I don't miss America but would still like care packages.

Before I got to Ghana, I was in full Peace Corp anticipation mode, meaning impatience and anxious. I couldn't wait to leave the situation I was in then. I consciously ignore all potentials downsides of being a foreigner in a developing country. No hot shower? No car? No family? No problem. I have always liked to think of myself as low maintenance and independent, Peace Corps life is totally the life for me.

Now, more than 10 months later, as I continue to spend night after night alone in my house after dark in front of the candle lights. I've come to realized a few things or two about this life. 

Peace Corps life is still the life for me. 

I have no electricity and no running water. I live by myself and have no neighbors. My closest friends are my 47 years old counter-part and his wife. My other closest friends are the 10 years old twins who don't speak any English but like to sit on my verrendah as well as their older brother who is also just as young. I have to walk an hour by foot to the next town to charge my things. I can count on one hand the type of food that's sold in my village, and my toilet is a tiny hole in the ground. 

And I don't hate it. 

All things outside of your supposed comfort zone are view to be much more difficult to deal with, but once you get used to the rocks and pebbles of this new ground, you're in a new zone. Through humility, I still managed to have my electricity charged. Through understanding, I find trust in strangers. Through some mysterious force of nature, I find that I like kids. Through patience, I now have great toned and lean legs. Through discovery, my belly is still full every day. And through the good gracious of higher beings, my stomach has not required me to do a latrine run in the middle of the night.

Someday things are shits.

Ignorance. Harrassment. Racism. Sexism. Pure and simple stupidity. My inability to take anyone’s shit or keep my mouth shut and consequentially raise my blood pressure every time.

But this too shall pass.

Be it numbness, or surrender, or new found coping mechanism, thing don’t bother me as much anymore. I get that initial of-the-moment-high-temper-table-flipping -what-the-fuck-did-you-just-say-to-me? feeling, but it would be over as soon as it started. I dwell less on what happened, and focus more on the humor of the story—because every story involving dumbass deserves a laugh.

I was not prepared for loneliness as I thought I was.

I remember writing a post bragging about how I am not afraid of living alone, and that I don’t need to be around people or their companionship. Now I take that back. Being a lone is a physical state. Loneliness is the rougher mental part. I can sit by myself reading a book for hours, but 30 minutes of feeling isolated, left out or forgotten and I am ready to throw in the towel and want to run away to somewhere, anywhere. This usually happen at night, when I don’t want to do project planning, the books aren’t interesting, and the candles are on their last life – I would end up going to bed at 7pm.

Being alone and loneliness are two different things, and they come with the territory.

Beside married couples, all PCVs live by themselves, essentially. Some have neighbors, some share a compound with other people, some live in a giant house by themselves with lizards being the closest living things to a roommate—like me. Regardless, everyone shares the similar agenda of waking up alone and going to sleep alone. At night, I sit alone and plan my project alone. Some nights, it is as natural as a part of the job. Other nights, I exhaust my phone battery texting other people because sitting alone with my thoughts is an overwhelming loneliness. So I try to use my alone time productively, or take preventive measures against loneliness through the form of extra phone batteries.

So things are still rough, but I am not quitting. About a year and some odd months to go, but I am not seriously counting down. I don't miss America, yet. I could use more communication from people back home, but life is hectic, and I shouldn't be upset about it. I don’t want to go back yet, and it makes me sad to think about that day. All in which, I think, is a surprisingly positive result for having to live with a monthly candles budget.

P.S: In case you miss me and want to send me a well crafted care package to show that you care. Here’s a few ideas of what could go inside:

- Magazines: something maybe of educational values so I can donate to the school later-but things of current events is great. I am very out of the loop.

- Gummivites/ Fruitsnacks/ Gummy Candies: Who doesn’t love them?

-Packaged soup mix, instant soup mix, instant mashed potatoes: I love soup. And as of recently, mashed potatoes.

- General snacks: Milano cookies, Chip Ahoys. NO cheese or peanut butter flavors.

- Candles: Did I mention that I have a candle budget? Help me go nuts. Unscented or vanilla, other strong scents might catch bugs.

- Seaweed/good ramen from Asian stores: I am Asian afterall.

-Toothpaste and floss: Floss are exceptionally shitty here.

Packages are to send to:

CHAU NGO

P.O BOX 5796

ACCRA NORTH, GHANA

WEST AFRICA 

For easier packing, take things out of boxes before stuffing them inside. For easier custom search, put 'old magazines, of no values' on the packages declare list.

Thanks!

bad days

Bad days are bad. It's true. Regardless of where you are, no one like a bad day.

Bad days in Africa -- are terrible.

Sometime it's showing up to an event and no one is there. Sometime it's planning to leave for some where and no tro is there. Sometime it's riding on a tro and it's, all of a sudden, not going anywhere anymore. Sometime, it's sitting inside a tro with loud Ghanaian music/drama and you don't think you will ever make it to the end. Sometime, it's hearing a baby's insufferable scream and you wish you were listening to the shitty music/drama instead. Sometime, it's like you're somehow caught in your own drama and people are screaming at you and you wish they were never been born. Sometime, some assholes who should have never been born are touching you and screaming at you and all you can do is try not to punch them in the face.

Bad days are fucking terrible here.

It feels like an emotional assault. That a tidal waves had just hit and destroyed the barely held together fragile mental state that you have worked so hard to maintain. And no one is there to help you put it back together.

In Ghana, I am a white lady, a China, a Japan, a Korea, a woman -- an object of fascination and whatever the fuck. I am stared at, shouted at, grabbed at. I am constantly being harassed. Do you know what it's like walking down the street for even just half a block, having people calling you all kind of names that they think are appropriate for you, basing on your look alone. In America, it's racism, it's sexism, it's sexual harassment, it's ignorant, it's crude. Not here. And I can't get too angry. Just ignore them, they say. They are just playing, they say. I can't fight back. It's not culturally appropriate. They're really ribbed, they say.

Bad days are personal.

