were led around by our guides since they would have tired of our existence and left, or killed us out of boredom; that we have spent way too much time together without taking a break. In reference to that last bit of wisdom, let it be known that if ever you decide to have a public argument (inasmuch as these things are actually “decided” upon), do not do it when 50+ people with a meager grasp of English are tending to your every word. Thanks to us, many a Ghanaian were blessed with the knowledge of words I am too sheepish to mention at this juncture (though I’m not at all sheepish about typing them, as you all well know).</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br />So yes, we are finished collecting the samples (YAY!), and now comes time to relax. This Saturday we will plod the weary route toward Ouagadougou (which in Mossi means “forget about Ghana, the only food worth eating is in Burkina, bitches”) for another much-needed break from the travails of our stay in Ghana. And as weary as I’m sure we are sounding fleshed out on computer screens the world over (all five of them), let it be known that there is still much work to be done, mostly on Katie’s part.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br />As for me, I was able meet one of three lifetime goals , the first of which was realized almost ten years ago when I made someone puke out of pure exhaustion (okay, maybe the carton of milk consumed a few minutes beforehand played a crucial role, but so too did the calisthenic torture I doled out, dammit). A few days ago, as Katie was choosing from a book loaded with all the available patterns for this one local weaver, a bunch of kids decided to come over and play a game favored among the youth (the older ones love, with all their heart, “Bicycle Chase”): “Stand Around and Look at the White People Until One of Them Moves at Which Point You Should Run Away and Not Let Them Touch You Because if You Do They Will Rip Your Face Off and Eat Your Insides.” That’s a rough translation from Fra Fra, and one based solely on the children’s reactions to our presence, but I will say that while enjoying a beer one time with one of our guides, some children who gathered to watch us drink were told that if they didn’t leave us alone we would come out and chop off their heads. No lie. After that, we never really wondered why kids were somewhat terrified of us.<br />Anyway, having had a good day, I was willing to play the aforementioned game with these kids, and I hid behind the corner of the building and chased them across the street. Everyone got away except one, who tripped trying climb out of a shallow ditch. It was like something out of the movies: she looked back at me over her shoulder, began trembling, and the tears commenced. Now, most of you who know me will agree that I hate children, especially since they poop and pee all over the place and can’t earn a living and all, but I would never hurt one, and so I dropped the monster façade, stooped down to pick her up, and told her, in english, that I would never hurt her. It did no good. As soon as she was in my arms, she stiffened up, looked me straight in the eye, and yelled “BLAH BLAH BLAH,” which I took to mean either “my dad will kill you if you hurt me,” or “you’d better put me down,” or “I’m gonna fuck you up, asshole,” and given that she was no older than 5 or 6, I was undeterred in my placation of her anger. Until she peed on me. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br />I didn’t know what was happening until I was soaked from my hand to my elbow, and for those of you who have handled babies before, that’s about 10 gallons of piss. It was all over my shorts and looked as if I were the one who peed, but all I could do was laugh, and all Katie could do was laugh at me and call me a moron. “I’ve been peed on,” I said as I returned the girl back on the ground. I stepped over her as she lay there supine from the fright, and not until I got back across the road from her did she get up and run away. I never even got to thank her, for how many of you can actually say that you’ve scared the piss out of someone. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:13px;">Some pictures:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:13px;"><br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPCAoff7sdaN7EHkeqeRLVYS5-bB4qRToz3beB6RiBr3_Ie0EMHPhvaytJ-ghxVh_DOHpbaJEroXaGlD2p_vN1WaZCs356bJUrzGAgo-go3IXL3hFOmFDqwW0w1dMMxl_QCH8asH3ZG8Q/s1600-h/Slide1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPCAoff7sdaN7EHkeqeRLVYS5-bB4qRToz3beB6RiBr3_Ie0EMHPhvaytJ-ghxVh_DOHpbaJEroXaGlD2p_vN1WaZCs356bJUrzGAgo-go3IXL3hFOmFDqwW0w1dMMxl_QCH8asH3ZG8Q/s320/Slide1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311885552115992050" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinl7pi12DG4n8mn0uCi7Dp_j_Bax6_JY9ZhoGRuHhovDncKIplDM4oEGjwuoT-RrtWi1Ye_Fs9V3QDpppcPrOhzSPvMbeOh0DNifoi3ZJvjupixG-f59O0P2kMXZ3AtnD1n5zo0c5K8TY/s1600-h/Slide2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinl7pi12DG4n8mn0uCi7Dp_j_Bax6_JY9ZhoGRuHhovDncKIplDM4oEGjwuoT-RrtWi1Ye_Fs9V3QDpppcPrOhzSPvMbeOh0DNifoi3ZJvjupixG-f59O0P2kMXZ3AtnD1n5zo0c5K8TY/s320/Slide2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311885554148657090" /></a>Mohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16222544357707092780noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939794022215270408.post-88227845625227500232009-02-27T07:33:00.000-08:002009-02-27T07:46:29.839-08:00<div>This post goes out to all the animals in our life.<br /><br />First, the chickens.<br />So, the first time someone gave us a chicken, it was at the end of a painful day. The day was not hard, it was just long because our local contact had not ridden a bike in 9 years (so he says) and so after sprinting to the first two boreholes of the day, he pretty much died. I’m serious, he walked his bike for long periods of time and that was not much slower than his riding pace! Plus, he is an assembly man (I guess kind of like a Representative) and so had to stop to talk to ev-ry-one. Man, it took all day, but he was very nice so it was all good. Anyway, at the last borehole of the day, while he was panting (a.k.a. slowly begging death to come and rip the life from his body) under a tree, he told us to “wait small” because his friend was coming. All of a sudden we see this guy walking towards us with a chicken in his hands at which point Mo leaned over to whisper “Oh man, please don’t let that be for us.” But, of course it was. So our contact is tying the legs of the chicken together telling us how they want us to have this chicken and Mo is trying to explain “But we don’t eat meat, please you keep it” to which the reply was, “Oh! Don’t worry, it’s a chicken, just make soup with it!” Hmmm. So first they wanted to just “hang” it off my handlebars, but I blackballed that idea real quick, so we tied him to the back of Mo’s bike (on the rack) and every time he hit a bump the thing squawked and we would apologize to her. We brought her home, untied her in the house because we wanted to feed her and give her water, because then she would be our friend, before we set her loose behind our house. Of course, as soon as we placed her on the floor, she produced one huge shit on the floor, did not like our food or water, and was put outside. She still hangs around the house, but does not come when we try to feed her. Then, just this week we received a rooster and the story repeated itself. The rooster actually hangs around and lets us feed him, but the guinea fowls of the area are like a major gang or something because they attacked our poor rooster one day. Of course, Mo and I went running out of the house to chase the guinea fowls away---I’m sure our neighbors are having a good laugh at us.<br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWVWK8Jbv0YKXp_rdKS1Q6YknUo6P9QsIqySdG4Dh5PHNvLWue4oD5_e7tTXnBO5huxNR6WVU5XzThQNI7fLCZAxwAHFnv28x9yZeqQ6KZQYVaiDE7FNcRCLBK2z-CHSpgsA6FhizuVVQ/s1600-h/3rd.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWVWK8Jbv0YKXp_rdKS1Q6YknUo6P9QsIqySdG4Dh5PHNvLWue4oD5_e7tTXnBO5huxNR6WVU5XzThQNI7fLCZAxwAHFnv28x9yZeqQ6KZQYVaiDE7FNcRCLBK2z-CHSpgsA6FhizuVVQ/s320/3rd.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307501516890188306" /></a>Now the insects.<br />Not pictured are the ants that I have been battling in the kitchen (and let me tell you, I am losing big time). The other morning Mo and I got up for a day of work and I lifted my coffee cup off of the counter where it was set to dry overnight and there were hundreds of ants and their little larvae underneath it. I quickly put it back down on top of them all and shouted for Mo. Thousands and thousands of ants had moved in underneath our dishes overnight---it was gross AND since they were underneath our coffee mugs, we were forced to deal with the situation before our morning cup of Nescafe. The whole thing was repulsive---we poured boiling water over all the dishes afterwards.<br /><br />Now the creature in the picture, but first the backstory. So these little weird flying ant type bugs come in through the ceiling at night if we put the light on and, honestly, I find them so gross. They are like little ant larvae but with wings (termites maybe?), so I force Mo to turn off the light while we watch or read off the computer at night. Soooo, this one night I convinced him to leave the light off while we watched some Soprano’s and afterwards I was off to bed so I flipped the light back on for him and on the wall was the biggest, hairiest spider I ever saw outside of the zoo. Of course the first thing I say is, “I’m going to go get Ai!” I run off to her room and drag her into the living room to show her but she will not get closer than 10 feet and she starts scratching like she has fleas and all she can say is “oooooh. . . nooooo!” over and over and over again. Now it is time for a house vote: I say I don’t care, but don’t kill it, Mo says leave it and Ai just shakes her head, scratches her arm and says “oooooh. . . nooooo!” She does not have a mosquito net anymore, and so says she will not sleep knowing that it could crawl across her at night and goes outside to find a young boy to get rid of it---but Mo and I tell her he is just going to kill it. So she runs to her room and comes back with a box that we (by “we” I mean Mo, of course) manage to get the spider into and throw outside. The hand next to the spider—yep, it’s mine (I’m brave).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzhfwr7rk27or6lqLxkpl_YV26cfJ5vkbt7DXv0qoRER3DasmX5194rj7Y3TOQNtD1VRiIwPkDdrWVYfs4vQ5Gjv30_TXKIjpaZtBpIz3FHPNqWa2dI0Nalvu4MtQIuJg2ZjfAhWn2QiQ/s1600-h/2nd.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzhfwr7rk27or6lqLxkpl_YV26cfJ5vkbt7DXv0qoRER3DasmX5194rj7Y3TOQNtD1VRiIwPkDdrWVYfs4vQ5Gjv30_TXKIjpaZtBpIz3FHPNqWa2dI0Nalvu4MtQIuJg2ZjfAhWn2QiQ/s320/2nd.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307501517874355282" /></a>Finally the baby animals.<br />There was a baby goat on our porch the other day that seemed to be a loner without a mama (the mothers usually stay very close to the newborns and if you pick one up, they just kind of stare at you and will follow you until you put their baby back down, it’s how Ghanaians catch some of the adults for slaughter—using the babies as bait.). So, Mo picked up the baby to snuggle and no mama came to his rescue. Now we are convinced that it has no mama (or mama was last night’s dinner?) because every goat it tries to follow butts it away. It was so painful because little goat cries sound like small children crying and this goat would just walk around our house crying all day long. . .almost made us cry. At this point we decide we cannot let him starve (although feeding him is just fattening him up for someone else’s belly. . .it was a real moral dilemma). We tried to feed it (I guess baby goats don’t like cabbage) and follow it around. Finally, 3 days later, we see it feeding at some mama, so we are no longer worried. I know we have mentioned Mo’s obsession with handling other people’s livestock, well, he now has dragged me into that club. Those two lovely baby goats in our arms are two new twins born only a few days ago (I think they like us).<br /><br />The tree is a picture of a perfect looking mango tree---it’s almost mango time and I cannot wait! A few more weeks and my mango addiction will start again!<br /><br />Today (Feb 26th) was our last day in the last zone, and so unofficially we are done, but we are not ready to call it yet. We have a bunch of gaps that I want to try and fill in and then we have to sample the capped wells in some areas to compare values. Friday and Saturday I am spending in Feo with Ai doing another borehole usage count.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoSr8pAIc2pzd2Aoqut5d1atTKqpthyU995mqne66bNK3eUGKgKFD0t2liQUB16PFvgJhrI8VS85eoERGehb_-H5KmdyIhhlz6pZYN9hYHRH3M8g-z18BOk63P3GGKTgeqzWwxtYzEOyU/s1600-h/1st.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoSr8pAIc2pzd2Aoqut5d1atTKqpthyU995mqne66bNK3eUGKgKFD0t2liQUB16PFvgJhrI8VS85eoERGehb_-H5KmdyIhhlz6pZYN9hYHRH3M8g-z18BOk63P3GGKTgeqzWwxtYzEOyU/s320/1st.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307501518274579650" /></a>M: One thing I’d like to mention to those of you who regularly pedal a bike is that, unfortunately, half-wheeling faster-than-thou masochists exist in Ghana as well. The first time it happened, or at least the first day we noticed it, was not long after the day I was mistaken for a woman twenty times or so. On our way back from Bolga, Katie and I, riding at what we would consider a leisurely pace, came up to a man who was dressed like a waiter for one of the local restaurants. He was either on his way to or from work when we greeted and passed him. Not five seconds after he returned the greeting he was passing us back up. While I was content with chalking that up to his being late for something, when he got a 10-second gap on us, he began slowing again. We passed him, again. He sped up and passed us, again. I think you know how this plays out for, oh, a mile. Pissed, Katie and I looked to each other, authorizing the ensuing onslaught of well-developed muscle groups intent on one thing: putting this chauvinist (male, Ghanaian, or otherwise) in his place.<br />While at the time I deeply regretted having to rip his legs off, I have come to peace with our ego-driven exploit since each and every time we’re on our bike we come across some bozo pedaling a dinky little singlespeed step-though shitpile of a bike picked from the bottom of the last container from China who has something to prove. Frankly, it’s annoying, especially since they only do it because we’re foreign women passing him (and here I use the gendered pronoun because women never participate in this type of behavior). <a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/3/3e/1978_virginia_slims_ad.jpg">We’ve come a long way, baby</a> (but please don’t start smoking).Mohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16222544357707092780noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939794022215270408.post-54560244007829032642009-02-19T08:35:00.000-08:002009-02-19T08:52:44.762-08:00<div>Gotta goat.