Let the backpacking begin!

Thursday April 8th 4pm.

"Do you like Ginger?"

I love Ginger. Not the sliced, slimy, florescent pink kind you find on the side of your unagi roll with a lump of wasabi and some uneven chopsticks rejected because they are Impossible to use. But the nubby, cracked, mustard yellow kind that the woman who just questioned me was peeling in a copper bowl. I didn't tell her this however I merely replied with a smile and "yes" before I grabbed my notebook and quickly wrote this brief interaction down.

I am sitting outside on a low wooden bench with my feet in the sand listening to Ester sing a pretty hymn while she continues to go at the previously mentioned root with a dull knife. After I enquire she explains that the tune is about eating at God's table in heaven forever.I have become accustomed to such religious enthusiasm over my two months and though I do not necessarily share their beliefs. I find, surprisingly, that I greatly respect the joy and hope that it brings to many Ghanaians. However, at big Milly's (the beach side Hostel I am currently vacating) this is the first time I have heard any mention of Christianity in three days. There is a large Rastafarian vibe here with multiple dreaded heads swaying to the rhythm of reggae with the aroma of "ganja" is always lingering in the salty air (though it's illegal in Ghana and can lead to 20 years Rasta's seem to be exempt due to religious standing). Through my travels I have found Rastas to be some of the friendliest and shrewdest of Ghanaians. The night before last we had a log conversation about oil and the corruption in Ghanaian politics and I was blown away by their ideas and opinions. Esther and I conversed in the small amount of Fante I know (Spelt phonetically).

• How are you? -> Wo-ho-ti-Dehn?


• I am Fine? ->Bo-ko/Ah-ye


• What is your name? Wo-froy-oh-dehn?


• My name is Chloe. -> Eh-freme Chloe


• Where are you from? -> Oh-ho-fre-hehn?


• I'm from Canada. -> Me-Fri Canada


• Where are you going? -> Oh-ho-Que-hehn?


• I'm staying here. -> Mi-ti-ha


• That is Good? -> Hoye-few

Then swichting to english I asked if I could have some boiled water and honey "Pan-cho" -> Please. She gave me a confused look until I produced the small bag I had in my had explaining that I would like to make some Green Tea. Then, not wanting to be rude I took out another bag stating "You are Welcome" (A typical Ghanaian phrase inviting you to share food). I become friendly with the kitchen staff at most places I stay as Kim, Sam* and I have chosen to bring packets of tea and soul with us instead of resorting to 10 cedi meals, Kim says this is excellent preparation for Uni. Last Night we cooked cream of tomato soup with singing Ghanaian children's songs the students taught us and dancing around with ladles in our hands.

" Johnny Johnny. Yes Mama. Johnny Johnny. Yes Mama. Eating Sugar. No Mama. Eating Sugar. No Mama. Telling Lies. No Mama. Telling Lies. No Mama. Open Your Mouth. Ah!Ah! Open Your Mouth. Ah!Ah. Open Your Mouth. Ah! Ah! OPEN YOUR MOUTH. AH!AH!"

The water just arrived with a tiny pot of wild honey (which is nothing like the honey from home is is darker, sweeter and so much better) and while we waited for our tea to steep. I asked Ester to tell me something about herself. And so she explained that her Day name was Abena (Ghanaians are given names for the day they were born along with a Ghanaian and English title. Mine is Adowa, pronounced Ad-jew-ah, for Monday and as Kim was born on Tuesday her name is also Abena) and that she was from the Volta region. Then Becky, one of the cooks we danced with last night rushed in to announce that the fishermen had come in and Esther rushed out to buy the barracuda for tonight's supper (Not that I will be eating any, I'll be making something called Chakalaka soup, which I bought for 95 pesewas at the Grocery in Takoradi. Yum!)

So now, tea in hand, I'm making my way to the balcony overlooking the sea and sand where hopefully I will find someone as desperately in need of company as I am.

1 hour Later:

As is turns out I did, I met ANOTHER Sam! The British manager of the Hostel next door, with a tendency to use "Fuck All" in every other sentence, we struck up a conversation on our favorite places in Ghana. However he soon had to leave in order to enjoy a dish of ginger barracuda (about which I was insanely jealous, and I don't ever like seafood). After his seat was taken by a beautiful Ghanaian woman I was drawn into a conversation about "My Husband" after she stated how lovely my "Wedding Ring" was. I am often asked if I'm married (I wear the ring to redirect eager Ghanaian Men, though it hasn't completely) so I have the story of my husband "RYAN" down to a fine art, and enjoyed a five minute conversation about our blissful 11 month matrimony.