Some volunteers smile and joke back. Some volunteers give sass. Some volunteers are numb. I don't seem to have found a technique yet, and so I cry. To myself, to other people. Out of anger, and sadness, I cry because I can't do anything else. I cry because it feels as if I've lost the game. I cry because I've lost my cool and gave the the satisfaction of knowing that they have gotten to me. That they have broke me. I cry because  I feel broken.

Bad days are ugly.

I can feel a bit of myself rot away every time I walk away while still hearing the laughter and mockery behind me. A little more bitterness creeps up. A little more hate invades my heart. Misery is not without company. I can feel myself drowning anger, hatred and sub consequently, sadness. I see myself wishing that I was out of here. Maybe I should just give up. I hate these people, their country and their stupid self sabotage way of living and so-call culture -- the very barrier that keeps them from understanding me and my reason for being there. I am a loathsome monster of rage.

No words to soothe my pain, to calm my anger, to appease my sadness. I hate myself and all around me. I blame myself and all around me.

Bad days are seriously bad.

10 months mark - cream, soap and bee.

Somehow, it seems that every time I start to write a new blog post, I never come close to finish it, let alone publish it for the public eyes.  And that is going to be my excuse for being such a crappy blog keeper… every time.

I would also like to blame the lack of internet, but at this point, that’s just beating a dead horse, and I’m no weirdo who likes to abuse dead animals so I digress.

One of the most common questions I get from my friends when I get to talk to them is, “How’s Ghana? Anything crazy/exciting happened to you?” and most of the time, my answer is lame and dissatisfying, “Ghana is fine, nothing crazy has happened.” And I want to take this time to explain myself. Guys, I guess I could say that at this point, I am used to being in a country where, for instance, everywhere you go, there are goats and/or sheeps around. Villages, towns or cities, they are there. Everywhere. Sleeping under parked trucks, laying the middle of the open road, crossing the street, stuffed under seats on my tro, standing (fearlessly) on top of vehicles because the space under the seats is occupied, maybe by some chicken. You can’t go anywhere without seeing them, and it is very real and hilarious.

But, for Ghanaians, this is all too common. This is a part of their daily lives as far as they can remember. There is no humor in seeing a baby goat standing on top of a bench in someone’s court yard crying for its mom who is 3 feet away and also doing the same cry. They don’t care for it, and naturally, as I have no one else around to share the laughs, as well as having seeing these sights too many time, I too, become accustomed to it and unimpressed. So when someone asked me if I have seen anything wild/weird/crazy, truth is, I probably have. Like the time when there was a pack of sheeps stopping in the middle of a high trafficked road to eat some spilled grains while completely blocking traffic but no one seemed to mind. Instead, cars and motors maneuvered their ways around them so they don’t hit the sheeps. Hilarious because just a few hours before that, a 24 seaters car body checked me and no one was concerned that someone was hit but they would rather go out of the way to not hit a sheep. And that is too, no longer a surprise for me, so when I’m talking to you, I also forget to tell you about it.  

evacuation (vacation) recap

Well, this past 2 months has been a whirlwind.

Where do I begin so I don’t lose you in the end? Maybe we can go backward. Last Friday, our evacuation status was lifted, and all the volunteers in my region were green lighted to go back to our sites. About 39 days before that, we were emergency evacuated out of our homes (in the middle of the night, in my case) due to an incident that happened in the city.

Out of respect for my friends and the topic being so over-discussed among us here in Ghana in this past month, I’m not going to talk about what happened. (But I’m 100% that you can Google it.)

So long story short, we were assumed to be in a dangerous position, so Peace Corps pulled us out, and took us to sub offices where we spent the next month slumping around/twirling our thumbs waiting to go back.

I got a phone call at about noon that day, and it wasn’t until 11pm that I was picked up and carried on despite me rushing to pack in 2 hours thinking they were outside my door any minute. My poor counterpart and his wife waited up all night with me until I was picked up. The closest to any pair of Asian parents ever in Ghana.

In the beginning it was sort of cool. I mean, beside the whole we were in possible danger thing, evacuation was sort of like a mini-vacation. Got a nice ride to the office. Electricity. Internet. Food availability. An oven. Ceiling fans. And we weren’t even paying for any of it? Awesome.

stick and stone

A couple of Mondays ago, a primary student broke her wrist while doing a high jump. Though I arrived to the school just as this happened, there was no sense of urgency among the teachers who were around, so after they filled me in, I didn’t push on the subject, assuming that it has been taken care of properly. Then after about 20 mins of us sitting around our usual ‘faculty spot’ (under the mango tree), they started to have a serious discussion, and formally asked me to join. I had no idea what they were talking about, but as some started to switch to English during the discussion, it dawned on me that they were talking about the injured student.

It turned out, that the problem at hand hadn’t been taken care of at all. I found out that they simply just took the girl back to her parents’ house, and were now discussing the next step. I asked whether or not she received any medical treatment at all during this time, and the answer was, they took her to a local healer, and there was nothing he could do, which was why they took her to her parents. By this time, it would have been close to an hour since the girl injured herself—and had yet to received any proper care. Freaked out, I brought out my loud and rude self and urged that they should at least take her to the clinic, which is across the road from the school, a mere 30 feet away. Pretty sure I said something along the line of, “You are all teachers, not medical professionals, take her to the clinic! There is a nurse there!”

After another 5 mins of pondering, the group dispersed, and I am told that they would take her to the clinic. While they went to get her, I walked over the clinic since at this point, sitting idly under the mango tree lost its appeal. The teachers and the girl arrived shortly afterward, and she is about 12 years old. Her wrist was wrapped in an old t-shirt, and though she didn’t show it on her face, it was very obvious that the past hour has not been pleasant for her.

To my disappointment, the nurse didn’t look at her injury at all, rather, she gave her some medicine, and 2 shots, which I later found were pain killer. My irritation didn’t subside, so I urged them to take her to the hospital. Some more discussion in the local language went on, and the girl is picked back up on to the moto to leave the clinic. Since I wasn’t sure what they were talking about, the sight of them leaving gave hope that they were taking her to the hospital. However, I soon learned that it wasn’t true once the moto turned to go to the opposite direction.

