Instead of TV

I bought a fancy new, dual system, dual voltage, dual everything TV in the States because it's much less expensive than it is here -- but of course, it's with my sea shipment, which hasn't arrived yet.  So, what to do, instead, for entertainment other than reading, talking on phone/skype with friends in US and e-mailing, now that I'm in my new, though not very furnished apartment? Pictures soon at www.flickr.com/photos/paulettelee

Well, first things first.  Friday night I worked late at the office and went out to dinner with Raphael, the young head of the Ouaga office (and by now, you should know where Ouaga is!), who comes to Accra frequently.  I guess he's really my only friend so far -- and we have a great time together.  Lots of laughter. He's French but speaks and understands English fluently...except if it's spoken too fast or he's really tired.  When that happens, I : a) slow down; b) speak French; c) speak English and he speaks French.  It seems to work -- as it does with all the staff.  Example of humorous moment:  At the office, I asked Bernardin, a Rwandan who's also multi-linqual, to please speak in English because I couldn't understand the nuances of the issue in French.  Immediately, Raphael asked Bernardin to please speak in French, because he didn't understand the nuances in English!  I had a good laugh at my own arrogance.

Yesterday (Saturday) I went shopping for a bunch of stuff I needed; spent 250 cedis (multiply by 70%  for US$)  Then I unpacked my suitcases, but since I don't have my hangers or a dresser yet,  and there are no shelves in the master bedroom,  I had to use shelves in the guest room closet.  Or is it the office?  Hmmm...back and forth, back and forth.  (No pictures of these two rooms; they're small and empty.  Come visit and you'll see them re-done. Is it better to have the guest room across the hall from the 2nd bathroom, or next to it? This one the guest room?  No, the door doesn't completely close.  So, this one is the office.  Which means the clothes have to be moved into the other room.  (Don't laugh.  I am quite well paid to figure these things out.)

Meanwhile, the tile floor is getting absolutely filthy and the girl who came to ask me for a job as a cleaning lady talked about a mop (we're talking the old-fashioned rag kind) and bucket.  Yuk.  Just swish around dirty water.  I've packed a "Swiffer" but don't think there are replacements here...  There is ALWAYS dirt...Anyway, I digress.

Okay, that was Saturday.  (Hah!  And you thought life in Africa was exciting and adventurous!) Now today, Sunday, was a bit of a puzzle.  What to do, now that I've figured out which room the clothes go in and I don't have a mop?  Oh, right!  It's time to do the laundry.  I have a small washer/dryer unit in my kitchen (see picture).  With the help of Mohammed, the property maintenance man (whom I'm sure I'm driving crazy), I figured out the washer, but not the dryer part.  No problem.  There's a regular unit in a communal laundry room.  Whew!  Got that taken care of. 

Now it's out to the pool -- where in the shade (see pix) it was surprisingly pleasant, given that it is always beastly hot and humid here.  Sitting under the palm trees, I found watching and listening to lovely, multi-colored birds "cuh-cooo" to each other -- immensely more entertaining than some stupid Nigerian TV soap opera.  And the foliage started taking on the forms of humanoids, nodding and communicating with each other in the breeze.  It's also blissfully quiet here, something you don't find in more, shall we say, "local" environments.

I had heard about Ghanaian/African dancing and drumming classes at the University of Ghana/Legon campus, and read that it was Sundays, 2:30-4:30 p.m. (see photos, though hard to believe this is a university campus! ). I didn't know what to expect, so didn't dress for a dance class, but dance class it was (the drumming was the accompaniment) -- see photos -- and those of you who know my love of dance, know how happy I was in that environment.  I have one false knee, one bum knee, 25 years and xx pounds more than when I last took a dance class and was inappropriately dressed and sweating up a storm -- but, MOVING, and feeling at home.  I also learned a lot about the culture of dance here -- how African dance, for example, is always done with the body low and knees bent (oy, vey!), because it comes from a culture of fishing, hunting and farming.  All the dances MEAN something, as do all the steps.  Loved it!

However...came home to find out the problem I had with my key getting stuck in the front door had worsened, because when Mohammed tried, he broke the lock!  So he had to call a locksmith (or carpenter, or maybe just a handyman.  I don't ask.) who pried off the door jam in order to punch out the lock.  We couldn't get in the back door because there was already a key in the inside lock.  So here I am, hot, sweaty, dying for a drink of water and a shower (two different sources of water) and I'm locked out of house.  And it's dusk, which means the mosquitoes are coming.  Arrrgghgh!  TIA!

