Priceless

Priceless

Sheet of roofing metal = $5.50
Dismantled bamboo chair = free (I owned it)
Hair rubber bands used to hold it all together = .99 for 100

Getting my socks white again without bloody knuckles = priceless



This is my newly constructed washing board. I can’t express in words what this has done for my life. I used to dread laundry, and my socks never really got clean and my blue jeans really never got clean. It only took about two hours to make. I wasn’t sure how I was going to use the bamboo, but it turns out that while I had the chair upside down, taking it apart, I sat up and thought, hey, this works, I can do laundry like this. So, I sit on the back and lean forward, run my soapy wet clothes along the zinc and my knuckles aren’t scrubbed to death and cut up anymore. After I washed the first sock, I just sat there, holding in it my hands, staring down at how white it had become. I was really stunned. I’m so glad for my Cajun roots, otherwise, I don’t know if I’d have thought this up. Life is goooood.

Is there anything better than…

Over-ripe plantains, lightly brushed with olive oil, and sprinkled with cinnamon and nutmeg, cooked to a wonderful, warm, golden brown, topped with cold, fresh papaya and a tomato, cucumber, avocado salad on the side? Hmmm, I can’t think of anything at the moment. Trust me, it was delicious.


I think I might have a plan

1/24/08 Sunday night, I sat in this house, again feeling frustrated and confused about being here. I sat here and prayed from the deepest part of me, begging to be shown what it is I am really doing here and how is it that I’m supposed to help. (I’ve been approached for money several times recently by people I thought we genuinely interested in my friendship and its weighing heavy on my chest, increasing the loneliness and isolation to an unimaginable degree). I set out Monday with a positive attitude and an open mind, hoping to see some area where I can be usefull.
When I get to work, the Director of the Environment Dept. asked me to come to his office because he felt like he could use my help. He showed me a project that involves traveling to each outlying village and documenting every water source and every important environmental factor that affects these waters sources. He also explained that from this data, we can create a map of the district, which they do not have.
Well, wouldn’t you know, just last week, some IT guy told me he downloaded a few new programs on the computer at the office and when I looked at them, one of them just happens to be Auto Cad. What are the chances that I’d have access to Auto Cad in Ghana, much less in the impoverished Upper West? I guess pretty good, considering. So, I told him I’d be so happy to help him. I walked around in a daze just sort of digesting it all, so many thoughts crossing my mind, like, little puzzle pieces falling into place effortlessly. I began to think about my job with the engineering firm, where I created maps in Auto Cad and how it was preparation for this experience and how amazing that this man asked for my help, not having any idea that I have experience with any of it.
I noticed today how fast January has gone by and I feel like maybe I am really still getting used to everything. Sometimes I feel like I’ve been gone forever and other times I’m shocked that its almost been 5 months. Still trying to focus on each day as it comes.

Is there anything better than…

Over-ripe plantains, lightly brushed with olive oil, and sprinkled with cinnamon and nutmeg while cooking to a wonderful, warm, golden brown. Topped with cold, fresh papaya with a tomato, cucumber and avocado salad on the side? Hmmm, I can’t think of anything at the moment. Trust me, it was delicious.

Raining cats

Tell Tale Signs

Sunshine is the laughter of nature. Live out in the sunshine. The sun and air are good medicine. Nature is a good nurse for tired bodies. Let her have her way with you. God's grace is like the sunshine. Let your whole being be enwrapped in the Divine spirit. Faith is the soul's breathing in of the Divine spirit. It makes glad the hearts of human beings. The Divine spirit heals and cures the mind. Let it have its way and all will be well.
-God Calling, August 17


I’ve experienced a bulging sadness vibrating through me for two days. It doesn’t feel like I’m sad, but if I pay attention to the signs my body is giving me, then I must see that my swollen, sore lymphnodes are telling me just that. And honestly, its true, I do have a bit of ache in my chest this week for home. Anytime I connect to home via phone, email, or packages, I get really sad. Especially when its measured against the loneliness that I experience here. I want to clarify, I do not labels these emotions as negative, they simply just are a part of life. I can’t be blissful each and every moment. This part of my experience is simply just that, part of my experience.