* Sam is Kim's British boyfriend, who matches her hair colour if not her height, who came down to days ago to join us on our one month of travel around Ghana. However yesterday, the hottest day we've had in a month, he obstinately refused to put on any sunscreen stating he wanted to burn so he could tan, and though Kim and I professed that his logic was idiotic he was impossible to persuade otherwise. Now he is stuck in bed with sun stroke and painfully blistered skin while my saintly roommates plays Florence Nightingale.

Belly Buttons and other exciting news

I realized today that I have yet to discuss Ghanaian belly buttons. This is astonishing as I see at least half a dozen a day due to the plethora of scantily clad children running around my placement. They are all outties and vary in size from the size of a kumquat to your fist. Today I had finally become used to seeing the monstrosities (sarcasm! which F.Y.I is totally lost on Ghanaians) when, while in market circle I saw a little boy with one the, I kid you not, the size of a grapefruit! Which, after getting over my initial shock, was a positive experience as I remembered to tell you all about this!

Unfortunately belly buttons are the most exciting thing to happen in Takoradi in quite some time. School is out for the next month and travelling with the volunteers is about to commence. Last week Kim and spent a couple of days relaxing at the infamous Green Turtle Lodge (which I would recommend to any traveller it's dirt cheap to stay there and you always meet the most amazing people. This time it was an American couple volunteering in Niger with the Peace Corps, a French/German couple volunteering in Burkina Faso, and a grumpy New Zealander with a hilariously sarcastic sense humor.) which is quite off the beaten path so in order to get there we had to Tro-Tro though many rural villages. It was then that I had a better realization of the economical situation many Ghanaians are in. Many of the families there live in shacks made out of drift wood and mud, most of the children wear an odd assortment of tattered and dirty clothes donated by a variety of charities (a lot of which, I have discovered, never reaches them but is sold in the local market for a exorbitant amount) and, as the Tro-Tro rumbled past, they begged for money through the open windows. Though the greater population of Takoradi is not well off, I and not seen this side to Ghana before. However it didn't shock me or appall me like I expected it to. It merely made me extremely sad for the state these towns have reached and the measures these people must take in order to live (like drinking exceedingly questionable water and eat grass cutter - a local jungle rodent). However despite they're rather unsavory circumstances the people of these small villages seemed relatively happy especially when they saw us and ran after the Tro-Tro yelling "Obrouni! Obrouni!." It's surprising that when they live in such a desolate place they can find such happiness in 2 white faces bumbling along a dirt road.

A little on the Food.

Yesterday I was walking to my favorite goat kebab stand just off market circle (they sell them for one Cedi each and cover them with delicious spices, Kim & I often eat them for breakfast with bread and butter) only to find, when I got there, that instead of deep red goat sausages cooking over a pit fire there was an entire goat... laying on the table with one of it's legs hacked off, it's belly slit open and it's innards being sorted by a man in a Gap t-shirt. However this did not throw me off and I continued down the road in search for food. This is just one examples of the many different types of cuisine you can get in Ghana, however not all are as delicious. Others are more traditional like Red-Red which is a mixture of beans in red sauce and plantain fried in red palm oil, or Kenkey which consists of ground up corn that turns into a doughy ball and tastes like vinegar from which you rip off small pieces and eat with fish stew, or Gari made from grated cassava (a starchy vegetable with the taste of potato and the consistency of celery) which is fried and eaten with Shito (a paste-like soup). However we only get these dishes every-so-often, most of the time we are merely served rice, yams, egg in a salty paste, plantain, nuts or noodles. Also, when were sick of rice and egg we eat bread with laughing cow cheese (which is a 10th of the price of regular cheese) and avocado or lots mangoes and pineapple. Though this may sound fairly healthy, it is mainly carbohydrate based and I fear all the volunteers are quickly gaining weight.Another treat we have is sugar cane, which can be stripped down and chewed until the liquid sugar gushes out, and cocoa beans, which you split open and suck on the seeds that are covered in a sweet jelly-like substance, also coconut, which you first cut the top off of with a machete and then ,after drinking the milk, crack open and eat the sweet white "meat". I enjoy a lot of these foods, as well as the local drinks such as Palm Wine and Milo (an energy choclate drink), but sometimes all I want is to go to white spot and order a chicken ceaser salad and a large vanilla milk shake, but for now I'll have to make do with cabbage with salad creme and a large glass of water.