</div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDZFE6KUhq_869OgEpig-uSPsUIGj0qjWFD9R0hK2yUfcuabEwj4JiI8wniRbkkhuwF7FKLefGIKyyin9pI4gI50OiQd1jDp08pakLDlFlNl_YxobbOCs-HyXUZ7HK69wDbVLt0pWJPrE/s1600-h/mo+goat+sm.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDZFE6KUhq_869OgEpig-uSPsUIGj0qjWFD9R0hK2yUfcuabEwj4JiI8wniRbkkhuwF7FKLefGIKyyin9pI4gI50OiQd1jDp08pakLDlFlNl_YxobbOCs-HyXUZ7HK69wDbVLt0pWJPrE/s320/mo+goat+sm.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304551495274209170" /></a>Up next: calf. . .look at those heifers run.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7TLLTNSxjCbDoBCOWWLxS5tCbS2wJOS3aJTxS5gm6gpmQFmwjYt_RM3VgeBxgnDUb5POUa3Y44P9HBFi_Z5AD0tB32W02oVjZxb-8O6m-01FMRdti7PfeQcBgp8ScJ1w_gsn1O_6mFoQ/s1600-h/mo+calf+sm.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7TLLTNSxjCbDoBCOWWLxS5tCbS2wJOS3aJTxS5gm6gpmQFmwjYt_RM3VgeBxgnDUb5POUa3Y44P9HBFi_Z5AD0tB32W02oVjZxb-8O6m-01FMRdti7PfeQcBgp8ScJ1w_gsn1O_6mFoQ/s320/mo+calf+sm.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304551489862013458" /></a>More soon.Mohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16222544357707092780noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939794022215270408.post-9130937163974235652009-02-05T09:03:00.001-08:002009-02-05T09:18:25.233-08:00Another successful week!<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Ok, well I will talk about the photos (the videos will not post with the given internet service. . .will try in Bolga when we are there next. Sorry.).<br /><br />Toby from Cooper Union visited to check on arrangements for when the students come this summer. It was really nice to see him, but unfortunately he only spent one full day in Bongo, and much of that time he was caught up in meetings that I was not privileged to attend. BUT, we did go to the lab and wash some containers for him to bring some water back to KNUST in Kumasi. The normal band of children showed up at the borehole to watch, plus some extras since there were sooo many white people there (four of us) and there was water being splashed around. It was really funny to watch these kids. . .they really make me laugh.<br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibEcR6JSMN7g1yaGe7ZaMEh0VXKuujzhskvolo_paYecCvyXYiRT6NKa2vlx1GIUx7XULK5jnpvflUCVNIf5kyqmsVTXrfWRoaP4wVWPidpNZW11YDCvI49SGfiAgbXIHboFgfWR36M5g/s1600-h/Slide1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibEcR6JSMN7g1yaGe7ZaMEh0VXKuujzhskvolo_paYecCvyXYiRT6NKa2vlx1GIUx7XULK5jnpvflUCVNIf5kyqmsVTXrfWRoaP4wVWPidpNZW11YDCvI49SGfiAgbXIHboFgfWR36M5g/s320/Slide1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299362708997489682" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The next set of photos is of Mo holding a baby lamb.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKUi52v9q6eC2CX7GjpLmuzPQumJJparUMJ-MR7s9ZJm9F7dAHUdGyTrErTTcvZ-fx_6eFHyOH7uHh0YcA4Pm085iW7nXxEwD-95Cjn2gwYE8ERAHGdw1_wzIimcdwlOEvh3V91orRarA/s1600-h/Slide2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKUi52v9q6eC2CX7GjpLmuzPQumJJparUMJ-MR7s9ZJm9F7dAHUdGyTrErTTcvZ-fx_6eFHyOH7uHh0YcA4Pm085iW7nXxEwD-95Cjn2gwYE8ERAHGdw1_wzIimcdwlOEvh3V91orRarA/s320/Slide2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299362708606927490" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The photo below is of two children in the Beo area who were playing their drums for us while we worked. The drums are really pretty cool: modeled after the local style but constructed from “trash” items. I really love them, I wish I had enough luggage space to have them make me one to bring home! (The other photo I included because I was not in any of the pictures this time around). The video that follows is of them playing the drums, typical rhythms that are heard not only when biking around, but also in the local music that is played on the radio.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv1OPrHQ63R5q8fHHKctZTVPnFTrNoXWLzWTfjgKM1z4fK34GbufGrqusZr8UGNNkVN79mr1gZsTcZg_BgqcpSka0W_ivMo40twcQHTMasXZHPxR12CdulHwVgqys_GaYQVo4f9_uW7Hw/s1600-h/Slide3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv1OPrHQ63R5q8fHHKctZTVPnFTrNoXWLzWTfjgKM1z4fK34GbufGrqusZr8UGNNkVN79mr1gZsTcZg_BgqcpSka0W_ivMo40twcQHTMasXZHPxR12CdulHwVgqys_GaYQVo4f9_uW7Hw/s320/Slide3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299362702946236706" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">As for everything else, just working really hard is all. Below I have included a map of Bongo areas (also referred to as “governances”), so that you all can appreciate how hard we are working. We have completed Soe (pronounced: Soo-oy), Namoo (pronounced: Nah-mo-oy), Bongo (pronounced: Bohn-goh. . .the Os are long), and Beo (pronounced: Bee-yoh). On Monday we will sample all of Balungu (pronounced: Bah-loong-goo) leaving only two governances to go. Yea.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc3Kqtyopa1Gj8J2pCLhL_lEsblayvoxtbvsQlGjqDxJl2s0YQze1g25pv02QmFoqvaIX2nin1S9V1nAXOIj2hSy2KSd9Z-2CuJGnk4xqe3Bz0S6QMeVKjFqqcfv5XBmKbv52iqDGQfkg/s1600-h/Bongo+councils.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 226px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc3Kqtyopa1Gj8J2pCLhL_lEsblayvoxtbvsQlGjqDxJl2s0YQze1g25pv02QmFoqvaIX2nin1S9V1nAXOIj2hSy2KSd9Z-2CuJGnk4xqe3Bz0S6QMeVKjFqqcfv5XBmKbv52iqDGQfkg/s320/Bongo+councils.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299362704279074402" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><br /></div>Mohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16222544357707092780noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939794022215270408.post-71211627168422454302009-01-31T07:38:00.000-08:002009-01-31T07:45:01.226-08:00A few good days in Bongo.<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ2dqNrbmb0XaS_4w1E0Uqfdqh1xGj2HER7MFnsNy7_aqdsgyos8dkL7BSXVqJYoC-1CihXcDrd3l1H8h1noQH2opswVOI82eU2KI_b317IQKIfPFJmPET5WVsabD_DiEQmh7sk-7Olig/s1600-h/Slide1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ2dqNrbmb0XaS_4w1E0Uqfdqh1xGj2HER7MFnsNy7_aqdsgyos8dkL7BSXVqJYoC-1CihXcDrd3l1H8h1noQH2opswVOI82eU2KI_b317IQKIfPFJmPET5WVsabD_DiEQmh7sk-7Olig/s320/Slide1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297483460792573842" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">K: Wednesday we rode to Beo for the first time (only knowing the really long way) off of directions given to us by Richard (“there will be a sign where you turn that says Adoboya”. . .there was no sign) to meet our contact and hopefully put in a day of work. You see, Richard was supposed to have word sent to him on Tuesday, but of course on Wednesday, Ayindoo was surprised to meet us AND could not work that day since he was on his way to a meeting in Bongo at the District Assembly (hopefully, not to meet us). So, following Ayindoo back along the shortcut to Bongo we considered the day a success since we not only met Ayindoo and got the cell phone number Richard did not know he had, but we also learned of some cool single track to ride to Beo that cuts the commute in half. <br /><br />Then on Friday, we had one of the best days yet. The worst part was waking up with a food hangover at 6am. But riding the trail back to Beo was so peaceful. It feels cut off from the rest of Bongo District (which one could say is pretty cut off from the rest of Ghana, so you get the picture). It seems the more you remove yourself from town centers, the quality of people increases. Ayindoo was not only very nice and friendly, but possibly one of the smarter people in Bongo. He knew more and was able to tell us more about boreholes than most people who are employed to do so. Riding back home all I could think about is that I feel really lucky to be here . . . I guess that is when you know it was a good day!<br /><br />M: Last thursday was my birthday and, given that I probably worked on my birthday 8 out of the last 10 years (work being a less traditional definition in some years, more conventional in others) I took it off. We celebrated by eating junk food. Not only is that type of stuff rare in these parts, buts when you can find it you’re paying 2-4 times as much as you would back home. How did we justify such an extravagant use of money and empty caloric intake? Well, considering the lack of variety in the our local diet and the fact that sweets over here have no high fructose corn syrup, a day of ice cream, cookies, coffee, and cheese couldn’t be all that bad. I estimate that we had about 8500 calories that day (and by estimate I mean I’m pulling a number out of my ass. . . big enough to address the enormity of our resultant food babies, but small enough to lie this side of hyperbole. . . maybe), but it was one of the more delicious days I can remember. We’ve included some pictures of the festivities.<br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbgRnPZG66Xfg2t1_D9zQg81Xqk9OzvgARe4TJEMT45_VHFawvg0f7G8oIg4fBUXjdJfXpjqz_G4q8LuhWrrSdRZvZKB6VLw1QYLPfC7KeaL0VisGHpObHlRTAgFnOCJE59tVtClMBvwE/s1600-h/Slide2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbgRnPZG66Xfg2t1_D9zQg81Xqk9OzvgARe4TJEMT45_VHFawvg0f7G8oIg4fBUXjdJfXpjqz_G4q8LuhWrrSdRZvZKB6VLw1QYLPfC7KeaL0VisGHpObHlRTAgFnOCJE59tVtClMBvwE/s320/Slide2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297483457687794146" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEHsMREyiZEZnwbGlHWDZQV6T7q6rnCgNH05sw2eBX5zT7WoNxMyQwOoFzqfShmZO4G-0FjoCKHQC5R1gJMrqqEGp_sMbKO6AyHMzcHF2awHvt-0R6DyAi0e7QlG1VT2i-hlEwoIvMTwg/s1600-h/Slide3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEHsMREyiZEZnwbGlHWDZQV6T7q6rnCgNH05sw2eBX5zT7WoNxMyQwOoFzqfShmZO4G-0FjoCKHQC5R1gJMrqqEGp_sMbKO6AyHMzcHF2awHvt-0R6DyAi0e7QlG1VT2i-hlEwoIvMTwg/s320/Slide3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297483459534562338" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxfEtVK5FK1leP4GoftJnYPYWsRo0x9Mo45E0V_mZkAAazhqN4RNlKJIJ2oxHcRXqUxleu7nJWPQcaHOXMP2_wPIpXt59eL8zxgJF7lSys03EP1KFLP_Kcy_vhxO8ZbA6C2fZwx6AMK10/s1600-h/Slide4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxfEtVK5FK1leP4GoftJnYPYWsRo0x9Mo45E0V_mZkAAazhqN4RNlKJIJ2oxHcRXqUxleu7nJWPQcaHOXMP2_wPIpXt59eL8zxgJF7lSys03EP1KFLP_Kcy_vhxO8ZbA6C2fZwx6AMK10/s320/Slide4.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297483456539564354" /></a><br /></div></div>Mohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16222544357707092780noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939794022215270408.post-48913123331094168712009-01-23T05:05:00.000-08:002009-01-23T05:11:47.326-08:00A twofer<span style="font-weight:bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Mo: I’d be one UGLY woman</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style:italic;"></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /><br />Androgyny used to be a sore subject for me when I was younger. Until about the age of 13 or 14, if anyone outside my family called the house and I answered they would immediately assume one of a few things, all of which pinned me as a female. It irked me, but it never really bothered me until I found out that it was supposed to bother me, at which point I stopped answering the phone until my testicle dropped into their right and proper place: the end of my coccyx. Until I turned 25 or so, no one really made that mistake. I kept my hair short and made sure to make well-timed references to football, steak, beer, and killing bunnies, erm, rabbits; often enough to keep the Fraternity at ease, but not so much as to arouse suspicions of overcompensation. Then, I grew my hair out and pierced me ears. Let’s be honest here, there are people out there who think I’m as pretty as a filipino cabin boy can get, but with my hair long, and if the sun hits my derriere just right, and with my legs freshly shorn (which are killer by the way), well, then you have yourself one fine woman. I’m not ashamed. I’ve grown to embrace it and not be scared off by it. I’ve come to realize that it’s just what happens when you’re born with the natural beauty the powers that be have bestowed upon me (plus I’m modest as hell!). Sorry ladies, but I’m taken.<br /><br />Anyway, if it can be called a “problem,” I’m having it again here in Ghana. While I’d like to think that while sampling the people are looking at Katie and I with an earnest interest in our work, when half of the people you meet in a day ask our guide whether or not I’m a woman, I get a little disheartened that they’re more keen in sizing me up and categorizing me as this or that than why and for what reason these people are here testing our drinking water. The classic scene of the day, however, was when I was returning to our house to be greeted by a handful of children as such: “White lady! You are welcome!!” Just so you know how I looked on that day, here’s a picture (</span><a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v67/Bikini_Babe06/to-wong-foo-thanks-for-everthing-40.jpg"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I'm in the middle</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">) of myself not five minutes after this happened. You be the judge. <br /><br />At the end of the day, I can’t be mad, because what’s a Chinese/Korean/Caucasioid martial arts expert she-male gonna do when you don’t speak the local language?<br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight:bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Katie: Yes, yes, yes . . .</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style:italic;"></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /><br />I guess it is now my turn. The “season” has changed again from dry and cool to blustering and cooler at night and in the morning. The wind has been blowing so much that the sky actually looks grey and foggy because of all the dust that is being carried around. All this wind coupled with roads made of sand has made the past few days of sampling very tiring. Let me outline a typical day of sampling with a new contact. So, the day before we plan to go someplace new I ask Richard at the District Assembly to get me a contact for the region. The inquiry is always met with “yes yes yes” and “okay okay okay”, and a promise to call me later with the details (which never happens). So, Mo and I rise early because we usually try to get to the community by 7:30 am so as to get an early start and, more often than not, there is no one waiting for us when we arrive at the community. Having the cell number of the person usually does not help much since either they do not speak english or the network is in varying states of suck. So now I have to go around to shops (read: wooden stands with tin roofs and people standing around staring at the two pretty white women) asking if anyone knows where I can find “Roger” or “Tony” or “Asangare”, because I am only given one name and I have to hope that this community does not house more than one “Tony.” My favorite was asking for “Asangare” because no matter how I pronounced it, all I got was furrowed brows and “Who?...Oh AsANgare!”