Loud and rude again, I asked my Counter Part (CP) about what was going on. He told me that instead of the hospital, they were taking her to a bone setter in the next village. Another teacher, J, saw my disbelief, and reminded me that here in the village, not everyone has insurance or money to go to the hospital, so they go to local healers. I have never felt more useless in Ghana.

I couldn’t bring myself to go back to the mango tree, but I also didn’t know what else to do, so I just sat outside the clinic for a while. My CP left, but then came back and told me that J would take me to the bone setter. He wanted me to see what were going to happen.

1 month in. 23 to go.

If Peace Corps is a person, we would have been together for one whole month already. Alas, we are not two high school teenagers so there won’t be a movie date, so I’d just blog about it instead.

The past month has been a roller coaster of emotion.  Yes, that was very cliché, and I don’t regret it. There were tears and there were joy, but I woke up today (May 23^rd) completely positive that there is no where else I would rather be.

I’ve talked about my site, a little village in the Upper West Region, named Goli. It is about 4-5 hours away from the Burkina Faso border and positively 15 hours away from the nearest movie theater, on a good day. 

Since I’ve been here, I’ve done a lot of sitting.  Everywhere I go, stools/benches/chairs are placed under my ass without request. My legs would be tired from walking at the end of the day but my ass would be sore from sitting in the equivalent amount. Some other PCVs from my group are placed with partner NGOs, and though I am not sure how their schedule is like, I hear that it can be quiet busy sometime. As for us upper regions people, like the chicken roaming in front of our houses, we are free ranged.  That means we don’t really have a schedule and our days could be as idle or as casual as we want. Which is why it is so important to embrace small successes, when life just seems to  be passing you by meaninglessly while you haven’t done shit for the entire day, the little things in life start to look grand. And they keep you going.

My job as a Health Water and Sanitation (or at least  what I got out of training) is to guide my village to achieve a healthier living environment. And that include getting them to stop pooping in bushes and drinking gross water while making healthy life choices like wearing a condom.

I could be easy if people understand that certain of their behaviors need to change before they stop getting sick all the time. But Peace Corps isn’t ‘the easiest job you’d ever love’ (that was college) so it takes time for us to get them to that point. If you haven’t tried it, going number 2 or even number 1 in the bushes can be a very liberating experience. Old habits die hard, and some/most/the majority of the people in my village are very old.

Anyway, the one month at site has seen greats and grave. Most of the day, I sit in various places in the village and try to learn the local languages by listening to their conversation about me, and make an effort to remember their names. People know me know that I am very bad with names, and it is fortunate that most Ghanaians have English based name like Felicia and Emanuel, but add the Ghanaian accent and it’s a salad of some different sound.  Everyone is someone else’s brother or sister of mother or father because everyone in the village is in a big family so that also need processing and figuring out time.

Someday, it is extremely delightful to see grown men walking around town holding hands from the pinky (because even though homosexuality is illegal here, there is no limit to same sex interaction) or during high noon time, women would be bare chested, hanging low without a care (to the four lovely ladies who flashed me before I left, you got competition).

Other day (the entire duration of the 3^rd week at site) all I want to do is sit on my porch and read and try not to drown in my own sweat in the waves of loneliness of being the only foreigner in a 45 minutes radius by car. Or if one more person laughs at me after I’ve spoke Dagaare and greet them, I’d lose it and curse out their mothers.

Roller coaster of emotions. Didn’t I say it?

But I’ll say it again, there is not where else I would rather be. I signed up for this. Waited for it. Excited for it. And now it is all mine, and I’ve just begun. There are latrines to be build, malaria to b prevented, and talking condom mural to be painted – all in the next 23 months. It’ll be the longest relationship to date, but I’m in it to win it. 

I had a birthday.

A little Q&A session to update you on my life:

- Why aren't you supper tanned/charcoal black already?
- a. I use sun screen on a daily.
b. As a side effect of the malaria meds I am currently on, tanning is harder. Thus is why I am only light mahogany and not dark chocolate.

- How do you go online?
- This has been addressed before, I have an internet phone, which I use for gmail and facebook. Everything else I have to wait for internet time. Which is why I can't update the blog frequently (it's my excuse and I'm sticking with it)

- How do you get around?
- I have the budget for a bike, but in the mean time, I walk a lot. As a result, my legs are real shapely. Sometime I hitch hike.

- Is it hot there?
- Yes. It's Africa and I'm near the Sahara desert.

- How are you eating?
- Currently, my Counter Part's wife is cooking for me, starting next week, I'm buying a pot and a stove and cooking for myself. So that's gonna be ramen for the next month.

- What work do you do?
- Essentially, I'm a Health, Water and Sanitation Volunteer, so I would do community development/public health, including but not limiting to building latrines, malaria prevention and water sanitation. And telling people to stop shitting in bushes.

- Are you doing any of that now?
- Nope. I'm still trying to get to know my community and win their trust and shit.

- Where do you get $$$??
- Peace Corps issues each Volunteer a modest monthly stipend, and I spend it all on popsicles when I have a chance.

- Do you see other volunteers?
- Yes and no. Some of us live in villages close to each other, and sometime we meet up in the big city, but not always.

- Are there bugs?
- There is a buffet of bugs. Big. Small. Winged. Legged. Crawl. Fly. You name it, it's there.

- Do you have running water?
- No. My village get water from boreholes and wells, and so do I. People fetch water with buckets and basins and carry them on their heads to their house. I don't though. There is a "small girl" (aka. errand girl) who does it for me sometime.

- Not doing work, not fetching water, not cooking... what do you really do?
- Good question. I read sometime while still living out of a bag because I have no furnitures. Most of the day, I greet people and kiss babies' forehand (okay, not really, no kissing.)

- Read? You read?
-  Why yes, I do. So far, I've started and finished 4 books. There are several that are in progress (due to my short attention span). It's therapeutic to read and not sit idly thinking about how isolated I am in my little town and depress myself with it. It's also a healthy distraction.

- Forget books, what about the boys?
- Who needs boys when I'm already a man myself.