Its amazing what I’ve learned about myself emotionally by being aware of my body. I may have written about this before, but its worth mentioning again. A few weeks after arriving, I got burned really bad. In one week, I had the worst sunburn ever and I burned my mouth pretty badly on my breakfast, causing my palette to blister. When I asked myself what was going on with me emotionally, I saw that I was really feeling burned by someone’s abrasive, sarcastic comments. Another experience like this occurred not long after; I had a tormenting blister and in the same week, my under arms chaffed. I asked myself if someone was possibly rubbing me the wrong way and yes, there was a person I’d been butting heads with everyday in class. Its amazing to me. I can even look deeper into at the fact that when I’m not so sensitive, these same conditions don’t affect me, so it all begins with me. Likewise, the answer lies with in me; the sooner I come to peace with the person I’m in conflict with, the sooner my body heals. Usually, this means resting and taking time to soothe my inner conflict. I must slow down for each part of me, physical and emotional to heal. Once, I became aware of this, I feel thankful for these little ailments, the are like tell tale signs to my growth.

Its not always clearly connected in my mind, the physical and the emotional so I often consult the dictionary. Today I looked up swollen which was defined as bulging. Then I looked up sore and it was defined as painful, sad or angry. Then I look up throb and it was defines as to beat or vibrate strongly. It all made sense then. Though, I would not have admitted that I was feeling sad and homesick because I try not to dilly dally with those feelings since I’m isolated here and it seems a bit dangerous and maybe even self pitying. However, I suppose that if I don’t acknowledge the emotion, my body will show it to me in another manner, because it needs to get out somehow. Whether its through writing about it, talking about it, creating art, exercise, or unfortunately, an infection or illness. It really makes since now to think about each and every illness we have and what it could be connected to.

One of my friends here, had parasites. So, I asked her what a parasite does? Well, it feeds off of a host. She looked at me puzzled. Then I asked her if anyone in her life was feeding off of her emotionally. Sure enough, one of her family members heavily relies on her as their emotional outlet.

The easiest to see, for me, is weight. It’s a layer of protection we place around our bodies. No matter what you can say about, at its root, being over weight is about protection. I’ve watched two women here open themselves up to the possibility of romance and with that simple act, they have shed pounds and inches, while many others have gained. Which also seems likely, since there is an enormous amount of unwanted attention forced on women here, so I can see where we would sub-consciously desire a bit of added protection around this largely aggressive male-dominant culture.

Next time you’re battling an illness or ailment, ask yourself what it is doing to you. Then apply those words to the rest of your life and see how it pans out. I’m guessing some bits of truth will be revealed.

Raining Cats

1/22/08 As I write this, I’m still trying to wrap my brain around what happened just now. I’d just woken up and I was sitting on the sofa, waiting for my bath water to heat on the stove. I was still pretty sleepy, staring at nothing on the floor, trying not to fall back asleep. The sun was just coming up, so the sky was beginning to lighten up. Just then, in my peripheral vision, through the window, I saw something fall into the courtyard. The blur looked pretty big and I could here it, scrambling between the wall and the water tank. I assumed it to be a bird, since I don’t know any other animal to be cruising around in the air and there’s an enormous family of birds living in and on my roof. As I stood up, I saw ears poke up, white ones, I got scared at first and then a cat popped its head up and looked at my just before it fell back into the space. My heart sank.

I walked out and I could see it hiding in the dark, his eyes squinting, but he never made a noise. I tried to talk to it, and soothe it, but it just sat there. I opened the courtyard gate, since the walls are about 8’ high and left it open until I had to bathe. I checked again, he wasn’t there anymore, I looked in and around and beneath, but couldn’t see anything since it was too dark.

I went to work and decided I’d look again when I got home. I came home and began constructing my washing board and while I was sitting in the courtyard, I saw the cat move, so I climbed as close as I could and he’s just lying there, scared, awake, maybe hurt and I can’t reach him. I have some tuna I will try to lure him out with, but its not like I can take him to the kitty vet, cats aren’t eaten here like dogs are, but they aren’t pets either.

The crazy thing is that I can not figure out where he came from. Well, the roof, but I can’t see how he got into the roof. Its been puzzling me all day, very odd. Very very odd indeed.