But TIA also means, we'll get it sorted out.  We always do -- eventually.

xxoxox Love, Grammy

Another transition

I spent my first night in my new"permanent"apartment here in Accra -- in a nice area called "Airport Residential."  Although I'd been there several times with office drivers and my real estate agent, I went there by taxi on my own for the first time after work last night...and then to/from Alliance Francaise to see a modern dance performance...and then to work this morning.  And I was/am where I was/am supposed to be!  And that's quite an accomplishment because: a) I have no sense of direction (Grandpa always marveled that I found my way home from anywhere!); and b) neither do the taxi drivers here. It's incredible -- they don't know streets by names (only landmarks); they don't know a whole lot of landmarks; and they don't necessarily speak English.  So there I was last night, in the dark, driving around in a rattletrap car with a total (male) stranger, getting lost on dimly lit side streets after holding my breath in horrendous traffic with blaring horns, belching fumes, and absolutely NO respect for lanes, much less how to change them, and all I could think, was -- what the hell am I doing???!!!

I don't have much stuff in apt. yet...just the few living basics I packed for my air freight box while I wait for my large sea shipment with furniture and car -- plus my three heavy suitcases of clothes that I'm already sick
of ("..of which I'm already sick"?) Also no TV yet. Landlady left a few basic furniture pieces, but substituted the bed I originally saw, with a twin. Of course I packed linens, but the sheets are too large, the bathroom mats have to be thrown out because they stink to high heaven from having been packed, and I forgot a pillow, so I had to sleep on my travel pillow.  Guess I won't be able to wait until the sea shipment comes ...will have to go shopping this weekend. Actually,the apartment feels more like a hotel than a home...and I've been in more hotels over the past two months than I can count!

Work is busy,but a little weird.  My colleagues are all terrific both here and in Ouaga -- very friendly and helpful.  (Well, young Sammy the IT guy told me I look like a teenager "from far away".  I told him "You look like an adult -- from far away." He cracked up.)  Anyway, the weird part is the topics I'm
working with.  Well, the "tropics", too, as it is ALWAYS hot!  Anyway, been hard at work on a project to bring Burkina sheep down to Ghana next week for the "Tabaski" Muslim holiday (sheep to be sacrificed in memory of Biblical Abraham). But the financing didn't work out so it appears all is for naught. But I have to laugh -- I got dressed in my "grown-up clothes" today for a meeting at the USAID office at the US Embassy -- to talk about sheep and chickens and rice and maize,and...!!!
I am feeling pretty lonely when I'm not at work. Haven't actually HUNG OUTwith the sheep and chickens ...and I do miss Grandpa terribly.

xoxoooox Love, Grammy

Life in the Slow Lane

Very busy at work.  Today, for example, I had to deal with a newsletter that's running really late, a French translation that's running late, a staff member's personal problem, photography for a product catalogue (we're talking cattle and corn here, not Victoria's Secret), writing a fact sheet on our projects, regional maps of our trade corridors, updating the website, budgets for various projects, mailing (e-mail) lists. 

Some things just didn't make sense -- like why we have a mailing list of organizational "partners" but never send anything to them by e-mail...or why we have to order 1,000 hard copies of a newsletter when there are stacks of previous ones just sitting in cupboards...or, why we have to have "Date" and "Venue" on a poster, not just the date and the venue.  Don't people know when they read a date they're reading...a date?  Frankly, I'm never too sure whether I'm dealing with cultural differences or just the "we've always done it this way" mindset that knows no borders.  It can also get pretty funny working in different languages.  You keep changing from one to the other, keep misunderstanding each other and finally -- mutual comprehension.  And then you forget in which language you arrived there!

In addition to the above today, also did a move-in inspection of my prospective apartment with the real estate agent.

I thought I was going to move tomorrow -- Friday -- just a few days shy of having been here one month (since September 26).  But life in the slow lane is v..e..r..y..s...l...o...w.  Contractual negotiations went back and forth with the owner of the apartment (who's leasing it to me for a year with a 6-month or 1 year renewal).  Here in Ghana you have to pay the full lease UP FRONT -- that means some $35,000 in advance!  True also, I'm told, in Nigeria.  No monthly rentals for the ex-patriates (i.e., foreigners, or "ex-pats").  So, basically we're talking rich westerners or their companies that can fork it all over.  However, while my lease is written in terms of US dollars, the USAID policy is to pay only in local currency, so the landlord is annoyed, because she wanted those very desirable dollars.  Back and forth between my real estate agent, the apt. owner and the finance people at work...I didn't even get into it until today. 

What I'm most concerned about are the screens (or "mosquito nets" as they call them here, even if they're on the windows, not over the beds).

"Look," the building maintenance man pointed out to me.  "The screens pull all the way down."

"Look," I responded, showing him the hole in the screen and the space between the window sill and the screen.  "If you were a mosquito, couldn't you fit through there?"

I'd asked for the screens to be fixed or replaced several weeks ago; it's part of the negotiated terms of the lease.  But -- and here's the catch -- if I move in, it's assumed that everything is okay.   However, there is a way around that, of course.  There always is.