- When can we Skype?
- I don't know. When I am awake, you are probably asleep. And I don't get online very often... so we shall see.

- Can I write you?
- Yes! Email or snail mail me! I will always try to write back.
Chau Ngo
P.O Box 5796
Accra North
Ghana

- Do you need something?
- Everything and nothing. You can't send me things I miss, like sushi, bowl of soup, iced cold drinks... but I do enjoy a bag of water melon sour patch and could always use some hand sanitizer and new toothbrushes.

- What do you want for your birthday?
- A fan. Battery operated. Africa is hot.

Well, and now I am 24. The day started out shaky with rain and delays and strenuous hikes but it started rolling once I had my first beer at 3pm haha. Now I'm winding down from a day of indulgences (internet, electricity, fan, ice cream, cold drink) and it feels great, living the simple life and what not.

Anyhow, gonna try to transfer some books. If you have any more questions, shoot them my way! See you next time when I get internet.

PCV official

I guess this news is worthy of a blog post. Two days ago we swore in as Peace Corps Trainees to be Peace Corps Volunteers. Now I am sitting and typing on a computer that is for PCVs only. I sure do feel special.

Immediately after we swore in, we were given our allowances and set free on our own. Still the youngest of the PCV family but no longer babies, Ghana you better watch out.

Tomorrow I am heading direct to my site and will be there for the next 3 months. After that it's In Service Training, but we are just going to have to wait and see it I make it through July.

Anywho, sorry I'm a lazy blogger. Write me letters instead.

38

...days since i have been in ghana. a bit over a month since my last updates, so here are a few quick and (maybe dirty) facts: (please pardon the terrible internet language, i typed this up on my phone)

- I tested and passed the Language Proficiency Interview in Dagaare – which means that I am now ‘proficient’ in the language and will be able to communicate with the people at my site/village.

- Site locations were finally revealed to the Trainees after the language test. Since I already knew my region, I was not as excited as everyone else who didn’t know. Still, finding out the exact location of my site was just as fun. I finally met my Contact Person (CP), i.e: the person who is going to introduce me to my community. He’s a math teacher, and he’s hilarious.

- my site is a little remote village in the upper west region. i am the first volunteer/'white person'/foreigner to have ever been in this village. my 3 days at site conjured up an interesting combination of feelings. nervousness, proud, pressured,  loneliness, excitement, overwhelmed...  im still trying to sort them out. hopefully after the first 3 months i could tell you more about it.

- my house/living quarter is a two rooms unit inside a 3 units house. its per peace corps standard though if you know me,, youd know that i dont need much room for comfortable living so having all this living space does feel strange, especially at night when i am alone siting in the dark sweating.

- sitting in the dark sweating because my village has no electricity so i have no electricity in the house. ergo, no fan. this might confuse some people as how i can still get online and whatnot and for that i will tell you that a. i have an internet phone and b. as long as i have a portable modem i can get online anywhere with a laptop as long as there is phone service.

- yes people have phone here even if they dont have electricity.  yes it is kind of ironic.

- i just finished 2 weeks of technical training and got to homestay last night after 12 hrs of traveling in a tightly packed bus. it was still better than my trip from the Upper West to Tamale -- 10 hrs with no AC -- so yeah im not complaining.

- i also took a techinical exam at the end of training, which gave my hand a cramp afterward. lots of short answers.

- if i pass that tech exam, next sunday i will be swearing in officially as a peace corps volunteer. then we can toss away the trainee title that we have been carrying around these few months.

- if anyone has sent me a package and letter im hoping to get them this week to bring to site with me, so i hope youre excited for it becuase i am :)

- if anyone want to send me things, be it electronic of snail, please feel free to. ( i could use some new music and tv shows, hint hint)

- as for pictures, i juts updated a few from the first 2 weeks on facebook. if youre a friend, check it out. if youre a rando, dont add me.

A day in training

I can’t say that 8 hours of ‘school’ everyday for language and technical training doesn’t drain me out, nor is it the best part of Peace Corps so far, but it’s been my life for the past month and it sure will be weird to have to readjust again after training is over.

For those back in the states wondering what my day is like, I hope you’re ready to be amazed.
-           Every morning, if I don’t automatically wake up at 5 am, I’d be out of bed by 6:30. The morning bucket bath takes about 15 minutes, 10 if it’s a cold morning. If you know me at all, you’d know that I am not officially awake until at least 11am in the morning, even when I had the 9 to 5 job. Now I leave the house by 7:30 to walk to class. The last time this was a routine, I was 10 and in another developing world.
-          ‘Class’ starts at 8 am and I’m hungry by 10. 11 is ‘independent study’ time but I spend that time running home for food and if I’m lucky, I could squeeze in a little nap before 1, but that almost never happens (due to various reasons, i.e: shooting the shit with the other volunteers, nosy screaming little children ect)
-          It is debatable, but I still think that my language instructor is the best one of the bunch since he always let us have the afternoon off and or at least, chill out and study on our own.
-          Technical training would start around 3 and continue for two of the longest hours of the day.
-          5 pm slowly crawls up and that’s the end of the day. Then we would have about 2 hours before it gets dark and that’s a day for the village. During the first couple of weeks, I would just fall asleep by 7 because it gets so dark outside. Now that my body is adjusting, sleep time gradually moves back to 9ish, any later is pushing it. Remember those days when sleep time was 2am? (Last year…)
-     On Sundays I usually 'sleep' in i.e lay in bed for an extra 30 mins before getting up. Then it's laundry time, sweep my room, grooming (shower, wash hair, pluck eyebrows ect... hairs grow fast in Ghana here, bet you wanted to know that) -- all before noon of course.
-    By noon time, some/a few/most/all of the Volunteers would head into town to use the internet. It's the only time in the week we get to do so, so everyone goes, and my facebook newsfeed is swamped with updates from them.

I usually type up my blog posts before during the week to upload them online later, but I was lagging last week so now I’m rushing to type this. Sorry again for the lack of pictures. I will try to have them all next week. There will be a water fall :)

MAILS!

