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.