.....um, that is what I said. After much confusion and many people asking me “Where are you going?” only to have my response of “I am looking for Tony HERE” to be met with laughter and disregard. Hmmmm. After about 10 minutes of asking around I usually find someone who, miraculously, speaks english, knows who I am looking for, and is willing to send someone to go get him. Now we wait . . .and wait . . . and wait. Then comes the next round of awkwardness when the contact arrives.<br /><br />“Hi, I’m Kate . . .” (btw, I’m “Kate” here since it is a very common name and the extra letter and syllable in “Katie” always causes a lot of confusion. Plus, there is enough confusion when Mo introduces himself since “Mo” is pronounced the same way as “More” here, and they always want to know why he needs more) “. . . and this is my husband Mo . . . did Richard tell you about us?” This one is always the fun question. Usually they will know OF us, but not what we want or why we are here or what we need of them or . . . well, you get the point. So now we have to explain what work we hope to accomplish today and hope the person has a working bicycle.<br /><br />I know I sound cynical, and to a certain degree, I am. The people who promised their help have done very little of it, and the little they do is half-hearted and always accompanied with a sense of imposition. BUT, so far, we have been lucky and it has worked, but it is always met with a morning of awkwardness, especially when the contact does not have a cell phone, does not expect us, does not speak english, and we are given a name with a rough approximation of where this contact lives (directions are not a Ghanaian strong suit). Above was a direct transcriotion of what happened in Bongo Soe (pronounced “soy”), and we spent 2 hours just trying to find the person, who then helped us find someone who spoke English, who then had us following him to go find another person who could help us find the assemblywoman who knew another guy who knew someone else who could help us find the boreholes. Every day is more than one adventure!<br /><br />So, cynics? Not really, since we are finally getting real work done. It’s a small price to pay to feel like I’m accomplishing something, plus I get to see what true untrammeled Earth looks like. As it stands, we are about 2/5 of the way done (if 300 is an accurate approximation of the number of boreholes) with 120 samples taken and 10 broken or capped boreholes identified for later sampling (if we can open them). Yea! The levels are MUCH higher than I was told and there are many more boreholes open considering the levels are higher than they should be. I am trying to get a hold of the paperwork that is associated with each borehole drilled to see what the “original” levels were, but each time I ask for them, well, re-read the above passages for an idea.<br /></span>Mohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16222544357707092780noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939794022215270408.post-67400553486980986502009-01-09T02:46:00.000-08:002009-01-09T02:55:30.144-08:00“Even the little person can see the sky”. . . Feo Chief<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We have been very busy this week (yea!!!!). It has been really great. On Monday afternoon we rode out to Feo (a community in the Bongo district) and stayed with the Feo Chief and his family for two nights. The Chief indulges heavily in two things: talking and pito (locally brewed beer from millet), and therefore as his guests so did we. On Tuesday we spent 8 hours out on the bikes sampling boreholes (the hand pump wells) and hit 21 wells. It was a long day, especially since our accommodations at the chiefs house was a very nice room with a very hard concrete platform upon which to sleep. Our bones were hurtin’! On Wednesday we rode back to our house in Bongo (to sleep on a soft bed) and to patch some tubes---we are having some rim tape issues (fuck velox cloth rim tape, for reals. . . but more on that later. . . like in another post). <br /><br />Wednesday night there was this fire festival in Bongo that was described to us like this:<br />“So tonight, around 7pm people will go out with sticks of fire and will chase you with the fire as part of our fire festival, are you coming?” Hmmm . . . maybe next time. We turned out the lights to the house and watched through the window as people of all ages and in various stages of inebriation ran by with fists full of fire. Then there were the cannon shots. Then came the gunshots. Needless to say we conducted our nightly rituals without the aid of light. Scared? Naw. More like frightened more than a line of cattle in a slaughterhouse.<br /><br />Thursday we rode back to Feo and repeated the day of sampling again, except we only had 8 wells left (phew) and were finished by midday. On Saturday we do it all again in Bongo-Soe (the community next to Feo) and we should be able to do a lot more in the same amount of time since Mo and I hare have finally got a rhythm going. <br /><br />The Chief told us a story before we left, and we’d like to relay to you as it may be interesting for our audience to hear: “One day, there was this mathematician professor on his way home from the university. As he was driving, his front wheel flew off, and in the chaos the bolts were lost. As he sat there on the side of the road, an insane man came by and told him that he could help, an offer the mathematician refused. But the crazy man persisted until the professor finally said ‘What is it that you, a crazy man, can do to help me, a learned mathematics professor at the university?’ The crazy man replied, ‘You have twelve nuts left on the remaining wheels. If you take one from each wheel, you should be able to get to town and purchase the missing bolts.” That’s how he ended the story. I know, I don’t get it either. Maybe we should listen to crazy people, is that the moral? Or only when it comes to automobile mechanics should the criminally insane be given credence? Maybe this story only applies in Africa, but my western mind has been flummoxed. (He speaks in stories and sayings . . . it can be amusing if you are not trying to go somewhere...but if you are, sit tight because the road may not be open to you---since he is chief you must ask permission to leave his presence by inquiring “Is the road open”). But seriously, he is a really great person with a nice family . . . he is just a character is all!<br /><br />Check out the pics . . . they’re pretty cool . . . and so are we.<br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4sCfF_c2OJJY2wrg4WFC5fNi88So_0OwuKUtXnLYzHT6SA8NGMTJIq8UGEhj0lxCVCSWNYeO1j5BDprS0VewvuSQi1QPuEoFLnBaVvv_7Ox4h0PND4UFdEuq6pekCUr2C1VuryaCDpxY/s1600-h/Slide1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4sCfF_c2OJJY2wrg4WFC5fNi88So_0OwuKUtXnLYzHT6SA8NGMTJIq8UGEhj0lxCVCSWNYeO1j5BDprS0VewvuSQi1QPuEoFLnBaVvv_7Ox4h0PND4UFdEuq6pekCUr2C1VuryaCDpxY/s320/Slide1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289244863027528594" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKYN3kQmxStD8GlSzYViFsjoYBPWaqbcngPgh9HyTvSS3epPXVlhQj8rMTfLqP82BM_JSgPxOPUXBk_tFXAZzHfgKc4AbaTiDqLLzXrsBvln5ZVhyphenhyphen9JRMnsGROaBUpw9gxyHyxSTMkxNk/s1600-h/Slide2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKYN3kQmxStD8GlSzYViFsjoYBPWaqbcngPgh9HyTvSS3epPXVlhQj8rMTfLqP82BM_JSgPxOPUXBk_tFXAZzHfgKc4AbaTiDqLLzXrsBvln5ZVhyphenhyphen9JRMnsGROaBUpw9gxyHyxSTMkxNk/s320/Slide2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289244856026361074" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7NmooKAzJjpgAPeOJMpRW25m1ADIjHY06rOe1KyBbPNZRQFCGf8OqALruhtsSaHYVDeCnT11R-V0f2s843xzGWIVDX9KvvzKigGhd-_CchPnVgZVgUdCRUn3pqL5mkY9pwlf4kNNU8ho/s1600-h/Slide3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7NmooKAzJjpgAPeOJMpRW25m1ADIjHY06rOe1KyBbPNZRQFCGf8OqALruhtsSaHYVDeCnT11R-V0f2s843xzGWIVDX9KvvzKigGhd-_CchPnVgZVgUdCRUn3pqL5mkY9pwlf4kNNU8ho/s320/Slide3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289244857382802930" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj40VBD5RYxpw1nUD0JK5jEPsLFPXIYPjHutkC25_tu7G2ARNdDc8sWBY3koIFjnuOxSJiCP5xCNjdyEoeBVhyq5eTQIlK8Efnm_EvuobKO9s6vjZ5urio4tcKXxhKCs1ylm5lkHHzLoLg/s1600-h/Slide4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj40VBD5RYxpw1nUD0JK5jEPsLFPXIYPjHutkC25_tu7G2ARNdDc8sWBY3koIFjnuOxSJiCP5xCNjdyEoeBVhyq5eTQIlK8Efnm_EvuobKO9s6vjZ5urio4tcKXxhKCs1ylm5lkHHzLoLg/s320/Slide4.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289244852912270594" /></a>Mohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16222544357707092780noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939794022215270408.post-16384060343829896182009-01-02T06:53:00.000-08:002009-01-02T07:05:59.268-08:00Happy New Year!<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Happy New Year!<br /><br />New Year’s here was fun. On New Year’s Eve Mo and I went and had drinks with Uncle Francis (who owns one of our favorite bars in Bongo). The bars (and the town too) was pretty quiet for what is a typically a huge party night. Planning to only split a beer, we ended up having 2 each with Uncle Francis...in one hour to top it off. Then, we rode home and met Ai (our roommate) and she cooked us New Year’s dinner (I helped a little): Korean pancakes and Chinese noodles. Our special New Year’s Eve plan was to try to soak Vodka into a watermelon, but we failed: the melon was bad...and the vodka did not want to soak too much! Apparently (according to the internet) you are supposed to start a week in advance. I don’t know though...I have had vodka watermelon at some of my friend’s parties....and they are not the type to plan these things 1 week in advance!!! But, who knows. Instead, we drank some box sangria (which is available in Bongo no less)! None of us stayed awake until midnight (too drunk to stay awake) plus Ai and I made plans to partake in Japanese New Year tradition. We woke at 5am to walk 3km to the Bongo hills and climb them before sunrise. It is Japanese tradition to greet the first sunrise of the new year. We actually made it to the hills and to the top of one before the sun rose...I was very surprised. It was very nice and peaceful. We shared some oranges up there...it was nice. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNd1lJ5D8oQ9qPIlfaxuhnmK2qVHtBRWImq9yQ00L57rXyqfIYkCCLSW0JP0gwnTYkm-6WMQyk4pgBpSTrkboVH1eKvkRHxAkX-Nb39K_AiaRQnDB8i3w3vFlPvdvjEgyIDc1GaGkploM/s1600-h/Slide1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNd1lJ5D8oQ9qPIlfaxuhnmK2qVHtBRWImq9yQ00L57rXyqfIYkCCLSW0JP0gwnTYkm-6WMQyk4pgBpSTrkboVH1eKvkRHxAkX-Nb39K_AiaRQnDB8i3w3vFlPvdvjEgyIDc1GaGkploM/s320/Slide1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286711558976820978" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />Then, New Year’s day we wished everyone “Yahm Parlay” (Happy New Year) and made the rounds to say hello. Mo and I went to have drinks with a co-worker at the District Assembly (which turned into two cokes for me, but two beers for Mo). After that we had to go say hello to Uncle Francis and some other relatives that we really like and discovered that New Year’s Day is the real party night (oops)...and so we had more beers bought for us, and we bought a round for everyone...it was a lot of fun. BUT...by then the sun had set and we had to ride our bikes back without lights, and slightly intoxicated. Then, like typical college drunks, we made some Ramen noodles (here they are “Indomene” brand) and went to bed. There is a bar really close to our house, and we could hear sooooo many people at the bar last night. I was wondering why no one partied on New Year’s Eve...now I know...it is really the first night of the New Year that is the party day here!!!<br /><br />We have been missing everyone a lot lately. BUT, some good news is that we start sampling next week. Hopefully we will be too busy to think about how much we miss our friends and family!!!</span>Mohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16222544357707092780noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939794022215270408.post-16287542390705830592008-12-27T01:48:00.000-08:002008-12-27T02:06:59.500-08:00Catch up<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Burkina summary:<br />Sorry this is so dated, but....Burkina was awesome. Mo and I loved the SIAO Festival (West Africa craft fair basically) and Ouga in general. Burkina is full of baguettes, home made yogurt, ice cream, pizza, and all the culinary influences of France (which compared to the British influenced Ghana was a terrific treat). Best of all was the yogurt. You can buy it everywhere and it comes in little hand tied baggies. Everyone brews their own...and it was all so delicious! After Ouga we went north to the Sahel and saw mini sand dunes and the mini dessert (the Sahel that is) from Gorom Gorom. We took a 12km camel ride out to the desert at sunset, cooked-ate-and slept out there (which, PS, was very cold!) and then rode back in the morning. Now, I don’t know how many of you have ridden a camel outside of say the little mini rides at the Bronx Zoo, but...they are not the most comfortable animals to travel upon. For one thing, the saddle was not like a saddle at all, it was like a bar stool--wooden with no cushion. Now, picture just bouncing up and down on a bar stool for about 2 hours...not too nice, huh...now do that same thing again the following morning. Ouch!!! Thankfully Mo and I did not opt for the 4 day camel hike out to the city I really wanted to see, my poor little butt would not have handled it.<br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ADPMoVCiza_WRMTe4bsT9u0Uo-HPcQEnLTG8IkfBT_LLRZRlOwM8qJgFAAfaAIFvSE7cAdD-moJ-lY8Zpf54SDu30PTCigDqKZJqu-nnoI64h6dZpvsx6oDlXH658h6MmdMHJZeAdx0/s1600-h/Slide1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ADPMoVCiza_WRMTe4bsT9u0Uo-HPcQEnLTG8IkfBT_LLRZRlOwM8qJgFAAfaAIFvSE7cAdD-moJ-lY8Zpf54SDu30PTCigDqKZJqu-nnoI64h6dZpvsx6oDlXH658h6MmdMHJZeAdx0/s320/Slide1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284406052686768994" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Back to Ghana:<br />Ok...so that was Burkina...now for the Germans again. Since my work is not really going any where just yet (we are going to start sampling after the holiday season, in January), and I needed to go to Accra to meet someone who was bringing me pH Buffer because it is unavailable in the country (go figure), Mo and I decided to travel with the German boys and see some of Ghana. But first, we had a much needed “Junk food night” at Rie and Ai’s house....it was delicious.