“Everything you can imagine is real.”

Last night it rained, not a furious rain falling in sheets but a steady drop by drop rain. I had my bedroom window opened, and I fell asleep to the sound of the drops. This morning when I woke up, the day was cloudy and damp. Since then the sun has taken over the sky and brightened the day. It’s a pretty morning.

The window view from here in the den is one of my favorites. The branches of the tall oak tree fill the window, and I get to watch the tree change every season. The leaves now are young and a bright green. Hanging off a couple of the branches are bird feeders, and I get to watch the birds zoom in and out or stay for a while at the suet feeder. The winter view through that window is bleak. I can see only bare branches and dead leaves fluttering in the wind. When the first buds appear, it’s time for a celebration as I know the tree will soon be full and beautiful. It’s almost there now.

Sometimes I ponder my life and every time I do, I realize how lucky I have been. First of all I had great parents though I didn’t always appreciate them, especially when I got sent to my room or yelled at or had a slipper thrown at me by my mother who had absolutely no aim. She never once got any of us. We always ducked if it came close. I got to wander my town and go to the zoo or the swamp or play in the woods. I had a bike which took me even as far as East Boston to see my grandparents which scared the bejesus out of my mother as we had to travel on Route 1A, a busy highway which didn’t always have sidewalks. That bike was one of my childhood joys. My parents took us to museums which developed in us all a love of museums. They let us dream our dreams. I went to college and had no debt when I graduated because my father thought it was is responsibility to pay for school. My parents once told me they never thought any of their kids would go to college as no one in our whole family had ever gone. They were thrilled one of us did and so was I as I had chosen well. I loved Merrimack. The Peace Corps was the defining moment in my life which gave me a love of teaching, two years living in Africa of all places and friends for life. 

I have traveled many places in the world and have filled my memory drawers with those adventures, those vistas, the bumpy roads and crowded busses, the tastes of unknown foods and the joy of seeing all those pictures from my geography books come to life. Every year I went somewhere foreign, somewhere to satisfy my wanderlust. I got to retire early and since then have been to Africa three times: once to Morocco and twice to Ghana. My retirement has been so much fun: greeting the sun on the first of spring, sloth days, game nights with my friends, sitting on the deck doing absolutely nothing, movie nights and on and on and on.

Every now and then, like today, I give thanks for the life I have been privileged to lead. I don’t ever want to forget that. 

“I’ve just been bitten on the neck by a vampire… mosquito. Does that mean that when the night comes I will rise and be annoying?”

Today is winter. Though the sky is steely blue and the sun is shiny, it’s cold, and we have snow. I’m guessing about 2 inches fell during the night, not enough for plows or even shovels but any snow is enough. From here inside my warm house, the snow is pretty and it glistens in the sun, but even Gracie was reluctant to go out when we first woke up. I had to trudge across the snowy lawn to get the newspapers, and when I did, I saw paw prints in the snow. I’m guessing Cody came to visit hoping Gracie was awake. She wasn’t and neither was I.

The mice count is now 15. Only a single tiny beast found its way into a trap yesterday. Either peanut butter is less desirable than it had been or the number of mice has dwindled. I know there are some on this floor so they are also my targets. I’ve already put down a couple of my trusty traps but no takers as yet. Only three more mice are needed to break my decades old record.

I have never been the type afraid of bugs or snakes or mice. Garter snakes were common when I was a kid. One of us would see a snake, announce its presence and all of us would run to watch. The bravest among us would pick it up and hold it for a while. In the field below our house, we used to run through the tall grass and spook the grasshoppers so they’d hop into the air and then we’d catch them with our bare hands. We caught fireflies in jars but we always released them. Fireflies were special. In the swamp, we’d use jars to scoop up tadpoles and our hands to grab the frogs. Dirt and grime were never a problem.

In Ghana I saw poisonous snakes: one was in the bushes outside my classroom block. My students killed it by pelting rocks at it. Lizards were everywhere, including my house. In training, on our first day, I saw lizards scurrying across the concrete walks as I went to breakfast. I’ll never forget that morning. It was my first I’m really in Africa moment.

I have no plans for today, no errands and no chores. It’s a perfect sloth day. It’s a stay in my cozies, read a bit and take a nap day.

“Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year.”

Today being the last day of the year and all I took a leisurely morning. First of all I woke up late, we’re talking 9:45 late, took my shower and then had an extra cup of coffee while reading the papers. I watched the birds from the window. It was like a convention of birds. One feeder had five goldfinches while other birds hovered just outside of it waiting for their seats at the counter. I felt bad for the doves as I had nothing for them. I have to go to Agway later to get Gracie food, sunflower seeds and thistle so I’ll also pick up a bag of assorted seeds to throw down for the doves. I’m so glad I filled the feeders the other day as the birds aren’t likely to find anything to eat with the snow.

