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
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