I'm home now, but it would feel quite incomplete not to reflect on the last days of Guatemala (this year).

Arriving in an American airport after being abroad is always an experience. I don't know that I'd call it culture shock per say, but just the recognition of a number of things that you lived with out, without realizing. Things like Homeland Security. Football games and college sweatshirts. The mid-western accent. PDA. Then there's the language adjustment. This is the first travel I've done where I actually spoke the host language, so at first I walked around sort of assuming that the people walking past didn't speak English. I bought TCBY from an Asian woman in Salt Lake City and for a split second didn't know how to ask for what I wanted, trying to find the words in Spanish, and then realized that she didn't look like someone with a reason to know it. The Chocolate or Vanilla question brought me to my senses.

It was not as depressing as I feared it would be to leave Guatemala, I was ready to be home. Ready, but still shocked to find out my brain was deceiving me to believe that my flight home was a whole day later than it actually was. With the sudden realization that I had less that 24 hours left, I began counting my blessings that I left San Pedro the week before. The last 2 days there of wrapping up my lessons and saying goodbye to my teachers and host family left me with the feelings of mi corazón en el estómago. I have learned incredible amounts about the Mayan culture, about San Pedro, and about these peoples’ lives. In some ways I feel guilty that I can just go somewhere and start a life and just leave, but for me that’s the most important part of travel, is to dig in deep enough to see the humanity in other people. As different as Tacoma is to a pueblo in the highlands, I believe we are all the same with consequences that inform how I live my life in the States. I truly have a family in San Pedro and need to return, and knowing that a year from now it’s possible satiates me for now.

When I left San P I headed straight for Santa Cruz del Quiche to meet my friend Melissa from Spanish School. Sorry to anyone who’s been and enjoyed it, but Quiche isn’t worth mentioning in a travel blog. We went together to Chichicastenango on market day. The guidebook makes the market out to be an absolute must do for tourists, and underemphasizes the spiritual significance of the city. Go if you like to shop, the market is very cool, but the town itself is the charm. The former monastery of ChiChi is where the Popul Vuh was discovered, a written version of the QuicheMaya cosmology that survived the Spanish conquest and most if not all other renditions of the tradition. All throughout the highlands people embody a mix of traditional spiritual practice and Catholicism, but in ChiChi the mix is more obvious, with Mayan rituals occurring inside the Catholic temple. I wish I could have been there on a non-market day as well, just to get a less polluted feel for the place, but not this trip. This trip I shopped.

From Chichicastenango I left my friend and went up into the Cuchumatanes Mountains for 3 days, staying in the pueblo of Nebaj. Of course I would arrive at night in the rain, totally turned around, and of course the only other gringo on the bus was a Peace Corps guy from Kansas. Trust the world, people. The hostel I stayed at and the company I hiked with were both projects started by the Peace Corps to provide job opportunities for young adults in Nebaj. If you ever go, look up El Descanso, because they got it going on.

I primarily went to Nebaj for the hiking, which was excellent, but the most interesting aspect of the Ixel region is its recent history. The “Ixel Triangle” refers to the three major villages (and some 180 other small villages, most without road access) associated with one of the smaller Maya ethnic groups which were nearly obliterated during the Guatemalan civil war (henceforth, La Violencia). According to Nicolas, my 60+ year old hiking guide, during La Violencia the population of Nebaj swelled as people fled more remote mountain communities. The Guerrilla forces (ultimately seeking land redistribution and civil care for the Mayan peoples of Guatemala) were very strong in this neglected, isolated region, and the army response was correspondingly deadly. The army razed some 20 villages to the ground in attempt to route out support for the Guerrillas, going to the lengths of arming locals and forcing them to participate in “civil patrols” to kill Guerrillas and local sympathizers. I asked how many people of Nebaj died in the conflict, and received only the answer “bastante” (enough). Nebaj was removed from maps of Guatemala until after the war. Ironically, the post-war reconstruction effort has dramatically improved life in Nebaj, according to my guide. Pre-war there was no paved road out of town, but now the government has paved in between the three principle villages of the region, and connected then to the main highway, dramatically increasing job prospects and educational opportunities. The UN came in and built tons of “model villages” in the mountains to resettle the highlanders. I hiked to one, Acul. There really isn’t anything “model” about it- there is zero infrastructure. Sort of like developing a suburb on a Sim game and letting it get populated. I don’t think the people living there now are necessarily who lived on that land before. Sadly, many people who fled on to Nebaj, but into the mountains as single people and families have never returned to their communities. For me, it’s fascinating how strong Nebaj seems 14 years later. Next to San Antontio, it was the most traditional (larger) village I visited, and the community there felt very strong. I really enjoyed exploring down random paths past houses and through corn fields (because “private road” just isn’t a concept in a village).

I forwent traveling to Coban in favor of an extra day in Antigua with Melissa (turned out to be a good choice, I was ready to relax by then, and otherwise it would have been much harder to make that flight I nearly missed by 24 hours). Antigua is very pleasant, and very clean. I heard someone describe it as “middle class” for Guatemalans, but I don’t really know if that’s correct or not. Let’s just say that I didn’t see much traditional anything, but that the people didn’t seem “Guatemala City” either. The town has an eerie feeling of fakeness- it’s like Levenworth, WA, where no business signs can protrude from the edifice and Burger King and Pollo Compero (Guatemalan KFC) have nice carved wooden signs without neon. That said, it’s a very pretty place in the valley next to a volcano (photos forthcoming). I think a lot of people come to “Guatemala,” but really just come to Antigua and arrange 1 or 2 day trips. More expensive, but more comfortable for sure. As the former Spanish capital of Central America, the place is full of intact and ruined churches to explore, fantastic food, and museums. A description would not be complete without mentioning the central park fountain, modeled after an Italian one. I’ll let it speak for itself:

I had a fantastic time in Guatemala, and literally can’t find anything to complain about. I know that a return trip is in my future, but for further Spanish study, and to explore the many other parts of the country that I did not see on this trip, which was high on culture and happiness, and low on sightseeing. A perfect 6 weeks.

