The Way We Were

Dear Ghana,

I will leave you soon. I’ll be so sad to go, but as our time together grows ever smaller, I feel like everything I have back home is glowing brighter than before. I realize this is probably only home-sickness, just like I thought everything with you would be incredible and easy and fun and one big adventure. However, I can’t help feeling like a burrito could cure me of any ill I’ve ever had. Besides, while it has been an adventure you have really done your best to kick my ass. Touché, Ghana, touché.

Remember that time I got an ear infection and possibly malaria? I do. While it seemed like you were only testing my physical strength after a mere 4 weeks, I know now you were really testing my patience. I suppose me breaking down into tears in the third hour of being ignored is proof that I failed that particular test…hmm. You should be proud to know though, that just the other day I road no less than 5 tro tros from Beyin back to Accra for no less than 11 hours. Who has patience now?? That’s right, it’s me.

Remember Professor Korsaw? Sure you do, he taught my Africa Under Colonial Rule class. I think he only came to class 6 times…what an ass. But, it got so much worse when he failed to come to the last class, then decided to reschedule for dead-week (I hate how professors can get away with anything here!) and then, he showed up drunk! I know, I know, I only heard about it after the fact, as I had given up on that class long ago, but still, I believe the 20-or-so eye witnesses who told me about it afterward.

Then there was that time the bathroom situation got so bad (apparently the urge to defecate on a floor does not leave everyone at the age of 2) in my dorm that we had to lock all the toilet stalls, and then the lock to me and Elena’s stall broke, and before we could get it fixed, someone shit on the floor of our stall—right in front of the toilet!!!!!!! I’m sure you think it’s funny, but I assure you, neither Elena nor I felt the same, especially when the cleaning lady refused to clean it up, and Elena ended up mopping it up, and I boiled water to clean out her bucket, which she had to use. Gross, gross, gross.

You probably think I hate you, don’t you?? I don’t, I promise! We have had a lot of wonderful times together, that had nothing to do with poop, or drunken professors or potentially fatal diseases. Like the time Elena, Anita, Maureen, and I went to play rugby at La Badi beach in Accra. We got to meet up with our French coach Thebeau, and Amuzu, our Ghanaian coach, and we played a really fun game of “touch” rugby in the sand with the high school girls we used to play last semester. Then we got beers at the beach and took pictures making hilarious faces, and were the biggest losers and had the most fun ever.

And then there was the Elvis incident. Remember Elvis?? He was in that Religion in Gender and Society class I took, the one who always said things like: “Every woman I know loved being pregnant” or “The reason there hasn’t been a female president in Ghana yet is because women are just not as capable” you remember, I hated him. Well he is running for School President, and has posters all over campus. Late at night a few weeks ago, I stole one. I put it up on the inside of my door, so that Elena and I could laugh at him as much as we wanted. Well, the next day, Becky was hanging out in our room, and we were eating fried yams and cookies and just talking about our day…and there was a knock at the door. I get up to open it, and ELVIS WAS AT THE DOOR!! He had come to Volta Hall campaigning! I opened the door around 5cm, and tried to get rid of him, but he insisted on coming in and introducing himself to Elena and Becky. So, I opened the door all the way, against the wall, so he wouldn’t see the poster and told him we were right in the middle of something…so he had to leave. (Yams and cookies out…we were in our pajamas…at 7pm) After he left I think we laughed for about 20 minutes.

And while I don’t necessarily appreciate that my next-door-neighbors wake me up at 5:30 every morning singing worship songs, or getting dirty looks from everyone I see on Sunday as they come home from church and see me hanging my laundry in my pajamas, it does make for funny stories. Also, a lot of the worship music is wonderful. I need to invest in about $600 worth of amazing West African High Life music before I leave. I’ll miss your music so much.

I will also miss Thursday nights. After a long, hot day, I love meeting Maureen and Elena, and sometimes Kayla at Desperados, the bar at the top of the hill, right behind Commonwealth Hall and having a Star and banku and hearing hilarious stories while simultaneously denying passes from the Commonwealth guys—more commonly called Vandals. I need to figure out how to make banku…who knew fermented corn dough dipped in pepper and ketchup could be the best thing ever?? I guess you did…well done.

I know I complain, but I will miss your food. Not everything…but Red-Red (black eyed peas in a spicy, oily tomato sauce served with fried plantains), Banku, Kenkey (more fermented corn dough…only different), and pineapple, paw-paw, mangos, and your local bananas…oh, I’ll miss those a lot.

We haven’t always gotten along, but I’m really trying to make the most of our last 3 weeks. I know you’ll try too.

I love you.