As I sit in front of the monitor, back slightly arched, hands prone on the keyboard, I feel as if I have contracted a terrible African disease: a physical embodiment of dual-personality disorder. Yes, the hand that strokes the "A," the "S," the "D" keys appears as if it has not once been out in the African sun. The other, however, the appendage responsible for the "J," the "K," and the infamous ";" tells quite another tale. The root of this serious malady appears to be a return trip from the Central Region with the latter limb carelessly hung out the window for the entirity of the ride. The epidermus, once slightly rosy and tender, now a soft bronze tinge, indicates that the arm may need to be amputated from the sleeve-line down. Tragic.
The moral of this story: the sun in Ghana is strong, I forgot my sun-screen in Teshie, and we went on my first excursion outside of Accra this weekend. Oh yeah, and people without medical training should not diagnose fake ailments--the result could be stupid at best.
For my more die-hard readers (there may be as many as five now, most of whom share the Fishman surname), I brought my camera along with me and took photos of the African sunset, a man on a 20ft. tall bike (just wait and see that one), and crazy tro-tros. My photographic slurge culminated in a 17 second video clip (that's right, multimedia!) of the hilly countryside as we drove deep into the Central Region (if a 45 minute car-ride along the coast counts as "deep"). We went to the "village" of Ken's childhood (more like a small town, as compared to the actual VILLAGES we passed along the way) and had a brief rendezvous with his mother and multiple aunties. We stayed in a nice little hotel geared towards locals and spent Sunday morning poolside. Niiice.
Last night, after fiddling with my new phone a bit (actually I had the same kind like 4 years ago back home!), I decided to give Dr.Nyako another shot. And, to my great surprise, he picked up the phone! HOLY COW! Yes, as suspected, he had been visiting family in Koforidua and recently returned home, some relatives in tote, so that his wife could venture to the the Volta Region--more specifically, Hohoe--to visit HER family. She'll return later this week. He invited me to his home in Nungua, an affluent suburb about 20 minuts East of Teshie (remember the ceaseless tro-tro call of "Teshie Teshie Nungua"). The Doctor is quite a hospitable host and treated me to a wonderful meal of Ghanaian rice, spinach with Mackerel, snails, and a fresh salad (of which I only had a nibble, fearful of Montezuma's Revenge). Dessert was papaya and pineapple (and may I say, it was succulent).
Having lived through Ghanaian Independence, and then coming to America as a black African on the day Martin Luther King marched on Washington (later he lived in Chicago under Mayor Richard Daly in the heart of the Civil Rights Movement), the man is literally living history. In his own quiet way, the doctor was eager to share his stories, which were bolstered by his remarkable intellect; insightful takes on poverty, politics, and current events; and general worldly mindset.
After a nice evening with him and his brother Maxwell, I took a tro-tro back to Teshie Junction, where I made the decision to walk back and did not make the decision to get terribly, terribly lost in familiar surroundings--it happened anyways. After walking maybe a mile too far north, and being about a mile too far east, I decided to ask for a little help from the affable women at a kelekele stand. The first of whom offered to help me (only after she could change into something more flattering...) the second of whom, being more helpful, sought her brother from the neighboring watering hole. Being without street name or address, he helped me describe to the cabbie the general location of "home" and negotiated a fee of about $1, which I gladly paid. All three offered to accompany me home, and the ladies insisted I return the following evening. This, I suppose, being an alternative to the more popular "I love you, do you love me?"
Today I did my first ever load of laundry by hand and received some advice in a mixture of hand gestures and Ga from some sandals salesladies passing through the neighborhood. They also offered to let me try balancing their load on my head, however I was less successful at that than properly washing and drying my clothes.
Tomorrow I plan to make my first big decision of the trip: where to work and what to do. I find Ken's home to be comfortable and kind, much like his hospitality, however with a Brit and two Germans arriving in the coming week, I'm suspecting my presence might be of a nusance, especially considering that I am of little help to the school during exams and Christmas holiday. I would like to work at the Teshie Orphanage, a hearty walk from the house, but whether or not Ken would actually appreciate this service while I stayed in his house, is up for speculation (especially since the Orphanage has no affiliation with WWOOF-FIOH). If my cynicism happens to bear fruit, then I will ship off to my first of many farms and miss the arrival of both the British girl AND the German girl (as for thew new guys...no love lost). As planting season resumes in late February-early March, only four farms are currently in need of volunteers (and those are the farms furthest from Accra, where rain is still a regular occurance). The work, primarily clearing and preparing land, will be bone-crunching to say the least (*note above story of the sunburn to understand my knack for embellishment...ipso facto: don't worry mom).
Met the food and beverage manager for the La Palm Hotel casino (the nicest joint in Accra) at a tro-tro stop in Teshie. When I told him the place may be a bit upmarket for my budget he gave me his number and told me to drop by anytime "no worries." I'm not sure what that means precisely, but he was carrying a bible and seemed nice so maybe I'll drop by on my way home and scope the place out.
P.s. While I labeled this story as being from Winneba, I was actually in a small town neighboring the port city of Winneba, but for the life of me I could not understand the name of it when I asked the locals. Therefore, Winneba--it rolls off the tounge easier.
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