Well friends, its been awhile. For quite sime time i didnt really feel like i had much to say, but this past weekend i finially left san pedro for a bit to see other parts of the lake. I started out by taking a lancha to Panajachel, the city i came through to get here in the first place. I was there about 10 minutes before I decided to leave. Its a long established spot for tourists, so it was crawling with gringos, and overall felt dirty and uninviting. I knew there was a nature preserve nearby so I walked about 1km out of town and down a very plesent road lined with extremely nice hotels. I had planned to go for a hike in the reserve, but instead I hiked and went ziplining in a canyon. By far the most expensive thing Ive done in Guatemala for a measly 23 bucks. It was very cool to be above the trees and look down through them. There were also monkeys, but god knows ive seen enough of those to really care. The reserve also had a butterfly sanctuary, which im pretty sure contained 2 mariposas. The flowers were much for interesting. From Pana I rode in the back of a pick up, under a tarp, in the rain to another village called San Antonio Popolo. Its more or less the opposite side of the lake from San P, and is pretty much the definition of tranquil. I was only there for about an hour, but it was well worth the trip to see the differently patterened and colored traje tipica in a community with different Maya heritage, and a different language than San P.
The next morning I set out to climb La Nariz, a peak more or less behind the pueblo of San Juan that I visited in the last blog (and again 2 weekends ago when the lovely Katie Bray came to visit from her orphanage in Parramos. I finially broke down and bought something touristy, a woven make up bag of sorts, made from natural dyes.). It took two hours to walk from San P to the top of the peak, which was intermnitanly shroweded in fluffy white clouds, but otherwise provided a stunning vista of the lake. I could bore you with yet more pictures of the lake, but to you it would only be scenery, same ol, same ol. Because it rained while I was above the clouds the decent also took 2 hours, and thus I was a useless human being for the rest of the weekend, emerging only to feed my soul by making spagetti. FRESH VEGABLES. A miracle really.
I will now interupt this post to reflect on the oddity that is my diet here. Yes Ive mentioned it before. Im taking my carbohydrate consumption to new hights now. Yesterday Id had pancakes, a tamale (corn), rice, and freshly fried jojos by lunch time. Today breakfast was a piece of white cake offered to me with a tup of chocolate frosting, if id like, to go with my half a deep friend plantain. The school always offers us a snack, and today if planned to pass, but it was just so bizarre I couldnt help myself- more or less a hamburger bun topped with an egg, guacamole, purred black beans, cooked carrots, and CHOW MEIN. wtf? Jose joked that it was a sandwitch multicultural. (say it with an accent, the words are the same). And ya know what? It was damn good. However, by far my favorite thing my host mom makes is rediculously simple. Its pretty much instant chicked broth with tomatos, onions, noodles, and mint. Normally I hate mint in food, but this soup is sooo good.
Speaking of my host family. Im extremely greatful for the expreience of living with them. Really, this whole trip, but especially the homestay part has been exactly what I wanted to experience. It is a truly unique window into the life of my mother, a traditional mayan woman who may or may not have finished high school, and devotes her entire existence to the life of her family. I see the clash of modernity between my sister, a hannah montana and basketball loving girls and her father, a fairly strict traditional man (especially in the gender role sense, at times I find myself rolling my eyes uncontroably for his expectations of his wife). I find myself wondering if she has any chance to become the teacher she deams of becoming.
All in all, their home has been a wonder experience, but Im beginning to withdraw and seek more time to myself. Im sad to be leaving San Pedro for good this trip, but I need a break from my family, and especially from studying. Im thrilled with all ive learned, but its becoming more and more frustrating that my speaking skills dont progress as quickly. Yes, I could try harder, but Im just kind of tired. Im realizing now that ive pretty much done a j-term language class, something I always thought sounded like a dumb idea. I wish I could take 2 weeks off and come back to it, and I plan to locate another calss as soon as I get home.
Instead of coming back Ill be moving on for a week before I fly home. I have a rough idea of where- first to Santa Cruz del Quiche to meet a friend with whom Ill go to the massive market Chichicastenango and visit the some Mayan ruins. From there Im going alone north to Nebaj, in the Ixil Triangle, the three principle village of a small Ixil speaking people from some highland hiking. From there Ill try to get north of Coban, to get in some caving at Candelaria before I go back south to meet my friend again in the former spanish capital of Antigua.
From there its time to go home! I think Ill be ready after this last week of exploring. Right now Im just trying to soak up a few more spanish concepts and enjoy the company of my teachers, but I cant help but look forward to being home just a little bit. What can I say, I love to travel, but Im a homebody at heart, and while Ive loved building a home hear (I certianly plan to return) I have lots of goodness waiting for me in Tacoma.
Checkfacebook soon for more photos, and take care!

When it rains, it pours

Only a few outstanding events this week. Both of my amigas aqui have left for other ciudades , so theres been a lot of me time.

This afternoon I went with my teachers to express condoences for a woman whose mother died last week. Back up- one of the women who boards students for la esquela, it fue her madre who passed. It was a rather traumatic experiance for mi amiga, who experienced perhaps the most distressing of communication barriers with her family over the issue. In this cuture it was more appropriate for her to stay living with the family for the last 4 days rather than move. Death in the mayan culture is also like most other non-western places- people actually express their grief. They wail for days on end, no attempting to -hold it together- as we do. Here, people bring uncooked food- eggs and beans, primarily, so that the greater extended familia tiene enough food to feed an endless stream of visitors. Mi amiga dijo que the family and many, many visitors played music and wailed all night long for two days, and then the funeral happened. I didn´t go, but she described a really beautiful processional where as the casket was carried from the iglesia to the cemetary draped in lace, everyone in the street stopped what they were doing, removed their ubiquitus backwards baseball caps and either bowed their heads or joined the processional.

