All Manner of Domesticity

Wednesday, January 30, 2008
All Manner of Domesticity

Dear Everyone,

Greetings! I hope you are well.

I’m happy to say the Esalas, their guests, and I all survived Fire Festival, which is apparently a celebration of West African New Year. From what I can figure, the people tie bundles of long dried grass together, light one end on fire, and twirl them around in and around fields of dry brush (think Fourth of July sparklers on a much more magnificent—and exciting—scale). The key, I think, is not to stand too close to over-excited but under-observant children when they’re whipping about the flaming bundles. But no worries. Sarah and I only almost died once. And “almost,” I’m sure you’ll agree, doesn’t count. In celebration of our success, this week I’ve been tackling domesticity on all fronts and meeting success there as well. Mostly.

I’m pleased to report the demise of Little Mouse. Thanks to the conventional mouse traps Nathan set in my kitchen and bathroom, Little Mouse was tempted beyond his ability to bear and, by his own evil desires, was dragged away and enticed. Lured by a peanut, in fact. I found him in the morning with his head squished flat. Nathan also found a small hole in my bathroom wall, which he filled in with caulking and silicone. I was developing a bit of a drug cartel in the bathroom cabinet, see, as evidenced by the thumb-sized hole in my bottle of Advil (accompanied by a single pellet of mouse poop—and we know whose calling card that is) and the now roughly tapered end of my Dramamine bottle. This Druggie Mouse is perhaps also responsible for the small hole in my tube of Neosporin, which I had previously been attributing to “scuffing.” As in, perhaps my Neosporin has been scuffed on a rock. That somehow made it into my bathroom cabinet without my knowledge. And then disappeared. Right. Anyway, while on some level I appreciate potentially never having to open another child-proof cap again, I would sacrifice the convenience to avoid having mouse cooties on my . . . anything. So. It’s true that Druggie Mouse is still at large, but he has not yet worked his way back inside. Another kitchen mouse, one Crafty Glutton, also met his end in a conventional mouse trap this week. Since we have been unable to locate his entry point as Nathan did Druggie Mouse’s, we’ve been keeping traps set in my kitchen. Crafty Glutton had been evading both Nathan’s conventional mouse traps and my, um, more-innovative-than-effective “trap” for several days, such that I was beginning to think of our “traps” as more “treat-holders” since they seemed to be providing something of a buffet. Crafty Glutton ate the peanuts off the conventional mouse traps without springing them and licked the peanut butter off the inside of my cook pot as far down as he could reach without falling in, but no farther. Nathan and Sarah came over Sunday evening to set the conventional traps with lures of peanut butter this time instead of peanuts, thinking peanut butter requires a good deal more attention to remove from a trap and, after all, is one of Crafty Glutton’s favorites. The traps were set and Nathan and Sarah had not yet been gone five minutes when I heard the soft click of the spring and looked up to see the twitching furry fatness that was Crafty Glutton with his head squished flat. Nathan carried out the body with the comment, “Gee, he’s kind of heavy.” No kidding.

As distasteful as it may be to skip directly from mice to food, please pardon me while I do. While killing mice is all well and good, a foray into domesticity would be incomplete without various culinary delights. Ghanaians don’t seem to eat many weird things, but they also don’t use forks, and that makes eating just as interesting as if we had fish guts and donkey feet everyday.

Katie My Sister asked about pito (say “PEE-toe”), the beer I drank from the gourd at The Chief’s house. First of all, pito is not a beverage exclusive to The Chief, and that’s why we’re going to call it “pito” and not “Chief’s Beer.” (“Shoats” was brilliant, Sister, but “Chief’s Beer” is right out). Pito seems to fill the social role of coffee in the U.S. It’s everywhere. People make it themselves at home. When you go places, people offer it to you. Not liking it would be a social handicap. Fortunately, pito tastes much better than other beers I’ve tried. I am not a fan of beer; it tastes so . . . yellow . . . with an under-taste of blech. But pito tastes more . . . tan. And while it sometimes has a tart bite in the back of your mouth (somewhat unpleasant but not too bad), it is other times very mild and tastes like . . . apple cider, but not sweet, and leaning more toward beer than toward fruit. It tastes good. But I still can’t drink a whole gourd by myself.