1 month and it already feels like Home

I was just robbed... That's right robbed. Already in a bad mood because I had forgotten it was Sunday and, after taking a cab down to the market circle, found everything was closed, I was walking to the Internet cafe and a man put his hand in my purse and grabbed a fistful of money and quickly walked away. Shocked Kim and I stood there for about ten seconds and then she exclaimed "Ummm...did he just take your money?"

After that we were swarmed by Ghanaians going "Who took the white ladies money? Who took the obrouni's money? Which man was it, we will beat him!"

You'd think that after one month I'd be savvy enough not to get my money stolen. I mean I know how to take a shared taxi for 45 Pesewas (about 30 cents) to the main market, I know how to say "Thank You"* in Fante after I order a Beer at the local bar, and I know how to make a really good cup of Milo - the preferred cocoa energy drink. Yet SOMEHOW I don't know how to hide my money well enough so I'm not robbed in broad daylight.

However burglary aside I'm having a great time hear and have adequately adjusted to Ghanaian life. Often Kim and I go to Market Circle, which is exactly what it sounds a street in large circle full of shops and vendors - who constantly hiss at you or yell "Bra! Bra!*" in order to get you attention, in the middle of this Circular shopping destination is a maze of small shacks selling a variety of items such as: phone credit, sugar cane, posters of Jesus, dried fish, giant live snails as big as my foot, sandals, pirated dvds and most importantly bread (this is our breakfast every morning along with a sachet of water, which I find exceedingly ironic as "Bread and Water" is what my parents threatened give me for dinner if I was bad - this threat never panned out but I believe this is now punishment for my mischievous childhood). In Market Circle you are constantly harassed by people desperate to sell you anything (see list above) or exchange money, we also see a lot of beggars and men desperate for us to marry them. However there are also s lot of friendly faces - like the woman who sells us beads and her grandchild Faith, the Rasta man that sells us delicious sugar bread and the young girls who sell water on top of their heads and always say "see you tomorrow!" in hopes of our continued thirstiness.

There is a saying that we have here - GMT or Ghana Man Time. Basically it means that everyone does everything at their own pace insuring that no one and nothing is ever on time. As I was often 10 minutes late to school (if I rushed) I find this a nice break from the over organized life style I led back home and am, appropriately, half an hour late for the weekly poker game I play with two British lads. This is one of many get-togethers the Tadi (our nickname for Takoradi) volunteers have during a week as well as movie night, which generally occurs at our place on my roomies laptop with everyone speaking the whole way through and rarely any of the film being watched, our night for going out ,which consists of going to the one club in Tadi and downing sachets of gin we picked up for 50 pesewas, and beach day, which ultimately ends in a well crafted Sandcastle or a dinner of Fufu or KenKey. We also travel on weekends as a large group which has been an interrsting experience: This weekend we traveled an hour east to the appropriatly named Hideout Lodge, which (owned by a friendly Swedish woman and her Rastafarian husband) is a 5 minute walk down the beach from the isolated village of Butre. Though the huts were roomy the beach was beautiful and the food was relativley cheap the weekend was dampened by the massive amount of bedbugs and being tossed around in the ocean when we tried to skinny dip at midnight. However we didn't go for the infested beds or full moon (pun intended) we decided to get all the volunteers together after one of us had to go back to Canada for one month after a tradgedy occured at home. It was a great weekend and I hope for many more like it.