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiltqflC8GZXmWgpdKoQCpSq1sruG7zhbbpvPKNFHVFCL6yO_vtkJpIx5pG_lGwWSYpsHU4S2gTo6nOzhu_R5hK4WZbOval62NB87MGQCedbm1QW1f3pi1xQiQtUg6K0_KksrNlsHYHW4c/s1600-h/Slide2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiltqflC8GZXmWgpdKoQCpSq1sruG7zhbbpvPKNFHVFCL6yO_vtkJpIx5pG_lGwWSYpsHU4S2gTo6nOzhu_R5hK4WZbOval62NB87MGQCedbm1QW1f3pi1xQiQtUg6K0_KksrNlsHYHW4c/s320/Slide2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284405814567158946" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We left the day after Thanksgiving and went to Mole National Park to see wildlife. We saw warthogs, baboons, monkeys, antelope, and two elephants (but from a distance because most are off mating). And the Mole Hotel has a pool and so we went swimming, and just lounged poolside, overlooking the watering hole and the wildlife. The baboons are a trip though. The staff just refers to them as “thieves” and during our short stay we could see why. First, one just walked right up to these people who were eating bread for breakfast and just stole it right out of their hands (plus baboons are very vicious, so I am guessing that is why they did not put up a fight). Later, one couple told us, the baboons came back and started after these other people’s bags that were left on the table. They started to leave with the person’s wallet when this guy said he got up to chase them away, well, the baboon growled or something because he said him and his whole group of friends just jumped into the pool to escape it’s fury. Scary. <br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinauR0M3PUB3hIqEPoRgtaGnPrb0odZDFpNtQrKKnYaIQmzHhw7RoW2mw1ONCrs73VSp7WAs68SFVe3c-CCwAWwdWKRmEqCR7UML6boEbwcyHX-mltZGm1Mem1sSVcP9ucgeDDeu8nKWE/s1600-h/Slide3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinauR0M3PUB3hIqEPoRgtaGnPrb0odZDFpNtQrKKnYaIQmzHhw7RoW2mw1ONCrs73VSp7WAs68SFVe3c-CCwAWwdWKRmEqCR7UML6boEbwcyHX-mltZGm1Mem1sSVcP9ucgeDDeu8nKWE/s320/Slide3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284405812715013026" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Then, after Mole, we went to Tamale for two nights, Kumasi for a few days and then to the coast. In Kumasi we went to another Kotoko futbol game, which was fun except that we got poured on! It was actually kinda refreshing since we had not seen rain for 2 months, but a bit chilly afterwards (also a welcomed feeling). We also went to a forest reserve outside of Kumasi, Bobiri, except the first time Mo, Robert and I attempted it we were not happy. We walked the 3-4 km to get to the park only to hear loud booming music when we were 1 km away and only to discover a huge party in full swing at 11am on a Friday morning, I was not happy. So, Robert, Andreas, and I tried it again over the weekend and it was very nice. We took the guided hike (were forced to) and learned that mahogany is a natural Viagra (and tastes very bitter). <br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCez6o2UxExw9RMJJOgLa7HC6O8hH3prpDQmS07q7ck8RrrwqORPeGqLrddjAdOvX80Unn9MJy_cMtT6LTLIKgaNxWEw1Tl40CKLC4-eYcvAg6eCCMXkPfcwH0k_RjGFgWnOhblxctn-I/s1600-h/Slide4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCez6o2UxExw9RMJJOgLa7HC6O8hH3prpDQmS07q7ck8RrrwqORPeGqLrddjAdOvX80Unn9MJy_cMtT6LTLIKgaNxWEw1Tl40CKLC4-eYcvAg6eCCMXkPfcwH0k_RjGFgWnOhblxctn-I/s320/Slide4.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284405809073392882" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">At the coast, we went East to Ada which is where the Volta River empties into the Atlantic. It was so beautiful. To get there you have to take like 3 tro-tros from Accra and then a canoe, but it was worth it. We were maybe 40 feet from the ocean staying right on the river in these little huts (no electricity, no water, no floor—just sand). It was a private paradise because the four of us were the only ones staying there. The ocean was extremely rough, though, and extremely saltly, but we still swam in it all day long. After two nights there we stopped off in Accra again before heading to the West. <br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ32Bjl17zvpgtYGC5QHBXtIJucOX7AEekAl9w6_G-ULIaBPeYWSzeYqAgkbUT9LdE31t692DZSo0vufNT7J7KgiWl_Msc9B9nlwvf-MBArfJngZ2ltYVtOhjArmLiNwENb8N2ZS9xEBs/s1600-h/Slide5.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ32Bjl17zvpgtYGC5QHBXtIJucOX7AEekAl9w6_G-ULIaBPeYWSzeYqAgkbUT9LdE31t692DZSo0vufNT7J7KgiWl_Msc9B9nlwvf-MBArfJngZ2ltYVtOhjArmLiNwENb8N2ZS9xEBs/s320/Slide5.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284405809661190402" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">First we went to Cape Coast and visited the main slave trading castle there. We did not partake in any of the beach activities in Cape Coast since the whole place smelled like doodoo. Seriously. While standing at the castle we watched no fewer than 4 people drop some turds on the rocks right by the surf...and that was on uncomfortable rock....just imagine what the beach looked like! The next day in Cape Coast, Mo, Robert and I (not Andreas...he’s afraid of heights) went to the nearby Kakum rainforest where there is a canopy walk. We loved it so much. I think most of our love had to do with the fact that we were not only the first ones there, but also the only ones there for at least an hour. So we got to just relax, 150ft up in the air over the trees listening to birds and watching the butterflies. It was so beautiful. Incidentally, I have discovered that I am slightly afraid of heights myself. The canopy walk would sway and bounce causing me to white knuckle the ropes as I crossed, but I would still do it again, so I was not that scared I guess. After the canopy we took another guided hike and learned some more about local flora and about 3 other trees whose bark can be used as a natural Viagra (they seemed obsessed with this point). </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEUmU0gY-t26ybCMq7uQu1ahhmhOHM0d-HU9Ymi1N4xtizctqQ_KbzeqD0FI79bpyPLcUUzFQXFhYNPWkdSMjtfpCbRkVU1l9c62jjLc04e2DFJNIVl7hA3SWtKFnDIA56athwGAybQLo/s1600-h/Slide6.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEUmU0gY-t26ybCMq7uQu1ahhmhOHM0d-HU9Ymi1N4xtizctqQ_KbzeqD0FI79bpyPLcUUzFQXFhYNPWkdSMjtfpCbRkVU1l9c62jjLc04e2DFJNIVl7hA3SWtKFnDIA56athwGAybQLo/s320/Slide6.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284405801530784498" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Then, to Busua, a beach about 100km west of Cape Coast. Now Busua looks like paradise. The ocean is relatively calm because of an island that stands at the mouth to cove that is the beach. The people were friendly and most importantly, there was an amazing restaurant there that served vegetarian food. The restaurant was attached to the Black Star Surf Shop owned by an American, so they had a heavy hand in the tastes of the food---which was a good thing. There was this huge burrito with a homemade tortilla, brownies with ice cream, curried lentils...so delicious!!! Plus, Andreas and Robert got to eat fresh caught lobster (which was their goal).<br /><br />And now, back to Bongo:<br />We were very sad to see the Germans leave and we returned to Bongo only to see Rie leave as well (she has been transferred out of Bongo). Since returning we have moved in with Ai and are now living in a house with some more comforts and privacy (some much needed privacy). We miss having all the children around, but enjoy not having to worry about cultural taboos while trying to relax at home (the home stay was slightly stressful). Christmas here is a weird thing, for one thing it is hot and for another nothing looks or feels like Christmas. I cooked some curried lentils (purchased in Accra for the price of gold) and we had some beers with Ai, merry Christmas? The 26th was Boxing Day. “What is boxing day?” you ask, well, not really sure yet. Here, apparently, it is a day of picnics. For us, it was a day to watch the entire season two of “The Wire.”<br /><br /></span><br /></div>Mohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16222544357707092780noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939794022215270408.post-60337689260360085832008-11-21T04:48:00.001-08:002008-11-21T05:29:50.230-08:00BURKINA TEASER!We haven't had the time or energy to post at length about the second part of our trip in Burkina, but we're working on it (perhaps we should take a position in city management with the type of response we give you folks). So, to sate your imagination's appetite, here's a teaser<br /><br />(Pictures to come.....internet sucks today!)Mohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16222544357707092780noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939794022215270408.post-37300827826417685182008-11-21T04:47:00.001-08:002008-11-21T04:47:10.788-08:00A vignetteThis happened to me. . . <br /><br />Being <em>surmesi</em>, Katie and I tend to garner a lot of attraction in Bongo. No matter what time of day, or how many other times we may have seen the same people, they always want to stop us and ask us how we've been. The more time we spend here, the less and less interested certain people seem to be in us, but for the most part, we are always new and fascinating and exotic. And then market day happens.<br /><br />For the uninitiated, there aren't supermarkets here like there are in the States, and the things people call "supermarkets" are nothing more than wooden shacks that can be locked up at night so that you can leave your wares behind instead of lugging them to and from your house on a daily basis. Being that they are more secure, they also tend to have a larger variety and bigger quantities of various consumables, which also bring a larger margin (a can of coca cola is nearly one dollar). These supermarkets aren't frequented as much as the open-air market, where people get their produce and other everyday items, and neither are as popular as the open-air market is on Market Day.<br /><br />In Bongo, Bolgatanga, and the surrounding area vendors come to hawk their wares every three days. I've been told that they travel as bands to different regions across the northern parts of Ghana and into Burkina to exploit the fact that not every region observes Market Day on the same day, but I don't know enough Fra-fra to ask for verification, nor do they know enough english to answer me (though you'll come to find that they feel their english is better than mine). Along with the assorted produce, Chinese-made goods and animals, these caravans of traveling vendors also seem to bring in a fair amount of crazy. If it isn't sold, then it is given away for free, because it always seems to be more concentrated every three days.<br /><br />My first encounter with "Market-Day Crazy" was probably two months or so ago. As I entered the area, I happened across a group of men between the ages of 20 and 25. I was sighted, signified by a wave of chatter among the 10 of them. The one in the lead greeted me in the typical way: "Good evening! How are you?" but before I could respond he asked if I would like to join in him a game of <em>chinese</em>. Before I could answer, which was delayed since I was waiting for the word "checkers" to come out of his mouth, he began to mimic, in his stance and vocalization, the most generalized martial arts film imaginable. I declined, and heard only their laughter as I walked away.<br /><br />Last Sunday was the most recent Market Day (as of writing this), and on my way to buy eggs and bread I was stopped by two men whom I had never seen. One was about five feet tall, bearded, and built like he would have made a fine tree trunk. The other man spoke like he had a permanent case of laryngitis coupled with the apparent need to force the air through his voice box before any sound would be formed. He would have been as tall as me if he had both his legs and didn't have to rely on his crutches. They both had the worn faces of men who worked long and hard in the field, and when they made me shake their hands it was easy to verify my assumption.<br /><br />"Hello! Welcome to Bongo! How are you liking our village?" the man with the crutches says as he extends his hand toward me. I take it. We shake. He moves closer to me, entering the zone in which I start feeling uncomfortable. I'm not sure whether to attribute this to the fact that he seems uncomfortable on his crutches, or that he wants me to smell what he has had for breakfast (beer). Unfortunately, there is nowhere to back into. <br /><br />While the road that leads to the market from Faustina's house is wide enough to accommodate motorcycles and pedestrians at the same time, the entrance to the marketplace bottlenecks sharply, the two offending houses create a narrow alley. It's evident enough from looking at it, but this doesn't stop the motorcycles from zooming into and out of it, the elderly from walking in the middle of it with arms outstretched, or the unbelievably drunk from approaching the innocent and hapless <em>surmesi</em>.<br /><br />Before I could answer, the shorter man, whom I will affectionately call "Tree Trunk," decided to also give his welcome. "Hello! Welcome to Bongo! How are you liking our village?" to which a third man responds "Hello! Welcome to Bongo! How are you liking our village?". It would be understandable if they had said it in unison, or if they were filming for <em>Candid Camera: Bongo</em>, but they were only drunk. <br /><br />The conversation went on and on like this, the only departure from their cyclical and mirrored questions being when Tree Trunk told me, after trying to get a response in, said<blockquote><em>I am sorry. I do not understand what you are saying. There is nothing wrong with Korean. It is a fine language, but if you could please speak Enlglish, or maybe speak your Korean a little slower, it would be fine. Very fine. You look like a strong man, so please, try to understand our language, or our English, but Korean is also fine, but not for us.</em></blockquote>I'm sure he would have continued along this path had it not been for the man on crutches and his interjection to explain that I was indeed speaking english. At this they began to argue, and the focus, for the time being, was off of me and onto themselves. I slipped away unscathed.Mohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16222544357707092780noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939794022215270408.post-74423679485071845142008-11-21T04:45:00.001-08:002008-11-21T05:29:11.455-08:00Ze GermansAs of Halloween (I know we're late, but we're pretty busy despite the impression we try to give) we have new flat mates at <em>Hotel Faustina</em>. Have a look!<br /><br /><insert picture="" here="">(Picture to come soon....internet sucks today!)