Nope, I haven’t made a single resolution. Last year was a great year, and I didn’t make any resolutions then either. I’ll just let my life meander. That seems to work just fine.

I would like a trip this new year, but I have to go somewhere close and cheap. The last two Ghana trips depleted my savings, and I need some time to rebuild. Also, I’d like one more trip to Ghana, probably my last, in a couple of years, and that’s another reason for close and cheap. My friends Bill and Peg are going back to Ghana and Bolga in the fall. They mentioned that Duane, another volunteer with us from way back, would also like to go Ghana but he hasn’t yet planned the when. He was posted about 100 miles from us in Tamale, and I used to see him on my trips there, to the “big” city. He’ll have a bit of culture shock when he sees how big Tamale has gotten. It even has a store which sells real cheese.

I have no plans for tonight. My sister and I were laughing about that. In the old days, neither one of us would have been caught dead at home on New Year’s Eve. We’d be partying some place or many places, and we’d be wearing those silly hats and blowing horns. Tonight I’ll celebrate at home and be quite content. I’m thinking a bit of champagne and maybe even some shrimp. Just because I’m home doesn’t mean I can’t spoil myself!

Happy New Year, my friends. May this year be the best year!

What I Did On My Summer Vacation!

I am not having a regular posting today. I just spend over an hour going through the pictures, adding more information and deleting a few duplicates. I saw your comments and went back and made the viewing public so there shouldn’t be a problem. It took me a while to figure out what I needed to do, but having an account is unnecessary (I hope). Click twice on the first picture as you’ll then have a black background which is perfect for viewing. Come see my adventure: please comment!

http://www.flickr.com/photos/misskath/sets/72157631632501438/

“No, no! The adventures first, explanations take such a dreadful time.”

I want snow and cold. They will be cause for hibernation by the elderly whose cars will then lie fallow in garages for the season. Yesterday was the worst. I spent what seemed like hours behind a driver going 20 then up to a high speed of 25. The line of cars behind me stretched for miles. Finally the driver turned right and went through a red light to a parking lot beyond. I figured he thought the light was optional. I breathed a sigh of relief until I caught up with the car in front of me, a car from Florida. That one was going so slowly I swear two walkers passed it on the road. I even think one of them was using crutches. A detour did me in as every car had to go my way. The one in front of me put brakes on at every curve, however slight, and took my exact route home. The cars, again, were massed behind me. We could have been a parade.

Rain is expected starting today then through the weekend. The sun was bright earlier but is now behind the clouds. It’s warm. I stayed outside a while and checked out my front garden. The mums planted last year have blossoms. I saw white, yellow and  deep rust buds. My flowers are close to adorning the garden.

My daily life is almost back to normal. Last night I lasted until after 11 then woke up this morning at 7, the latest I’ve slept since my return. It is difficult to believe that a week and a half ago I was in Africa. Sometimes I even find it difficult to believe I actually lived in Africa, a place so different than here. When I’m there, every day seems perfectly natural: shopping in the market, greeting people in FraFra or Hausa, eating with my right hand and enjoying goat or plantain or rice with a few rocks, well, pebbles anyway, and constantly sweating from the heat. When I’m here, all of that seems more like a dream, something I conjured from a book I read or a movie I’d seen. But it isn’t: all of it is real, every wonderful day of my adventure.

“When you are at home, your troubles can never defeat you.”

The routine of daily life returns far too quickly. Each morning I am closer to my usual time. This morning it was 6:30 when I woke up; two days ago it was 4:30. Last night I lasted until nearly 10:30 before I dragged my tired self upstairs to bed.

Last year I returned to a different Ghana after forty years away. The cities are huge and filled with crowds of people and with cars caught in constant traffic jams, except for Sundays when the roads are clear. That is church day in Ghana.

I could hear the sounds of car horns everywhere. They blow a second after the traffic lights turn green which I find strange in a country where patience, like food and water, is a necessity of life. Ghana is dirty, mostly in the cities. I partially blame the water sachets, small plastic bags of pure water, sold everywhere then tossed to the ground when empty. After a while, though, I didn’t notice. I just saw Ghana: the people, the animals and the wonderful small villages and towns.

Along the roads are deserted houses made of clay. They fall apart easily when not tended. Other houses in various stages of construction are everywhere. They aren’t abandoned but in process. New houses are build over time, when the owners have money. It often takes years to finish a house.

The roads are filled with tro-tros ferrying riders from one stop to another, from one small village to the next. The driver’s helper sits by the sliding door and yells the destination. Each tro-tro is filled with people crammed elbow to elbow. People don’t seem to mind the heat.