I’ll be sure to post the outcome of my four-legged friend.

While on the topic of bizarre occurrences, I locked myself in the house the other day and it was hilarious. I left through the courtyard with my bike and came home for lunch, parked my bike out front and entered through the kitchen. When I was ready to leave, for a meeting, my key wouldn’t open the lock. I was trapped! I couldn’t leave through the courtyard because the padlock was on the outside from that morning! I tried the lock a dozen times, it had always been tough with one little sweet spot, but nothing was working. Eventually, I cranked open the slatted window, and called to a girl passing by. She looked around, confused, its really hilarious now but I was pretty late. I kept calling her and finally she saw me but didn’t speak English. I kept jiggling the handle and finally pushed the keys to her beneath the door for her to try to open it. Sure enough, it worked from the outside, just not the inside. The door opened and the girl looked so scared to see a white lady on the other side.

I thanked her and hurried off to my meeting and laughed so hard the entire way.

Oh but why?

1/23/08 I could complain about the number of people who’ve come to me for money this week, then I thought, oh but why? That’s what we say here. Each word sounds like its own little sigh. Ohhh, buuut whhhhy? So, instead, I’ll take the time to describe my walk this evening.

Each night, I walk further into the bush. I take a path behind my house and every evening, I start out a bit earlier and walk a bit farther. I’m always disappointed when it gets too dark and I know I have to turn around. I walk through these hills and valleys and the air gets warm then cool then warm and cool.

Tonight, I climbed a hill and stood atop some rocks and looked out over the empty land and watched the sun go down, in all its glory. These walks have replaced my morning tea as my favorite part of the day. If I do nothing, but take that walk, with those big steps, and deep breaths with my arms swinging, I still feel like its been a perfect day.

Food for thought

I must express something I’ve tested several times and found always to be true. I feel the best, meaning, most energetic, clear headed, content physically and emotionally, when I eat a certain way:

Fruit, only, for breakfast
Vegetables and Starch
Or
Vegetables and Protein

It’s from the book Fit for Life. It made sense to me when I read it, so I tried it and the state of lethargy that I’d experienced after most meals over my entire life, disappeared. Not only did the lethargy disappear, but my energy actually increases after I eat, like I’ve fueled up and now I can really go. This is not at all how we are taught to eat.

The simplest was I can imagine it, is that with fewer things for my body to break down at one time, more energy is reserved for me to live on. So, no processed foods, they just don’t work well for me.

The insanity in all of this is that I don’t eat this way all the time, even though I know that know matter what, I’m going to feel tired, lazy, brain dead and probably have gas, in other words, complete discomfort, all of which I do not experience when I eat according to that simple formula. To add to this baffling truth, the discomfort usually lasts for nearly two hours after eating so this means I spend 2,190 hours of self inflicted physical discomfort a year that easily could be prevented.

I really saw this affect after coming to Africa, where I was not able to choose my own menu for the first three months. After resuming my previous eating habits, I as immediately thrown back into feeling good. Well, after I stopped craving the junk, which took a few weeks. Now I feel wonderful most every day.

Everyone here reacts with shock that I don’t drink soda and they want to know why. I tell them its just sugary water and that I prefer plain water. They look at my like it really makes sense and then they look at the bottle of Coke, which is flat here, and seem perplexed. Also, if you really care to know, I no longer support Coca Cola in any way, which means not buying Dasani bottled water, which is also sold here. The reason is that Coca Cola moved into a small village in India, several years ago, and began using their water. Now, before this the village had plenty of water for all of its uses, drinking, cleaning, cooking, farming, and livestock, but Coca Cola had enough money to dig really deep pumps, so that they got to the water first and the villages’ wells began to dry up. Coca Cola actually pumped 1.5 million liters of water a day out of this ground that didn’t belong to them. The water that the villagers could still get tasted bad and had a terrible odor, it caused rashes and people began to get sick. Years went by and finally, people began to protest, to no avail, since the government was the only entity reaping any benefits. There was a protest of several 1000 and Coca Cola agreed they would send a water truck into the village every day, but unfortunately, it wasn’t enough water to care for all of the villages needs. I wish I had a happy ending for you, but I don’t. That’s it, the end. And I don’t buy Coke or Coke products. I’m out here living in a place just like that, where my water gets pumped out of the ground every night and I just can’t imagine someone taking it away from me. I went a day without water here and it was horrible. I couldn’t bath, I had nothing to drink, I couldn’t wash anything. How can people hurt people so easily? I guess because they forget that we’re all the same. I don’t care if you stop drinking Coke, I just can’t contribute another penny to their greed, and trust me, they won’t miss it, everyone in Ghana drinks Coke, it’s the only thing here to drink, besides water.