As it were, I did visit the cemetery this week with mi maestro. We walked around for casi un hora as he pointed out prominant community members tombs. Yes, tombs. Of course people used to bury their dead in the ground, but as modernity progresses, people want to do right by their loved ones, so now their are large multi person tombs with very fancy headstones. First it was bible quotes, then pictures of the Virgin or the Son, then dipictions of the persons work, and finially actual photos of the deceased behind glass. Recently, some tombs include metal bars in front of the headstones, kind of like security bars for windows. We visited his father, and the parents and grandparents of my host father. Muy intresante.

Anyway, today went to this woman´s house to represent the condolences of the school. The family brought us coffee and bread and we just sat with her . We brought money and eggs, and sat in a circle around the crying woman. My teachers took turns expressing their condolences in an interesting mix of Espanol and Tuztuil that I only understood as -i am sorry, and its very important for us to express condolences, and we´re certan she is in a better place ahora. It is extremely difficult to sit in a room with a crying woman and not cry yourself, even when youve never met them before. I cant imagine what it would have been like to stay in that house for 4 days like that, wishing you wernt being cooked for and not knowing what to say.

In other news, I walked to the next town over, San Juan with a teacher yesterday. We watched women weave scarves, explored the small library , and watched a girls championship basketball game. Normal life in a small pueblo. With the excessive rain the lake is swallowing up fields and docks more and more by the day.

My spanish is of course progressing, and I find myself shocked and sad that I have only 2.5 weeks left here to study and enjoy my new family at the school. It is going to be extremely frustrating to make progress and then go back home to Tacoma.

Well, thats about it. Off to salsa.

Photo

aqui is the link to my photos on fb.
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2066510&id=44901945&l=84cee46fc0

Yo necesito comprar JaBON, no jaPON.

Allow me to explain the title. The other day I attempted to explain to Lola, my host mother, that I needed to buy soap to hand wash my clothes. Before expressing her surprise that I wanted to wash my own clothes rather than pay for a service, she began laughing hysertically at me. JaPon is an isla country of shortish Asian peoples, JaBon is soap. This sort of confusion is kind of a regular occurance for me. The other day in class I mixed up the words miente- meaning he, she, or it lies, with mierde- shit.

I had hoped to post pictures today, but the computer im working on cant deal with my camera. You will have to wait for the only 2 pictures I have of myself here thus far- one from a hike in los montanas con un maestro y los otras estudentes, and one of myself last weekend, on the worlds most sketch ferris wheel. Thats right, I rode a ferris wheel in a town square, high above the yearly mayan festival of Santiago. Santiago is the next town over on the lake, and the principle town of the Tzutujil Maya people. For the record, my family and our teachers speak Tzutujil when they want to make fun of us. The festival was neat- tons of shopping set up for tourists near the lake, and up the hill, traditional dancers and processionals out of the Catholic church in the town square. The church contained an interesting monument to Father Stanley Rother. Rother was a priest in the 70s in Santiago who fell in love with the Maya people. So much so, that during the guerria, o la violencia, the long and bloody civil war, Rother stood up for his people and was consequently black listed by the government. He returned to his native Oklahoma, but decided to go back to Santiago where he was murdered by the policia. His beloved people cut out his corazon and burried it in the church. Interesting, no?

In other news, my lessons continue to go well. I feel like im learning a ton, even if my speaking skills are catching up much more slowly. I continue to be amazed at the conplexity of conversations I end up having (or more accurately, stories that my mom and teacher tell that I contribute a little to). This morning Demis and I dicsussed the evils of prostitution and evangelism, at home yesterday it was c-sections and industrialized chicken, and a few days ago it was cocaine use and gangs. My words arent exact, but its kind of fun to try and describe what I mean, and to teach new english words and slang to my teacher. Its been confirmed for me that I absolutely love studying Spanish. Even if it can be very frustrating, the alegria of understanding my friends and having my day operate in a different language is great.

Im also meeting some really interesting expats. You may know that its kind of my dream to keep traveling when I have my PHd and to study expat identity and nationalism. There are some WEIRD people living here, and some good people too. Turns out its still easy for non-nationals to work in Guatemala because the country still has few rules in that repects. Anyway, in traditional areas like ours whatever rules the government makes are sort of ignored. Forexample, there are no fumar, no smoking signs everywhere, but no one really gives a shit if ou smoke inside. Anyway, the other day I met a woman who literally left the states 10 days after the initial bombing of Iraq. She owns several properties here, and is working on opening a guesthouse targeted at women who might be too nervous to travel here and experience the culture on their own. I also met a man who graduated from Foss HS in Tacoma- random!

Other quick thoughts (Im off to visit a coffee and craft co op)- I live with the cutest 9 year old in the world, and next door to the cutest baby- micxel. (I think thats how you spell it, but its like Mikchell). Lolita loves to tease and laugh at me. Micxel is literally runs in fear terrified every time I appear.

Im sick of corn now. Eating this much corn is like eating kenkey for every meal, if you comprehend Ghanaian cusine. Consequently, Im rarely hungry for my meals, but the food my host mom makes is really tastely. Last night she made coco from scratch (again, it contains a kind of corn meal, like everything else). Now shes beginning to remake things I like the most- I complimented the soup, and now I get tons of soup. Somehow I never seem to get sick from the food, while all of my companions are sick at least twice a week. Im sure its because they are scaring themselves into being sick with their fear of the water the food is cooked in :) Jk.