I’m also enjoying the yams and the bean cakes, which Ghanaians typically eat with their hands (but I generally use a fork for the bean cakes since 1. I’m at Sarah’s house, which is full of Westerners who don’t mind, and 2. bean cakes are fairly wet). These are the white yams, not the “yams” that are also known as sweet potatoes, and we boil them and dip them in sauces the Ghanaians call “soup” but you should think of more along the lines of homemade condiments. There’s a nice red soup/condiment with dried fish ground up in it and other soups made from peanuts. The bean cakes, while attractively named, are actually in more of the meatloaf family. Sarah buys a roll of bean “cake” loaf in the market, slices and boils it, and serves it with a sauce entirely comprised of oil and crunchy onions. I’m not a huge fan of oil as a sauce, but the beans and onions have a meat-loafy feel, and what’s not to like about that?

Fufu (say “FOO-foo”) is another fun eat-with-your-hands food and is, in fact, Sarah’s favorite. Esalla (“eh-SA-la”) the House Girl and her mother, who is the Good Guard Abulai’s wife, made fufu for lunch on Friday. They started with a certain kind of yam that is apparently unavailable in the United States, peeled and boiled it and put it into the fufu pot to get the life mashed out of it. They mashed the yams with big long bludgeons until the yams looked like mashed potatoes. Then they mashed them some more and mashed them and mashed them. And then they kept mashing them and adding more water and folding over the yams so they wouldn’t stick to the bottom of the fufu pot. And then more mashing. And then more mashing. And mashing. And then Sarah mashed some. And then I mashed some. And then Esalla and her mother mashed more. And finally, after a few more mashes for good measure, the yams looked like a big squish of play-dough, but just slightly more gelatinous. So Esalla and her mother used their hands to smash the fufu into individual serving sized balls, and we ate it under a peanut and chicken soup.

Since Sarah has an ice cream maker, we also made papaya frozen yogurt, which is totally a health food, so eat up. We made papaya milk, a delight from Taiwan, and Sarah taught me how to make yogurt, so I’m excited to try that soon (nothing like growing bacteria in your kitchen deliberately for consumption). I tried my first cashew fruit today; it was difficult to eat something that sucked all the moisture out of my mouth even as its juice threatened to run down my chin.

And now, What I’ve Learned So Far:

1. If you go to a tailor to have some clothes made, and he refuses to take your measurements but instead relies on your friend to do it even though your friend claims not to know what she is doing, you should run away immediately. In no way should you leave your very beautiful fabrics with this man. Otherwise, all your new clothes may end up being incredibly huge—as in, wear-with-a-friend, pregnancy-might-help-for-the-middle-but-even-that-won’t-help-these-huge-arm-holes large. The “A-line” [read: Rectangular] skirt has a drawstring, so it is mostly okay (if not the most flattering). The skirt’s pockets are completely fantastic, so that is an upside at least. But the dress was mildly horrific and a little bit falling off, so we asked him to take about two inches off the sides, and now it too is mostly okay. In other clothing news, I had asked for two A-line skirts from another seamstress, and they are mostly okay except the elastic is too small in the waist and threatens to bisect me. I was given a choice of a button-and-zipper waistband, an elastic waistband, or a drawstring waistband. I chose the drawstring and got an elastic waistband with a hook and zipper. Oy. Sarah says we need to cover our heads when we go into the village to maintain the height of modest, so the tailors used my extra fabric to make head scarves. I’ve been experimenting with the head scarves, and it isn’t bad at all. Since the shower has no hot water, mid-afternoon is the ideal shower time, and without hairdryers or curling irons, wearing hair you can be proud of becomes a challenge. But we don’t have bad hair days in the village. Pirate hair days, or the occasional gypsy hair day, sure. But never a bad hair day.