Making Tofu

Some people wish for a life of no problems, but I would never wish such a life for any of
you. What I wish for you is the great inner strength to solve your problems meaningfully
and grow. Problems are learning and growing experiences. A life without problems
would be a barren existence, without the opportunity for spiritual growth.
- Peace Pilgrim

Observations

1/15/08 Each morning, I sit at the tea stand, sipping my tea, people watching, absorbing all of the morning sounds and daily activities going on around me. The most amusing part of this daily ritual is watching what “western” clothing the men have decided to wear. Most clothes worn now by men are imported, second hand clothes from Europe and America. Women tend to still wear traditional Ghanaian outfits, but for men, this means wearing dresses and toga-like get ups. The funniest part of this is that no one knows the difference between men and women’s jeans, not to mention that they wear wool sweaters and down parkas in 70 degree weather and the other day I saw a man with the only the hood of a rather warm jacket, snapped around his head, with the jacket else where, making him look like the “knight of winter”; I wish I’d had my camera that day. But, back to the jeans. At first, I couldn’t understand why some of the men’s legs where stretching the denim so tightly, they looked as though they would split any second. Then it dawned on my that those were actually blue jeans intended for a teen ages girl, low-cut waist with flared legs and spandex all the way through. I stared at this man, only guessing at his discomfort in the crouch area, which was covered by his parka, imagining the sorrowful fate of his future offspring, clutched to death in the grips of spandex. However, the best so far occurred this morning. The gentleman who runs the kiosk next to the tea stand is a large man, burly and strong with enormous shoulders and broad chest, and even facial hair, which isn’t all the common. As I absent-mindedly watched him stirring a pot, filled with what I imagined to be his breakfast, he stood to show off his painted on, extremely trendy, skinny-legged jeans! They looked like a pair of tights, like a black Paul Bunyan in tights! I love this place.

New Discoveries

My life here is not at all what I imagined in many aspects, like having electricity and living in a rather populated area, but there are things that I’m learning that are beyond the expectations I had. Most are just foods that I’m learning to make, and they are things I could have learned in America, but since they were easily bought in the store, I always just took the easy way out. Like, for instance, making fresh Ginger Green tea and soymilk and tofu. These are things I enjoyed in America, but not by my own hand. And they are easy to make when you have the time to make them.

Ginger Green tea:

Take fresh ginger, peel it with a spoon, and chop it into 1/2 inch pieces. Then boil the ginger in a pot of water for 5-10 minutes. Reduce the fire and add 2 or three bags of green tea, or if you have fresh green tea leaves, add those. Steep 5-7 minutes. Strain the tea and discard the rest, or you can feed it to the pigs if you have them, like I do, ha ha ha. Voila, its so delicious. I drink a few hot cups and then I take the rest and pour it into a water bottle and chill it, so the next day I have ginger green iced tea. These simple joys make my life here so wonderful.