Thats all I got for now- Ill find a better computer for photos eventually...

Day 2 in San Pedro

SOmuch to say, and so little desire to be on the internet. Here are some pictures stolen off the net to help you visualize. The church is around the corner from my house.

After 3 busses, a boat, and a lot of rain I made it to San Pedro. It is a very beautiful place, and I have to say the weather almost makes it more appealing to me- it is about 72 degrees and either raining, or not raining. Its been raining extremely hard at night, and yesterday it was a total douwnpour when I walked to class (as in Skylar conpletely soaked, and feels stupid for only brining 2 pairs of socks and one pair of pants. Whatever...). Basically, its Tacoma in the spring plus 10 degrees, with thunder and lightning. Anyway, I was imediately dropped off at my school, La Flor del Maiz, where I very nice teacher named Jose told me hed take me to my family after the evenings activity, a lecture on la cosmovision maya (mayan worldview). What a way to start out! I understood about 70%, the same as the other students, so I was feeling pretty good until I did meet my family and participated in an extremely awkward dinner in which the father (Javier, also the owner of my school) asked only 2 or 3 questions and I pooly attemped to provide answers. I did understand that he thought I was coming in the morning and had been waiting for me all day (oops!)

Yesterday in the morning I had breakfast with Javiers wife, Lola. She is very sweet and much easier to talk to. She taught me how to make tortillas, which I suck at, no matter how many times she told me my 2 that didnt fall apart in my hands were muy bien. Lola does not work outside their home, except to weave skirts and belts, really typical for a Mayan woman. She mostly cleans and takes care of their daughter Lolita, age 9. Lolita is very cute, and seems quite micheveous. We sit at the breakfast table and she giggles endlessly at me. After that we cleaned, and I attempted to take a walk around San Pedro, but it was raining too much (This will be a common theme, I meant to do X, but it was raining...) My first class was in the afternoon with my teacher Demis. The other students (Currently 3 brits and a woman from Seattle-Denver) say hes the best, though based on their assesments of the other teachers, hes the most patient and thus the best. He is extremely patient. We laugh alot constructing simple sentenses like- I dont like rats, people who eat them are strange.- Apparently someone tricked him into eating one once... My classes are 4 hours long, but they hardly seem like it. We spent the entire time reviewing basic concepts, which was really helpful. Its apparently really common for people to come with lots of working knowledge of the language, but no understanding of grammar, like myself. Two of the brits left this morning so last night we went to a gringo bar for desert and drinks Apparently, I like cubo libres. It was very relaxing to talk in English for 2 hours, lemme tell ya. We covered normal travel topics, for example- what do people really think of Obama, and what happens if a homeless person with no insurance needs to see a doctor. I had forgot about the inevetable part of traveling that is being a US ambasador. I also forgot how much more people from Europe travel. Another question -why dont many americans have passports- is also very common. The two students who left this morning are on a 18 month adventure up and down s. and c. america, through india and through new zealand! It was refreshing to be around poeple who also feel that most extra funds should go towards travel.

Today I switched to morning classes and had more review time with Demis. We take breaks after about 2.5 hours and then the tables are turned- we students tease our teachers about their usage of English, and talk about slang expressions. Today I learned several ways to say womanizer and slut. Ah, life education. This afternoon our extra activity will be a Salsa lesson, yay!

What else is important¿ Food. So far Ive had mostly steak, black beans, and tortillas. So. many. corn. tortillas. And coffee, even Lolita drinks coffee! This morning Lola surprised me with a huge breakfast of chocolate pancakes, watermellon, and pineapple with yogurt and syrup! Breakfast here is a normal size, lunch is supposed to be a big meal, and dinner is very small. As my fellow student Jono put it, dinner is f-ing paltry! Lunch is a mormal sized meal in the US, and dinner is very, very small. But its enough, and only slightly akward that Lola and Javier give themselves portions half as large as mine...

This weekend is a popular one for fiestas in mayan towns, so I think I will go to the next village over, Santiago, for their festival. I would also like to climb one of the two volcanoes on either side of San Pedro- its astonishing how deep the lake is and how imediately close the mountians are. However, that would necessitate 5 dry hours, which might just be a miracle.

Thats all I can think of for now. Hasta luego!

And now it's a Guatemala blog...

Buenos Dias!

I woke up before breakfast is availible so I guess I'll put up my thoughts on Guatemela City before I move on.

My guide book is pretty frank in noting that Guatemala City (or just Guatemala, or Guate, for short) is unattractive, very dangeous, not charming, and aside from a few museums, devoid of things to see. Well, perhaps I'm just not you typical "rough guide" traveler. I certainly didn't see everything yesteday. I didn't even make it up to the "old city" where the older government buildings and chuches are. I stuck to zones 9 and 10, which are supposed to be fairly safe (I didn't have even bus fare to venture out, and didn't want to pay for a cab). Zone 10, where my hostel is (Xamanex, www.mayaworld.net) is called the Zona Viva, and is full of all the night clubs, shopping malls, and nice food places that I didn't bother with. Zone 9 is just a little seedyer, and more had the feeling of business people just going about their business. While I wondered around for several hours yesterday and didn't see much in the way of "sighseeing" things, I think I got a feel for the place, which was more impotant to me. It's gritty, but not dity, if that makes sense. It's actually the cleanest city trash wise I've been outside of Europe and USA/ Canada, although I ended the day with some dirt in my eyes and exaust in all of my pores. So much car exhaust! Certainly more advanced than Belize, and years ahead of Accra (I could have had a Frosty, Big Mac, Whopper, Subway, or Quiznoes if I'd' wanted, if you call that more advanced...). I totally get why most people skip it. In a stunningly beautiful country, this would be the bottom of most lists. However, I like cities, and I like places that are rougher around the edges. My favoite parts of yesterday were mundane seeming things- I bought some sort of street food for dinner, walked up and down ave. la Refoma and looked at decaying concrete monuments to independence, costa rica (why?), the first CA nobel in literature (one of my favorites) and an interesting speach by Simon Bolivar (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sim%C3%B3n_Bol%C3%ADvar) that no one payed attention to after their unveiling. Finially, I sat underneath the Torre de Reformador duing the evening rush hour (see photo). All in all, I think I like the place, and would like to spend one more day here to see the rest of the things I would enjoy, but I'm off to San Pedro today. Maybe I'll be back, but probnably not, since there are so many more peaceful, beautiful places to see.

