Sight

It started with a single sentence.

"There's, what, 400 kids at your school and not one of them wears glasses?"

For those of you who don't know me so well, when I return to Scotland I'm studying for my optometry degree at university, so when my dad pointed this out to me on his trip to V.A.G.I.S. I wondered how I hadn't seen it before. Uncorrected sight is the number one cause of blindness in the world, and if any of my kids had ever seen an optometrist in their lives then Mary Woode lived to be 100 years old (basically...no.). So I decided to do something about it.

I tested my entire school's eyesight in one week (headmaster was practically dancing with joy), and in the next few weeks I travel to Takoradi to test the pupils at Timoskay and Nazareth schools. I've finally found a way that I can make a real difference in this country.

I guess my optometric career began under the shade of the big tree in a dusty schoolyard in the middle of West Africa. And was almost immediately interrupted by a herd of goats.

Amyless

Yeah, she's not coming back.

Homecoming

After three weeks travelling, I finally returned home to Achiase last week. It was strange, I never realised just how much I missed this place until my tro-tro pulled into town. Leaving here is going to be hard.

In other news, last week was supposed to be the final and definite return of my partner to Ghana. I know I haven't ever spoken about it properly on this blog, but after just three weeks at our placement my partner, Amy, was called back to Canada for a family emergency. Due to a mixture of airline strikes, bad weather and visa problems, she's been trying to return to Achiase for two months now. I was told on Tuesday that she had arrived in Accra, she was actually in the country, and on Wednesday she would definitely be here.

I still don't have a partner.

I'm beginning to think she was just a mass hallucination.

Don't Panic.

Don't panic.

You. Right there. You.

Calm down.

It is impossible to panic in Ghana. We all operate on Ghana-time, which basically means that something will happen when we are ready or possibly sometime after that or maybe not at all but it doesn't really matter because it's all going to be okay either way, so it really is just impossible to panic. At home everything is such a BIG DEAL and everybody is worried about something, but here nobody worries, and when nobody worries, nobody needs to worry. Okay, I realise I'm not really making sense right now. What I mean is that if a person in the U.K. were to do something wrong, the repercussions of that wrong action would cause others to panic, hence the first person would also have to panic. But in Ghana there is no panic in others to be caused, and so there is absolutely no need to panic.

Get it? No? Oh, nevermind then.

Just don't panic.


P.S. Had by far my most dangerous encounter in Ghana the other day - with a drunk London geezer trying to pick a fight at a beach resort. Fortunately, I didn't panic.

Mole Mole Mole Mole

After a bone-rattling ride up to Northern Region, I spent a fun weekend in Mole (pronounced Mo-Lay) National Park, during which time I learned one very important life lesson – beware of the baboons.

It was a Monday afternoon. I was preparing to go on a canoe safari, when just as I stepped out of the door Adam asked me a question. I chatted for a moment with the open door in my hand, then turned around to see a GIANT BABOON SITTING RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME. Panicking ever-so-slightly (which you should never do in Ghana), I ran back into the hotel room screaming “baboon! BABOOOON!” and hoped to God that the door behind me would slam shut quickly. It did not. A furry, human-like hand grabbed the edge of the door and in came the big boy. Being the brave people we are, Adam and I jumped on the bed, realised the monkey wasn’t going to leave, and ran into the toilet slamming the door behind us. As I said, we are both extremely courageous souls. We took a few seconds to catch our breath (not easy as we were laughing so much at the ridiculousness of the situation), then plucked up the courage to open the bathroom door to find that the baboon had gone. Our ordeal was over!

Or not.

Mere minutes later, Adam and I were wandering around outside looking for the rest of our safari party. I had a packet of recently acquired Haribo in my hand (we had deemed Baboon Attack a legitimate enough occasion to break out the imported sweeties) and was just standing minding my own business when I heard Adam shout “THERE’S SOMETHING RUNNING AT YOU!”. I looked up to see another big baboon sprinting full pelt at me. After peeing my pants a little, I ran for my life. Realising what the monkey was after, I dropped the Haribo on the ground at kept running. As huge a loss as it was, I felt quite okay with trading half a packet of gummy sweets for my survival.

Only after the second close baboon encounter did any of our friends show up to find the pair of us in a heap of adrenaline and uncontrollable laughter. I feel like this may be one for the dinner parties.

Also, elephants.

This Hotel Has Wi-Fi...

So here are ten pictures that pretty much sum up my life in Ghana...

Thoughts From Oxford Street

Last Friday, my parents arrived in Accra for a little visit to Ghana, and so began a very strange weekend in which two worlds collided.

I generally think of my two lives as being separate. There's my life back home, where everything is cold and comfortable and soft and people go to uni and town and watch tv and have power showers (and moan and complain about every little thing that does/does not happen...!). Then there's my life in Ghana, where I dress differently, talk differently and act differently. It's not that one is better or worse than the other, it's just...different (well, apart from the Ghana Gut, that's definitely NOT a welcome addition to my life...). So when the two came together, I was sort of confused about which me I was meant to be.

I guess it started with the journey to Accra. I had been staying with volunteer friends in Takoradi, so we were able to get a nice fancy coach from Taco to the capital. It was strange. As I sat in my big comfy leather seat, with air-conditioning blowing in my face and the curtains drawn, I forgot where I was. I would catch a glimpse out of the window and remember that this was the same coast road I travel along almost every weekend, and, weirdly, I found myself actually missing the wind and the squish and the sweat of a tro-tro.

It then continued as I showed my 'rents around Accra, an incredibly Westernised part of Ghana, and they were amazed at how African(!) it was.
"Look, there's a woman with a baby on her back!"  "Yes..."
"Those people are carrying things on their heads!"  "Uh huh..."
"This taxi doesn't have a speedometer/hand brake/door!"  "And your point is..."

We went to Oxford Street (nicknamed after its London counterpart) and suddenly there were white people everywhere and tonnes of private cars! NICE private cars! And I found myself thinking as I watched the obruni businessmen being driven around in their Audis that even though they may have been here two years, in two months I have become more African than them. They sit in their big houses in their compounds with their air-conditioning and wi-fi and swimming pools and drivers, and the fact that all of this is happening in Ghana is something of a slight inconvenience.

But not for me.

Because this isn't some place that my company happened to send me on business. This isn't just some country that I'm living in for five months.

This is my home. Cockroaches and all.