2. Kids make a lot of laundry. The Esalas celebrate a different activity each night of the week: Sunday is Game Night; Monday is Family Meeting Night; Wednesday is TV Night. And Saturday is Date Night. Date Night is, naturally, only celebrated by Sarah and Nathan, but it recently became the best big fun when I invited the three Esala girls over on Saturday evenings for Date Night with Aunt Christina (because I can beat an early bedtime any day). We have a picnic dinner on the floor and then do some fantastic activity after dinner. Last week we baked a cake and drew faces on the backs of each other’s toes to make little rows of people we could watch dance in the mirror. The first night, Sarah had to bribe the girls to come with kool-aid and ice cream, but they seem to have warmed up quickly. And my laundry for the week in the towel-and-washcloth area triples in those few hours.

3. There’s totally a phone tree. Sarah and I drove maybe 5 or 10 minutes toward the Middle of Nowhere to a certain large tree, around which cell phones tend to get reception if the wind isn’t too strong. I called my family and talked for about 40 minutes for the bargain price of 5 dollars. “Who needs a phone booth?” Sarah says. Well, who does?

This week’s Suggested Prayer Topics are Karissa’s schooling, our upcoming vacation, and praise God for dead mice. Also, Nathan has been traveling a lot lately and is, in fact, traveling now.

1. Karissa’s schooling is going well, but we’re still looking for the right workload for her. I don’t know what 3^rd graders should be expected to do. We’re trying to find a place where Karissa gets a good education without being unnecessarily overwhelmed.

2. We’re going on vacation next Friday. Just a weekend trip to a game reserve in . . . the country just north of Ghana, name very similar to Burkato Faso, but probably not spelled like that.

3. Dead mice are my favorite kind. I’ve experienced no mouse activity since Crafty Glutton. Woohoo!

4. Nathan and his Ghanaian colleges have been traveling around to various Konkomba villages to share with them about their work. They left Monday morning, and I don’t think anyone quite knows when they’ll be back.

I think that’s about all I’ve got. Just in case you’re interested, Katie My Sister has made a blog for me. So if you are more of a blog person than an email person, you’re invited to <http://christinariddle.blogspot.com/>. Also, I’m hoping to get some photos to Katie My Sister so she can put them online. That website is <http://christinariddle.myphotoalbum.com/>. If all goes well, you can expect to find pictures of Date Night, mafia mouse poop, and various yard animals, plus short videos of Fire Festival and fufu making. I got a very fine picture of some furry pigs; unfortunately, they turned at the last second and left me photographing their backsides. Well, you can’t have everything. Just so you know, I took no pictures of dead mouse bodies, so please be at peace and approach my photo website with confidence.

Christina

No Mouse in the Pot

Friday, January 18, 2008
No Mouse in the Pot

Dear Everyone,

Greetings! Thanks so much for all your emails. I read and read; it was great.

A word about sheep and goats: Yes, sheep tails go down and goat tails go up, so that is a sure-fire way to tell them apart, as I’ve heard from multiple reliable sources. The thing is . . . well, who goes around looking at animals’ butts first thing? I mean, when you’re about ready to mow one down with your car, are you really thinking, “Whoa! Better watch out for that [quick peek at its hiney] . . .”? No. Because it isn’t quite polite, is it? Katie My Sister suggests I call them all “shoats,” which is, of course, a completely brilliant solution.

I just took a quick break to throw rocks at the cow trying to maul down the tree in my front yard (the one to the left, from which they may not eat). I throw like a girl, but he was still properly intimidated.

Last week, Thursday was Email Day, which means a trek into Nalarigoo (that’s my own special spelling), where the missionaries at the Baptist Medical Center have internet. Their children and the Esala children also have art and science classes together. It’s about a 45 minute trip for us over dirt roads in great need of repair. The Esalas have a formidable SUV, but the craters in the road make for a very bumpy ride nonetheless. (You know how on rollercoasters you sometimes fly up out of your seat a little due to a particularly sudden drop? It’s like that. After one noteworthy crater on the way home, Sarah looked down at the eggs in their uncovered carton on the seat between us and asked, “Wasn’t there an egg in that spot too?” Oy. We quickly found it under her seat, so no worries.) Well. As we bumped our way there, we came across two men on a motorcycle that had broken down. We left one with the bike and took the other with us. We were also transporting Elizabeth, Sarah’s friend from the village. While we were loading Motorcycle Man into the back of the SUV, another motorcycle caught up to us, this one bearing Elizabeth’s son and a man from the village, John, whose hand had swollen inexplicably, and he suspected a snake bite. So we piled John with the Swollen Hand into the back with Motorcycle Man and made our way to Nalarigoo.

