Belling the Cat

"Who is going to bell the cat?"

Kofi, our Twi professor, looks expectantly around our classroom, seeing that our faces are lacking comprehension, even though he had actually spoken English.

So he kindly then explained himself with a folk tale. There was a community of mice, whose numbers were dwindling because of the cat who lived near by. So they were having a meeting to determine what should be done to save themselves and one mouse suggested putting a bell around the neck of the cat so they could hear when he was coming. It was a great idea, but had a catch. Which mouse would be bold enough to approach the cat to put the bell around its neck?

Therefore, to bell the cat means to be the bold one to step up and make something happen.

And living in Ghana, where every day is a new adventure, I am learning to bell the cat.

My Intro to Traditional Dance class is a perfect example. Because of our schedule, Heather, a few other girls, and I decided to take DANS 102, which is NOT the obroni class. We could hear the drumming as we approached the building and could see the mass of people following the beat. Most of the steps are not that complicated, but making sense of the polyrhythmic music, and the syncopated arm movements with the steps is taking some time to pick up. But I absolutely love it. The teaching assistants are very helpful- and don't correct only us obronis! Last night, one of them approached me and I fully expected for him to show me once again how this arm thing is supposed to go. But he smiled widely and said "You got it going!!"

Monday I went to talk to Theresa, our director, about possible internships or volunteer work. Once I said I was interested in history or archives, she suggested the National Archives. I said that would be great and then she said "What are you doing tomorrow?" What? So soon? I thought. But I met her driver (which felt odd on a totally different matter), and we drove to the archives. I had no idea what to expect, and really didn't know what I was supposed to do when I arrived. She had given me a letter of introduction, so I just stepped up to the information desk, handed them the letter and stated my purpose. They looked kinda confused when I said volunteer, but eventually had someone lead me to the director's office. I awkwardly sat there for about five minutes before I was told that he was out but that I should leave my contact information. So I made the first contact and hopefully something will work out for me to help out the archives.

I was already nervous about taking Information Studies classes because I have never had anything of the sort. But sitting in the lecture hall as it slowly filled up with the other students I got even more anxious. I am the only obroni and no one else will talk to me. My Collection Development class had lecture today and I just loved hearing about how to manage a library. So I just need to have more courage to speak to the Ghanaians in my class to make new friends and contacts about our work.

My room mate Patience is helping me to be bold. Our first few days residing in the same room were a little tense because I think we were both trying to figure out how to approach each other. But once I tried to explain how my sunburn felt after my trip to the beach on Saturday, we have been having a wonderful time. She makes amazing fried plantains and thinks that since I don't like to drive, I should get a driver. Haha. Her dad works for Fan Milk, which is the biggest dairy provider for the country, it seems. But apparently he will visit and bring us ice cream? I think this is wonderful. And she is making me practice my Twi with her, which always leaves us keeled over in laughter. But she tells me that she can at least figure out what I'm trying to say and gives me English equivalents to figure out the pronunciations. I definitely lucked out with a wonderful room mate that provides nice insights to living here.

I tried banku the other day instead of eating the standard rice, chicken, bean stew or fried plantains. Banku is this dough ball thing made with corn that is really sticky. You take a tiny bit of it and dip it in soup or the tomato stew. It definitely filled me up, but it might be because of the weird consistancy of it. I was kinda proud I tried something new, and plan on eating it again, though not often.

A group of us went to the beach on Saturday, leading to the aforementioned sun burn. It was exciting to ride on a tro-tro without the help of Afiba, our student guide during orientation. I think I am starting to get the hang of dealing with the mates to find out exactly who is going where. Even going to the beach was an adventure for me, since I don't really like sitting in the sand and roasting myself for hours. But it was definitely nice to see the Gulf of Guinea. It was even more interesting people watching and continually telling everyone that no, I didn't bring any extra cedi for their necklaces/CDs/wood carvings/paintings/nail polish/etc etc etc.

I haven't had any marriage proposals yet. But I think my True Love Waits ring has been a bit of a deterrent, interestingly enough. One guy on the beach asked Paula, who actually is married, about her ring. She told him it was her wedding ring and then he asked about mine. I said it was a promise ring, and he didn't ask anymore questions after that.

Going to the library on campus I thought would be comforting because of familiarity. It was nice to use the card catalog, but soon I understood that their system was some crazy variant to the Library of Congress system. It doesn't help that there are tons of different collections, either at the main building or spread all around campus. It will take me awhile to locate my various readings, which I can't simply buy at the bookstore, and to determine exactly how much I really need to read.