I get mails every Thursday. I don’t know what Christmas morning is like, but I can imagine it to be like mail day when we all anxiously waiting to see if any of those packages are for us, so send me letters, packages, inappropriate pictures of yourself in compromising positions J ect.

I can also use/in need of:

-Ramen (Shin bowls! – I miss asian food so much, this might be the closest thing I can ever come to Asian soup here)

-Non-scented liquid body wash  

-Hair conditioner ( I only packed on bottle and had to leave it behind at the airport out of fear that my bags were overweight)

-Special K/Chewy/Granola bars (people don’t snack very much here, and I’m constantly hungry)

- Baby wipes, also non-scented (I’ve realized that I can never have enough baby wipes here, or just toilet wipes in general)

- triple As batteries (I packed a ton of double As but it turned out that all my head lamps use triple As…)

- Powdered drinks like iced green tea powder or Crystal lights.

- Gummy Vites!

My address is (for the next 3 months):
 CHAU NGO
P.O BOX 5796
ACCRA NORTH
GHANA

It takes somewhere between 1 to 3 weeks for the mails to get from the states to here, but it will stay in my heart forever if you send me something. Cheesy, but I’m okay with it. Miss you all.

Meeting da chief and speaking Dagaare like a pro.

Last Sunday we were scheduled to meet the chief of Aniyasin. Being that it was a serious deal, we all got up extra early and put on our best frocks, or at least, the best frocks we brought to Africa with us. Our families were suppose to come with us, but when I headed out in the morning, my sis was nowhere near being ready to hit the road. I was worried that she forgot and I would have been the only person in the entire group who didn’t come with a family. I tried to remind her, and she just said, ‘I’m coming’ which is Ghanian English for, I’ll be back/I’m getting there/hold on.

When I went and meet up with everyone else, it turned out that no one else’s family was there with them either. So once again, there we were, 24 obrunis gathered in one spot in town for all the locals to stare.

We seriously were there for an hour waiting before things moved along. It turned out that the chief wasn’t even awake at 6 45am like we were told to meet, but at 8 am, so our families had the right idea about coming later. The second we started moving toward the chief’s house, my sister popped out of nowhere.

The ceremony was to introduce the new PCVs to the chief since we are guests in his village. There were drumming and chanting and pouring and drinking of alcohol aka terrible schnapp. There were several customs we had to follow during the ceremony, but I had already forgot about them by the time we arrived, so when the glass of alcohol was passed to me, I accepted it with my left hand without even realizing it. In Ghanaian culture, the left hand is considered a vice, and one should not be using it for any reason. So I pretty much already insulted the chief and his clan before breakfast. How am I not stoned to death already, I don’t even know.

Since Monday, we’ve been divided up into different language groups to learn the local language of the region that we are going to be at after training. I was placed in the Upper West region, which is the youngest and newest region for all the sites. The language there is Dagaare, and there are just three of us who are heading there including me so our group is small though not the smallest since there is the Ewe language group for Volta region which only has one person.

The language learning is super intensive. 6 hours a day every day. When Monday started I didn’t know a single Dagaare word, but now I know how to introduce myself and talk about my family. Crazy. Beside language we also have technical training, which I should pay more attention to and shouldn’t dread so much since it’s only 2 hours a day, except that going to this class after language training is super gruesome.  Then I go home and have to deal with my fan club, aka, the neighbors next door who like to shout my name whenever they see me regardless of the hour of the day/night. That’s definitely another post on its own. Wait for it. 

Greetings and salutations.

Our homestay began on Monday the 13^th. It was a 5 hours drive from Accra to Kukurantumi where one of the Peace Corps Offices is located.  

After almost a whole day of traveling and anxiously waiting, we finally made it to the little village where we’re going to spend the next 3 months. I was completely overwhelmed (and probably dehydrated) so much that I don’t even know how I made it through the entire event without passing out. My heart was pounding a mile a minute up until the second when I found out about my host family. Only my sister was there to pick me up, so everyone, including me, thought she was my mom. She seemed super eccentric and definitely lived up to that image (but more on that later). 

After the reveal, we had some awkward moments of sitting and getting to know each other. Of course, my new sis and I didn’t have much to talk about and at this time, I was still thinking that she was my mom. I think at one point, I asked her how old she was, and she said 50, and I couldn’t believe it. I told her she was too young to be 50. Later, I realized that she told me that her mom is 50, which makes more sense now. My sis is only 25… or so she said. She has 3 kids, and the oldest is 13 so you do the math and tell me about it.

I had two giant bags each about 40 pounds in Ghana, and even though she needed help putting it on, my sis carried one of them on her head like it was a fucking hat. And she walked the entire 20 mins walk to our house with it and left me trailing behind with my 16 pounds backpack. To put me to even more shame, a small child, probably the age of 12, took my other 40 pounds bag and propped it on her own head. She only went half way though because then we ran into Dennis, my oldest nephew who is 13, and Dennis then took the bag over with his head. Just the whole thing about people carrying a anything/everything on their heads deserve a post all on its own.

My host family is relatively small. Mom, pop, sis and 3 nephews and we all live together, and I have my own room as per requirement by Peace Corps. It’s pretty cool, I get a bed and a table, and they gave me a fan. It’s an old old old fan and needs like a 2 hours head start to run full speed but it helps get me through the night so it’s been great. Compare to some of the other volunteers who don’t have electricity or even a bright light bulb (i.e: dim blue or green light in the room) I’m living the high life. Location wise though, I guess I’m in the backwoods boondocks because it takes walking up a dirt path for 15 mins before hitting the town’s main (and only) paved road.

Back to my family, they are pretty relaxed. I joke about how we are kind of the hicks of the town because we are kind of living in two sets of bungalows and our court yard is pretty much a second road for bystanders, but I actually really like them. My sister and my mom speak great English, which apparently isn’t the case for all host families. This is not their first time hosting so they are now used to the volunteers/trainees’ antics and habits and actually have made my homestay experience relatively pleasant, i.e: not setting up a curfew, not putting too much palm nut oil in my food, not giving me too much food, not feeding me all meat no veggies.