Here are some pictures of my making soy milk and tofu.
Its so amazing. I don’t think I’ll ever buy it again since its so good fresh. If you have a blender, its extremely easy. Here, however, I have to hand-mash the beans and this takes a while. The cool part is, when you use your own energy for tasks like these, you don’t waste electricity and you don’t need extra time to work out, your body just gets toned from everyday life. I like that a lot. I like using fun activities to keep my body healthy and conserve nature’s energy. When I was a member of a gym, 20 minutes of lifting weights seemed to last forever and was so boring, but I mashed those beans for an hour, switching arms several times and it went by so fast. Its getting into that lifestyle that makes all the difference. It’s easy once I made the shift, then the old tasks that were never fun become something I literally couldn’t imagine doing and the new activities I’ve picked up instead add so much more to my life. For instance, I can buy enough soybeans to last six months for around a $1.20, (even better, I can grow them myself which would mean that I spend time in the sun, bending and stretching and moving and giving back to the earth). But, even if I buy them, its still a difference of paying around 6.00 a week, which is what I would pay for a pint of soymilk and 1 small container of tofu, plus, $45 a month for a gym membership, totaling $426.00 in 6 months. And not to mention, the gas driving to and from the gym everyday and the time I used to waste sitting in traffic to get to the gym. By walking 30 minutes in the morning and 30 minutes in the evening, I get to greet the sun and the moon and stay healthy, all for free, and my walks always end up lasting longer than 30 minutes because its so beautiful and I don’t want to go home yet. Plus, the air is so much better outside than in the sweaty gym with all those TV s blaring at me, I never liked that part, but the machines are so crammed in that I didn’t have a choice, I once tried closing my eyes and tripped and almost busted my face on the front of the machine.

There are other things I’m learning about that I want to incorporate. I knew about these ideas before, from studying architecture, but now I’ve been able to see how to put it all to use, such as solar energy. Solar panels have been used throughout Ghana to bring power to small village clinics and other businesses existing out in the bush. Why wouldn’t I take advantage of the big old sun shining up there all day long? Africa and Louisiana get plenty of sunlight. Its free! It so simple, it makes me scratch my head. And it works the same as any other power source, you have meter and what ever power you use is depleted from the power you’ve acquired from the sun that day. How amazing. I think about all that wasted energy up on my roof back home. Then, what about rainwater? I have an enormous old structure in my back yard that could catch rainwater. With a little money and energy, you can install a reservoir that holds and filters your free water and then pump it into the house each morning by spending about 10 minutes riding a stationary bicycle! I love this. More exercise, less waste, no money, better health. Why aren’t we all living this way? Its amazing to me. Now that I’ve seen this, I won’t live another way. I’m just so grateful that I’ve been shown. With the amount of rain in Louisiana, I’d think everyone would want this way of life, but I also respect that many people just don’t have the time or the energy to shift and that’s cool too. I just want to be as considerate of the earth and my fellow man as I possibly can and so I’m thrilled with what I’ve seen here. There are other smaller ways to help. Recycling is probably one of the easiest simplest ways to make a difference. I wish it were a law in my community. I have a goal to get all of the local businesses and schools recycling. I don’t know, maybe the schools already do, but I have a suspicion it isn’t so. Just the paper that I’ve witnessed being wasted in the several offices I’ve worked in is enough to make me nauseous. I’ve never met a person that’s said, oh, I don’t really care for the shade from that tree, actually, I don’t really like trees at all, I think I’d rather just sweat out in the sun. Not to mention that every green living plant gives us air to breath. So in some weird way, its like we’re greedily swallowing up our own well being every time we hit print and then toss the paper in the trash. Don’t get me wrong, I love books and magazines and I like to hold them in my hand, but I recycle them when I’m done. And plastic!! Oh I love its many uses and I’m the first to use it to organize this or that, but its all recyclable. Imagine if it weren’t, I don’t think you can unless you’ve lived in a place with no trash pick up, where I watch the cows, goats, pigs and dogs eating plastic everyday, simply because it’s all over the ground.

Be, here, now - Ram Dass

The Power of Now

1/4/08 I have a delightful story to tell this morning. I’ve just read A Year in Provence by Peter Mayle. It is a masterful tale of the author and his wife’s first year in Provence. While reading it I felt the urge to cook an enormous meal and drown everything in olive oil! Since I've finished it, i now have a bit of a what-to-read-next dilemma. I traveled to Wa yesterday to use the internet and check the post office for my long awaited packages sent sometime last month. The volunteer’s in this area keep a locked box, at a local store, with the post office box key inside. It is also a place to exchange books and information. While digging around in the box, I came across The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle. The title had been mentioned to me several times before I left America, so I grabbed it, happy that my what-to-read-next dilemma was solved. I returned home last night and sat here reading some of the things I’d downloaded while at the internet. Feeling so inspired by one website, I began to write. For several hours I sat absorbed in the articles and then allowed my words to pour forth from my heart. Today, when returning from work to take my lunch, I picked up my new book and began to read. I’m stunned by its message. It mirrors last night’s inspiration. I’m left breathless. Below I’ve included my writing from last night.