I have now started teaching regularly and have gotten into a marvelous rhythm with my students. I teach literature and English to primary and secondary classes from Monday to Wednesday, then on Thursday and Friday I teach music and creative art to the nursery classes. They are both amazing experiences and I always try and make it fun and unique, however the English and Lit can be quite taxing as the children have less respect for me, or should I say fear, because I do not wield a cane and constantly beat them as the other teachers do. Corpral Punishment is alive and well in Ghana and there has not been a day where I have not seen a child whacked for speaking out of turn, forgetting their homework or being late - they number them off at exactly 8:15 and if you do not have a number you are taken out of class and are beaten with a cane or have to kneel on the hot concrete. In the begining the teachers vounteered to lash the children for me but though I respected that I had no control over their methods of punishment I said that I would deal with "The Little Trouble-makers" myself. And so, if a child dares to disobey my class rules (Respect the Teacher and Eachother) they must run around the school yard thrice, do multiple jumping-jacks or stand on one foot with their toungues out and flap their arms like a chicken for 1 minute. I Joke Not. However they do not always respond to my alternative methods and today after several warning I walked out of Class 5B in the middle of teaching them about turning adjectives to adverbs. Next week they'll know better...I hope.

I now have 1 minute and 33 no make that 32 seconds left on my computer at the Vodaphone Cafe and still need to post this so see you next time avid readers I'm off to watch a footbal (I mean soccer) game at the local pub, and only 20 minutes late!

* Hissing, though seeming rude, is the easiest way for the locals to get eachother attention. It is how I now siganl a taxi or try and catch the boys on bikes selling Fanice (delicious icecream in bags). "Bra" is "Come" in Fante and is said with a palm out fingers oving hand gesture.

New Placement = New Problems

Unfortunately, there was a bit of a kafuffle while trying to get to Peter Piper's as the host (let's call him "The Chief" for anonymity) wanted Kim & I to stay at his new secondary school Golden Gate for a week and then, and only then, decide whether we wanted to teach there or at our original placement. But as soon as I arrived at Golden Gate I realized that it was not where I wanted to spend my next 5 months and, after confirming with Kimberly that she felt the same, proceeded to subtly let The Chief know that we were set on Peter Piper's. However as soon as they realized we did not want to stay at their preferred placement, The Chief and the Head Pastor began persistently to try and convince us that it would be in our best interest to stay, not understanding that we were uncomfortable teaching 17 and 18 year olds, that their approach to discipline was distressing and that the isolation of the school was suffocating. The only positive part of the "Golden Gate Experience" (apart from the children who really were lovely - we played a huge game of soccer with them on our first day and they where ecstatic) was Juanita (or as Kim insists it's spelled Whaneta), The Chiefs 2nd wife who treated us with respect and made sure we had everything we needed, and her 8 month old son O’Hara, who is the cutest baby boy I have ever laid eyes on and enjoys pinching my "Ghost Skin" and squealing delightedly.

By Monday we were so overwhelmed by the situation at Golden Gate that we called up our closest mates in Takoradi, Sam (The Stud) and Robbie (The Daddy), and went out for a drink telling them our sob story, and then forgetting all about it with Star Beer and good conversation such as:

• Uncomfortable Movie Dates (Which led to a demonstration of the "Yawn and Stretch” technique.)


• First, and worst, Kisses.


• Traditional Scottish Dance Moves (The YoYo, and Boomerang ect.)


• Ghana, and how much we love it here.

Unfortunately it gets dark in Southern Ghana very quickly and we had a lot of trouble getting back to the school, upon arrival we discovered that the message we gave to the Head Pastor, about our night out, was not given to The Chief and he had no idea where we had been. It just added insult to injury the next day when, being so frustrated by the situation at Golden Gate, we had to bring our problems to a higher power and were finally moved to Peter Piper's, where we belonged.

I will now strive to use all the skill I gained during my fruitless year as a writing major, in order to paint a picture of where I will be; eating mangoes for breakfast, sleeping under a mosquito net and teaching literature for the next five months: Painted a dull yellow, the school is built in a rectangle around a dusty courtyard. The walls surrounding the property are topped with shards of broken glass in order to discourage thieves from entering, though I doubt any criminal would dare challenge Christopher, the Warden who has a constant frown plastered across his face(though he explained to me yesterday this is only because he is so hungry.)