Anyway, my sister is youthful and somewhat crazy (the fun crazy, not crazy crazy) and she thinks that I’m hilarious, which is always a plus for me.  I think it valentine’s day the 2^nd night I was there, and she wanted to take me to a spot, which is what people here call a bar. I asked Heather to come with me, and we planned to meet up after dinner. Sometime between me eating and showering, Heather had to go with her family somewhere, and for about 20 mins, I was in panic mode because I texted a bunch of people but no one else was around/available to go with me. The last thing I needed at the time was being alone in a spot on Valentine’s Day with some drunken Ghanaians. Lucky for me though because as we were about to head out, Heather came back, a total life saver moment, so the three of us set out for the Lover’s Inn Spot (not even the tackiest names I’ve seen here).

On our walk to the spot, we picked up Adam, another volunteer So there we were three obrunis, aka white people, and a local heading out for a night on the town. The spot was still empty when we got there, and my sis got us some cold Fantas to drink, and literally the second our drinks came, she paid and announced that she was heading into town for the night, but we should enjoy ourselves here.

Yeah… definitely didn’t see that one coming.

And so my sis left and then it was just the three of us obrunis sitting there outside drinking Fantas and chatting and pondering about what just happened, us being dropped by my sister who was supposed to show me the town. It was nice until a group of drunken young men came and wouldn’t leave us alone after that so we had to leave.

Since the people have been so polite to us during the 2 days we were there, it was sobering to experience this bit of negative attention. Foreigners stand out. Women stand out. You always have to watch yourself. And leave it to me to get the one family with the partying sister.

three obrunis walked into a bar

Our homestay began on Monday the 13^th. It was a 5 hours drive from Accra to Kukurantumi where one of the Peace Corps Offices is located.  

After almost a whole day of traveling and anxiously waiting, we finally made it to the little village where we’re going to spend the next 3 months. I was completely overwhelmed (and probably dehydrated) so much that I don’t even know how I made it through the entire event without passing out. My heart was pounding a mile a minute up until the second when I found out about my host family. Only my sister was there to pick me up, so everyone, including me, thought she was my mom. She seemed super eccentric and definitely lived up to that image (but more on that later).

After the reveal, we had some awkward moments of sitting and getting to know each other. Of course, my new sis and I didn’t have much to talk about and at this time, I was still thinking that she was my mom. I think at one point, I asked her how old she was, and she said 50, and I couldn’t believe it. I told her she was too young to be 50. Later, I realized that she told me that her mom is 50, which makes more sense now. My sis is only 25… or so she said. She has 3 kids, and the oldest is 13 so you do the math and tell me about it.

I had two giant bags each about 40 pounds in Ghana, and even though she needed help putting it on, my sis carried one of them on her head like it was a fucking hat. And she walked the entire 20 mins walk to our house with it and left me trailing behind with my 16 pounds backpack. To put me to even more shame, a small child, probably the age of 12, took my other 40 pounds bag and propped it on her own head. She only went half way though because then we ran into Dennis, my oldest nephew who is 13, and Dennis then took the bag over with his head. Just the whole thing about people carrying a anything/everything on their heads deserve a post all on its own.

My host family is relatively small. Mom, pop, sis and 3 nephews and we all live together, and I have my own room as per requirement by Peace Corps. It’s pretty cool, I get a bed and a table, and they gave me a fan. It’s an old old old fan and needs like a 2 hours head start to run full speed but it helps get me through the night so it’s been great. Compare to some of the other volunteers who don’t have electricity or even a bright light bulb (i.e: dim blue or green light in the room) I’m living the high life. Location wise though, I guess I’m in the backwoods boondocks because it takes walking up a dirt path for 15 mins before hitting the town’s main (and only) paved road.

Back to my family, they are pretty relaxed. I joke about how we are kind of the hicks of the town because we are kind of living in two sets of bungalows and our court yard is pretty much a second road for bystanders, but I actually really like them. My sister and my mom speak great English, which apparently isn’t the case for all host families. This is not their first time hosting so they are now used to the volunteers/trainees’ antics and habits and actually have made my homestay experience relatively pleasant, i.e: not setting up a curfew, not putting too much palm nut oil in my food, not giving me too much food, not feeding me all meat no veggies.

Anyway, my sister is youthful and somewhat crazy (the fun crazy, not crazy crazy) and she thinks that I’m hilarious, which is always a plus for me.  I think it valentine’s day the 2^nd night I was there, and she wanted to take me to a spot, which is what people here call a bar. I asked Heather to come with me, and we planned to meet up after dinner. Sometime between me eating and showering, Heather had to go with her family somewhere, and for about 20 mins, I was in panic mode because I texted a bunch of people but no one else was around/available to go with me. The last thing I needed at the time was being alone in a spot on Valentine’s Day with some drunken Ghanaians. Lucky for me though because as we were about to head out, Heather came back, a total life saver moment, so the three of us set out for the Lover’s Inn Spot (not even the tackiest names I’ve seen here).

On our walk to the spot, we picked up Adam, another volunteer. So there we were three obrunis, aka white people, and a local heading out for a night on the town. The spot was still empty when we got there, and my sis got us some cold Fantas to drink, and literally the second our drinks came, she paid and announced that she was heading into town for the night, but we should enjoy ourselves here.

Yeah… definitely didn’t see that one coming.

And so my sis left and then it was just the three of us obrunis sitting there outside drinking Fantas and chatting and pondering about what just happened, us being dropped by my sister who was supposed to show me the town. It was nice until a group of drunken young men came and wouldn’t leave us alone after that so we had to leave.

Since the people have been so polite to us during the 2 days we were there, it was sobering to experience this bit of negative attention. Foreigners stand out. Women stand out. You always have to watch yourself. And leave it to me to get the one family with the partying sister. 

white people on the street

Accra Quest is the event in which all the Trainees are divided into groups and let loose in the city to complete and scavenger like task list. We were given 10 cedis each as transportation fee and were supposed to figure out how to get there and back ourselves within 3 hours.

Yeah, it is as fun as it sounds. Especially if counting Saturday, we would have only been in Ghana for 3 days, and most of our time was spent on safe and roomy AC busses. Our Twi was limited and our sense of direction non existence.