<br /><br />From left to right they are Robert and Andreas. I'm not sure how common a name "Andreas" is in Germany, but he is the third one Katie and I have heard about from Faustina alone. The both are here as volunteers from one of the local primary schools, the former for Social Studies and the latter for English Literature (though I'm not sure how much literature is taught in primary school). They have related to us that teaching in Ghana isn't quite as straightforward as one would think. The lack of books, teaching materials, and teachers make schooling quite a chore, even more so than they expected. But they seem to be weathering the storm just fine, however beat up they feel during the day. <br /><br />A little history on them: they are Germans, but seem to identify themselve more as <em>Bavarians</em> than Germans. They tell us the differences between them and the Northern Germans are quite clear. The techno-loving nihilists from <em>The Big Lebowski</em> (their reference, not mine) are more the stereotype of northern Germans. Also they are more serious and fun to fuck with when they decide to vacation in Bavaria. It is, perhaps, a regional pastime since they have been doing it since they were young boys. If there were an oversimplified idea of a Bavarian, it would be this (note: the following information represents what has been culled from many conversations from the two of them): <blockquote>The modern Bavarian is never serious, except when it is required, but it is mostly never required among friends. They all have nicknames, ranging from "Baby" to "Steamy" (drunk) to things that should not be repeated. Ever. They like their Traditional music (the likes of which can be heard at the nearest <em>Oktoberfest</em>), and loathe the bullshit music they play on the radio. Also, they loathe techno. Also, they loathe any music from Germans since most modern music sucks. They are technology-loving people, and they are intrinsically tied to their tradition. If they smell a northern German in Bavaria, that person will be fucked with. They are stubborn. They are happy.</blockquote><br /><br />I think that should sum it up. They pretty friggin' awesome.<br /></insert>Mohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16222544357707092780noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939794022215270408.post-30377497238344810622008-11-16T05:26:00.001-08:002008-11-16T05:26:06.145-08:00<img src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_jM5EJC8YJ6w/SSAfViBYjJI/AAAAAAAAAR8/PAVkvPq8GS0/Img00427.jpg?imgmax=800" alt="Img00427.jpg" border="0" width="320" height="240" align="left" />Mohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16222544357707092780noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939794022215270408.post-91826318303013654702008-11-13T04:04:00.001-08:002008-11-13T04:12:54.744-08:00Burkina, Part the First<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It’s been a long time, and it’s a good thing that we didn’t promise to write from Burkina because we would have had to break it given a few things: 1) Burkinabé food is awesome and we only wanted to eat when we got into the country (though we really only sampled a few of the local specialties, namely baguettes, brick-oven pizza, homemade ice cream, couscous, yogurt, and second-hand smoke), 2) internet connections in Burkina are spotty at best, even in the high-class 5-star hotels we frequented, 3) we usually try to get to the internet in part ecause we had no clue how the election was going, but since there was no escaping the fervor over the president elect we actually welcomed a break from the news.<br /><br /><br />But let us start the story with a basic tutorial of how not to travel to Ouaga from Bolga. First, don’t ask the local Ghanaians how to get there. I think everyone told us “It’s easy, just take a shared taxi from Bolga.” Let me rephrase: never trust a Ghanaian when they start a set of instructions with “it’s easy”. I still have no idea if this “shared taxi” they spoke of exists. We had a Ghanaian from town in Bongo who was going to be in Bolga the morning we left arrange the taxi. Well, he chose one that did not want to go to Burkina, who haggled the price with us, and then when we got to the border and he could not continue did not look all that surprised...I think he even said he expected as much (maybe this is the reason why he filled up his gas tank before we got there, a tank we ended up paying for). What were all the price negotiations about then, I have no f-ing idea! <br /><br />Second: it would be advisable to have some local currency on you or, if you are going to negotiate with the black market traders, to have some knowledge of what the going rates are. I kinda knew, but was unaware that no one else did, and I was not involved in the negotiations at that point. So, in all honesty, I have no idea how much the trotro from the boarder to Ouga actually cost because Matt took responsibility for the whole transaction (way to take one for the team).<br /><br />Third: If you are changing money at the boarder anyway, it is usually advisable to change a little extra so that one would have some money in their pocket...we of course did not do this. So, we arrive in Ouga, hire a taxi and then have him take us to the banks to withdraw money or in Mo and mine’s case, exchange cedis. So, of course it is a Friday, 30 minutes before the bank is supposed to close, so naturally it is closed already, right? Now all four of us are relying on Andrea to get some money using her bank card, which is repeatedly denied. Crap! Then, at a small Western Union I was able to exchange the only American dollars I had, all 30 of them, so that we could have some money in our pocket and at least pay for the cab. By the way, we totally got a shit deal on that exchange.<br /><br />Fourth: Generally, upon arriving to a big city, one should know where they are staying, but we did not. Andrea had arranged for us all to stay with a Ghanaian (T.K.) she knew who would be selling at SIAO, but, she did not know where said residence was. So, now with no money, we had to bribe the ticket lady to give us two tickets so that Andrea and Matt could go find T.K. while Mo and I sat outside as collateral. Only after an hour had passed did they return. Of course, we had not paid for the taxi yet because we wanted to hold onto him (since he was nice) just in case we needed to find a hotel.<br /><br />The first day ended a lot better than it started since we were able to borrow money and found the lady who would be hosting us, so all in all we couldn’t really get too upset since the best time to be had in all of West Africa was about to begin. . . but more on that in another post! (Don’t you like how we’re serializing the Burkina Chronicles? It’s like, we need to have these R. Kelly-esque “cliffhangers” to keep you enticed, so stay tuned for the midget! And if you have no clue at all what the hell we’re talking about, you’d better rent Trapped in the Closet before I pull out my 9).<br /><br />Meanwhile, back in Ghana . . . Katie and I had our first successful test using some of the homemade devices we plan to using for water sampling . . . we’ll post a detailed list as soon as we know everything works as well as we want it to, so don’t feel like we’re leaving you in the dark . . . we’re just not ready for the world premiere. We’ll be conducting field tests for the rest of this week and into next so expect that to come soon. <br /><br />And in other news, it looks like we’ll be moving back to Austin since Mr. Obama won the presidency . . . </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Texas – 1, Iceland – 0. <br /></span><br /></div>Mohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16222544357707092780noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939794022215270408.post-91420899873451971962008-10-27T05:21:00.000-07:002008-10-27T05:40:04.561-07:00Ouaga and Politics<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Part 1</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />At the end of this week, Katie and I will be heading for <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ouagadougou">Ouagadougou</a>, Burkina Faso, a few hours north of where we are right now, and, according to the travel guides, a veritable shopper’s dream (that’s what we’re supposed to do in times of economic turmoil, right . . . shop?) The biggest Arts and Crafts (<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/SIAO">SIAO</a>) event on the continent will convene during our time there, and will be the sole purpose for our visit, but it seems we will also bear witness to the end of the Tour du Faso, the African baby of the Tour de France given that ASO actively supports this race with personnel, money, and advertising. I wonder what the Burkinabè Champs Èlyseè will look like. . . perhaps something like <a href="http://www.expeditionoverland.com/photogallery/JournalPicsAfricaMediumRes/2003-07-26%2008-58-57.JPG">this</a>. Of the things I am most excited about are the Women’s weaving, sewing, and paper recycling cooperatives, the apparent plethora of good food (which at this point would include anything that doesn’t use tomatoes, onions, cabbage, or green peppers, or at least sprinkles a better variety to include any of the aforementioned), and the market which sells locally-made and native musical instruments. I plan on buying a guitar. We are also hoping to travel to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gorom_Gorom">Gorom Gorom</a> to spend a night in the desert. Above all, it will be welcome respite from the daily grind of Bongo.<br /><br />KA—Speaking of the daily grind. . . Yesterday some people from the embassy were in Bolga and came to visit us in Bongo. Apparently they are really impressed at how we are managing to live here. I believe they might have been horrified by how we take showers and the fact that there is no running water (I did not tell them that that we are unable to find/purchase shampoo and conditioner up here...maybe next time). But then again, these are people who can play basketball every Tuesday (it’s true! Some Fulbrighter’s and embassy people play every Tuesday. Upon hearing this we officially felt totally isolated from reality). One of the women brought us a bag of Chex Mix and a small box of Smore’s Granola bars (our faces must have looked like it was Christmas morning). . .I’m sure they were small thoughts to her, but Mo and I loved every bite of them (yes, we are just about finished with both). Oh yea, and today, at 9:30am, the thermometer read 41ºC (105ºF) in the sun (and just think, it doesn’t get hot here until March!!!).<br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioVOnkj4Tt9Qg97n6It9wZUZB4UJYssxytnhTAsMSumdFyV2T3CZvbSmzXQp_e6ZcTDwPZFAjreQx0ATz_nbFJeOk4dMfrDZSVopzdgkNF5yHpOESozvjCiBtoDfvBWkawzhAHx3QAHpQ/s1600-h/Slide3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioVOnkj4Tt9Qg97n6It9wZUZB4UJYssxytnhTAsMSumdFyV2T3CZvbSmzXQp_e6ZcTDwPZFAjreQx0ATz_nbFJeOk4dMfrDZSVopzdgkNF5yHpOESozvjCiBtoDfvBWkawzhAHx3QAHpQ/s320/Slide3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5261808315832101570" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Part 2</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />It appears there is an election going on in the States right now, and since we will be out of the international communication hub that is Bongo we won’t be able to report to you our reactions until we get back. Since our faithful readers may not agree with the decision to voluntarily take ourselves further away from the internet, we shall post our reactions now, but ask that you do not read until November 5, 2008, that is if the riots that may commence don’t interrupt regular internet activity.<br /><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Should McCain win.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /><br />Wow. For the people who know the kind of people we are, I’m sure you’re expecting us to be totally dejected at this news, but I can’t help but be wholly ecstatic about it. Who would have thought, really? Not us, that’s for damn sure. But let’s looks at the facts (by which I mean the broad ones, because his victory means details really don’t matter at all anymore, do they?).<br />McCain ‘08 is definitely not McCain ’00 (a year in which I probably would have voted for him if I cared enough to pay attention), and I have to say a lot of what he did to garner the support of his party in the last 8 years defines him more as a pushover than a maverick. On top of that, he picks an Alaskan Governor who feels, at least from reading the VP debate transcript, that she is an energy authority by virtue of governing a state through which an oil pipeline runs (by the way, since living in Ghana I have earned my PhD in Holyshitthesunisfuckinghot, yay me!), not to mention the presumption that she was picked to garner support of the dejected Clinton supporters (KA---gimme a B -‘B’ gimme a S -‘S’), only to be polling strongly in the “Men who are really horny about women who speak professionally in colloquialisms and happen to be the Vice Presidential Candidate but offer no real threat to the importance of their penis” demographic, and then seek to support the latter by treating her like the vacuous doll she is more than willing to be. And yet, he won (KA—at least that makeover that cost hundreds of thousands—$150,000 to be exact—went to something good like promoting feminism...right? I mean that shows good fiscal responsibility during a financial crisis. Now did you take the money from Social Security or from those taxes you are not going to raise?). That says a lot about a person, doesn’t it? To portray your campaign as McCain did (devoid of any substance and willing to latch onto whatever may work despite the possibility that your doing so would only further the distance between said campaign and reality) and still win, well, that’s the fella I want, and we all need, in the White House. Not only the underdog in the waning moments of the campaign (and who doesn’t love an underdog, or <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Underdog_(TV_series)">Underdog</a> for that matter). Maybe calling Obama a socialist gave McCain the push he needed (not mentioning that the proposed governmental buyout of the banks is a socialist move and one he supports!), or maybe Palin’s supporters came out in record numbers to prolong what will be their unrequited (perhaps?) sexual desire for her since heads of state and national dignitaries are quantum leaps hotter than governors (i.e.: <a href="http://img271.echo.cx/img271/5603/bushlaughing5qe.jpg">G.W. Bush 1998</a>, or <a href="http://www.bush2004.com/images/bush_via_the_daily_mirror.jpg">G.W. Bush 2004</a>? And for the boys: <a href="http://www.pressgazette.co.uk/Pictures/web/v/r/n/P16_Tatler_April_1989.jpg">Margaret Thatcher 1989</a>, or<a href="http://www.morethings.com/images/margaret_thatcher/margaret-thatcher-500.jpg"> Margaret Thatcher 1991</a>? Yeah, I thought so.), or maybe people found out Obama fathered a black child. Whatever the case, he won.