My hostel is great- super friendly women greeted me, and we had most of a conversation in Spanish (as with the tourist office woman, and the taxi driver, and the cell phone vender, and the dinner guy- I'd say most conversations have been 60/40 Spanish/English) I'd read it was maybe a crazy party spot, but thankfully it was pretty chill on a Monday (we watched HBO in Spanish with subtitles and read our books or tooled around on netbooks, which it seems every taveler but myself brought).

Ok, time to get off the computer. Later!

Post Ghana, Pre Acceptance.

I have no idea if anyone will ever read this. I don't care.

I am home, and have been for a long time. I've settled in to my apartment at school, returned to work, and even written a paper (who knew, Ghana didn't totally strip me of the capacity to think and produce work).

Am I supposed to feel good about being here?

I got a call from Ghana today, from John, my crazy Jesus freak teacher friend who says "praise Jesus" after almost every sentence, who has no attention span (or doesn't understand what I"m saying) and changed the subject every time I say something. It was wonderful- I didn't realized I missed him and his fiance Sara, or visiting his small two room, electric blue flat to listening to the latest cuts from his ever in progress album. They haven't married yet, and they still plan to come to the states as soon as the album is finished, so he may preach at the church that has invited him. This isn't relevant information to anyone but me, but to detail everything we talked about only underscores how much I've realized lately that I desperately miss Ghana. It have drove me crazy then, that I could never predict when I would be harassed for being a white woman, that I never knew if I had evening plans, or if I'd just go to bed at 9, I never knew what the hell I was doing in the next hour, unless I was really stuck in traffic. I miss public transportation, I miss extremely questionable food, filthy yet deserted beaches, naked children, anti-intellectual classes- I say everything in the negative because I didn't appreciate it when I had it. Now I live an extremely predictable, stable life. I'm happy, I have purpose, but only because I am completely redefined in my goals and ambitions and spirit because of Ghana. I miss the orphanage with everything thing I have. I want to be there again, to hold the babies, and feel like my live really has meaning, beyond all of my goals and the places where I think I want to go in life. I want to sit all morning in MaxMart, drinking coffee straight from heaven, ammusing the waiter, eating kippe, and watching the always pissy looking Lebonese woman look over her shop.

I want to be there all over again but I'm too afriad to go alone. Will I ever actually put myself there? I have so many other countries I want to go, my goal in life for the next few years is to get out and explore as many new places as I have time to delve into. Not fast ditch, Euro trip backpacking style. I want to really go and live in these places for several months at a time. I feel really strongly about where I'm going- I'm applying to go to graduate school in Toronto and do research in an Immigration and Settlement Studies program (no, it doesn't exist elsewhere). Maybe that will lead me to more grad school in sociology- but I hope more that it will keep taking me abroad, that I can work for international organizations helping immigrants settle in and explore their new territory- kind of like Kwese and Abena and Janet did for all of us. Regardless, someday I will have to commit the money to return to Ghana. Part of my heart is there right now in those childeren, at Natdat Memorial School, strapped into a trotro, eating a pineapple, drinking boxed Sangria from a convience store with my friends, hiking through the jungle, soaked in a canoe, crying in the slave castles, and in a chain smoking cheif who wants to save the world while listening to the futbol match.

I want to build homes like Ghana for myself allover the world, to find new peices of myself in each place, to be a better person for it, a more caring woman, and to find the best place for me. I love PLU, it has been my home. But I am ready to go again.

When you ask me, “How was Africa!!!?”

Well y’all, it’s been a while. Laziness? No, not really. I just can’t say I’ve felt like spending long hours in an internet café tirelessly recounting all of my journeys. I wrote them down (well, all but one, which I guess is the real reason for this post) but my last few weekends have amounted to a few experiences that are probably worth mentioning.

They have been low key trips- I won’t begin to pretend that I have equal energy and patience for particular cultural tics of Ghana as I did during some of my earlier, more ambitious travels. I’ve spent a lot of time at the beach lately.

I spent one weekend in Ada Foah, outside of the tiny town where the Volta River meets the Atlantic. Really neat beach resort started by a nice Rasta man who has also started a school for the peninsula village (it’s too far to walk to town every day.) I took lots of pictures here, because it was pretty much paradise. We met cool Aussies and Canadians and ate banana pancakes! Really, I didn’t have a useful or intelligent thought all weekend…

The next weekend I started a week long trip out the west coast of Ghana with my trusty friend Lindsay. We started out in Cape Coast, a charmingly dilapidated town associated with the slave trade. I roamed around alone, sans hassle, and toured the Cape Coast Castle. This was a wholly different experience than touring the castle at Elmina with CIEE. For one, this time I was the only white person in a group of Catholic school children and their teachers, not one of 35 white college students. Observing their reactions to the gruesome tour, and experiencing their reactions to my being there, and to my emotions was extremely interesting. At one point, when the kids were laughing at something that really wasn’t funny, and staring at me as they muttered in Twi, of course figured it had something to do with me. When I asked what was so funny (only to elicit more giggles) their teacher told me “it is too sad, so they must laugh- but not at you.” Ah, understanding. Later, as I asked one of the teachers a question when I hadn’t properly heard the guide, she explained “Your people did this. Your people shoved them down this hole to the ground.” When I explained in a reactionary defense, “Oh no, I’m not British” she laughed, “Yes, still your people, white people.” Ah, association. The practices at this particular castle seemed to be much worse than at Elmina, but I’ll spare you the details…

