so cultured

February 6

Well, that didn’t take long.  Two weeks in the country and somebody wants to marry me.  It would probably be a pretty problematic marriage, considering he couldn’t understand me enough to ask me himself- he had the woman sitting next to him on the tro-tro translate for him- but maybe Emmanuel and I would make a cute couple. 

We were on our way to another beach when the big question came, and really he’s quite clever because he knew I was stuck on his tro-tro for some time before I could escape.  Generally claims that we have no access to any form of modern communication whatsoever (“Phone? No. Facebook? No. E-mail? No.”) don’t really work, especially when they then tell you they just saw you making a phone call, but after some persistence, they’ll stop asking... and move on to the friend you’re standing with.  It’s really a quite personal process of courtship.

Transportation is also quite a catch.  By now I’m used to tro-tros, but what I’m not used to is the fact that sometimes, without any warning or indication, pedestrian walkways suddenly become just the opposite, and pedestrians are supposed to start using the street as the sidewalk.  It’s really quite abrupt, and you just go with it.  You just acknowledge that your pathway is more of a drivable surface than the road itself, because potholes and street conditions make travel pretty impossible, so you accept the drivers’ decision that they will be taking over your path.  Then you continue on your merry way and all is well, albeit inversed.

When we got to the beach it was, of course, beautiful.  One girl we were with put it well when a boat of passerbys came by.  We were all playing volleyball and they started rowing very slowly, taking us all in.  It felt like we were at the zoo… inside the cages.  Horror aside, it felt like the inverse of Heart of Darkness.  Sometimes I just can’t hold back the English major in me.

Last night the International Programs Office hosted a welcome Durbar for us and I repped CIEE with my killer dance moves. It must have been all my experience with those Bancroft Elementary variety shows that really helped my performance. Four Ghanaian women also danced with pots of fire on their heads, but they were just our warm-up.  We were the real show, for sure.

Classes did start this past week and I finally got a roommate! Her name is Flora and she’s really nice, though she keeps to herself quite a bit, so maybe we won’t be bffls. Too bad, but at least I’ll kind of get a taste of a true Ghanaian.

She moved in Tuesday, and when I asked if she came then because she didn’t have class until Wednesday, she said “No, I did have class Monday and Tuesday, but I didn’t move in until later, so I couldn’t go to class.”  Obviously.  It’s not like you would change your schedule to accommodate the university’s.  That tends to be the general consensus among Ghanaians, and I quite like it.

I only had one professor who didn’t show up, but some people went to five classes and only had one actually come.  The attitude really is so different.  On the first day, I still wasn’t registered for my history class, so I got up early to scramble to the department and check the time table in case it happened to meet Monday mornings, but the department decided not to open until halfway through the day.  Another department listed a time for my class but no building, and another decided class just wouldn’t start until this coming week.  So I went swimming instead. Bucknell could totally learn from this kind of schedule. I think I’ll propose a change.

Luckily I also got to be that kid who sits in the wrong room before realizing she’s in the wrong class.  Trying to be friendly, I started chatting with the boy next to me, and a few minutes into the conversation he kindly escorted the stupid white girl to the right location. 

It’s a give and take, I suppose, because there are certainly times when we obrunis (apparently I’ve been spelling it wrong this whole time) aren’t entirely helpless because we do offer some sort of something, like when I put my Camp Christopher little minnow skills into effect by teaching a Togolese guy named Daro how to swim, or when Hannah and I showed Agnes, the little girl from the market, how to use our cameras.  I guess that whole exchange thing is the main point of this, right?

me and agnes

So that’s my week! Ta ta.