The Last Week

In about 6 days and 23 hours, I will be boarding a flight back home. A lot of the volunteers have asked each other, "Are you ready to go?" Most have been here a month, and most answer yes. I think I am mentally preparing myself to leave; I've started thinking about home more, about this up coming semester at WVU. I've started to daydream about the eating at Taco Bell at 2 in the morning and finding furniture for my new house. I think about the people I'm coming back to, the wonderful ones who have done all the sentimental things I could think of, including habitually stealing shotgun seats from me. Then I start thinking about the people that I am leaving. Tomorrow is my last day of camp, of work before a week of travel. In a way its relieving, not being around the refugees I won't feel as pressured to help them. But as somebody once told Spiderman, "With great power, comes great responsibility." I know I will never be able to ignore them, or tell myself, "No, you can help them tomorrow." Their stories are with me, just like the first post I put on here about the tree and the skeleton, just like Tennison's Odiseus: I am part of all that I have met, yet all experience is an arch wherethrough gleams that untraveled world whose margins fade forever and forever. I will miss the people that I have worked with, swapped Ipods with, shared the same plate, same spoon, same toilet, same room, same house, same experiences with. I will miss the marriage proposals (8 thus far), the constant attention, but at the same time I will be so relieved to just be able to be by myself again. To be with you guys again.

My email is currently being butt, so write me comments on here or facebook. Thanks Karen, I got your message and I love you too.

Charged

Current, as in electricity, in the camp is sporadic at times. Sometimes, we will go to bed with the whole world dark, and the curvature of this world etched by the stars, then wake up at 2 with all the lights in the house on. Such is life, and this is Africa. I wish I could write more, and I wish I could better describe this past week than with the hasty words of a time-rushed woman. Last week was amazing and terrible. My first week in Accra in May, I met these British medical students whom I "clicked" with immediately; they were the people I visited in Kumasi. Well one of them traveled across the country and spent the week at a nearby hotel, hoping to get work at the one clinic on camp. We had a competition of how many countries we've each been to, and he beat by one. It was really awesome and Tim ended up helping out with CBW, we talked until all hours of the night, so this past week lacked quite a few of the usual hours of sleep. He picked up the slack of some other workers and helped out at the summer school the international volunteers put together. A side note: this is a free summer program for half a day, providing free bread and water to about 300 students. Well since it started last week, the numbers were fluctuating and at one time there were 65 3-5 year olds for one teacher! Which is why I have stopped with the HIV/AIDS outreach and am now helping with the ABC class (the young ones)....which makes me really realize the importance of using a condom!!!!
Well one afternoon, I found out that a two year old twin boy died of dehydration. He was the first child I picked up when I came to camp and would stand outside one of the volunteer houses in yellow underwear and do karate moves under a tree. Tragic, heartbreaking, unfair the words to describe it come easily. Maybe even relief, here was a child that had escaped the confines of the camp, by heeding to the raw wrath of survival. Was he saved, if so what from? Knowing a child that has died made me question everything. What kind of world is this, where 5 months ago, I was paying $8 for a plate of food or taking a 20 minute shower. The little things, the lack of equilibrium. It changes you, I know I've changed. I don't really know what else to say. I ended up climbing up an abandoned building in a field outside of camp and watching the African sun set behind an African mountain and thinking about life. Dehydration and completely preventable, but in a swing of rationality everybody dies.

I leave a week from Monday. I wish I didn't have to, I love it here, I love most of the people. I think when I come home I will be fairly disgusted by the daily living of most Americans until I succumb to the materialistic consumerism that rules the middle-class, relative wealth sucks because its not how much you have that matters, people forget about that, it's about how much more you have.

The skies here are amazing. Grace the lady I helped with the 2 month old baby was reunited with her brother from the war this past 2 days. She hadn't seen him since she was 11 and now she's 26! He lives in Ghana 4 hours away and was told that he looked like a lady that sold fish in the camp so he came and saw and sure enough it was his sister, his and her only form of blood family for over a decade! It was emotional in the highest form of the word, seeing the two of them together; they have each other now. I found out that she was raped during the war, more than once.