<br /><br />I distinctly remember a London periodical, after the results of the 2004 election were finalized, asking all who happened to read their headline how ‘x’ number of people could be so dumb (where ‘x’ represents the amount of people who voted for Bush). I was dumfounded, but not really crestfallen since both popular candidates weren’t really great, and their differences, at least in the areas I thought I cared about, were not so profound; in fact, I scarcely remember any. I was much more hurt by the insolence of our friends across the Atlantic, so much so that I wanted to pen a letter to remind them who helped whom in WWII and that the Queen didn’t star in any movies like our beloved Ronald Reagan (may he rest in peace). And anyway, wasn’t that the same paper that shows nudie girls on the third page or something? Before I could turn on the computer I changed the television set to Nickelodeon and forgot all about why I was so upset. Spongebob was on.<br /><br />What I didn’t know then was that those people aren’t dumb. In fact, they are so much smarter than me that it took another election cycle for me to realize just how smart they are. What we need in the White House are the people who will win at any cost, and can do so in any given circumstance. (KA—because, we can’t have American morale hurt by not achieving victory, at any cost). We need people who are willing to take the tattered reins of the American Political Machine and not repair them, because they were made in America by Americans with dead American cow and stamped “Made in Taiwan” with American Stamps and American Ink. America. (KA—Freedom aint free!)<br /><br />Seriously though, now that McCain has won (is anyone looking into those reports of voting malfeasance?) I find I am no longer able to return to the United States. Katie and I will live out the rest of our days in Iceland since land should be relatively less expensive there in the near future. I’m not sure how he did it since all signs pointed to Obama, but them be the facts, and you should now consider yourselves reading the blog of one of the first ex-pats of the McCain/Palin era.<br /><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Should Obama win:</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /><br />Well, that was a no-shitter, eh? I mean, he was gaining major points in states that were considered Republican as little as a few months ago, he’s extremely likeable, and he was the Democratic nominee during what could be the worst time in for the Republican Party in recent history. Hell, more white males like this guy than they liked Gore or Kerry. He had to win, right? How much of his victory can be attributed to the general population’s (note: hopefully “general” will be more than 50.00000001%) estimation of him as someone who will be a good president, or at least the general population of the electoral college thinking him so, I cannot be sure, but I am thankful that the Republican party took a major dump in this one. <br /><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Should Nader win:</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /><br />Holy shit.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6uOmKLGwmrYpPcbrYWSAz7gH4LOETiZHYqpF_Hoflcm7Lx9rHShIAKFToKVa8-uwmwlvWKIXofE1EEEaIf-Iocmm2ZqLUf3HbbSDoRg6vR08cRog1QYWJQVyF7bEbPSGQ2ajTbKkkusw/s1600-h/Slide2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6uOmKLGwmrYpPcbrYWSAz7gH4LOETiZHYqpF_Hoflcm7Lx9rHShIAKFToKVa8-uwmwlvWKIXofE1EEEaIf-Iocmm2ZqLUf3HbbSDoRg6vR08cRog1QYWJQVyF7bEbPSGQ2ajTbKkkusw/s320/Slide2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5261808315499342514" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9D5cJW2WJ6JZz-9gwPP6AspXzQBQlAQbuuk_oFKMFBt1-xw_wPXaQlh_Cm4ctgXu-SNTmabUjlJJkrMmbdiUB4be_YA6Dx0W9-tM_rrYxMdARCpuJMZdX1Q_guiE-rHkM1SbW49nelO0/s1600-h/Slide1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9D5cJW2WJ6JZz-9gwPP6AspXzQBQlAQbuuk_oFKMFBt1-xw_wPXaQlh_Cm4ctgXu-SNTmabUjlJJkrMmbdiUB4be_YA6Dx0W9-tM_rrYxMdARCpuJMZdX1Q_guiE-rHkM1SbW49nelO0/s320/Slide1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5261808303769651986" /></a><br /></div>Mohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16222544357707092780noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939794022215270408.post-28781782962526409622008-10-16T06:35:00.001-07:002008-10-16T06:40:31.045-07:00Oy!<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Hello all! It’s Mo, and I’m back due to an overwhelming demand of my return from some of our more faithful readers. Okay, that may be all in my head, but whatever, two people noticed (and commented) I hadn’t been contributing, and to me that represents 100% of the people who subscribe to our blog. As for my absence, well, I guess I just really didn’t have much at all to say, at least at the time, but a few things have happened that you may want to know about like . . .<br /><br />The world is coming to an end (for some reason, word wants me to end this sentence with a question mark). Please don’t all run for the exits at once. As that blind wanderer in the music video for Black Hole Sun and many more seemingly crazy people throughout the history of the English language have more poetically put it: The End is Nigh. My declaration is not meant to place my personhood alongside those who society wished to deem non compos mentis, but instead to make you aware of the impending termination of the world as we know it . . . maybe. It seems the only people who can lead us out of these darkest of times are the great men and women of our nation’s Congress. I haven’t seen any meaningful images on Ghanaian television (most of their archive consists of George W. Bush’s photoshopped head atop what looks like Jesse Ventura’s body during a Summer Slam from ages ago provided to them by the US State Department) but I’m wiling to bet their newly mandated hero-capes look marvelous, especially Barbara Boxer’s! MEEOOOW! Anyway, I do know that they were going to pass a bailout plan, but it didn’t pass the first time around due to the absence of the demand for a time machine, the creation of which is paramount to fixing this dilemma. Since I receive news about two weeks too late, I’m sure that everything went swimmingly since I am still alive and this blog still exists, though someone should tell . . .<br /><br />Bank of America, since they haven’t gotten the news that the world is still in one piece (physical if not monetarily) and Katie and I are still alive, and as such are still waiting for the ATM cards that were supposed to be in our hands so many yesterdays ago. We haven’t yet told many of you our circumstances, so please sit in for the first act of our play, tentatively titled Fuck You Bank of America. We went to BoA at the end of August to start a bank account with them so that we would have unfettered access to our money via an agreement they had with Barclay’s. This agreement allows for innumerable ATM-only withdrawals with no fees, both non-bank and exchange rate. We were given temporary cards and were told they would not expire until our permanent cards were activated, which would arrive in no less than 7 to 10 business days. Cool right? Well, when they said our cards would be valid until we activated our permanent ones, what they really meant was (the following is the actual fine print from the agreement we signed when we opened our account: “On the 30th day after the issuance of your temporary card, the day you will go shopping at one of the only supermarkets in Ghana and have an urgent need to access the funds you so willingly gave to our aegis, we will confiscate your card. When you call us to ask what exactly happened, we will disavow any and all information given to you by our Staten Island branch manager (though we will acknowledge her authentic demeanor by virtue of her pant suit) and come up with no meaningful explanation as to the whereabouts of your permanent cards and only say that they were mailed to the address given to us the day after you opened your account. To make this up to you, we will “EXPRESS MAIL” to you in Ghana a newly minted permanent card without explaining that the quoted term means “regular mail” and only seems important. We use it only so that you will leave our operators to the institution-wide “Minesweeper Challenge” that only happens every other half hour at BoA. Furthermore, when you realize this, we will put you on hold for an hour and then promise to FedEx your card to the US Embassy in Ghana. . . I think you get the idea so please sign below.” Apparently the Greatest Depression has left BoA either so drunk with power from buying Merril Lynch (is that the one with the bull?), or broke for the same reason. Either way, it’s evident that their new mascot should be the outwardly-facing bird, telling their customers what they can do with their time . . .<br /><br />Which goes by so slow and so fast here. The daily things we do (run, eat, poop, etc.) are done at the same time and at the same pace since we arrived in bongo, lending a sense of a slow passage. Yet, when we look at the calendar we realize that we have been here nearly 1/5th of the total time we will spend in-country. Somewhere, off in the distance, someone is playing Tracy Chapman, who is unbelievably and surprisingly popular here, but I digress. Work on Katie’s project is going well, and we are just waiting for the dry season so that we may have more predictable travel accommodations when going out to the more remote boreholes. In the meantime, Katie is calibrating her gadgets and familiarizing herself with those that need not be calibrated so that when it’s time to shine she looks like a star and not a turd. I’m dong what I can to help, but since strength is not yet needed (which I have in spades, mind you), I sit prettily in the back, filing my nails and reading my books. And now, a picture.<br /></span></div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0JsrKFKZ8FQvg9-q4X4rZ7iLOwIWTqEaP-syaPt-5vvamEe2ljzsP2LDnOW6E7MC0C9X3lZo8HTJ4iGkyAAhRN4XqFMLy5eo9vCgLgUXJFWYCZagoNQ9MgFusDsvKKv76w1l6rUvHzaw/s320/Photo+5.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257745179359198226" />Mohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16222544357707092780noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939794022215270408.post-7214899561474427342008-10-10T04:15:00.000-07:002008-10-10T04:27:07.277-07:00October already!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzEDUz3JdH60VB4cSUHtcWowshWWg9-hQwksn1cyy2Xj2H-B8MJsNz9XvOLoLE4i9m0cXZkIU0nvznKQ6j_W1TuS58Qipd-EuU4xJxUNYBXvH9l35T-XaiZJv2LX47mpyFu3dgQ2u4T4k/s1600-h/Slide1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzEDUz3JdH60VB4cSUHtcWowshWWg9-hQwksn1cyy2Xj2H-B8MJsNz9XvOLoLE4i9m0cXZkIU0nvznKQ6j_W1TuS58Qipd-EuU4xJxUNYBXvH9l35T-XaiZJv2LX47mpyFu3dgQ2u4T4k/s320/Slide1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255484184158089186" /></a>Wow, it’s October already...where to start. I guess the last post was venting some frustrations over our passports, boxes, and ATM cards. Well, we still have no ATM cards, my last box of equipment is MIA, and our passports are still not ready. So, moving on. On our way back up from Accra we stopped in Kumasi again and saw an amazing display of bats. Now, having seen the bats in Austin, one might wonder how that display might be topped, well take the same number of bats but make them as large as house cats and you have your answer!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-vJtK-Imll7iOUkEiUwTfG1WidAZAFkA43ByNlp_olyjQrn-zHr6PSGJ8xxG2lDh_bWEjZEyziYLeiZLBzxvsaVDdh2Akwl-9Wrtnt-xbS4BkZyC1RVIoWzGf-tnZV8h86B2rjmycQFQ/s1600-h/Slide2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-vJtK-Imll7iOUkEiUwTfG1WidAZAFkA43ByNlp_olyjQrn-zHr6PSGJ8xxG2lDh_bWEjZEyziYLeiZLBzxvsaVDdh2Akwl-9Wrtnt-xbS4BkZyC1RVIoWzGf-tnZV8h86B2rjmycQFQ/s320/Slide2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255484184884964466" /></a> I want to answer some questions as to where we live, what we eat etc. On a typical day we meet at the District Assembly (DA) around 9am and then walk to the water lab with Ai and Rie. Well, on the day I wanted to capture a typical day, we had either a baby alligator or a VERY large lizard in the wall of our water lab moving around making noise. So, those of you at UT, you think finding a mouse or bugs around the lab is bad, I now have rats, lizards, and alligators to share the lab with! Of course, this now took center stage for the day. When we reported our new friend to the DA, they wanted to kill it, but we said no so I traveled back with someone to help release the little fella, but he was gone already. I have not been back to the lab this week because I have been observing a workshop, but Ai and Rie have both reported hearing the sounds in the wall again, so I think he is back! Since the millet is very high, Mo and I constantly lose our way when walking to and from the lab unguided, we always exit the path at a different place.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuWBZG2OypdVUP6atm66oRLWGSy-K9ZaZAjZ_1FhCJ4tBTin9HC1MKlovcYd46Hcwt9txEaRheJ8DLgjniaY1Iq8dKTOzAAN3xYH1ppIbuS74oL6yutA4YBLNEWC2MkFt0Qn8FGV4TEwQ/s1600-h/Slide3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuWBZG2OypdVUP6atm66oRLWGSy-K9ZaZAjZ_1FhCJ4tBTin9HC1MKlovcYd46Hcwt9txEaRheJ8DLgjniaY1Iq8dKTOzAAN3xYH1ppIbuS74oL6yutA4YBLNEWC2MkFt0Qn8FGV4TEwQ/s320/Slide3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255484185459679202" /></a>As for our life at Faustina’s compound, it is different. The kitchen is outside and all kitchen activities as a result happen outside: cutting, washing, etc. For Ghanaians, eating also occurs outside, but the mosquitoes like me too much to partake. The shower room is a mud stall without a roof. The water is brought to the room in a large bucket and we use a smaller cup to pour water over ourselves. It is one of my favorite parts of the day. The days have been so hot and sticky that I would wish to shower at least twice a day, but I fear that will be seen as wasteful by the family, so I take my half-a-bucket per day shower after my run in the morning. Of course, the things you don’t think about when you say “no running water” is brushing your teeth in the millet outside the house with a cup of water, walking outside the compound to the latrine to go to the bathroom (which at night you find yourself in the company of two very large spiders and some large ants). Of course, that also means that washing dishes occurs by bucket method as does washing clothing.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMOS1jm2_U8eM_Sm_C9N41usK5e0oHyTh9yg_OJYsJIyIB-tX2TqEzi_jUKGmnctcHnJ21vvCgyl1IQbAxks8wXHeezaONUTRppndPUkzX5FGBvb3tLTkTZzCy-xgZKrJjIjWaAtfdCYk/s1600-h/Slide4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMOS1jm2_U8eM_Sm_C9N41usK5e0oHyTh9yg_OJYsJIyIB-tX2TqEzi_jUKGmnctcHnJ21vvCgyl1IQbAxks8wXHeezaONUTRppndPUkzX5FGBvb3tLTkTZzCy-xgZKrJjIjWaAtfdCYk/s320/Slide4.