Goats are everywhere. They stand on the shoulders of the road to eat the grass beside the road. Babies stand with their mothers. Pregnant goats waddle. At night, the goats sleep on the same shoulders where they spent the day. I never saw a goat which had been hit by a car. Drivers are careful.

Along the road, villages and small towns appear out of nowhere. Speed bumps are the only indicators. They slow drivers down going into and out of each village, even the smallest. In between the villages I saw women carrying bundles of wood, bicyclists riding along the side of the road and children with buckets both filled and empty. Many times I never saw their destinations and wondered where they were going. I guessed there were isolated compounds somewhere off the road. Hawkers are everywhere. If you stop, they come to the windows hoping for a sale. Off their heads come their trays. Some are filled with oranges or bread, groundnuts, water sachets or dried fish. At toll booths, the hawkers sell wares particular to the region. Near the water were shrimp, octopus and snails. The food I wanted was a sweet donut. When I found some , I bought two. They used to be a roadside staple. Now they are rarer. The other food I miss is toasted coconut balls. They were delicious.

The Ghanaians are wonderful, friendly people. When you speak to them in a local language, they smile from ear to ear and often clap. They say, “You have done well.” If you are lost, a Ghanaian will give you directions or even walk you to your destination. A woman got in our car and directed us to where we wanted to go. They will grab your bundles so you don’t have to carry them. I was offered a bench every time I stopped to take a small rest. Ghana is rich in its people.

Ghana is a country of street food. We used to go into town at night for snacks and buy we’d kabobs, plantain chips or fried yams. The women, the aunties, were set up along the sides of the road behind basins filled with oil boiling over charcoal fires. Lit lanterns sat on their tables. I always liked the sight of the dark street dotted with those lanterns. Mostly that hasn’t changed, but now street food is available starting in the afternoons. I bought tasty sausages and kabobs, often with fried onions. I bought kelewele and yams and bread, delicious butter bread, and rolls for my sausages. Many small kiosks now dot the sides of the streets and sell food. They all have painted names on the front and most boast they are the best: the best meat, the best kenkey and the best of just about everything.

Last year Ghana was new again. This year it was familiar. It felt far more like home, the way it had all those years ago.

Another Day in Kantia

Last night I was awokened by a tremendous wind which sounded like a hurricane. I got up and went to the window. Trees were bent to the ground andgrasses were waving. Then came lightning and thunder. That went on for a while and finally rain came. It was amazing, exactly what you imagination tells you a tropical storm should   look and sound like. The rain continued into this morning which was cool and breezy. It finally stopped around noon, and the sun is back which means so is the sweating (oops perspiring).

Bea, one of my students, made kelewele for me, a plaintain dish, and my favorite Ghanaian food. I had it for dinner the other night. There I was sitting on the porch hearing roosters and the voices of the children speaking FraFra and eating kelewele with my hand. It is another world.

Today we drove by churches, and I could hear the singing. I saw women walking along the side of the road dressed in Sunday clothes, traditional long dresses made of Ghanaian cloth, colorful and beautiful. Men wore shirts of Ghanaian cloth or suits and ties. Small girls and small boys were miniature versions of their parents. I got a chuckle at the idea that even in Ghana kids are forced into Sunday clothes for mass.

We went to Navrongo yesterday. The road to there is one of my favorite. Along parts of it are huge trees overhanging and shadowing the road. Small girls sit by the side and sell oranges or tomatoes or Guinea fowl eggs. As you pass a village, chickens, goats and baby Guinea fowl run across the road in front of you. Cows with ropes around their necks wander. They had broken their tethers. The corn and millet are high, close to harvesting. The rain will last this month more and maybe small time into October. Here there is only one growing season while the south has two.

I am happy and doing well. My students are forcing me to eat more than fruits and salads by cooking for me so I am being well taken care of here. No worries!

When summer gathers up her robes of glory, And, like a dream, glides away.”

The morning is sunny and warm. This room, still in the shade, is cool and comfy. The nights have been dropping to the 60′s, perfect for sleeping, and will be as cool for the next few days. Crossing off items on my before-I-go list continues. Yesterday three bit the dust; already this morning one more is finished. At least three more will be completed by bedtime, and I’ll be left with the big one: packing on Saturday morning.

Last night was the final play of the season. I have no idea where the summer has gone. When I was a kid, summer seemed to last forever filled as it was with days and days of play. I was always surprised when we went shoe shopping, the first sign of summer’s end and the encroachment of the school year.

My favorite summers were when I was a teacher and didn’t work. Those were my traveling days, and I traveled all over, mostly in Europe, with just a few clothes in a backpack. The trips were usually 4 or 5 weeks long, and I went every summer. I had always dreamed of traveling to the ends of the earth to see the pages of my geography book come alive and those summer trips fulfilled my dreams.