The day was exhaustingly full with school and the overall magnitude of the outing, plus a trip to the tailor for me, a stop in the next little town to pick up the mail, and a few stops at little vendors’ booths for things like the afore mentioned eggs (2 ½ dozen, fresh) and chickens (3 whole, dead). The thing is that Nathan usually does half of this stuff while Sarah has school with the kids, but Nathan was out of town and I don’t know how to do anything useful so we all had to do everything together. We were tired but well enough and glad to be going home when we loaded ourselves and John with the Swollen Hand (not a snake bite; the doctors hooked him up with medication) into the SUV and started our trek over the crater-pitted roads toward home.

I mentioned in my last email that Baby Aili (say “EYE-lee) wasn’t feeling well. The thing is she didn’t really have any symptoms, she just wasn’t herself. Well. We were just far enough in our trek home to make turning around and heading back toward the hospital something to decide for or against. I’d like to say she “threw up” or “vomited,” but “blew chunks” (of papaya, it seemed) is a far more accurate description. Oy vey. We continued on home because, as my doctor in Ohio says, “People, in general, tend to get better,” and, after all, everybody feels better after they barf.

Sarah and I had already decided that I should stay for dinner. I would make pancakes in the shape of turtles, and she would focus on 3 kids and baths. So I cooked, and Sarah got baths going, leaving Karissa in charge. Half-naked children skipped through the house holding their clothes. Baby Aili sat in a bucket of bathwater on the kitchen floor, throwing up faster than she could get anything down and whining her distress. Sarah repackaged the food we’d bought for freezing or cooking and got it put away, taking periodic breaks to clean up barf. I burnt the first couple pancakes, but the rest were pretty okay. And yet everyone (except Aili) was perfectly calm. It was the perfect time to totally freak out, but nobody was seizing the opportunity. The only other incident came when Annaka’s turtle pancake allegedly peed on her plate, but that was a great joy to all and in no way cause for distress.

I awoke Friday morning at 5:00 (aka before the sun) to Sarah calling from outside my window. Baby Aili had barfed all night, so we decided to go back to Nalarigoo. I sat by Aili’s car seat to hold the bowl and catch her barf until we got into town, then I held her (which is not her favorite) while Sarah tried to find the doctor, and Aili’s barf mostly made it into the bowl but sometimes made it onto my dress (which is not my favorite). We decided the doctors must’ve either already left for the hospital, or they were still sleeping. So we went to one of the guest houses for breakfast, where we ran into a short term volunteer, who happened to be a pediatrician. She checked Aili over, but we still wanted to see Aili’s doctor. We dropped Karissa and Annaka at Dr. Hewitt’s house because his wife, Mona, is good friends with Sarah and the kids are all friends, and Sarah and I spent the morning trekking through the hospital finding doctors, getting blood work done (the test for malaria—it was negative), and finally getting Aili a shot for nausea in hope she could keep enough down to stay hydrated (which she did). It was a lot of trekking, mostly because Friday is a clinic day at the hospital, so many people had traveled far to see the doctors. We spent most of the day at Mona’s house watching movies, feeding Aili popsicles, and cleaning up popsicles barfed. Mona tried to convince me that this was all part of living in Africa, but except for the part where we camped outside the sleeping doctor’s room for a leisurely breakfast while we waited for her to wake up, it seemed more standard for life with kids than something specific to Africa.

