Ten Months

I reached a milestone on Saturday: ten months in Ghana. To commemorate the occasion, I’ve identified ten surprises. Ten somewhat random observations of “that’s not what I anticipated when I joined peace Corps.”

1. Lightening bugs dot the landscape. Hundreds of them.

Most sit on the grassy bush signaling their potential mates.

Some fly through the dark sky seeking a better vantage point. A few explore my screen windows looking for a way to return to nature. Lightening bugs as thick as when I was a child in Kansas. Fireflies twinkle in the evening when I’m brushing my teeth; I counted 58 glows on the ground as I walked to the latrine last night. I wonder if a student entomologist will arrive in Jumbo to write her dissertation on the courtship flash patterns displayed by the local beetles.

2. I remain connected. Before coming to Ghana, I thought I might be lonely for 27 months. I miss my American family and friends, but they are just a phone call or email away. I have many new PCV friends who are a text or a phone call away. If I want to let American friends know what I’m doing, I write a blog or send my family an email that my brother Larry forwards. To see what my friends are up to, I check Facebook.  I can read, compose, and send email on my smart phone whenever I want – except when power has been out for several days or the network isn’t working. When I think I’m alone, I can look at my living room ceiling where over one hundred and fifty-eight cards (but who’s counting?) from loved ones in America dangle from criss-crossing twine lines. I am connected and supported by love and kindness from afar. I feel like I’m living in another state rather than on a different continent.

3. Spoken language isn’t critical. My Konkomba speaking vocabulary is limited to simple greetings, short sentences (My name is Wumboribidin. I am a Peace Corps Volunteer.  I am from America. I  live in Jumbo. I will live in Ghana for two years.) and “Ma win tab” (I don’t understand.)  Jumbo residents talk to me in Konkomba. I nod and smile and try to figure out the point of their words from a few key words I recognize (house, farm, where, what, baby, food). Their animated hand gestures, facial expressions, and tone of voice help me determine how to respond – usually with a smile and a nod. When I speak a few mangled Konkomba words, they smile their approval. Children rattle off what sounds like gibberish and look surprised when I don’t respond appropriately. We get by with limited language and a lot of trust.

4. Days and nights are eqaual length. OK. I shouldn’t admit this one.  But for some reason, I never thought about the length of the days and nights at the equator before stepping off the plane. In the back of my mind, I associated hot temperatures with long summer days.  Nope. As any third grader knows, the days and nights are nearly equal 5 degrees from the equator. 
Darkness arrives early in my small village and the nights sometimes seem long without 24-hour super stores or fast food franchises beckoning me after the sun goes down. I often go to bed before 8 p.m. and wake up around 5 as the new day arrives.    

5. Roosters crow any time. Anyone raised on a farm knows this. But I was raised in the “big city” of 30,000 people. As a child I learned that roosters crow at daybreak.  Not so.  Roosters crow whenever they feel like it. Three in the morning. Three in the afternoon. And anytime in between. Maybe the Ghanaian roosters are a nocturnal breed adapted for living successfully in the equal-day-night pattern and hot climate.

6. I sweat – a lot.  As an active “Southern girl” in America, I didn’t perspire, I sweated. I Ghana, salty liquid secretes from every pore. I drink lots of water to compensate; evaporation keeps me cool. But I never expected I’d always carry a bandana to continually wipe my sweaty chin.

7. I have many names. In America, I was almost always, “Linda.” In Ghana, I have many names. Linda, of course.  But many others.

When I first arrived in Ghana, my host family gave me the name “Mama Obriwa” in honor of the family matriarch who passed away a month before my arrival.  I loved the way it flowed from their lips. Strangers often call me “Obruni.” which means “foreigner.” My pale skin, limited language, and strange mannerisms make it obvious that I’m not from Ghana.  When the children chant “Obruni! Obruni! Obruni!” I feel like a rock-star on stage. I smile and wave. I sometimes get their attention to tell them, “Me din de Linda.”

Children call “Madam!” from my front gate to get my attention. Another way of showing respect is calling me “Father” based on the country’s tie to Catholic priests and missionaries. My favorite name – and one I can almost say without getting tongue-tied – is “Wumboribidin”  (woom-boar-ee-ba-deen). The chief of Jumbo anointed me with my Konkomba name meaning “God bless you” at our first community meeting.

Friends and family include special names in their emails. Their loving salutations (Hello, my dear friend. Hey, Cuz) and closings (Sweet dreams, SQ.  Love you lots, Sis.) warm my heart. 

8. My flexible schedule is filled with plenty of free time. Peace Corps is not a place for someone who needs lots of direction or a rigid schedule.  My close friends and family may be thinking, “But, Linda, you thrive on creating and following a schedule!  Are you OK?”  Yes. I’m thriving with the lack of structure and the joy of going with the flow.

I’ve read many books: paperbacks from the PCV library, books mailed by thoughtful friends, and Kindle downloads.  Let me know if you have any recommendations.  I’ve written many blogs and emails. 

I read to and play games with the neighborhood children.  We made jump ropes last week from pure water sachets. Almost all children above the age of five knew how to braid; many are learning how to jump rope.

I’m adjusting to “Ghana time.” “We will tell them the meeting starts at 3 and they will come at 5.” 

9. My living conditions are grand. I anticipated having to walk a mile to get water from a river and living without electricity in a small hut-like mud enclosure with a thatched roof.  I braced myself for “camping” for 27 months: sleeping on the floor, starting a wood fire whenever I needed to cook, and using a hole in the ground for a toilet.  I hoped I’d be able to buy groceries more frequently than once a month.

I live a pampered life. I live in a three-room plastered and painted mud-brick house with electricity. Two of the six community boreholes (machine-dug wells with hand pumps) are within 1000 yards of my house.  Children fetch water to fill my 250-liter blue barrel when I can’t collect enough run-off from the tin roof. I have a refrigerator with a small freezer. My two-burner propane stove is fancier than any Coleman camping stove. My small counter-top toaster-oven bakes delicious bread.  I have a double bed and a couple of cots for guests. A desk, a table & chairs, a wardrobe, a pantry, a bookshelf, and multiple storage shelves and tables fill my home. I ride my bike to get back and forth to market whenever I need provisions. It only seems like camping when I take my nightly bucket bath beneath the stars (I love the natural light) and when I walk to the latrine and squat above the hole (I love having the sunflower decorations, but I would prefer having a seat.)

10. I am at peace. With myself. With my current role. With my life.
I wake up smiling. I whistle while I repair the fence.
Infants fall asleep in my arms during bouncy tro rides. Children sing songs with me and shout “Hello!” with glee when they see me from a distance. Their parents smile with their eyes when they greet me. Vendors call me by name. I feel a part of an accepting and safe community.

I joined Peace Corps to give back, to help promote worldwide peace and friendship. I didn’t think I would also find peace in the solitude of living in a foreign land.

Ten months of Peace Corps service complete. Seventeen more months of building memories (and experiencing surprises) as a Volunteer in Ghana.