Waiting can bring such clarity.

1/3/08 My feelings of doubt and fear have subsided and an overwhelming sense of peace and belonging has crept in its place.

When I moved here, I inherited an old dusty stack of magazines. Copies of Newsweek (which I can’t stomach to read anymore), health magazines and a few New York Times. I’ve all but destroyed these periodicals, savoring every article again and again and finally cutting them into little pieces for my collages. It was in one of the health magazines that I came across an interview with Robert Gass. His career of traveling and inspiring individual’s spiritual growth appealed to me. I jotted down his website for later research and forgot about it.

While at the internet, in the midst of confusion about my decision to come here, I remembered his website and downloaded every page to sort through later. The site is a combination of the work of he and his wife, Judith Ansara Gass, both devoted beings living life to its most beautiful potential.

As I sit here, reading their writings, its as though every question that has coursed through my brain this month, was intercepted by the couple and answered for me. Judith’s article, “How Shall We Live?” has given new meaning to my coming here. I’m so stunned by the perfection of the universe providing exactly what I need when I need it, I actually had to stop reading the article and just sit here and breath and really absorb how perfect it all is. I just keep saying, thank you. Three days ago, I sat in this same chair in despair, confused and alone, unsure who to ask for guidance. The feelings were so powerful, I felt almost nauseous. This was New Year’s Day. Now I sit here and read her words, confirming everything about me being here.

She wrote about the earth being part of our bodies and that any part of the world that is hurting is a place I can help, even if I can’t see the healing occuring, that just my loving intention being present in that place will make a difference eventually. It’s the intention that matters.

She mentions this same theme that continues to come up in everything I read, that it is through our sense of separation that exists the source of much human suffering. Chuck Chamberland says it in A New Pair of Glasses, when he speaks of our problem being conscious separation and the answer being conscious unity. Ram Dass, Dan Millman, Lame Deer, every author I’ve read since I’ve arrived here mention it. The word written here when I arrive, Ubuntu, is this idea simplified.

I sit here in true and utter amazement at the perfection of everything. Before I left America, while I was still working with Hurricane survivors, I strongly wished for more time to read, write and collage. I wished for this through my entire being. I could see a life where I had freedom to create. I never imagined while applying for this, that it would be here that this dream would manifest itself. As a volunteer, we have to be available to everyone 24 hours a day but work is slow here. Of course at first, I thought I’d be an exception and just create my own schedule, no sitting around, etc. I wonder how many other volunteers thought that as well. Our normal American frenzy of rushing just doesn’t happen here. There’s no place to rush to because once you arrive, you’ll just end up sitting under a tree waiting for the others to show up. Much of my time here is spent waiting. I don’t mind, I actually plan for it and take that time to read and write. No one really ever knows what time it is, since most people don’t wear watches. I now have learned tell what time it is in the evening by the shadows in my living room. 4 pm is the most glorious time when the light stretches across the yellow wall and the beams of light stream in from both sides and meet in the middle, making a large burst on the wall, resulting in a sort of amazing sun-like image. Sort of like an interior sunset.

I’ve realized through all of this: whatever life your living is from your own dreaming, wishing, hoping, fears, doubts. Is it the life you want to be in? If you aren’t happy, why are you creating a life that makes you unhappy? I realize that we can all have any life we want, just dream it, and it will come to you, trust me. The catch is, to not grab hold of a lesser dream thinking yours isn’t coming. Dream and be patient, drop any fears and doubt and prepare for delight. It helps to know what you want too and that takes quiet time. Without some clarity and mindfulness, we can wander around lost for a long long time trying out this path and that path. This has its purpose as well, however, most people don’t know that their happiness is just a wish away. In the end, its all up to what you want. Even the most impoverished people in the world have created their own lives. Maybe my greatest purpose here is to help these people dream greater dreams. The rest will manifest itself.