The school is constantly expanding, and a new building on the far left is slowly being built by day workers, many of them siblings of the students, right now it is a pale stone grey with spike shooting out of the top waiting for more layers to be added.
The classrooms are 3 walled and consist of the mere basics, a chalkboard 40 chairs and 40 desks, every time I walk past, or DARE to step into one of them, the children run at me waving their arms in the air and screaming: “Madame! Madame Glowy!” – They have great difficulty pronouncing the “Klah” in my name, “Madame Kim” they manage with great fervor however.
In one corner, beside an old broken-down Ferris wheel is a large cage where Mr. Darcy, a large white monkey with an erectile dysfunction, resides (Not knowing his true name Kim & I decided to christen him after the brooding Jane Austen Hero as he often looks rather pompous & morose). The children enjoy taunting him by throwing garbage into his cage and yelling in Fante, which has unearthed a fear a humans, but yesterday he allowed me to approach his feed him water out of an old margarine case. Today he shocked us all by grabbing a bird that was hopping nearby and happily biting its head off! This is not good news for Jesus (Hay-Zeus) the cocky Parrot, whose cage is adjacent to Mr. Darcy’s.
Kim & I share 2 rooms – a small chamber consisting of a bunk bed and table which frequently has the odor of urine as it is beside they Boys urinal. And a living area, which we have made quite homely with pictures of friends and family, fake flowers and colorful scarves. This room contains a fridge (which FINALLY works!!! Cold Bagged water all around!), a wardrobe (Kim and I picked up hangers and clothing baskets for a couple Cedi in Market Circle* in order to organize our few outfits.), a table with two chairs and a silly lace table cloth, and a shelving unit which we have filled with our various belongings (Mostly books and a ridiculous amount of fist-aid materials). Over all is a beautiful and cheerful place and I couldn’t be happier.

So, now I am sitting in an Internet cafe in the middle of Takoradi listening to my roommate Kim chat happily with her best friend for the first time since we've arrived. It's an astonishing 38 degrees, I've been bitten to bits by mosquito's and haven't had a proper shower in 6 days - Before you start picturing my as a blistered filthy mess I must explain that the water tank connecting my placement is empty and therefore I have had to become fully Ghanaian and wash myself with buckets of water that we collect from the other side of the property (that is we collect it when we can, there is always a student anxious to help us out who refuses to take no or "Dhabi"* for an answer).

* “No” in Fante

T.I.A!

It’s been less week since I’ve arrived in Ghana and it already feels like home. At the moment I am severely sweating in the bedroom I and 7 other volunteers share, having just cleaned up a massage suncream*explosion. So much has happened since I left I don’t even know where to begin, But I suppose I should start in London where I met 3 of the volunteers Wilf – the exceedingly clever and Star Wars obsessed Oxford bound Brit, Emily – the opera singing, ballet dancing and far to old for her age co-blogger, and Kimberly Ann, or Kim as she likes to be called – my other half for the next 5 months, the funny friendly red head with a heart of gold. They patiently showed me the sights around London, Big Ben, The Thames, The London Eye ect.while I snapped photographs like a crazed tourist and listened to their various accents with awe (F.Y.I if you close your eyes, Wilf sounds like an very posh, old Brtish man, most likely wearing something in tweed.). After a lunch of proper British Fish and Chips, Emily, who lives as she puts it on the “Dodgy Side” of London, invited us back to her place for tea. I, finding this marvelously British, agreed enthusiastically and we all caught a train to New Gate. Once we had drank a pot of Builders (Which is English’s every day Tea, Wilf claims only snobs drink Earl Grey) we proceeded to freak out about the fact that we where about to embark for Ghana “THE BLOODY DAY AFTER TOMORROW!!!”

Finally the “THE BLOODY DAY AFTER TOMORROW.”arrived and I had to say goodbye to Mum and meet up with the fellow volunteers.

Problems occurred before we even left the ground – My luggage was overweight,which they let slide with a warning, and my carry-on too large, and although I stated profusely that Canadian Customs let me through with the exact same size backpack (or “Rucksack” as the Brits call it), I was met only with a “Well you’re not in Canada anymore you are in the United Kingdom!” After which I had to struggle greatly not to salute and exclaim “Long live the Queen!” However the other volunteers immediately came to my rescue shoving various books and soccer jerseys into their spare rucksacks. This is just one of the many obstacles our Odd Obrouni* family has had to face.