The List

My sincerest apologies for not having written in a while, a weekend trip to Ghana's second largest city Kumasi to visit some amazing British medical students turned into a 5 day vacation (a weekend plus a holiday so I wasn't skipping too much work), then I returned to camp to find the power out for the rest of the week plus a few days, which led to another weekend away. Then the power came back but the internet was still down, then I got a day long stomach virus which sent me scurging (a Canadian term for both ends purging).
I feel like my blog posts havent really depicted everyday African experiences, and those that know me best know that my dillemas are often solved with lists.

Waking up early, 5:30 ish, going to bed early 9-10.
Eating rice twice a day.
Drinking liters of water a day without having to use the bathroom every five minutes.
Expert ability to use female urinals.
Riding tro-tros and meeting crazy people on these packed mini vans.
Picking up little children all day.
Apologizing to people for not being able to provide for them.
Having to explain that not all Americans are rich.
Putting on condoms to a fake penis and explaining that you cannot get AIDS if a mosquito bites an infected person and then you.
Using Claire and Garretts nalgenes.
Having sawdust from termites on my stuff.
Smelling unsavory.
Much higher chance of getting legitimately close-lined here (worse if your taller than 5'3'').
Walking between houses (how you get around on camp) and smelling piss and sometimes seeing poop.
Cursing.
Being asked if you are a Christian.
Wondering how there can be less than 20 wells but more than 200 churches on camp.
Seeing kids improvise jump rope with video tape reels.
Going to the market and getting fresh produce when you want to eat some fruit and veggies.
Having 15 mosquito bites on my left foot.
Learning what bed bug bites look like.
Learning how to tolerate housemates.
Bonding with the good ones.
Networking with other humanitarian workers and volunteers across Ghana.
Taking African showers (bathing during a rain storm).
Being asked for water.
Being asked for food.
Being asked for money.
for sponership, for school fees, for medicine........
Learing how to say no.
Being groped and sexually harrassed (don't worry I've only been groped 3 times).
Not having a cell phone and coordinating without one.
Being excited about having solid poo.
Talking to other volunteers about where we've traveled.
Lots of football (can't even call it soccer now).
Having a watch tan.
Getting emails from back home.
Brushing grime out of my hair.
Waking up with my roommate and synchronized stomach cramps.
Having grime on me in general.
Seeing the amazing amount of stars at night.
Eating bizarre food.
Eating tons of starches and oil.
Having flies where I've picked my scabs.
Brushing my teeth outside.
Being praised for my generosity and told that God will bless me.
Turning down marriage proposals and invitations to go to his place to get to know each other better.
Seeing kids.
Holding babies.
Gaining bargaining skills.
Making French toast.
Having the food cravings of 17 pregnant women.
Making a habit of throwing toilet paper into the trashcan next to the toilet.
Feeling guilty.
Hearing music blaring.
Hearing people arguing constantly.
Seeing a dog-eat-dog world, a constant struggle for survival.
Leaving the house 20 minutes early for a 5 minute walk because I stop and talk to so many friends along the way.
Taking naps in Grace's house.
Dancing without music.
Dancing with my coworkers.
Laughing at dancing with my coworkers.
Hanging out with older people.

Thats all time will allow, and as always I love your messages so keep me updated with home.

A very special shout out to the most incredible sister in the world....... Happy 18th Birthday Karen!!! I love you like crazy and look at your picture everyday.

Ladies and Lacerations

Well there are 3 things I want to put in this post.....they are not really related but bear with smorgasboard if you will.

First off are the ladies that I previously mentioned.

Matou a lady in her mid-thirties. Lives across from me. Three children all in Liberia, one of which is her sister's child who she raised as her own without telling him because her sister died in the war when he was a baby. Does not ask for money, asks for work. She is tired of being warehoused at the camp--there is nothing for her to do. Has a great sense of humor, hardworking, and openly Chirstian. Willing to help others out. Training as a nurse until the war came and pushed her out. Continued her studies in Ghana until she ran out of money. She showed me pictures and letters of acceptance and attendance at her schools as well as her transcript. She has one of the best can-do-it attitudes I have seen and is planning to return to LIberia and her children some time next month.

