It’s Not Always All Fun and Games

As I am browsing the previous entries in this blog I am realizing that since my arrival in Ghana, almost four months ago now, not a single rough moment has been captured. I would say this is because the vast majority of my moments here in Ghana have been smiling. Sure, there were some rough days of training, but there was an end in sight. And we all know it is easy to get through the hard stuff when you know when the end is. Well, I’d say it’s high time for my first rough day(s) and a little group therapy (me and all the readers of this blog). I’ll do my best to articulate how I’m feeling and then you all can bombard me with letters, emails, and telephone wishes of love and support. At least that is what I am hoping will happen.

Let me set the scene; Ari sitting on her couch, a little frustrated, a little lonely, and very exhausted despite having left school early to come and sleep for the last 6 hours. I have been very ill for the last few days with only God knows what. My illness is probably just another not-so-friendly visit from Captain G (what we PCVs call our collective nemesis- Giardia), but this time around, I am wiped out. You all thought the fat flush diet cleaned out your system, try a nasty little parasite blowing bubbles in your digestive track. I was hoping to rest up through the weekend and be ready to jump into finally teaching at school. I even made some lesson plans and had such hope for this week. And already on Monday, I’m emptied, undeniably dehydrated, sipping the most disgusting Oral Rehydration Salt mixture and really starting to feel the stress of being a stranger in a strange land. There is nothing like a little physical discomfort to really get you to start missing America.

You all know me, asking for help is not exactly my forte and I had to ask my own student to help me fetch water so I can simply wash myself. Some volunteers are happy to utilize the plethora of student labor available here based on what I like to call “The Pyramid of Respect”. (Essentially, You can be asked to do anything for anyone higher up on the Pyramid than you. Your placement on the pyramid is for the most part based on your age. So students are obvious choices.) But me, I take great pride in exhibiting my strength to the locals- cooking my own meals, washing my own clothes, fetching my own water, and most importantly riding my bicycle all the way up the hill to the classrooms each morning. Asking Sasah (my student and headmaster’s niece who stays in the other half of my bungalow) for help has really taken its toll. I feel weak, defeated by a lack of convenience (in this case running water), and inferior to the 5 year old African girl skipping casually past my house, carrying a 100 pounds of firewood on her tiny little head.

Every PCV will tell you the first three months at site are the hardest and this is certainly one of those hard days. I guess if every day was painless, everyone would take a few years out of their lives to go live thousands of miles from anyplace they call home. Now if I can muster enough energy to boil some water for my bouillon cube dinner, maybe I can wake tomorrow a new woman- recharged and ready to go again! Wish me luck…