Now, may I just advise to anyone who is setting out on a totally new and terrifying experience NOT TO WATCH The movie “Milk” on the plane!!! Because I was so emotional, I sobbed like I had just cut onions then listened to “All by myself” when **Spoiler Alert** all the Gay rights supporters walked through the streets of San Francisco morning Harvey Milk. However following the credits and about twenty minutes of Post Grad (which I also do not recommend just because it’s complete Shite.) we landed in Accra where we where greeted by a wave of overwhelming heat & Henry out Host for the next week, and Mentor for the next 5 months.

The first week was all about adjusting to life in Ghana and bonding with the other volunteers. The heat was often so unbearable it zapped all our energy. So we spent a great deal time just sitting around and discussing everything under the sun – the TV shows we watched as children (Arthur, Transformers, Art Attack!), the food we missed the most (cheese and milk mostly, though I could really use a Frappacino at the moment), as well as our most listened to, and more importantly most hated music (Emily & Wilf: Classical, Kim: Anything but crap Boy Bands, Robbie*: Josh Groban!). The day I recall the most was the Sunday we Spent at the beach. It was the day after we’d arrived and we were woken up at 6am by a blast of Italian opera the reverberarated through through the entire house. Immediately wanting to be the first to claim the single shower that the 14 girls have to share, we quickly jumped up in order to bag one of the more coveted spots (I was, of course, 13th in line but the time I rolled out of my mess of sheets and sweat.) After we were all relatively clean – as soon as you step out of the blissfully cold shower, you are consumed by an onslaught of sweat and dust giving you the appearance that you are relatively tan - we climbed into the tro-tro (large vans which carry you to specific locations) and headed to Le Beach (Do not confuse this as a bad french translation, as it is it’s genuine name). Though Ghanaian men often do not stoop to blatantly touching you, except for your hands which they will shamelessly grab and frequently kiss, as soon as you step into the Atlantic Ocean you are free game. The will pick you up, hug and hold you, touch you wherever they jolly well please, and expect you to do the same. This is all happening while enormous waves are crashing on top of you and the undertow is pulling you every which way. At first we tried to use the three Men we had to "Protect" us. But Wilf refused to get wet, Robbie laughed a little to much at the situation, and Sam who tried, bless him, to pretend we were all his wives was bombarded by a hoard of children who wanted piggybacks. So we were left alone to fend off about 30 hand happy Ghanaians. This was all in fun however, and once we had explained that we were all married , they headed towards the next group of available Obrounis.After that pleasant introduction into Ghanaian culture, spent the following 6 days learning about what to expect form our placements and how to teach our various lessons in the morning, and practicing in Ghanaian dance and drumming in the afternoon.

Tomorrow I am off to my placement, Peter Pipers (See previous Posts) where I will begin to learn what it is like to live like a true Ghanaian.

T.I.A!

*Notice my use of the word “sun cream” All the volunteers are picking up on each others foreign vocabulary.. I now say football instead of soccer, trousers instead of pants and roll my R’s in the word “great” copying the Scottish P.E teacher Robbie (whom we have labeled the Daddy).

* Obrouni is White Man/Woman in Fante the most popular language of Southern Ghana.

MY version.

My bags are packed, I'm ready to go, I'm standing here by the mini-van door, I hate that my suitcases can only weigh 50 pounds. But the dusk is breaking, it's almost eight, My mum's impatiently waiting, were running late, I can't believe it I'm finally Ghana bound. So hug me and laugh for me, Tell me that you'll facebook me, now stop hugging me so tight cause I really gotta go. You see, I'm leaving on a British Airways plane, I know I'm going to be back on exactly July 3rd again, Oh, everyone I truly care a lot about and will really miss, I so freaking excited to go!

Gone to Ghana, Will be Back in July.

I'm writing in Superstore, sitting in the Deli section my Laptop on my lap, I've finished all my last minute shopping and am waiting for Mum to finish hers. I would go help her but whenever we get separated here I find it's best to just  sit and wait in the Deli, our choice meeting place. I learned this at a very young age when I was found by one of the stockers on roller-blades, sobbing between the ziplocs and mr.clean at the back of the store.

Oops an alarm just went off in the fish department.

Maybe someone free the crabs and lobsters, I've always thought of doing it - but I CAN'T go back to juvy, I am of course being facetious...or am I?. 

I toted my Mac (or rather my fathers Mac, but as he never uses it I have commandeered it as my own) to the Super market because I type up all my lists and do not see the point of writing them out when I can just bring the Mac - also because it is somewhat lengthy and I am lazy and do not want to write it all down.