Annette, also a middle aged lady by African standards. Works as a laundry lady for CBW (Children's Better Way-org. I am working with). Has two young daughters Abigail and Debrah,who are attending school in 2 and 5 grade, respectively. The girls are smart and bright and cheerful. Annette's husband deserted her and she became very depressed until she found Christ. Now she knows that even if its hard, there is a way. She has a long term boyfriend who assists with the girl's education fees, but they are too poor to get married. He is training as a computer hardware technician. Annette dreams of attending a catering school in a nearby town. It is run by a French-trained Ghanian and she has given me the brochure, a phone number, as well as a list of prices. Her wish is that her children go to college one day--everything she does, she does for them. Annette is separated from all of her family members due to the war, and her father was murdered by the rebels.

Grace is a young mother 26 to two month old baby girl. She dropped out of high school so she could care for her child. Both of her parents died in the war and she has scars covering her body from when the soldiers stabbed her repeatedly. Since she has no formal education she is a seller, I have given her enough money so that she could begin selling roasted fish. The babies father left her when she found out she was pregnant, she has no family at camp. She couldn't afford water the other day so she borrowed some so that she could breastfeed her baby. She does not have money for food and relies on the kindness of others. She told me once, that she knew I could trust her because she would never do anything to hurt her baby. She is so willing. I told her I would help her practice her reading, the next day she camp with a small notebook so that I could write down the words she had trouble with when she read, so that she could practice at home.
Its all pretty inspiring--these women are so thirsty and willing to learn and excell, so that they can provide for their children.

Second order of business. Jimmy, Jules (my biggest fan!!), Claire, Ben, and Mike: I went on a bike ride on Saturday. CBW planned a trip a little into the country side past 2 villages and lots of farm land (which was beautiful and interesting) to stop at a third village and drink palm wine. Sounds pretty perfect huh, gorgeous early morning weather past paradise and then palm wine? Well we rented bikes which varied to having no brakes, to no gears that would work, to no cushions on the seat (VITAL I REPEAT VITAL). So I got a bike with sketchy brakes and good everything else and it was lovely. The dirt road had a bunch of ruts from hard core water runoff and I ate it. I caught the lip of one and lost my balance right in front of the second village. I ate it hard by my standards right on a pile of trash. I have road rash on my right shoulder blade and upper arm and right leg. I have a bruise the size of a hotdog on my right thigh, a gash in my elbow and a fairly scrapped up palm and knee. I had a large audience of children as I swore loudly as I smeared antibacterial on my wounds (Jules the snowboardnig story about scrubbing your shin came up so fresh in my mind that I had to sit down). But no worries, folks, Im doing fine and palm wine tasted sweet.

Eh I didn't get to the third but no worries. There's always later.

Weekends

So a much more cheerful blog is order. First, I just want everyone to know (Mom, Dad) that my mental health although under constant stress and guilt is fine--no catch 22 here. I have become close to one of my housemates in particular--Emma is pretty ballin' and we have similar travel (as in adventure) styles/ideologies so we end up doing a lot together particularly on the weekends. For the first weekend we escaped the camp's heat--the cement buildings retain a lot--by traveling to Cape Coast a fishing village a few hours away mostly known for its huge forts that shipped out slaves. Then up to a Kakum National Park, a rainforest with awell known canopy walk. Having forgot my camera, I have done my best to preserve it in a short essay:

The Canopy Walk
It was as if I had stepped into a vintage cartoon; all that connected one titan tree to the next was a line of wood, the width, length, and thickness, of diving boards nailed one after another. It was a Wile Coyote master plan; the boards gave a bird's eye view to the the lower levels of the forest hundreds of feet below. with all the life the biosphere contained I would not be surpised if a species of road runner habitated it.
Supporting the planks were nets crisscrossed and suspended by thick ropes, reminescent of the ones from gym class. These were further reinforced by coils of metal strung across the span. There were seven bridges in total and six of us. I believe Sarah was the first to cross, the person next in line had to wait until the other was halfway across. We all walked the first leg of the sky line like a gang plank above a sea of greens. There were some trees that reached above us, allowing a closer examination of the endurance of the flora that took it to such heights. By the time I reached the first tree stand I was completely awestruck, as if somebody had taken an eninah club and beat me with Biblical reverence. The susn was out in early morning force, bright but not yet roasting. It painted birds with shadows to appear like cutouts in the sky. I don't know how to describe the view, the horizon held a tropical outline of exotic trees. The texture pushed down into th evalley twisting, contorting, overlapping, but always green. If I had jumped off the balcony circumnavigating the ancient trees, I know I would have lived happily ever after, after being caught angrily by countless branches instead of the root imbibed ground. It was a dream. Paul was almost right, it was something to cross off The List, except it surpassed The List. The List was a map of Putnam County and the rainforest was a collection of galaxies. Iwalked the last bridge as if it were a church aisle. Each slow meeting step I took brought me one step further away from Eden, from the sinless wilderness that knew survival and subsistence, and one step closer to my current marriage with consumerism and comfort and safety. Every movement I tried to absorb it all, I attempted to memorize the linesthe foliage made as if they were the wrinkles around my grandmother's smile. I looked and cherished every direction possible until my eyes became obscured with tears from the magnifence of it all. Kakum was a marriage itself, a holy matrimony between Mother Nature and God, and in the middle of the bridge, in the middle of the park, in the middle of Ghana, on the side of AFrica, on the icing of the world, I was a lowly worshipper.

This last weekend, a too large group of six traveled north of Accra into a town called Aburi and stayed the night in the Botanical gardens. Beautiful and spacious the small city on the montain gave an amazing vista of the Accra below. It was cooler and way less bustle up north. We toured the garden at daybreak before heading off to more north still. The next place we visited was Boti Falls (100 feet ish). UP and down and up some more we first hiked into the jungle and out into the grasslands to th eUmbrella Stone, a mushroom shaped rock which gave an excellent view of th esurrounding area. Then we went to the falls, usually its one big one, but this time there were two rather large ones. Throwing caution to the wind, putting our lives in Fate's hands, and ignoring all the warnings of going in to freshwater. Emma and I swam in the falls. and it was F'ing awesome. We were maidens of the mist and we shouted all our thanks for being in Africa into the echoing roar!! Everyone should swim in a waterfall at least once in their life. Then we walked for about na hour to a more locally known falls known as Akaa. Sitting on a rock cliff of about 70 feet we jumped into the waterfall........just playing we actually took a break under th eshady overhang. Then it poured and we stayed dry and watched the rain. Back on th eside of the road, we waited for a tro tro to Kofftown (large van, reminiscent of Hankins). Then the skies opened up again. A couple of us took turns to wait on the road, wihle th erest sought shelter under a nearby roof. While we were out there, Eric and I sang songs like Hit the Road Jack, at the top of our lungs. The six of us finally made it to a hotel, only to discover the prices had been raised beyond some of our budgets. Soaking wet, hungry as hell, and even, dare I say it, a little chilled, Eric and I bargained the price down to 10 Cedi (seedy=10$) and we booked two rooms and slept solidly, all dreaming of the actual showers we would have in the morning.

Its all good but hearing peoples stories can be difficult. There are a couple of women I would love to sponser, all single mothers, all sick of poverty, all sick of not being able to earn there own living. I have been working with one lady in particular Grace, she is a couple years older than myself with a month old baby. The other day she had to borrow money to buy water in order for here to be able to breastfeed her child. All the ladies want to go to school to learn a trade or finish one (one has a few nursing classes left to take before getting her degree). My next post will be devoted to them, right now, they are living on prayers. Thank you for yours!

Some things are hard to stomach

Here in Africa, and especially at the camp, you have to have a will to live. Let's face it some things are hard to stomach. Literally hard to process, such as the volunteers dinner last night, which sentenced 7/8 of us to a prolonged bathroom time, or mentally, like the first child I met that didn't smile. The poverty and the desperation of it all hadn't quite hit me since all the children I had met, ran into, carried had all smiled. Justin is tall for his age 3, but his arms and legs are too thin, and skin looks vacuum-packed to his head, showing the detail of his bones just a little too detailed. His eyes are huge, like a Summersville lake of tears waiting to be undamed (and undamned from his hungry hell). He lies on an old shirt used as a blanket; his mom points out the scabs on his head and body. He has a bad arm that doesn't quite straighten, a deformity due to the way he came out during birth. I ask his mom if he's smart. In a second, she pulls him from his sleep by his arm and tells him to recite his ABCs. With a whisper he gets to the letter G before stopping....