I’ll save Saturday was Market Day and Sunday at church for another email and skip directly to Tuesday: Meeting [pause] The Chief. I mentioned that anyone who lives in the village has to meet The Chief, so I know you’re eager to hear how it went. First of all, hats off to Sarah for suggesting I change my skirt. Turns out ankle-length is best for meeting The Chief because everybody has to squat down in front of him and clap while he’s Greeting people. Well. Nathan came to get me Friday morning and we made the short hike into the village. Sarah couldn’t come because Annaka was barfing. We passed a few people Nathan knew, and he introduced me as his friend’s sister because, in this polygamist society, it’s easier if we have a clearly defined relationship. We sat for a bit to Greet some people Nathan knew (Greeting people is a big deal—that’s why I’m giving it the big “G”), and we ran into John with the Swollen Hand, who is doing much better. It’s funny to hear them talk. I have no idea what anybody’s saying, then abruptly they’ll start making noises and hand-motions that clearly mean “Alright, Nathan, translate what we said and tell the Stranger.” And Nathan dutifully obliges them. This time, they wanted me to know they’d heard I didn’t have a husband (oy vey), and one of them in particular was open to the job, just so I knew. Fantastic.

We finished up there and continued our way through the village. Nathan had briefed me on the squat-and-clap thing, and I was under the impression we were going to Isaac’s house (whoever Isaac is) to have a little practice session, lest I screw it up and off with my head and all that. We walked through a door into a rather large compound, but nobody actually told me we were at The Chief’s house. Someone started arranging molded plastic lawn chairs under the shade of a grass awning, and then The Chief himself (except I didn’t know he was The Chief), another guy (maybe he was Isaac), Nathan, and I all sat down. My first clue that this guy was The Chief was when he started talking and Nathan slid off his chair into a squat and started clapping. So I slid down there too and clapped until Nathan stopped. Then we all had some pito—Nathan and The Chief first, then when The Chief was finished he had his gourd refilled and passed it to me. Pito is beer. They make it in the morning and, as the day progresses, it gets more and more fermented. Pito is served in half a dried gourd, smaller than half a basketball (often), but larger than half a volleyball—just large enough, in fact, that I can’t quite handle it with one hand. Thankfully, since I am a Stranger, everyone is aware I need to become accustomed to pito slowly, so they only give me a little bit and not a full gourd. Oy. So The Chief and Nathan talked while I drank my pito, and eventually The Chief started making those translate-and-tell-the-Stranger motions. The Chief would like me to know that they like strangers here, so I am welcome. And if I would like to return to the U.S. and get more degrees (in what, I’m not sure; perhaps that was in the bit on conversation I missed) and then come back to Ghana, I could make my home here and I would be welcome. The Chief would even find someone for me to marry. Oy.

And now, another happy edition of What I’ve Learned so Far:

1. Pigs can be furry. I’m not talking about “I’m a mammal, you’re a mammal, mammals have fur” kind of fur. I’m talking about dirty, matted, full winter coat, “looks a lot like shag carpet” kind of fur. I know it’s not nice to stare, but it’s pretty unbelievable, and I have trouble looking away.

2. Holland is The Netherlands. Karissa started school together this week (3^rd grade), and that’s what I’ve got so far. I also have hopes of memorizing my multiplication facts (better late than never, eh?) and getting a better grasp on American history (because what’s not fun about that?). I enjoyed reading the book Walk the World’s Rim by Betty Baker, and I recommend it if you’re looking for some easy reading that is also worthy.

3. Sometimes bats can sound like mice. Turns out what I thought must be Circus Mice living behind the ceiling above my bed are actually bats. Nathan was crawling around my attic installing fans, and he saw them. I’m very glad to have bats and not mice.