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255484189996612242" /></a>This past week I have been attending the Phase II workshop for Health and Hygiene teachers in Bongo central (22 total were chosen) on how to improve the water and sanitation issues at the schools. To describe the workshop as “frustrating” is being extremely polite!!! The workshop lasted four days, all day long when everything could have been covered in about 5 hours time. The head facilitator was somewhat of an a**hole. The first time I met him he asked me where I was from, so I told him I grew up in NYC but live in Texas. So he said he has family members in the states, someone in Idaho. So I say, “Oh, I hear Idaho is very beautiful” at which point he starts telling me that as an American I should know my own country and how do I not know Idaho. At this point I do a polite laugh and tell him America is very large and that I am very familiar with many parts. So he asks me if I know the west coast, so I say, “yes, I have been to the California Bay Area as well as Portland, Oregon. But, I am most familiar with the east coast since that is where I grew up.” So here is my mistake: trying to make polite conversation. He then starts to tell me how San Francisco is a bigger city than NYC and how, and I quote, “if you remove the government from New York City it is really very small.” So, again, trying to be polite, I say, “I think you are confusing NY with DC because NYC is not even the capital of NY State and, you are mistaken about its size.” “Oh no” he tells me. “Well” I say “I grew up there, I think I know” to which he replies “Oh no, you are wrong. I read it in a book, I know how it is.” So those of you who are familiar with my pet peeve of “stupid people” (let me clarify: stupid people as in those who just chose to be ignorant or insist that they know things that they obviously do not) know that it took ALL of my energy not to lose my mind at this man and tell him off right there. So, at this point I had completely lost my temper so I plastered my face with my plastic smile and walked away. This is the man who ran the workshop. Needless to say, he was not very receptive to the opinions of the teachers. I could write a book about how horrible this man was, but horrible in a way that you could say “but I guess he is nice” because he would insult you with a smile, which aggravated me even more. The thought of his face is now aggravating. Every day he found a way to refer to his penis, but “Ghanaians do not use the word penis” so I got to hear about his “friendly weapon”, “third leg”, and his “Kofi”. Plus, he asked me to contribute one day...well, put me on the spot to tell a story about a similar situation in the states relating to our discussion. So I tell my story, making sure I spoke slowly and without my NY accent and he started laughing in the middle saying that no one could understand me because of how I speak. I smile politely and start again, slower, louder, clearer and he interrupts me saying that he should tell everyone what I mean which at this point he tells a different story than the one I told. He would solicit responses from myself, Rie and Ai to ridicule us. I will force myself to stop here, but I took good notes, so you can ask me about it more when I return. It was a lesson in Ghanaian workshops and how to tolerate an impossible person. But, be assured I will find the proper person to voice my opinion to. But, what was good about the experience is that I met many really nice teachers and my new best friend, Kate. This was the most well behaved baby I have ever met. Over the four days, I never once heard her cry! She laughed, coo’d, and allowed everyone (even me) to hold her.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV7GL_lPTsIT_-T-WmCih2cHyHtWLyXT0qc__lv3d3TAsvt8H2ogiCT7fawqN67ZksdkT1oRZ1WsFE3clbb_QdQbpl1pPQbeDu4NNo4b7EyVWgWRQ0eoKjaB8az4NkUGCb_MVPc4JAa9k/s1600-h/Slide5.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV7GL_lPTsIT_-T-WmCih2cHyHtWLyXT0qc__lv3d3TAsvt8H2ogiCT7fawqN67ZksdkT1oRZ1WsFE3clbb_QdQbpl1pPQbeDu4NNo4b7EyVWgWRQ0eoKjaB8az4NkUGCb_MVPc4JAa9k/s320/Slide5.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255484189563695666" /></a>It's pouring in Bolga right now....good time to hide out in the internet cafe. Later.<div><div><br /></div></div>Mohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16222544357707092780noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939794022215270408.post-86260114409502453242008-09-24T08:44:00.000-07:002008-09-25T03:31:57.307-07:00<div>We have been in Accra the past few days to attend an embassy orientation briefing for Fulbrighters and to collect a few items (half of which failed). So, Monday we arrived and we are staying at Deron's place, a Fulbright lecturer in Accra, with his wife (Lori) and two children (Jasper-8, and Dashiel-4). It was Jasper's birthday on Monday and guess what he got? A chicken! Yep. It was really nice, Lori and Deron invited us to all the family events: cake and dinner. It was a treat! Then Tuesday was the embassy---lot's of don't do this, don't do that...most of which we have been doing. It was definitely caution city! Then that night was a Jazz performance--African Jazz--which was, interesting (?). So...it was put on by a Fulbrighter who is finishing his research--preservation of recordings of traditional music--and the performer, the Divine Drummer, was very strange to say the least. It was him telling the story of how modern African Jazz came to be, that was interesting. Lot's of American's stole our music stuff and Cubans did something stuff, but I thought it was unique mixture of story and samples of the music changing. Then he gets to "this is African Jazz," plays one tune, and says goodnight. Then, his last comments were "and if you illegally pirated this performance, see me up here to pay me my royalty to save your bones." So, I did tape a piece of it, but like hell I was going to ask for my bones to be saved. (There is a small clip below as an example of what "African Jazz" is according to the Divine Drummer, but we seem to be having difficulties uploading it. . . maybe another post though).<br /><br />Then, last night, Mo, Andrea, and I stayed up gabbing about infections and weird illnesses and such that exist in Ghana. We all own this book "Where there is no doctor" and I read parts of it, so did Mo, and it is SCARY sh*t!. I mean, worms entering and coming out all parts of your body, meningitis, malaria, etc etc etc. And we were just laughing at how squimish we were about these things. Then, this morning, we talk with Lori, who is a licensed nurse, and she told us the worst. If you leave your laundry out to dry and it is not totally dry when you collect it, or you collect it in the evening, there are chances of tumba fly larva crawling into your skin. The prevention, ironing your clothes. So today, we all bought an iron! So no worries about this happening.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Well, no pictures, no video. . . I think you'll survive though. . . Sorry about not being able to take care of your A/V needs, but we'll make it up to you, we promise. If you need someone to blame, try a certain US delegate appointed to "take care" of us and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yo">yo's</a> lack of any ability to do so. It's been frustrating to say the least, but since we would both like our blog not to be deemed an instrument of seditious and libelous sentiment, we will refrain. . . for now.</div>Mohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16222544357707092780noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939794022215270408.post-10934497921823789122008-09-17T05:17:00.003-07:002008-09-19T02:00:04.699-07:00Rural living and pit latrines.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzdw3TbUMs33QG17EtyFUdreQT5BGQK2HDFi9UxaJyq2ryTz5cCBXJwWnQiMJlYge5iuXqFdXjk4w1HpYvkV7Cp7lQvBmKp9dLsl9Myd3Ncp2D-teWCs-FmLjtc0ETEWcsDpeFXvWWj38/s1600-h/Slide1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzdw3TbUMs33QG17EtyFUdreQT5BGQK2HDFi9UxaJyq2ryTz5cCBXJwWnQiMJlYge5iuXqFdXjk4w1HpYvkV7Cp7lQvBmKp9dLsl9Myd3Ncp2D-teWCs-FmLjtc0ETEWcsDpeFXvWWj38/s320/Slide1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246964210669272994" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrcRWbBN8CHMj9Ov256rTfzYTi88KszvPC84DcUMlEUvrgbbLImWY_pI6sq9IdWQMolITk4pEolkTbSBT-gMyhddHikycxztPeSCOufTK7uBB_S12RBqzaEPPmcLkIRt6kCgPJzrxeiic/s1600-h/Slide2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrcRWbBN8CHMj9Ov256rTfzYTi88KszvPC84DcUMlEUvrgbbLImWY_pI6sq9IdWQMolITk4pEolkTbSBT-gMyhddHikycxztPeSCOufTK7uBB_S12RBqzaEPPmcLkIRt6kCgPJzrxeiic/s320/Slide2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246964217237961170" /></a><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Why does it seem that even though I have been here once before, I still packed all the wrong things? My clothes all feel too big, too hot, too ugly. My first aid kit lacks alcohol, peroxide, enough gauze, Tylenol and such. The three or four phrases Mo and I have since learned in Frafra are still not enough to talk to either the children or Faustina’s parents, all of whom do not speak that much English. The children have learned from us a few phrases in English “Kate” and “M-O, Mo” which they greet us with and shout outside our window when they want us to open the curtain so they can stare at us. We go outside to try to play with them and they tease each other in Frafra about wanting to be my husband or Mo’s wife (at least I think this is what they are saying since all I can understand is “poka,” wife and “saylor,” husband (spelt phonetically)) and outside of that we stare at each other and use the most basic phrases in our respective languages only to get no where. We need to learn more Frafra! I did learn two new useful words....no and thank you (mposia).<br /><br />Mo and I have made two exceptional little friends, Hoondy, the dog, and Akeenya, the little four year old. Akeenya just wants to sit near us and walk near us, much like Hoondy does (who I suspect only speaks Frafra as well). Oh yea...and Akeenya places everything he finds in his mouth. I spent the other afternoon taking rocks and pebbles and dirty gross plastic out of his mouth, fingers though (as you can see from the picture) were out of my control.<br /><br />This past Friday it rained all day long, or at least all working day long, meaning that the rain stopped at about 2:30pm, long enough for Mo and I to run to the market (“da”) and purchase some lunch ingredients: tomatoes, onion, bread....mmmm...lunch of champions. I guess really do not understand how long dry beans take to cook without my pressure cooker, and so for lunch we had crunchy curry bean stew over rice (back off boys...I’m taken!). Next time I will try soaking them overnight.<br /><br />But some things are still the same. I was just outside checking my laundry and one of the little boys put a dead moth on Helen and she ran around screaming. Even with all the bugs and sleeping outdoors, it’s somewhat comforting to see a dry moth get the standard reaction! It’s strange being so completely cut off from the news of the world. Mo and I tried to read the NYtimesn website for some news when we last used the internet, but four stories were about all we could open in a half an hour (Palin and her pipeline, Bush allowing raids in Pakistan, Iraq canceling six no bid contracts, and the scandals of the interior department). There is only one TV station that does largely play the news, but no longer receives BBC broadcasting, and is often broadcast in Twi. The news is still reporting stories that happened three weeks ago, the latest football scores, and calling for a peaceful election.<br /><br />Mo and I talked about how we missed the little things like toast, and food without meat and/or fish. I miss green leafy vegetables, or let’s just say all vegetables in general minus tomatoes, onions, and okra. I am excited to get my boxes and start working. We go to the embassy on the 23rd of this month, so October should be nice and busy. I can’t say that I did not expect this...it’s pretty much on par with the pace I expected...but expecting and experiencing are different. While my reading all day has now come to include one of the four chemistry textbooks I brought...I still feel lazy. I know back at home people are going to work and to class....and I am laying under the fan trying not to sweat too much so I can wear the same shirt tomorrow and not smell too bad.<br /><br />Our two Japanese friends here (Rie and Ai...pronounced “Lee-aa” and “Eye”) are great. They are JICA volunteers, which is the Japanese equivalent to the Peace Corp. They cooked us a Japanese meal this past weekend, it was awesome. Ai is in her last 6 months of her assignment and Rie is in the firs 6 of hers. Typically, Jico spend 2 years on assignment. It’s nice having other foreigners to talk with...somehow they can better relate.<br /><br />I guess it’s my turn now. . . I’m kinda rushing because I didn’t do this beforehand and we’re now paying for internet time as I type. I promise that next time I will be better prepared. I think Katie pretty much covered everything new under the sun. It has been raining at least once a day for the entire time we have been in Bongo, which doesn’t really put a damper on anything because we, like the Ghanaians, have decided to cease all activities that can be construed as constructive during times of precipitation. Seriously, it rained on a Friday morning and no one went to work. NICE!! Also, I am apparently the husband of two 12-year-old twins and a 40-year-old-drunk lady. DOUBLY NICE! Okay. . . now </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_People%27s_History_of_the_United_States"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">go read this book</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. . . it’s pretty amazing. Later.</span><br /></div>Mohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16222544357707092780noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939794022215270408.post-72553733502768107392008-09-05T10:27:00.000-07:002008-09-05T11:05:23.324-07:00Set phasers to FUN!<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5ohk2WcqX6hI0PANVeydcXCCG1pn2p1p2fvdAW1jjj6-OZz1CuzZ9tzuKR-Iruf2oJnJOXqcua18mD5zb3LTYD1nPZupfoFr3H5EbmVr3Sp8tu3s_HYsmIY7mZEhWPeSUo0VtHWAbWjY/s1600-h/Slide1.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5ohk2WcqX6hI0PANVeydcXCCG1pn2p1p2fvdAW1jjj6-OZz1CuzZ9tzuKR-Iruf2oJnJOXqcua18mD5zb3LTYD1nPZupfoFr3H5EbmVr3Sp8tu3s_HYsmIY7mZEhWPeSUo0VtHWAbWjY/s320/Slide1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242591441681273346" /></a></div><!--StartFragment--><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-weight: normal; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">It’s Friday, and our last day in Kumasi before we go north to Bolgatanga (which, by the way, is probably akin to </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Texas</span></span></span></b><span style="font-weight:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">, since every time we say that we will be heading there people look at us as if to ask “what the hell for,” but I digress) and Katie and I want to take advantage of the readily available internet – which hasn’t been as readily available as we first thought.