I have to admit that out of all the activities I have done in Peace Corps up until now, Accra Quest is still tied with homestay revealing as the most nerve racking event. Though I have taken crazy bus rides by myself in Vietnam, being in Ghana in which you obviously stand out felt a little bit different. My group had Grace, Olivia and myself, the three smallest girls out of all the PCV. I was pretty sure that one of us were gonna get kidnapped.

To prepare us for the quest, the night before, the trainers presented to us a skit of what could possibly happen during the quest on the tro, and it was hilarious, especially when one of our PCVL (Peace Corps Volunteer Leaders) got too into it and broke a table (pic). 

We started out by walking from the dorm to the main road. The plan was to take a tro-tro straight to Accra, then walk around the city to find our scavenger spots. A tro-tro is pretty much a cheaper more crowded and bigger version of a taxi. It’s not quite like a bus because often time it is only a 12 persons van but would go longer distance. The van is often run down and cramped with passenger, and by run down I mean it one of two sockets away from being a metal pile at a junk yard.

Anyhow, to pick up a tro, you just have to look to see if there is one going the direction you’re going and flag it down. If it’s not full, it will stop for you. So our group slowly walked toward the direction of Accra, and tried to flag down the tros as they rolled by. Apparently that day was a busy day, since none would stop for us. I think it took us about 30 mins of walking to finally get one. I was real nervous about all the harassments that could potentially take place in the tro, but once we got on, it was surprisingly peaceful and quiet. Everyone minded their own business, and though they stared, I was fine with that. I guess the plus side of traveling outside of America these last few years is that I am not that bothered by people staring at me anymore. Especially since I know that no matter what I do, I will stand out anyway, so I might as well play the part. And at least, in Ghana, no one calls/tells me that I’m fat (Vietnam), so Accra quest started to look a little positive for me.

It turned out that our plan of taking one tro straight to Accra did not work out well since there was no tro that goes that length. We had to take a tro to the next town, and from that town, take a tro to Accra. When we got to Accra, we decided to walk to our locations by foot because taking a taxi was not permitted for this quest. I should mention that prior to this we had only walked in Accra once, for 15 mins around the Peace Corps office neighborhood, which is in no way a correct representation of Accra. And street signs are sparse around here.

By the time we stopped and asked for direction, we were already lost, but then we found ourselves again, and even crossed path with this. From a far, I thought it was a broken bicycle helmet, but Grace’s scream assured me that it wasn’t.

Yeah, about that… there are a lot of bats here. And during the day, they sleep on trees, in publics, on the streets. All of them, just hanging upside down looking like fruits in the daylight. I don’t know how this guy managed to fall off the tree nor do I know if he was at all alive after the fall, but I have never seen a bat up close before, and I wasn’t too glad of seeing one now. Another first for this journey.  None of the Batman movies prepared me for this.

But yeah, running across the sleeping bat on the ground was the most eventful thing that happened to us. We weren’t harassed that much and nothing freaked us out massively. We didn’t make it to all of our spots because we wanted to head back in time, so we took the same route the way we came, and this time, the most eventful thing was that we got stuck in a alley between a stream of on-coming cars and a cement wall for about 20 mins while we were stuck in the back sweating.

Compare to America, the tro-tro is a terrifying experience if you’re there alone for your first time so I was glad to be in a group and had someone else there with me. Compare to the ridiculous traffic in Vietnam, the tro-tro is still one level below. I expected it to be more cramped, but tro-tro stop picking up passengers when it is full. I recalled being on a 3 people seat with 5 people in Vietnam so this experience turned out aiight.

glowing ball of fire

Though I’ve only been in Ghana for 11 days, so much has happened that I don’t even know where to begin. From Philly, we bussed to Newark for our flight to Frankfurt. We spent 6 hrs waiting at the Newark airport playing Uno, card games and eating terrible airport food. I saw snow for the first time in my life in Frankfurt so that is now crossed off the bucket list.

The flight to Ghana was uneventful. Ghana airport in Accra was the most chaotic airport I’ve even been on. It makes the Vietnam airport in Saigon seem like some high class place. The people were chill though. I was the last person to go though custom and the agent dude asked me to marry him after getting my finger prints and taking my head shot. I laughed and told him I’ll think about it.  Definitely didn’t see it coming even though I knew that this type of flirtatious stuff is common in Ghana, I didn’t expect it to happen so early in the game and coming from an official. I guess airport people here don’t worry too much about terrorists so they have more time to fuck around and hit on foreigners.

We were bused to a dorm room at a college a couple of hours away from Accra. It is called Valley View College and we stayed there for 3-4 nights I don’t really remember. I got a new roommate, Sheila, and somehow signed us up for the room with the creepiest location. I’m kicking myself now for not taking a picture of it because my description might not do justice to its creepiness. Adding insult to injury, our room was number 8, and for some reason, on the signup sheet, room number 7 was skipped so while Sheila and I stayed in number 8, no one was in number 7 and the closest people to us were number 6. Our room was in this dark corner that has no hallway light or natural sun light while all the other rooms face the open court yard. And apparently there was a spider living above the door which freaked Sheila out so that was also a negative.

The other volunteers told me that living there felt like living at summer camp, where you’re told when to eat and when to meet up and what activities to do. I’ve never been to camps (growing up in the jungle) so I guess that was pretty fun for me.

i'm alive

13 days in Peace Corps, 11 days in Ghana. Seriously it's only been 11 days? Feels like an eternity and back already.

It's ridiculously hot here... and it's still winter time probably. HOW DO YOU TURN OFF THE SUN?!?!

Here are a few things that went on (in no particular order):

-Got proposed to by the custom agent at the airport, first in my group. I'm not that proud.
-Asians don't exit in Africa, here I am known at 'white person' as everyone else.
-Found out my site and language training two days ago. Upper West of Ghana aka Upper Best -- best region to be at in term of weather I think. I'm quite glad. Though it is the youngest in term of developments so the work will be hard, but I'm down for it.
-Latrines are my worse night mare. Though I don't think that's going to be improved soon. Thank goodness I haven't experience the diarrhea rite of passage yet, something that all Peace Corps volunteers must go through. I would like to thank all the weird Asian food that I ate through out my life. Best preparation for Africa so far.