Meeting people like this, experiencing things like this makes me wonder: are some things inevitable?

Inevitable Death
Everybody dies. You can prolong it, but it cannot be cured. Some are admired for their death. The fallen soldier is memorialized, immortalized, but what of Renaldo? He lives in a small room painted blue at the end of a hall without windows. He has two in his room. One is boarded up, the other only lets a small rectangle of brightness in because of a crumbling wall that had been built a foot from the building. It lets enough light in to illuminate the torn mosquito net and his mattress on the floor, but not enough to erase the pungency of urine, not enough to convince the flies around the old food plates to go outside. He makes death personal by calling me sister, by praying in front of me asking for help. He brought in God and showed me pictures of his family. I ask him about the dusty keyboard I've been staring at in the corner. I want to borrow it to teach people how to type. It's not his, somebody left it in his room for safekeeping because nobody goes in there. I stil wish I could take it, and at the same time I wish I could help him. Death is inevitable and I want his to come faster. I dont want to feel the suffering. He asks me to give him my watch when I leave in July. I realize he hasn't given up on living yet. I shouldnt give up for him.

Renldo is one of the patients of the HIV/AIDS department.

Well with nothing to expect, nothing that would predict my life for the next two months, I arrived at the camp. Compared to the neighbors, the CBW volunteers live in mansions. My mattress comes with a frame with slats I can count as as I lay there under the mostquito net praying for a cool breeze will be ushered from the TWO windows into the bedroom I share with only one other person. Next to me in what could be the slowest internet cafe people beg cyber style, having gathered email addresses from anybody wealtheir than them. Its hard to describe the camp in full. About a third of the 42000 have left, leaving empty shacks and market stalls. Protests in the spring closed down the schools, and the ones that have reopened have few students--their parents are trying to save money for Liberia when they have to restart their livers. Unemployment and illiteracy both range in the 80s%age wise. Sanitation here is by our standards atrocious. There are a few public toilets, most people go into the bush but children pop a squat anywhere. Showers drain into ditches built by the camp which also drain into the bush Trash and sand will these creating puddles of stagnant water--to clean them the sand is scooped up and placed back onto the street.

There is one clinic here run by A doctor and two assistants plus a local hostpital nearby. 30000 people. There are pharmacies within the camp, so those that have the money tend to treat themselves, often overusing antibiotics and malaria treatments until it becomes useless to them. The food here is decent for us, main staple being rice and fired chicken (def. not KFC). I miss vegetables so much that have decided to be a little less cautious just to eat the green.

The people here are pretty amazing. Most of the people I live with are teachers, most in the later twenties. Talkative and traveled. I hung out with a prostitute and her friend yeseterday--by far the most disturbing thing so far--both have a couple of children and don't seem to care about them (not the sole caretakers of their children); both of the girls are around my age. My neighbor across the street taught us how to make fufu and a fish/chicken stew--she has a beautiful independent baby. Another neighbor has three children back at home in Liberia, one of which was her dead sisters (the boy doesn't know this) and asked me to help her in any way possible to help her renew her nursing degree (she really was a nurse because she showed me her diploma and pictures of her in uniform). Everybody here wants to be your friend, everybody here needs fininacnial help, its's realistically the most pathetic thing I've ever seen. My heart breaks a little with every child I hold that is too skinny, with every baby I notice with a swollen belly, with every smile I see on all of their faces--the glimpse of hope they gain with every additional email address they gain. The people here are incredibly nice, over friendly to a point of desperation. We have begun to call our house the zoo--when we are outside the children play with us constantly and when we hideout inside they peer into our windows. We have also started charts, the six girls are competing for marriage proposals (I am winning with 4 so far, but I have been in the country the longest) the 2 boys have a proposition chart (aka after business hours, everyone wants an African princess, etc.). Any sense of privacy and cleanliness has diminished considerably: I take a shower from a bucket in a enclosed wall along with cockroaches the size of flattened Twinkies, toilets are comodes without plumbing that you just pour in some water post usage, sleeping privacy is hard since I really just not wear anything in the heat, but the cleaning/water man comes at 5 ish every morning. Which brings me to one of the perks at camp. Everybody here is beautiful. The men here are hard not to drool over: your choice from Usher, Abercrombie model, Kayne, muthaf#$%ing Samuel Jackson. All the way I would like coffee if I drank it--strong and dark (sorry Dad). The same goes for the women, plus such incredible hair! I haven't looked in a mirror for half a week now.
Some of us watched a soccer game the other day: midday heat, uber humid, playing on gravelly sand--oh my, I can't even imagine the endurance it would take.
The sun rises around 5:30 and sets around 6, but the people at the camp run much later. Every night there is some sort o f party going on.
What I do at camp: yesterday the 8 of us finished orientation, I have signed up to help for the sustainable poultry project--care for chickens and collect eggs (yeah!), HIV/AIDS talk (go around make people aware involves condom demonstration, which I am not sure how I will keep a straight face for), and finally for tutoring-I REALLY want to reach out to kids that aren't in school, keep it fresh in their mind. Honestly, it feels like there isn't a ton for the volunteers to do, a lot of the programs are shutting down. What I've gotten from the 4 other volunteers that were here before is that its fairly overstaffed and under funded. But I am going to do my best just to give people the attention that they are craving, ask them what they are going to do after they move to Liberia, and encourage them to go or send their kids to school.
I love you all, and would really like to hear from people--anyone can comment on the blog or just send me an email.