We moved on to Domamma, (yes, it rhymes with “yo Mama”) to hike to a massive rock shrine and float down the Pra River in a canoe. The 5 hour hike though small settlements and cocoa plantations was delightful, but not nearly as cool as sitting with the chief for three hours discussing all the world problems. After that it was on to Prince’s Town, a small town on the beach that is extremely secluded. Here we hiked to Cape Three Points, the southern most tip of Ghana, and stayed in Fort Gross Fried-something, the only German trade/slave fort in Ghana. Very cool experience- it involved a brawl and machete throwing! Ask me about that one sometime… Then on to the fabled Green Turtle Lodge, an eco tourism beach resort where we stayed in this great little bungalow with self composting toilets, shower water the feeds the plants, and got served our cocktails by the local employees. Needless to say, I wish we’d had another day there, but my friend and I were seriously out of money…

This past weekend I had the privilege of going to a Ghanaian wedding! Well, technically it was two weddings- both the traditional wedding, now called the “engagement,” and the Christian church wedding that pretty much all Ghanaians do these days. Mind you, I had never met the bride or the groom before I got there- friends of a friend, but in Ghana that is quite beside the point. I was a friend of a friend, and sure! I could take tons of pictures of their wedding and watch everyone get ready the day before. The bride’s family was wonderful. The women talked and teased with me as I watched them prepare traditional kenkey for the reception (it’s boiled corn dough wrapped in corn leaves, eaten uncooked with pepper sauce with fried fish- way up there on my list of Ghana foods.) The morning of the wedding/engagement everyone bustled about putting last touches on the front yard canopy in their full traditional dresses and toga-like dresses (the men). At 7am all the family and close friends gathered to watch the negotiation of the bride price, as MC’d by the bride’s quite loud mouthed sister (not much of a singer either, ouch!) This is a matrilineal part of Ghana, so when the groom's family pays for the bride, she really is considered a part of her husband’s family and not her own. The marriage is a union of two families, not two people, so every in-law of the huge combined family must get along… Anyway, the bride price in this particular arrangement involved several cases of Coca Cola products (I assume for the reception, I hope she wasn’t really paid for with soda…), a suitcase of God knows what, bottles of champagne, and some amount of money. After all this was passed over the MC/sister passed a tray around for the groom’s family calling “20 cidi!” I think to try and collect a nominal amount of cash to be publicly handed over, because the real amount of money should’ve been much larger. The bride's and groom's families then proceeded bargain over this amount! It really was very amusing. Mind you, the bride and groom were not present throughout this whole ordeal. The groom finally made an appearance, danced into the area by all the women in his family, looking throughly embarrassed. A similar song and dance ushered in the bride, who sat quite far away from the groom, and they didn't look at each other once. At this point, the brides family had to "approve" of her wedding ring. Apparently they did (I forgot to mention this entire ceremony was taking place in Ewe, a language I clearly do not speak) and the groom was allowed to put the ring on her finger before they shared the most awkwardly public hug I've ever seen. Much cheering ensued, and the bride and groom finally got to sit next to each other (no touching, no kiss.) The brides family proceeded to pass out white bread and hot chocolate for all. It was only 8am, but the coco struck me as funny- especially since all the brides attendants were wearing matching t-shirts of the coco brand. They looked like people working for a racecar driver, not for a bride. The wedding gifts were a plastic cup and a sweat rag- quite typical, I'm told...

Then it was on to the church wedding. Well, it was really a church service, where people happened to get married partway through, it seemed. The dancing though the church after the couple exchanged their vows was so fun to watch (I got up and shook round a little.) Everyone was so happy. The youth choir of the church sang in their matching t-shirts. The friend who took me to the wedding also sang- he happens to be a really popular gospel artist in this area. However, I cringed through msot of the ceremony. Let me share a few particularly memorable quotes:
"You must always think your husband is the best person in the whole world, and tell others as such. Even when he beats you in the home, tell people he's the best."
"It is your duty to provide the food he likes. If you are out with your friends, and it is 6 o'clock, you must rush home to feed him." (In Ghana, it's ok to beat your wife if she doesn't do this. But don't worry, her husband is the best!)
"Always attend to his physical desires, it is also your duty, even when you don't want to."
Mind you, to each of these statements, the gathered party laughed and cheered their assent.
And, of course, Ephesians 5:22. "Wives, submit to your husbands..."
Good grief.

Changing subjects. It’s been quite interesting to be in Africa as Barak Obama claims the nomination. Lot’s of talk about how his being half Kenyan, and an “African American” will affect his policy towards Africa. Will he fix the United States? Will he be more likely to assist with Africa’s myriad of problems- South African xenophobia, Zimbabwe’s crap elections, Sudan (genocide), Sudan (their other political crisis), and the sudden rise in starving people in Ethiopia, cocaine (lots of places), and especially, Nigeria’s problems with their oil industry, and Ghana’s recent oil discovery. On some people’s part, their seems to be an expectation that he will “help” Africa because of his heritage. Other’s say that he would be the American president, not Africa’s (I listen to radio talk shows a lot.) The majority of people I’ve met here love Obama (I think you only need one guess to know why) though their were also a lot of Hillary supporters (so people really think they should be on the same ticket.) There is this hysterical song on the radio that is the “Barak Obama Song” by an artist called Black Rasta. It’s a rallying point for Obama’s support, and I really hope I can find it on line when I get home.