... uhh I have more but can't think of anything right now. Gotta head back soon. Will update more. Maybe with pics.

it's the night before

...my official departure for Ghana is tomorrow. Newark, Frankfurt and then Accra.

I spent most of Sunday flying/sleeping on airplanes and Sunday night getting tipsy at some dive bar in downtown Philadelphia with an old friend from middle school. The  evening started with some good Italian food (note: if you know me at all, you would know that I hate Italian, so this was a big deal) and took a total spontaneous turn with a slight touch of peer pressure and ended with me having a great conversation with a 27 year old Somalian cab driver about life. Totally worth the 11 dollars ride (that's the upside of having a low alcohol tolerance again, thanks NIH meds!)

This morning I did a short walk around the Historic District of Philadelphia. Actually, more like, doing an extensive tour of the Liberty Bell and skimming everything else, i.e: Independent Hall, Ben Franklin's house, Bessy Ross's house. If it wasn't for the excessive amount of police siren through out the day, it would have been super romantic.  

Anywho, our training was the usual pre-country departure talk, safety, food, cultures. Most of this I have heard before from AB training and orientation as well as Peace Corps materials so it wasn't too a too exciting event. The rest of the people finally arrived for the training and there are 25 or 26 of us, I'm not too solid on the number. There is a sprinkle of ethnicity here and there but the majority are white and apparently 4-5 of us are from CA. Something about this liberal hippy state I guess. 

We're not leaving until 1pm tomorrow so there is a group of twenty something Peace Corps peeps getting drunk in a karaoke bar somewhere in downtown Philly as I'm typing/joining in 10 mins. 

mothers always cry

The worst thing about saying goodbye to someone is when one party gets emotional. Voice breaking, shoulder shaking, tear spilling. A very disheartening sight really.

This morning, my family got up at 5am so we can have me make my 8am flight, my mom cried when we said good bye as she told me to don't forget to have my meals regularly. I knew that it was gonna happen, but I couldn't prevent it. Last night, I said good bye to my grandparents. My grandma teared up as she told me to be careful and don't forget to eat. I didn't see it coming and didn't know how to make her stop.

Knowing that someone cares is a lovely feeling, seeing that they care so much that they cry feels almost like guilt. Watching my mother and grandmother trying to hold back their tears make me feel like I have just gone and broke their hearts.

27 months is a long time, but I will be back soon. Please don't worry.

are you excited?

As months become weeks and weeks becomes day, more and more people ask me this question. And I would say, yes I am.

Sometime I feel that people expect me to have a more glamorous answer. As I am neither poetic or romantic, it is hard for me to say anything else beside the straight and narrow. How can I tell them that I am excited for this experience as I was excited for my college experience when I was 18 years old. The feeling and knowing that I am about to embark on an experience that for sure will add more grooves in my brain is giving me a high that better than any substances. Not even fried chicken. That's right, I said it.

Anyway, T minus 5 days and I haven't packed yet. Still have some last minutes shopping and meetings to do. Still have to pay off some loans. And all I want to do is sleep because this past month has been crazier than I anticipated.

LA, AUSTIN, HOUSTON, SD, LA, PHILLY, GHANA. I'm getting there.

bad Peace Corps jokes

Today I found out that I will be going to Philadelphia for staging. How exciting! I've never been there so it'll be a trip, though it's just going to be one night. Somehow, this blog has become a count down measure to my Peace Corps trip. I had meant to write more witty and interesting things here but I seriously dropped the ball on this. Maybe in a few months when I'm settled down I'll better.

Anywho, Happy New Year!

I am so glad the holidays are over. I have never been a fan. Every year I spend Xmas with my family, and every year I always end up feeling grumpy and have to leave the house for a few hours. Family gathering used to be a favorite thing for me when I was little, but since we came to America, it sort of went down hill and became just another day for hostilities.

This year, I went and saw a Sherlock Holmes. I'm a pretty huge mystery crime/Holmes fan so even thought I don't believe that Robert Downey Jr. is fit as Holmes, the whole how-did-he-do-it theme never gets old for me, and I enjoyed the movie through-roughly.

It's been five days into January and it felt like an eternity. I submitted my 2 weeks notices last week and have been hauling ass to get some of my projects done before my departure next week. For some reason, the work load always seems to multiply itself while you're working on a deadline. I guess this is the real world. All work. No play. And you ended up hating yourself eventually. So glad all that is about to end before I go any further.

Things with Peace Corps is starting to move again after a few months of silence since the invitation letter. There is a facebook group and everything and people are talking and the excitement is brewing. I think there are going to be 25 people in my group to Ghana. I check the Facebook and they are all pretty much women. lol. I think there is a stereotype out there about Peace Corps being predominantly women, and I guess it's true. Though I hope the stereo type about these women going to Africa to look for a husband is faux because frankly, I'm so over people telling me that I'm going to 'find a husband'/'come back with a baby'/'get myself a man'/'catch myself a bush man' when I'm in Ghana. Sure they're joking, but just like any terrible jokes, I can't wait for this shit to end.

Seriously? Why in the world would I drop my entire life for 2 years just so I could move to a foreign land to find myself a man? How little value does a person have to even consider this option? if you know me, you would know that I like jokes. I often am the one who say the ridiculous joke, cracking up that the most outrageous thing, and I can handle a lot of messed up funny stuff. The only I don't appreciate are rape jokes and fat jokes, but this typing of 'husband seeking' joke is pretty close to making to my no appreciation list.

I know I shouldn't get too riled up over this kind of talk, but to me, they are just so belittling. It is as if people are saying, as a woman, I shouldn't be doing anything else but focusing on finding a man, at any cost. Just talking about this pisses me off all over again. Growing up in a chauvinistic culture, I am constantly fighting against the type, with my family, with my people. When I hear these remarks, it is as if they are mocking my effort, and that, above all, is really insulting.