4. Mouse poop sweeps right up. I was baking bread on Thursday, and I went to the drawer for a measuring cup. A very cute mouse and I were very surprised to see each other, as evidenced by his scramble to flee and my very loud (and amazingly high-pitched) yelp. I retrieved (and washed) my measuring cup, but I left the drawer open (because who wants that kind of experience twice?) and proceeded with the bread. I was almost to the kneading stage with my hands caked in dough when Little Mouse tentatively crept toward the front of the drawer, nose and ears twitching, and rose on his hind legs to peer at me. If I decided to kill things or not based on how cute they were, he would’ve been saved. But that’s not how I operate (note as evidence the variety of the un-cute I have left alive). I tripped down my treacherous path toward the Esalas, calling to Karissa (who was outside), who quickly passed word to Sarah (who was in the house). They came at a sprint with some of Sarah’s house help, but by the time they arrived Little Mouse had wisely fled. They helped clean out my drawer and wash the dishes therein, and that’s when I discovered the poop on the counter (NOT where I was making the bread—the OTHER counter) and that mouse poop sweeps right up, no problem. In case you’re curious, I set my own ingenious trap for Little Mouse involving my large cook pot and a dollop of peanut butter. The idea is he’ll climb into the cook pot to get the peanut butter but won’t be able to climb back up the slippery sides. I’m pretty pumped about my trap; though I’d be more excited if it’d actually caught anything. I don’t think Little Mouse visited last night, as I saw no mouse in the pot and no poop on the counter. Once he’s caught, though, I thought I’d give him to The Good Guard Abulai, who guards our house during the day (well, “guards” is perhaps a strong word; he mostly just hangs out to discourage the wrong kind of lurkers and does man-work like cutting the grass, fixing stuff, and killing mice). The Good Guard Abulai eats mice (or, at least he did once I’ve heard), so I thought he might like to eat Little Mouse. You might think it’s unkind of me to have such thoughts about Little Mouse, but if you poop in my silverware drawer, I’ll have unkind thoughts about you too. In fact, you’ll be lucky if all I do to you is catch you in a pot and turn you over to Abulai.

5. Carrying stuff on your head is harder than it looks. I had my first go at it today on my way home from market when I carried a watermelon in a large head-pan. Sarah and I gave all the villagers a nice laugh when we loaded our Market Day purchases into head-pans and awkwardly perched them on our heads. Sarah isn’t so bad; she’s had a lot of practice. But today was my first day. We needed help to wind the cloth to make a flat place for the pans to sit on our heads, but then we were set in our Western clothes and sun-hats, sunglasses, and head-pans. I’m sure we looked ridiculous, and I needed my arms to balance the pan, but it was pretty fantastic.

This week’s Suggested Prayer Topics are mostly general. Thank God Aili and Annaka are well and no longer throwing up. I’m still healthy too, though I stopped brushing my teeth in bottled water this week and switched to water from the tap. We started Karissa’s schooling this week, and that’s going well. She was pretty whiney today but in general has been a joy to work with. You could pray against mice and snakes and all creatures undesirable. Nathan and some of the villagers are starting to get my English classes set up to begin in a week or two, so you could also pray about that.

Thanks for reading, dear long-suffering people! I’m off now to the Esalas to see Karissa and her friends (Mona’s daughters) who are in from Nalarigoo to visit. We’re all going to the Fire Festival tonight, and I’m in charge of fire-“proofing” everyone’s hair.

Christina

P.S. Saturday, January 19, 2008. When I went into my bedroom to sleep last evening, I found a single pellet of mouse poop on my bed—a message from Little Mouse, no doubt. Apparently, Little Mouse has ties to The Godfather. I admit I am distressed by this development—distressed, but not deterred. Alright, Little Mouse. It is on.

Bats: Good; Rats: Bad

Wednesday, January 8, 2008
Bats: Good; Rats: Bad

Dear Everyone,

Greetings! I hope this note finds you well (unless you are my sister, in which case you will no doubt be irritated at my throwing around the word “note,” but I hope you are well in every other respect).

Perhaps you’ve heard about the horrifically high temperatures we endure here in Ghana. Well. I won’t say it’s cold precisely, but I will admit to appreciating my blanket at night, enjoying a light sweater in the morning, and wishing my shower had a hot water option in the evening. Or at least a luke-warm water option. Oy.

It is the dry season, you see. This means temperatures are a little lower and anyone who doesn’t drink enough water may evaporate on the spot. It also means I’m combating nosebleeds, much as I do during winter in Ohio. We also endure a phenomenon known as [insert name here], which is when sand storms from the Sahara send their dirt down this way to dust our floors faster than we can mop them and to fill the air such that it looks like fog at dusk.