Akwabaa to Ghana (welcome)

I'm sure most of you have glanced at a National Geographic, well I feel as though I have stepped into the pages! It is truly unbelievable--I keep asking myself "How did I get here?"

Besides being boring, the flights went just fine. Actually had to stop in Senegal (another West African country) to get enough fuel so the plane could make a return trip--Ghana didn't have enough. Sat next to a guy from Sierra Leone who studies at Kansas U.

I stepped off the plane and the weather hit. Even though its the rainy season all this month, the morning was clear and sunny but really thick. The air had the same feeling as after you've snuggled with somebody you like on a summer day--even though its a little too hot and you kind of stick together you don't really mind because its comforting.

Took a cab to the hostel--definitely not in the center of the city. I was a little freaked out because the driver said "this is is" and it was this old shack the size of a two car garage "no this can't be it" I saw a pair of eyes peeping from between the slats. It turns out he and taken me to the back of the gated compound where there was a door I could walk in rather than being buzzed through the car gate.
Outside of this door there is a small stand run by Auntie Grace, where I bought some bagged water and fresh bread. That's how most of the stores are--stalls set up by the side of the road. It's beautiful; mom's work with their babies tied to their backs, they sit together and just chat, and most start up conversations with you as you walk past. As far as advertising goes, it's Evangelical all the way (Ghana is 60% Christian, 25% Muslim--more north) Tro-tros (vans that you can get to the city in for 40 pesawes=40 cents have pictures of Jesus on the bumper with signs like "God is." Other examples include, Best Service is with God Cellphone stand and my personal favorite" Not By My Strength Alone Beauty Salon.

Overall, people are really friendly, but you do have to bargain because they will give you the Obruni price (the white price). The first day I was here, I met up with a girl Joy from Oregon and we went around the city together. You can buy fresh fruit on almost any street, and I found a place where I could pick up school supplies if need be. We went to Fort Usher, a place right on the beach where they sent off slaves, but most recently housed some Sudanese refugees. We then had some dinner in a small restaurant along the coast. Food here is spicy--enough to make your lips a little swollen--, but overall delicious. Rice, chicken, yams,.......I ate a banana. Then Joy from Oregon and I walked around some markets--stands on the streets. The smell was so alive too. Food being cooked right in front of you, hot bodies, a little bit of sea breeze, urine, ripe fruit, open sewers (ditches that run on either side of the street, most I've seen are stone); when all together it doesn't smell bad, it smells bustling.

The second day I was here, a girl named Ashlee who's studying peaceful resolutions for her masters from New York and I took a walk around Dakuman road, the area outside the hostel--poor neighborhood, used to be a slum but now is not so much. School had gotten out and uniformed boys and girls with short cropped hair were making their way home. Ashlee knew one of the little boys and we were invited to his house. It was a bit of a maze, dodging goats talking to old ladies cooking over smokey fires with little babies running around. His house was as small as an average dorm room, but he did go to school, have a electricity, and his mother had a cellphone so they were fairly well off. He had a two week old sister (or relative) and his brother had cholera; a lot of other kids came in the house to watch us and the futbol game going on (Ghana v. Nigeria).