"Gabby," I said to my agent on the phone, "I can't stress enough how much I need those screens to be fixed.  Since the screens were negotiated while you were representing me, and it's in the contract, please get them taken care of.  I know you want to get paid (hah, hah, ha = fake laugh)."

God only knows what else won't have been done when I finally do move in...or if I'll even have the home basics I packed in my small (250 lb.) Air Freight box that's been sitting in some office here in town for more than a week, because someone didn't have the right paper, or was on vacation and couldn't sign it, or the stamp pad ran out of ink, or god knows what.  It's supposed to be delivered to the apartment tomorrow (Friday), but now I don't know if the owner will let us in because I don't yet have the key because the cedis (local currency) to dollar addendum hasn't been signed because Barclay's Bank didn't have the right paper to give to the agent so he couldn't deliver it today to have it signed so the owner could sign so I could get my keys....

Fortunately, I seem to have a reserve of patience and humor that I never have in the U.S.  And, the up side is that I live in a hotel apartment right now where all I had to do was ask the cook downstairs this evening if he could fix me my chicken breast and some vegetables, and he said, "no problem".  We'll see...

oxoxoxx  Love, Grammy

Burkina Birthday

It's shortly after 12:30 p.m. and the majority of men in the project's Ouagadougou office are responding to the muezzin, the Muslim call to prayer, which apparently they only observe on Fridays.  "Wait for us to return before you eat!" they insist, referring to the "African food" (locally prepared) that's brought in to our project's satellite office in the capital of Burkina Faso.  I'm here for 9 days, but how I got here and how yesterday  I spent a most memorable 64th birthday (yikes!  Can I really be that old?!), is quite a story...  In fact, it is a PERFECT example of what we ex-pats call "AWA" -- or, Africa Wins Again!

Wednesday was a pretty normal day.  Staff meeting in Accra, then my Communications team and I worked on cleaning up our office so that we could organize publications.  I was headed off that evening for what should have been a 3-hour trip north to Ouaga, which was to include a brief stop in Abidjan in Cote d'Ivoire.  We were flying Air Burkina -- not exactly one of the top 10 world airlines -- which wanted us to check in by 3:30 p.m. for a 5:50 p.m. flight.  Go figure.  I had two suitcases, one with my stuff, one loaded with brochures in French.  The plane was late arriving at the Accra airport, wouldn't be there until 6:30 p.m.  6:30 p.m. came and went.  It finally arrived after 8 p.m.  No problems getting to CdI or to Burkina Faso, and the food was actually pretty good, but once we arrived in BF, it was raining, so we had to circle a bit.  We finally landed somewhere after midnight -- the flight was supposed to land at 9 p.m. 

It was raining.  We're in the Sahel, which is that portion across Africa, just south of North Africa, that's desert.  So there's lots and lots of red dirt, dust and sand.  And when it rains, there's lots and lots of red ...mud.  So picture this, I'm climbing down the stairs from the plane (don't even THINK jetway), carrying my heavy computer case, wearing high-heeled sandals, trying to negotiate my false knee, in the rain.  I'm sure I shall have an auspicious arrival in Ouaga....in an ambulance (if there is one).  Make it safely into the "terminal" -- which looks like a building where demolition has already begun -- and of course the hotel shuttle is no longer there.  Have to take a taxi to the hotel where I have reservations -- except no one entered in their computer that I was coming that day, a day earlier (which, though, had been confirmed). So I had to be taken to another hotel, where I didn't have enough local currency (the "CFA") to pay for the room, as they didn't take dollars or my Visa (which doesn't have the right stamp on it, or something).

I fell asleep, finally, somewhere around 2-2:30 a.m. and was supposed to be picked up by an office driver at 8 a.m  I slept through the alarm, and had the desk tell the driver I was running late.  This ALL, mind you, is in French!  I was supposed to meet the driver from the first hotel to be taken there, but we missed each other, so I took a taxi.  But, the taxi broke down a couple of blocks from the hotel, so we walked -- pulling my luggage.  And of course, I'm wearing the same damn (sorry grandkids!) high-heeled sandals.  By this time, I've paid out so many CFAs in tips that I have absolutely no local currency left. We get to the (first) hotel and -- guess what?:  The room isn't ready for me.  So I have a cup of coffee in the bar, exchange some brief remarks with some guy who's drinking a beer or two (yep, it's 8:15 a.m!), and FINALLy, the room is ready, my office driver is there, and whew!  The nightmare is over and I'm okay.

Well, not exactly.  I get to the office, meet everyone again (I'd met them all when I was in Ghana before actually moving there), and everyone is so nice and fun and welcoming....AND, Raphael, the office director, presented me with a gorgeous bouquet of flowers for my birthday.  But then...my laptop, brought from the office in Accra, isn't working.  Turns out it's the keyboard ("clavier" in French).  Then the internet connection isn't working -- it's the plug in the wall in the office I've been assigned.  I get a new keyboard.  It's a French keyboard ("AZERT" instead of QZERT, and they actually speak those acronyms and I have no idea what they're saying!  Is this French...or??  Anyway, it's one thing to have to deal with the confusion of a different keyboard...but then -- internally, it's been converted!  So, when I LOOK at it, everything comes out wrong.  Well, no problem, I don't have to look.