I arrived in Nasuan a few days ago and have spent the time moving in and unpacking, deciphering Karissa’s school curriculum, and getting settled in in general. My little house is quite quaint, with a nice-sized bedroom and bathroom and a larger main room divided into sections for kitchen and eating area, living room, and office. Sarah Esala has a few plans still underway for improvements—they include a few more curtains (most notably in the bathroom), a new bedspread that matches the curtains, and a few wall-hangings to add that homey touch (the height of luxury, no?)—so I will send along pictures once these little details are in place.

I have not yet ventured into the village (we live sort of on the edge), so I haven’t met many people besides the Esalas and a few other missionaries who live “nearby.” On Saturday, however, I’m going to meet [pause] The Chief [insert forbidding music]. Apparently, anyone who wants to live in the village has to be introduced. So Nathan Esala, as head of the household, is taking me. It also works out that Nathan happens to speak Konkomba and so can communicate with The Chief. Otherwise, The Chief and I could stumble through one basic morning greeting (with the stumbling mostly on my part probably; I suspect The Chief speaks Konkomba fairly well). Then I could say “thank you,” and we’d be out of phrases both of us would understand. Anyway, Chief. Saturday. Something to look forward to. Right.

And Saturday is also Market Day this week, so I’m excited to see how that goes as well.

I need to wrap up and get out because it’s almost Radio Time (not sure what that means, but it does involve switching the electricity to a voltage my computer won’t like), so I won’t have time to tell you how I conquered my gas stove in 15 matches or less while sustaining only one second-degree burn, how I enjoyed eating yams (the white kind, not the sweet potato kind) very much but okra less so because okra looks like snot, and how I often have the pleasure of cows (and the occasional donkey) in my front yard, and the cows may eat from any tree except the tree to the left, lest Sarah throw things at them.

Today’s Suggested Prayer Topics include Karissa’s schooling, which will begin next week; Baby Aili, who doesn’t feel very well; death to mice living in my house and the Esalas’ house; and life in general. I’m praising God for my health: no malaria, and regular bowel movements. Life is good. And the night watchman shot a rat the other day. Plus also, I’m enjoying the bats because they eat mosquitoes and make cool sounds at night.

Hope all is well with you. I’ll hopefully be reading all the emails you’ve been sending, but probably not until after I’ve sent this (so I may not reply until next week).

Christina

Christina Never Had a Farm

Saturday, January 5, 2008
Christina Never Had a Farm

Greetings, Everyone!

I’m just completing my 3^rd full day in Ghana, and all is well. I’ve only had one near-meltdown so far, and I think we can all agree that, in this case, “close” definitely doesn’t count.

I’ve spent the last 2 days shopping. And since we’re in the habit of agreeing with each other, I know you’ll agree that that in itself is worth crying over. It might’ve been in the fourth or fifth grocery store (because no one grocery store can be expected to carry everything—or even the same things all the time) when I was trying to buy groceries for the entire month (because that’s how long we have between trips to the store) and having no idea what I might need. I just became overwhelmed and instead of logical, sustaining truths such as “people live in the village, so some kind of food must be available,” I could only think of, well, “a person can go 40 days without food, so I should be okay.” Oy vey. Not exactly a cheering thought, eh? Oy.

Anyway, the food shopping is now done, and I even did some clothes shopping as well. The fabrics are so beautiful; I can’t wait to show you—but since the fabrics are still with the tailor, we’ll have to wait a few weeks. We’re heading to Nasuan (that’s the village; say “NA-soo-ahn”) in the morning.

Okay, it’s time to sleep, and that’s why I’m ending this email abruptly with 2 mentions of What I’ve Learned So Far (hopefully a reoccurring feature).

1. Roosters can crow anytime, day or night, and not just in the morning. Who knew?

2. Apparently, I can’t tell the difference between sheep and goats. I mean, when I see a goat, I know it. But sheep are tricky. When I see a sheep, I’m confused but leaning toward thinking it’s a goat. How’s that for a hole in my education? And my dad works for the Ohio Farm Bureau. Embarassing. And no wonder Jesus has to separate those guys in the end.

My Suggested Prayer Topics are still just general. Praise God for uneventful travel and no illness yet despite the mosquitoes and all the fun stuff I’ve been eating. This week I’ll be settling into the village, so that’s kind of a big deal I guess.

Hope all is well with you!

Christina