Anyways. Thanks to this last minute and rather unexpected Superstore excursion, I was in the middle of making curry and apple pie for dinner when mum announced she was going for a shop, I now have everything I need  for the next five months:

  

• Batteries?  Check.
  
• New (and adorably lacy) Underwear? Check.
  
• Gatorade powder? Check.
  
• Tums? Check.
  
• Taboo? (a ridiculously fun card game) Check.
  
• Chocolate for the plane ride (I refuse to consume airplane food) Check.
  

And Yet...I'm not ready! I leave the day after tomorrow and I'm not ready to Go! By this I don't mean that I haven't finished all my shopping (which I actually haven't I still need to get a camera bag), I mean that I am NOT READY! When I think about leaving I want to bawl my eyes out then do a cart wheel* and run around Fort Langley screaming. I'm going to miss my family and friends profusely and don't know how I will cope without them. But to use a cliche (Sorry Mrs. Knittel), this is the opportunity of a lifetime and I will not let myself worry or become upset, I intend to enjoy every minute of this adventure and come back with a new understanding of travel, culture and (hopefully, but this may be asking too much) myself.

* Having no upper body strength and great fear of falling on my head, much as I would love to, I have never actually been able to carry out a cartwheel. 

Death Resulting in Baboon Feces

I'm writing in Starbucks, waiting for Lindsey to pick me up and take me to the Hindi Movie Store near her house so I can but some boot-legged Bollywood DVDs for the trip (about 1$ each!). I just paid a massive library fine, from all the books I took out when my leg was broken (most of them on travel & Africa ironically enough), which has set me back quite a bit with my Ghana money. My brain is going though the worst case scenarios if I'm not frugal with what cash I have. I can see myself running out of money and not being able to afford any bagged water, dehydrating, dying in my little cement hut and then, my roommate, disgusted by the smell of my decaying flesh, throws me into the street where my dry carcass is slowly eaten by the undernourished baboons they use to help sell street product. Now I know the likelihood of this happening is quite rare (25 out of 100 to be exact), most likely I will not be able to travel as much as I intended. But sometimes I think I would let a baboon nibble at me for a bit if it would mean than that I wouldn't miss out on any of the amazing experiences I'm sure to have while traveling around West Africa.

11 Days till take off.

Just recieved the news that Mum is now joining me on the trip to England so she can visit with Granny (who has been suffering for seizures and memory loss episodes), but really I think it is so I do not burden any of  my British family members with my wild Canadian ways and excessive luggage. Not that I mind, I havn't seen the De Little family for 4 years and hopefully this will make the five day reunion a little less akward. 

It's really starting to sink in that I'm leaving, that I'm not going to be able to wake up at 12pm, leisurely drink lattes at Wendels or watch endless episodes of Bones with Mum. Instead I'm going to be waking up at 5am, drinking bagged water and teaching the difference between a simile and a metaphor to my students (Note to self look up difference between a simile and a metaphor, I joke, I joke). And I couldn't be more excited!

At the moment my life is completely devoted to not forgetting anything I will need, down to the last Q-tip. I have been to Wal-mart & Best Buy more times this weeks than I have in my entire life, and I still don't feel prepared. It helps that the other UK volunteers and I are constantly communicating about everything under the sun. It all started about 2 weeks ago with a message from me asking if anyone wanted to show me around their lovely Island state, and has evolved into a whirlwind conversation about scrabble, swimsuits and the amount of weight of each of our suitcases (they all use kg to which can be quite baffling sometimes).  And of course because of the time difference this is all going on while I'm asleep, they have a whole conversation about Malaria Medication:

"What medication are you taking? Lariam. Whats Lariam? The medication I'm taking."

"How many months should I bring, 2 months or 3?"

"When do I start taking them? Do I start taking the medication now?" 

"What about the side-effects?"

and so on.

Meanwhile I am dozing off and hours later, after they have finished their discussion on the side effects of the prophylaxis, I add in any questions or quips I have to offer on the subject. But I digress; It has been very helpful to get many other volunteers insights into the matter of packing and what not, and also very therapeutic to have someone else to go crazy with and say "I'm Freaking Out!" "Man, I'm freaking out Too!" with. It's nice to know I'm not going through this insanity alone.