I leave in 4 days. It’s weird. Time is surging by. My countdown of days is going down so quickly. I have such mixed feelings. I’ve come to enjoy my life in Ghana, really I do. If you talked me any time in the first two months I was here, I was kind of a miserable human being. It took two months to get over being homesick (more or less over it anyway), and almost 3 months to really feel a sense of stability. Even now, I don’t love it. I’ve never been in love with Ghana, despite many moments of feeling so in love with what I was doing- I have loved teaching and being in the orphanage, I am so deeply thankful for those experiences, I’ve really enjoyed learning about Ghanaian and African development, and taking Sociology and Religion class in a new environment. I’ve made some great friends, from all over the country and out into the UK and Australia. I’ve experienced some really fascinating traditions (see above), discussed the world’s problems with chiefs, made Ghanaian crafts, followed the slave trade route, on and on I could go- but Ghana is not a picnic (as much as my latest pictures depict tropical paradise, complete with a man climbing a coconut tree to get me a snack.) I’ve had it beyond “up to hear” with various parts of the culture- I bitched out one of the recent people to tell me I would be marrying them and take them to the US, who insisted that I must have something against black men because I don’t want to get married RIGHT NOW while I’m in Ghana. I slapped a man who reached out to feel my white skin yesterday. Earlier as I walked down a busy street and the umpteenth person hassled me to buy something, and I ignored them as usual, they called me a “slave driver.” I’m sick of it being OK for men to openly stare at me as I walk by, and of not being able to speak my mind not only because I am female, but because we really do not speak the same language. It’s very difficult to explain oneself here, because the English words we use for things do not carry the same meaning, and some concepts appear not to cross cultures. When you ask me “How was Africa!?”…

But I digress- really, I did not mean for the negative list to outweigh the positive one- just to try and explain that the “little things” that I used to have more of a sense of humor about feel less little and more obnoxious now. It’s time to go home. Is it really? I have a wonderful vacation, summer, and senior year (already!?) ahead of me, but it’s quite hard to imagine them from here. I’m saddened to have so many lasts occurring right now- last meals of my favorite Ghanaian dishes, last cuddles with the orphans, last bus ride through the stunning countryside, last cold shower etc. My best friends have gone home. My whole “study abroad” thing, what ever that was supposed to be, is coming to a close. I’m at peace with the fact that I didn’t love Ghana. When I look back at the reasons I chose to come here, I realize all of them had the fine print of being uncomfortable. I wanted to go somewhere I wouldn’t vacation, I wanted to be confronted with a very different way of life, I wanted to learn how to on my own for once- I wasn’t hear to make friends really (though I managed a fewJ, or to party, sightsee, or feel particularly cosmopolitan (though I do). I think I remember actually saying “I want to be forced to be uncomfortable.” Goal met! And from this side of it, I’m SO happy about that. I really have gotten exactly what I said I wanted out of Ghana, even if the image I had had of my time didn’t match what it actually was. I feel so good about myself and where I’m headed, even if I don’t know where that is, other than home.

One thing I have gotten is a fire under my ass to go abroad again. I’ve suddenly remembered all these goals I used to have, like having a job where I physically had to get up and do something to help someone and learning Spanish that seemed to become lost in 7 changes of college major. Those goals have been meshed with others that have cropped up since I’ve been here to produce a very conflicted individual who doesn’t see when there will ever be time to settle down in life, but really thinks it would be a hell of a lot more fun to do all of that while abroad. I’m excited and pleased to come of age when Americans really have no choice but to acknowledge that the rest of the world exists. There are opportunities galore for making myself a far more interesting, self-content, and meaningful person if I continue to put myself in Ghana-like situations, rather than just going on to grad school, though one day I still really do want my PhD…

Life for the last month.

So long time no blog. I’ve been increasingly busy lately… Funny how that happens when you neglect to study all semester long and suddenly have to face the stress of exams. I probably should be studying right now instead of typing, but I want to get these things out so that I don’t forget to do it- remember this record is as much for me as it is anyone else…

Water continues to be an issue in my building. It's gotten to the point that you can never assume the water will be working- especially when taking a shower- it stopped while I was washing my hair the other day. Funny that the water stops as is starts to rain. The storms here are so intense- I've never been scared by thunder until now, because my whole room shakes. You could tell me I was in a war zone and I'd believe you.

I’ve done minor trips the past two weekends. Two weeks ago was our last CIEE adventure, a day trip to Bojo Beach. It was a beach on a sandbar that I think is owned by the resort that sits on the mainland. Not much to say about it, really, but I had a wonderful time, playing in the ocean like I haven’t since I was a kid visiting California.

This past weekend I traveled to Ada Foah with 2 friends. There really is nothing there other than beach hotels- literally one gas station and a couple of rice stands. But it is a beautiful place- where the massive Volta River meets the Atlantic Ocean. I had really wanted to see more of the river before I leave Ghana, it’s such a big deal for the country’s water and power supplies, but so far I’d only seen it from the CIEE bus. The trip had many comical moments. We arrived at dusk into the tiny town, and not knowing if our beach encampment had any food, we stopped to eat really spicy rice before calling the hotel to have someone come pick us up. So there we stood, at the gas station, in the dark waiting for this guy to show up. Some creeper kept edging closer to us, taxi and tro drivers kept harassing us asking where we were going… The guy finally drives up in a truck, and we expected to get in, but the truck drove away… he introduced himself and said to follow him. Of course, he leads us down a dark alley… I trusted him, but my friends were freaking out. I said “Ok, where are you taking us?” and he responded, “Oh, are you scared? We are taking a short cut to the boat!” This was our first indication that we would be getting there via boat. I thought “great! I really wanted to take a boat out on the river.” My friends said “hell no!” We didn’t really have a choice. There we were, motoring out on the river under a blanket of more stars than I have seen in a very long time, when the boat dies. It took a good 20 minutes to get it started, during which I tried to make tension diffusing jokes while the women in the front of the boat kept turning around to laugh at the plight of the poor men trying to start the engine again. At least the stars we beautiful...