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Hmm, I’m looking back at that first sentence and I can’t help but think that it’s a long sentence, but certainly not </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Proustian</span></span><span style="font-weight:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Okay, on Wednesday we went with Joe (the smiling man in the pictures) who just recently bought a plot of land so that he could be a farmer.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Everyday but Tuesday he goes to supervise the men he hired to weed the plot.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">When we arrived, he told us this, but it was like nothing I could have imagined.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">First off, these weeds are tropical weeds, meaning that they can be found in the tropical regions of Earth as well as a few places on Venus; needless to say, they are very, </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">very</span></span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> hearty.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">So what does one bring to a weeding party in Ghana?</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">For those of you who think a regular </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">weed-wacker</span></span><span style="font-weight:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> will do, slap yourself.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Upon our arrival, one of the men asked if I had brought my </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">cutlass</span></span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> (no, not like </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oldsmobile_Cutlass"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">this</span></a></span><span style="font-weight:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. . . like </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cutlass"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">this</span></a></span><span style="font-weight:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. . . for those who thought the former, slap yourself).</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I said no.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">They laughed.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">A lot.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Then they began to work.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Like pirates (cutlass. . . come on , that’s a super-pirate word) they swash-buckled (yes it is a verb because I just </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">made</span></span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> it a verb) their way through the 5ft. tropical weeds and brush, and came out with booty consisting of crabs, snails, and corn</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Yum.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">While they were fighting the good fight, like Soho children in the wilderness, Katie and I began snapping photos of the local fauna (in the pictures).</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">It was a pretty exciting way to end a trip that began with Joe leading us around the swamp so that we may see the vast swath of land will soon become his farm.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Good times.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); text-decoration: none;"><p></p> <!--EndFragment--> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4A12sn5AvNwS4cP6gOTN8NACebWqHNNH9nRBy-aOUdGwe6LrWP9AYBqnzYv-3DD6JtR4wOJ7N51i9ofTOHXgNEdzKNFVMWKLHxEya-I3WyMH3rKGWIWc5F5VhjlSyQRxfZf15GqOTD_g/s1600-h/Slide2.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4A12sn5AvNwS4cP6gOTN8NACebWqHNNH9nRBy-aOUdGwe6LrWP9AYBqnzYv-3DD6JtR4wOJ7N51i9ofTOHXgNEdzKNFVMWKLHxEya-I3WyMH3rKGWIWc5F5VhjlSyQRxfZf15GqOTD_g/s320/Slide2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242592510400891682" style="float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; " /></a></div><div><!--StartFragment--><span style="Times New Roman";mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-USfont-family:";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Ok…so I feel I need to say</span></span><span style="Times New Roman";mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-USfont-family:";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> more about this fauna Mo talks about.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">First, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">thankfully</span></i></span><span style="Times New Roman";mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-USfont-family:";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">, Joe hooked us up with a pair of mid-shin high wading boots, which were priceless for the adventure (meanwhile, most of the men weeding were in sandals. . . but they are way more hardcore than me…just wait!).</span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">So we went sloshing around the farm with Joe only to see a different type of spider with every step.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">When we settled in to watch the men weed, Mo and I couldn’t help but stare at the ground that was alive with movement.</span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Think of a bug. . . go ahead. . . yup. . . we saw it!</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">We saw an ant that was an inch long killing a worm (!), centipedes, millipedes, spiders, spiders, spiders, beetles, and more ants.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The spiders were quite cute in how if you stood still for too long they would climb up your leg and start spinning webs attached to you.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">But the best were the crabs!</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">As the men were weeding Mo and I spot a hole in the ground and ask “snake?”. . . snakes. . . Ha!</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Try crabs.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Joe of course told us that we were free to stick our hands down the hold to catch them.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Respectfully, we declined and let the experts have a try.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">[Let me say that it was at this point that everyone put down their cutlasses and mocked us by fishing out more than half a dozen of them while laughing and weeding with their feet.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">It is my understanding that crabbing, in this instance, resembles </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Noodling"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">noodling</span></a></span><span style="Times New Roman";mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-USfont-family:";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> in North America.</span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Fun. – Mo.]</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">These men would shove their arms down hole about 6 inches across </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">up to their shoulders</span></i></span><span style="Times New Roman";mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-USfont-family:";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> and come up with a crab (and sometimes two).</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Yea. . . needless to say I did not try that one.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I was more concerned with the hole in the knee of my pants and all the bugs trying to make a new home out of it.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">All in all it was pretty amazing.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Lesson learned: farming in Kumasi is nothing less than taming a plot of the jungle.</span></span></div></div></div>Mohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16222544357707092780noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939794022215270408.post-14446724550193838512008-09-01T10:15:00.000-07:002008-11-13T06:12:06.910-08:00Kumasi. . . 7 days away from Bongo<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj87wBhbHMRuI5GwaBZSRb6Q_2t_hUd2FijyJYrPVv4xSj-Mh3Xf1BIU3PEloXrMbaOXFknuSQFqxyWanS6fjS_GWb2S8XVutBp4tJ40lr_Y7ocEAGxWoINvkU5UoNerXl-UY1eK-LanWE/s1600-h/Slide1.jpg" style="text-decoration: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br /></span><img style="text-decoration: underline;text-align: left; display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj87wBhbHMRuI5GwaBZSRb6Q_2t_hUd2FijyJYrPVv4xSj-Mh3Xf1BIU3PEloXrMbaOXFknuSQFqxyWanS6fjS_GWb2S8XVutBp4tJ40lr_Y7ocEAGxWoINvkU5UoNerXl-UY1eK-LanWE/s320/Slide1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241123408289229122" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjptsAgab3-HlA72ZAAXBQZb6jMvrWJtflQAFP1Gl4ljSL3M8cBbJELeaYz2swIs36kQH0JmKsWVh4ZojMf7SyyVGLAMyDuSGVRQOFVv7f6hVKcTvnbai7QZJO_UvzVTlBaIa7fviBTup0/s1600-h/Slide2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjptsAgab3-HlA72ZAAXBQZb6jMvrWJtflQAFP1Gl4ljSL3M8cBbJELeaYz2swIs36kQH0JmKsWVh4ZojMf7SyyVGLAMyDuSGVRQOFVv7f6hVKcTvnbai7QZJO_UvzVTlBaIa7fviBTup0/s320/Slide2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241123411993983058" /></a><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Let's see. . . it's September 1st and our first full day in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kumasi">Kumasi</a>. We arrived yesterday and Joe, a friend of Katie's that she made on her previous visit, helped us get out of the bus station with all of our luggage. We have a ton of shit. It's pretty ridiculous. Anyway, we got our stuff back to the Steven Paris Hostel (and I have come to find out that the term "hostel" in Ghana is more along the lines of a US dormitory than anything else. . . ) and were promptly taken back out again to Joe's house. His mother fed us, we watched <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Asante_Kotoko">Kotoko</a> beat El Merrikh (from Sudan) and were given a tour of the neighborhood. For the most part, Katie knew her way around since she had been here before, but it's always nice to have someone else hold your hand. <br /></div><div><br /><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>The next day we woke up and Joe escorted us to the <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWu5OmidqUE3LesrPldIPkswXaloTNJN5If3VfqUgWBdLoHFM32NP0VbB-6yiitP0nZmI47iDt7SBwY1YZptmKpy-anfyR3yKyYFULJ1uspFd_o5ZeoHfT1BloeMTpS04TV4GqQroHyKuO/s1600-h/kumasi+market.JPG">largest open market in West Africa</a>. In the picture in the link, all you see is tin roofs, but underneath those roofs are any and everything you can possibly imagine buying anywhere. <a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_T2HFV-HS_Js/RN9GrlF4ABI/AAAAAAAABWI/3LByhy4oVsI/Kumasi+Market.jpg">Shoes, sandals, dresses, goat heads</a> (click the link, don't worry, it's not a goat's head). . . and most of the items are made right there. Katie bought some cloth for a dress; not much, but we mostly went to see that I wouldn't die of excitement. It's like Akihabara in Japan, but not much light, mostly people. Right now we're stealing internet access in the hostel, and will be doing so until Saturday, when we hire a car to get to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bolgatanga">Bolgatanga</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Katie's washing the clothes right now, so when she's done with that I'm sure she'll have something to say. . . now she's cooking me dinner. . . now she's rubbing my feet. . . she forgot she has to wash the dishes as well. . . okay here she is. OH WAIT! Before I go, I have to let you know something. As most of you already know, I'm a pretty good looking individual. Well, it seems that the fine folks in Ghana feel the same way. Before we left for the market this morning, one of the hostel porters called me over to the desk because my beauty compelled him to do so. He said to me, "Sir, I must say, you are very handsome. There have been <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3bG0gupl7iP6NpWJwu_7NuyadaP0ppyHo9JJVbvNDka3ntSSG1l8O3_AWImnodGVehhm21EadGJwSOiDA-En78g6DpekA9IVNrDSDuwW6_KgrIoGwORggabbfqlRkfokKuEQDB4PlFL7S/s660/P4084353.JPG">other </a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3bG0gupl7iP6NpWJwu_7NuyadaP0ppyHo9JJVbvNDka3ntSSG1l8O3_AWImnodGVehhm21EadGJwSOiDA-En78g6DpekA9IVNrDSDuwW6_KgrIoGwORggabbfqlRkfokKuEQDB4PlFL7S/s660/P4084353.JPG">obruni</a></span> who have come here, and <a href="http://images-cdn01.associatedcontent.com/image/A1811/181103/300_181103.jpg">other Americans</a> as well, but you are very, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">very</span> handsome [emphasis his, links mine]." It's funny because I was getting the feeling that people in Ghana didn't like me, but when I asked Joe, he told me its was a) because I had large earring, and earrings aren't common at all for men in Ghana, and b) because I was "pleasing to look at." So there you have it, when Katie leaves me I will come to Ghana so people can look at me.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now it's my turn I guess. Mo forgot to say some of the other things we purchased at the market. Well first, yesterday I had my first taste of Kenkey in 3 years....oh how I love it! It was our first real chop-shop experience. A tin shack that inside has benches and several buckets of water for hand washing. While I'm pretty sure the palm nut soup was cooked with meat in it (not much we can do about that) we at least did not have to eat any whole pieces. We also took (in Ghana it is "took" not eat) the kenkey with the spicy peppers and tomatoes...that is my favorite way. So back to the market...we also purchased two dvds for Faustina...but these are not any ordinary dvd...oh no. One has 12 brad pit movies on it and the other is 12 action hero movies on one vcd. Ok...so the quality is not exactly "high-def", in fact it is pretty grainy, but they were only 2.50 each! We also had coconut juice from the coconut (see pics above).</div><div><br /></div><div>One other thing, again the pictures are above, before we left Accra we traveled with Andrea (another Fulbrighter, the one in the picture) to the bead making village she will be living in (Krobo). We met with a bead maker, Emanuel (I believe) and saw how the beads are made. It's so crazy. So those of you who have seen the beads I brought back last time, they are made from crushed glass powder, that is why they are opaque. He was making some from larger pieces of glass from a blue champaign bottle, and so the new beads I purchased are clear. It was so crazy. That large mud object is his kiln.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Mohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16222544357707092780noreply@blogger.com3