At night, I have been hanging out with other hostel people. Mostly American law students and British med students, one Dutch guy. I think I'm the youngest, but its pretty neat being able to talk to others about the world and they know what's going on. It rained for my first time yesterday--a huge downpour--more water pressure than most showers and the sky was mauve. Off roads are mostly unpaved and the sewers will overflow and mosquitos will breed in the stagnant water so it does get a little messy. The Brits, Ashlee and I are going to try to go to the beach today so that should be fun.

Things I love: sounding reggae when I talk, calling people Brudda, Auntie, Uncle, Sista, eating this frozen chocolate milk, everyone's friendliness in and out of the hostel, little boys who confess their love for me, goats everywhere, big thunderstorms, being able to walk around without being neurotic and chatting.

Funniest thing that has happened to me thus far: While on the way to the boys house, this older lady started calling Obruni, Obruni (white person) so we turned around, she shook our hand--they have an awesome handshake here!--and she would grab these little toddlers running around and hold them up to us. She was trying to scare them with our white skin, some of them were scared, others were curious (one started poking my freckles).

Twas the Night Before....

For the billionith time today, I have reassured people that I was not nervous or frightened or scared (mostly my parents who are). I was, in fact, antsy. I was counting down the hours until I boarded my first flight(currently 11.92). I've traveled before, I've flown alone. The first leg of the branch, a 4 hour drive to my grandparents house in Pittsburgh, had already taken place. A drive I've taken many times. Tomorrow, I will fly to New York, and then New York straight to Accra, the capital to my new home, Ghana. An ample layover reassures no rushing and a regular trans-atlantic flight. I will arrive at about 8 in the morning, the time difference is 4 hours ahead with a new friend in tow. I am meeting a girl from Georgia in New York and we will be exploring greater Accra together until we start volunteering on the 1st. She will be teaching in village, and I will be off to camp. I will be staying in my first hostel!!! and learning about the culture by the family who runs it.

Please join twitter (link below my profile) that way in case something should happen to me, I can send out a mass message and be able to get help if needed.

Things I know about Ghana: currently in the rainy season, average temperature 90 degrees F, little/no air conditioning, nice beaches on coast.

Things I know I will have some difficulty with: not being able to make plans via cell phone. All meeting up by my fellow volunteers has to be planned ahead of time. Sometimes....I'm not very flexible...

I know that my trip will not always be fun or adventurous; I will probably want to go back home at some point or another. But right now, I really need to get away. I need to escape from all the ease and wastefullness. I need a break from sitting around watching Sex and the City and running errands back and forth across town. The silver spoon of it all has begun to leave a bitter taste in my mouth.

I found this story, the perspective it has is the same as why I'm going:

A rugged individual was walking in the woods in front of a fading sun.
Clomp, stomp, step.
"Who is this walking?" a young tree pondered aloud.
"I am me," the individual replied to the dusk.
The tree strained, but only saw a skeleton.
"What happened to you?" the tree asked quietly.
"I have been walking for a long time. There were plants with thorns that ripped my skin. There were plants that had broken petals that needed mending. There were small caves in which I could not fit, and too large of leas that I tried to fill. My body left me piece by piece."
"Oh," was the trees solemn reply. "Take some of my leaves to protect your soul."
"Don't worry tree. I will not lose my soul. You see, my being is in everyplace I have left my body, not in the flesh itself, but instead, in the idea."
As the individual was explaining, a small shower of green fell like tears and wrapped themselves around the remains of the body.
"I've learned that we are part of all of what we meet, but as a tree I know that roots are vital to life. Without stability, a sense of self cannot be established, and death will fill the void of the purposeless," said the tree.
Both acknowledged what had been gained and lost. The individual passed through the woods with the gift of the tree and a path in mind. The tree shivered tall; it could give and still be.
Above, a cloud moaned past noticing the nakedness in the canopy.
"Oh tree," was all it said, and as it went by some of the mist clung to the empty branches, protecting it from the night.

The First

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