Okay, the day moves on fairly well, and one of the drivers takes me back to the hotel.  En route, he's saying (in French -- but I simply can NOT understand the West African accent, at least not yet) something about inviting me for a "chicken bicycle" ("poulet bicyclette"), and his elaborate explanation was something about housemaids riding on bicycles to get chickens, or something like that.  Well, most of the "Ouaganais" ride bicyles, or "motos" and they don't even need a license to do so.  So I politely declined, saying it was far too dangerous for me to take a ride on one of those.  He laughed heartily -- no, "Poulet Bicyclette" is the local way of preparing grilled chicken!

Back at the hotel, I took a shower, put on make-up, nice clothes, then sprayed myself with an alluring dose of DEET (insect repellent) and went down to have a glass of wine before meeting Raphael for dinner.  I wondered...hmmmm...it's been a long time, but I think I still look pretty good.  Could I still be picked up?  Sure enough, early a.m. beer man comes by, we strike up a conversation and he tries to make a date -- which I avoid (though he was interesting to talk to).  When Raphael picks me up, I'm feeling pretty hot and told him about this -- and he made "moue", a face reflecting his distaste.  He asked me if the man were African (Raphael is French, but everyone around us is African -- meaning black.  What kind of question was that?).  Hmph!, he sniffed.  He probably was looking for your money.  Sigh.  AWA.

Raphael took me to a fabulous African restaurant, "Espace Gondwana" http://www.africartisanat.com/ with incredible artwork, gorgeous decor (we ate off unused funeral beds) and wonderful food.  Had plenty of laughs and will have plenty of memories of my birthday in Burkina.

xoooxxooo Love, Grammy

Introducing Africa

Right now my grandchildren -- all five Froseths ("Fro 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5") are a combination of proud and puzzled as to why "Grammy" keeps going back to Africa.  Kirra and Caden, the 4-year old twins, probably don't even know I'm gone, but Summer, who is 7, is bragging to her friends about my travels; 11-year old Makayla's best friend said to her, "I know your grandma goes to Africa a lot, can she bring me back some sand?"; and 13 (almost 14) year-old Keaton misses me and says he can't wait to come visit Ghana, which I hope he and Makayla will do next summer, with their dad, Jeremy.

So why do I keep going -- and especially, why now, just 9 months after Gary's death?  Even that phrase can reduce me to tears, though I've pretty much stopped crying and just hold dear the 36 years we had together.  I go because I'm healing, because this was part of my life before Gary died, and because, well, because "it's" there.  Because I can do my communications work in an environment that brings the rest of the world closer to me, and helps me feel part of this very large and complicated globe on which we live.  For me, life has never been about complacency -- it's about learning and doing and seeing and experiencing. Africa draws me because of its spirit and its mystique (as does the Middle East, where I thought I was headed!).  It both attracts and infuriates me.

Having been to Africa many times, and facing the prospect of introducing it to family, I am looking at it, though, through the eye of newcomers.  What would their reactions be to the strange mix in African capitals of beautiful modern buildings with fascinating architecture juxtaposed by colonial or clap-trap construction...modern cars alongside rattle-trap taxis in totally insane traffic along roads that are bordered by open drainage systems instead of sidewalks...professionals dressed in modern (or often traditional) garb, talking on their cell phones as they pick their way along the dusty, rock-strewn streets also populated by goats and chickens... modern supermarkets with horribly expensive imported items (e.g., canned and packaged goods) and produce (here Accra), except those from France (!)...plenty of "continental" and foreign restaurants and "international standard hotels" alongside traditional "local food" chop shops and lodging accommodations that might not have working ("western") toilets.  Numerous languages all being spoken simultaneously...living among people of color, who all seem to be able to tell from which country or region the other is.  And the people -- their charm, humor, friendliness, and the way they solve problems -- both lackadaisically (drives me nuts!) and creatively (I call it "Africa magic").

It's hard to read international publications about Africa, because they dwell so much on corrupt politics and violent conflicts...but of course, the Africa I see is only middle class, and poverty.  I don't typically see the very wealthy, nor those who commit atrocities. 

Typically, my life is pretty much the same here as it is anywhere when one works full-time.  I spend a lot of time in front of a computer -- answering e-mails, solving problems, writing -- as well as meeting with staff.  My first week has been both interesting -- learning about the barriers to international trade in six product areas, and exploring Accra -- and boring, as I've yet to get involved in anything.

xooox  Love, Grammy