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Hello. I am writing from Africa.
Right now - I'm writing by hand and then e-transposing - I am surrounded by banana and plantain trees riffling in the breeze; the smell of goat is in my nostrils; there is sun on my face and mud on my shoes; and free-range chickens are ranging pretty freely.
(But before I continue: thanks to everyone who has written me since my first journal posting: family, friends, a couple strangers. Respectively, I love you, I like you, nice to meet you. Sorry I haven't responded to most people who are not my parents. Internet here is a fair bit slower than a slow boat sailing all the way around the world twice carrying bowling balls. It's slow. Three sent e-mails in an hour is an accomplishment. If you wish to write me, this site is actually probably the preferred means, as it's faster than Hotmail, though I can't respond through it. Next best is my Rogers account address: happytrout@rogers.com.)
But yes: I am in Africa. I am in Ghana, a relatively small (about the size and shape of British Columbia, for the Canadians) tropical country on the Gulf of Guinea, which is
the Atlantic. I arrived after dark last Wednesday night, flying into the Ghanaian capital Accra, a city that from the air seems sparsely lit. It is very hot in Ghana, upwards of 30 degrees C in Accra. I learned this quickly. I also learned quickly about how nervous you can be on arriving in a foreign place: from the moment I passed through customs I was entirely disoriented. I walked into the airport washroom to pee; wearing my big bag I naturally walked towards a stall; a broadly smiling man tapped me on the shoulder, shook his head, laughed, said: "Urinal." And he pointed at the urinals. I said: "Yes." He laughed again and said: "I work here, this is my office." I smiled, said something like "ohbgjf", turned and strolled out of the washroom.
Now, Ghanaians are extremely friendly and hospitable, it's a major source of national pride, it seems, and rightfully so; thus the problem confronting the newly arrived is distinguishing kindness from a hustle. Mostly there is kindness here. But more on that later.
I am volunteering in Ghana at a cultural centre in a small town called Kwahu Tafo, which is where I am
now. I use the present tense when speaking of "volunteering" as a matter of form only: I have yet to start doing anything substantial besides eating, walking, conversing, and sleeping. (So things are as usual for me.) Eating invariably involves a starchy base food ("fufu", yam, and plantain are local staples) heaped with an often spicy sauce. It ranges from tasty to bleh. Walking is done in and around the village, which is green and mud-brick and slate-roof. It is also very poor, though the pockets of affluence can be equally shocking (in Accra too there were gated mansions just a few minutes drive from roadside shanties). It had been noted to me by many, but I wasn't and maybe couldn't have been prepared for the level of poverty here. And compared to other places in the world - or on the continent - Ghana isn't half bad off. I'm still processing and so I don't know how well I can articulate my feelings on life here, but there's certainly guilt. There's plenty guilt. And it's not a sharp "I shouldn't have stolen Anthony's television and taken it to Africa" guilt so much as a dull "I could give everything
in my wallet and my bank account but then I wouldn't have money to do the traveling I want to do" - so am I (is one) a philanthropist or an observer? do I carry a chequebook or a camera? Of course there is also a sense of futility: "I could give everything in my wallet and my bank account and it would be easing the symptoms of the problem and ignoring the cause; it would be a poverty exchange." Still, I have been asked by the village doctor for my watch, and the first question the cultural centre director asked me is "What stuff did you bring?" This latter is a good question, and a signal one, in that to a very real extent what they need here is not enthusiastic Westerners but "stuff", or money to buy "stuff". If you happen to be connected to a granting body that supports international arts, lemme know, Joe, because my "stuff" to donate is limited to a Blue Jays hat and some bucks, of the monetary and not the four-legged kind.
Of the other daily activities I mentioned, conversing is the biggie. I talk with 1) adults from the town, 2) Greg and Shundreya (forgive my mangled spelling; I've been saying it wrong too), and 3) children from the town, who are a group wholely and hugely unto themselves, and who call out "Obruni!" - white man - whenever Greg or I walk past (Shundreya is not white, so she loses out, apparently). I love hanging out with the kids, I love hanging out with the adults, I don't love so much hanging out with the other volunteers, though they're nice enough, because I am so much more curious about the town and its people and its goats. Lots of goats. Also, I take showers from a bucket. And I have started growing a beard. But it may go. Also I witnessed tropical thunderstorms here two days in a row. Beautiful and torrential.
I will add pictures later. Check this space every week or two to see if they appear. They will appear! Stuff is gorgeous here. Lots of it. Much beauty. Beautiful people, beautiful land. Remember: happytrout@rogers.com for e-mail, or post to this site. Love you, like you, nice to meet you.
Daniel
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Adam
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Wild animals
Hi Daniel! i'm not sure if u remember me..its been so long since i've seen you...Its your brother Adam. Africa sounds amazing but it would be better if you could ride a giraffe, hehe. Anyways, all is well at home and i look forward to seeing pictures!! Don't forget to bring me back a giraffe! -Adam