The beach camp was amazing! Seriously, I have all these really stereotypical tropical paradise postcard-looking pictures of sand, grass huts, and palm trees. Ada Foah is touted as the "Hamptons of Accra." It really was- all weekend long we watched sailboats, wake boarders, and jet skis owned by ex patriots zip up and down the river. One thing that was wonderful- despite all the wealth there on the beach, there were still villages standing between out camp and the town. People living entirely undisturbed by the tourism- that's Ghana for you. The camp owner, a very nice rosta, recently started a school for the kids in the village.

The camp was positioned on the thin peninsula between the river and the ocean, so we got the best of both experiences. There was absolutely nothing to do there but boat, sit next to the ocean, and sit next to the river. So I swam a lot, because I can't stand to sit around all day, even in paradise. The "hotel" was a series of palm huts on the center of the sand bar, each with a wooden door painted with the flag of a different country (I stayed in Italy.) When we first arrived, the manager sat us down and tried to feed us. Although we had already eaten (he was shocked to find we could ever assume his place wouldn't have food) he did allude to making banana pancakes at breakfast time. PANCAKES! The one food I have really, really missed. I actually dreamed about them before I got to devour them (sans syrup, but whatever, can't be picky) with fresh squeezed orange juice. The next morning I got up super early to watch the sunrise and attempt to walk alone to the end of the peninsula (didn't make it... too far.)

I really enjoyed this trip for the opportunity to reflect about how I will structure and spend the last of my time in Ghana. I'm down to exactly a month today (God, where is May going???) I find myself spending more and more time alone, and hardly ever doing things with the people in my program. And I'm happy with that. Odd, normally I hate to be alone for too long, but I'm finding more and more contentment is ensuring that my day and my experiences are more structured around what I want to accomplish. This will probably lead to future anxiety about being a loner, but I hope I am finally learning to make decisions on my own initiative, and to trust that I can more or less take care of myself.

Most of spending time off doing my own thing can be attributed to my newest venture- volunteering at the Osu Children's Home. This is the state orphanage of Accra, so it's all the kids deemed to be in "physical or moral harm" at home. There are also a fair amount of kids who were just pulled off the streets. The most heartbreaking scenarios are those who have been abandoned in hospitals when they were born. Ghana's health care system is so that unless you enroll in the national health insurance scheme (it only takes 10 bucks a year) you must pay up front for medical care. For women who have babies at the hospital but can't pay, the hospital keeps the kid until you return with the money, and as I'm sure you can guess, many parents use the hospital as a way to get rid of an unwanted or unaffordable child. These are the kids I see most, as they have me working in the nursery. It hits me so hard that most will never be reunited with their families, or don't have them at all. The orphanage actively fosters and adopt kids out, but it wont happen for everyone. There is such an absence of attention for them. They will never have a mom write them letters if they go abroad, no one to honor in old age, no one to give them the attention and openly expressed love they deserve.

There are over 20 babies there, with any number of maladies and sad stories. There's Ado, who's 5 but partially disabled, he cant swallow anything, but he has a great smile and never cries... There's other Ado, who's entire family was killed in a tro crash. Abena and her younger brother are here because there mom in a mental hospital. I could go on... some have HIV. My favorite is Deborah. Deborah is one of 4 kids who are completely disabled- they can maybe wave their bended arms, but that's it, no development of motor skills whatsoever. She is 7 years old, but you would never know it. I love her because every time you just say her name she hyperventilates with excitement and puts on the sweetest smile. I also adore the women who work for the orphanage- they clearly love the children deeply, but they just can't give them enough attention because there are too many of them. The infants sit in their cribs all day with zero stimulation. For some reason they prefer that the volunteers play with the toddlers rather than hold the babies. Perhaps it's because they demand less attention- they have sadly learned to sit in a crib and be ignored all day.

There are rats running around the kitchen, and the nursery has very little ventilation, but all in all, the facilities are better than I was expecting. We have a strict routine- breakfast, letting the kids sit on chamber pots before they take a bath, then dressing, and later taking them out to play. The process repeats itself for lunch and dinner. There are lots of volunteers, mostly European girls on their gap years between high school and college. My favorite is Susan, a 50 something British woman who was a financial adviser, but decided it wasn't what she wanted from life any more, and is using her time in Ghana to decide if she wanted to be a teacher or social worker... Yesterday I was only there for about 30 minutes before I was asked to help accompany Auntie Mercy to the hospital with two infants. We spent the whole morning with them there, trying to get them to eat, and soothing their tears when they both needed injections. It's a big energy drain being there, but the time passes so quickly I hardly noticed. Honestly, if I weren't going on vacation i might almost be persuaded to stay in Ghana a while longer, to keep going to the orphanage. Alas, I will try to soak up all the time I can.

Sorry, that was heavy. But I'm so glad for the opportunity to be there. I will take a few days off here and there for a trip to Togo, but for the next month, besides exams, the orphanage will be my life. It will pass so quickly, but I can't think of a better way to spend my time with Ghanaians until I leave. That said, there may not be another post until it is time for me to leave. I don't have many more new things to say, but if I do find something, it wont be episodic, it will be my reflections on my time here, which frankly, I'd like to post but don't want to waste my time here doing. So take care, and enjoy your month!