Slowly but surely, I am stepping out and experiencing some amazing things. I think I'm going to market tomorrow. And then we are visiting Cape Coast this weekend. It blows me away every day what I get to do and learn and who I get to interact with. Hopefully I can report back soon that I am continually belling the cat.

Obronis, This is Ghana Man!

Yes, I know that Heather has already used this title, but seriously, this just perfectly sums up how everything is going right now.

A lady, carrying her baby on her back and her wares on her head, yelled this statement to us when we were walking through the market at Madina. We were 6 white girls huddled together, trying to adjust to the sensory overload of the thousands of people moving through the hundreds of stalls, jammed packed with fish, bananas, football jerseys, fabric- anything you could imagine!

And I certainly felt like a huge obroni.

Obroni means white person and we hear it several times a day, since it is the easiest way to get our attention since we are such a rarity.

And it doesn't have any racial slurs attached- they are just stating how it is. But it certainly reminds me how I certainly stick out like a sore thumb.

Like when I carried my hamper full of clothes into the laundry room yesterday to find that it was already full of the wash women you can hire to do the laundry for you. And they all turned, because it was obvious I had no idea what I was doing. But I manged to some how clean and dry my first load.

Or when our power finally came back on with the help of the generator after we had been without for 2 days. We all cheered, showing our great attachment to running water and not using flashlights to hang around Amanda's room.

And lunch today as I stood trying to figure out what was behind the glass in the service line at the restaurant in one of the dorms, finally settling for the safe bet of chicken and spicy noodles.

As a group of 15 of us trekked across campus to take advantage of buy one, get one free night at Pizza Inn.

Riding the tro-tro for the first time, struggling to understand what location the mate was yelling out, passing our peswas from hand to hand, giggling with nerves and excitement.

Sitting in the lecture hall with no one to talk to, unsure how long to wait before it is deemed that class will not be meeting today.

But then, sometimes it just strikes me- this IS Ghana. I am standing in Africa.

The sunset on the first day was stunning. The sun was huge and bright orange, suspended slightly above the savanna. Chrissy called it a Lion King moment and though it wasn't quite poetic, it was true.

Stepping out of the airplane on the first day and having the air knocked out of me by the heat. And then realizing there will never be a moment when I won't be sweating.

The fact there is a house on campus I pass on the way to the main lecture hall that has a monkey tied up as a pet outside.

How everyone in the country simultaneously sits in expectation, cheering on Essien to lead the Black Stars to victory over Burkina Faso in the Africa Cup.

Not worrying if things get done today, or next week.

The juicy pineapple I get for 1.5 cedi (about a dollar) from the lady at the night market.

Some things only happen because I am an obroni, but also only because I am in Ghana.
I have been here a week and I am obviously still learning.

But everytime I am asked "Obroni, sister, how have you found your stay in Ghana?" I just smile and say "Oh, it has been wonderful so far."

Handing Off My Coat

So it has been freakishly cold in Arkansas for the past week. Before heading anywhere, I bundle up in 3 layers, pull on my gloves, only to have to strip them all off again once I am safely returned to heated space.
And in less than 48 hours, I will be sweating under a mosquito netting in Accra.

Wow.

An interesting question I heard concerning my leaving for Ghana was:

What are you going to do with your coat? Are you taking it with you?

And my response was to tell them that of course not, I am just handing it to my parents at the airport.

This not only attests to the drastic climate change I am about to encounter--none too soon, mind you. I never deal with the cold well. But I am also leaving something behind as I move towards this vast experience that has so many unknowns waiting for me. There are things that I don't need, though the looming presence of my two massive suitcases might seem to contradict this. I have trying to do what ISEP calls "emotionally pack."

Determine your goals for your time abroad.
Prepare for culture shock.

And I am stuck here trying to make a list or checkpoints for myself. But you know what? I think I am just going to wing it. Which is very un-Rachel-like of me. I have read the majority of my guidebook, copied my paperwork, started taking my malaria pills. But I fear that I have reached the point where I must leap.

I mean really, how can you plan for a life-altering event?

There will be pre-Africa Rachel and post-Africa Rachel.
This is that big.

And just like how my coat will be left with my mother, who tries her hardest to hide the tears until I am past security, all my expectations should be placed behind me as I plunge into this mind-blowing adventure.