My most amazing summer was training in Ghana where I stepped into a brand new world, something I couldn’t have ever imagined. I remember so well those first few days. They were like a dream. Everywhere was green. There were palm trees and there were lizards scurrying across the walkways in front of me. Women dressed in beautiful cloths and carried baskets and buckets on their heads. Little kids followed us. I remember standing just outside my room, on the second floor of the dormitory in Winneba, and looking below at the rusted tin roofs of the houses. I could see goats and I could see people going about their business. I was enthralled.

I love my summers now. My friends and I are usually on the deck, eating, playing games and laughing. We try to stretch the deck season as long as we can and usually last well into long pants and sweatshirt cold nights. The saddest part is when I have to close down in the fall. It’s the adult version of buying new shoes for schools.

“Food is our common ground, a universal experience.”

5:30 is far too early to be awake unless I’m hurrying to catch a plane. My papers weren’t and still aren’t even here. Gracie has gone back to sleep. It is an ugly morning with dark skies and a cold wind. Rain is predicted for the whole day, even heavy at times; of course, that would be the prediction with my friends arriving later. I had planned a lovely Cape Cod ride by the ocean today.

I should be eating my Rice Crispies and watching cartoons instead of the early news. I guess this is one of the by-products of adulthood. Crusader Rabbit gets replaced by news, sports and weather.

With the rain coming, Ms. Flamingo and Mr. Gnome didn’t make it outside. They are still safe and warm in their winter home here in the den. They can both oversee the weekend festivities.

My friends want one of my famous dinners. I gave it some thought and figured I’d make my curry. I then called my friend Jay, a friend for over thirty years who has partaken often of my cooking. I asked him what dinner he’d asked for if he could choose. Lo and behold he chose curry so curry it is!

The first time I ate curry was in Africa. A doctor and his wife from Fez, Morocco lived in my town my first year. He was a doctor at the local hospital. They came over to my house, introduced themselves and invited me to dinner. I went and they served curry. I’ll never forget that meal. My hosts were amazing telling me all about Morocco and Fez and then they served dinner. It was like manna from heaven, a taste treat I have never forgotten, and one I have made many times since which just about the same reaction every time I eat it.

The first time I served my curry was close to forty years ago, and I invited a houseful of people. They were, at first, tentative. Their eyes and the unfamiliar smell of the curry meant they put very little on their plates, only enough to be courteous. I told them to add the toppings then the chicken. They did then sat down and took their first bites. The room went silent. The only sound was forks on plates. The food disappeared quickly and all of them went for second helpings, generous helpings, plate filling helpings. They were now curry fans.

I love watching first time curry eaters. They are amazed by the odd combination of tastes and the heat of the curry then the coolness of the fruit. I expect most of the meal will be silent. I can hear those forks now!

“Africa is less a wilderness than a repository of primary and fundamental values, and less a barbaric land than an unfamiliar voice”

It’s an acceptable day: not too cool, not hot, and varying between sunny and cloudy. Rain is predicted for this afternoon but right now the sun holds sway. I have a bunch of stuff to do today, a listful, and it’s been a while since I’ve needed a list. A couple of the errands are for tomorrow, but I figured I’d add them anyway while I was listing, so to speak.

I need a little excitement. Over the winter, my life was a bit humdrum. Okay, it was hugely humdrum. I didn’t go anywhere. Even my night out for trivia was sporadic. The one social event I could count on was on Sunday nights when my friends and I had our Amazing Race evening together. We’d play games before hand and eat dinner while watching the race, but that was the sum total of my excitement.

In Ghana, there was little to do at night. The occasional movies were shown at the Hotel d’Bull and many of them were Indian with all the singing that goes with them. It wasn’t Bollywood back then, but all the pieces for it were in place. Mostly we played games, but I was never bored. Life was never humdrum. All around me was Africa with sights and sounds I never knew existed. I couldn’t have dreamt them as I had no idea what Africa was like. I had to experience those sights and sounds, absorb them and etch them into my memory so I could draw on them and bring them back.

I brought them back often. I’d close my eyes and remember. I’d see the road to town and all the stores across from the post office, and I’d remember market day with all the bustle and noise and the stalls filled with fruit and vegetables. I remembered the beautiful colors and patterns of the cloth and how women carried babies on their backs and baskets on their heads. I kept my memories vivid.

Last summer I saw all of those things again. My town was huge compared to forty years earlier, but its essence hadn’t changed. The market is enormous now but still filled with color and with women carrying baskets on their heads and babies on their backs. I heard the sounds of FraFra, the local language, everywhere I went. I greeted people just as I used to but in Hausa, the language the Peace Corps taught me, and the Ghanaians always greeted me back. I didn’t have a TV, and there is no more Hotel d’Bull with its Indian movies, but none of that mattered. Just as before, I wasn’t bored once.