One of the greatest things I’ve realized here is that every path is honorable. I get a lot of emails about what a great job this whole thing is and how everyone is so proud but in reality, this is no better than any other path, as long as its your heart’s path. My little sister is such a beautiful mother to two precious babies and three step children. Being a mom is her heart’s desire and my goodness, she’s amazing at it.

My mom loves animals and now that she’s retired, her dream is to own a pet day care. Her passion for this dream has made the process relatively smooth. My dad’s a biker. When I was a little girl, he got rid of his motorcycle to save his family after an ultimatum came to chose between the motorcycle or us. 25 years later, he purchased a another Harley and I’ve never seen him more at peace. These days, when he isn’t working, he’s riding and it suits him so well.

So often we become used to turmoil and think that we have no choice about our situation. I thought that way for a long time too. I can remember a boyfriend so patiently explaining to me that I always have a choice in everything, and though I may not like the consequences, I certainly have a choice. He said this just after I tried to convince him I had no control over canceling our plans. He’s an attorney now and he certainly won that day. Its true, we are not at the mercy of anything except our own positive or negative thoughts.

Paulo Coehlo calls it a personal legend, my friend Helen calls it the heart’s desire. Both describe the yearning that resonates within us that we don’t always understand. To ignore it only increases our unhappiness. This is why the quiet time is necessary. It is in this space that the inner voice can be heard. I’ve been led to find my heart’s desire and I’ve led women there as well. I’m planning to take a few female volunteers through the process this spring. I must pass on the gifts that are given to me. Part of my legend is uniting women, uncovering the truth and fostering spiritual growth. Basically, to be a light that love can pass through. I don’t know why this is my legend, it just is. I began to feel most comfortable on this path after sobering up when I was 15. The stillness came much later. It took a long time for me to stop wanting to jump out of my own skin. A feeling I’d been plagued with since birth. I wandered around on this path blind to an actual direction for quite a few years. With the quiet came the strength to let go and follow my dreams. This led to more quiet and deeper clarity, which led to a better idea of my heart’s desire. Now I wake unsure if this life is real, for it seems just like a dream.

Design on a Dime, Ghana style

Ok, so the long awaited pictures of my house are in, Mom, I know you are thrilled. I’ll take you through the process provided you should ever want to decorate with little to no funds in an impoverished country. (some of the pics are included here, the rest can be viewed as a slide show, its listed under My House, to the right)

First let me say that one of the most important aspects to my personal comfort is an attractive space. Maybe it’s the architect in me, but I’ve been this way since childhood, moving my bedroom around every few months and staying up way too late to put every little thing in its place before going to sleep. I’m not going to pretend that I keep everything in its place after, but nobody’s perfect.

I also love to create something out of nothing. I practically majored in dumpster diving, considering that several projects had material lists which ordered us to go to the salvage yard. In my own home, everything was recycled from somewhere. I don’t think I’ve actually ever purchased a piece of furniture in my entire life. Oh, yes I did, the beautiful mahogany vanity with the busted mirror, whose life I saved for 20 bucks and free delivery in North Carolina. Beyond that, it’s all hand-me down, and resurrected stuff.

So, to begin, I live in a duplex, with concrete walls and glass windows. (Here’s the plan.) This is far nicer than I ever anticipated. The furniture was already here and I have no idea how old it is, but its really heavy. Moving one of the chairs practically breaks me. The place was not cozy in the least and the walls were plain old dirty white. I couldn’t wait to begin the transformation, so the first Saturday I was here, I found paint. You only have about 5 choices for paint, so I chose yellow and red.

(The bedroom was already green and I decided to leave it for later.)

First, I painted, which took a while because the ceilings are high and I don’t have a ladder, so I had to climb on the backs of the chairs and stretch and somehow, I reached. Tip: when painting in sub-Saharan climate, paint will dry as fast as you roll it on. You have no choice but to finish the job that day because the paint will dry up. I ran out of paint at the very end of the living room and I just haven’t bought more. You can only buy gallons and I need just a tiny bit, so for now, there’s a giant unpainted square beneath the windows.

I decided to paint a chalkboard on the wall by taping off a square and filling it in with black oil based paint. I didn’t really know what I was doing and once I painted it, it was too glossy for the chalk to work, so as it dried, I patted the entire square down with baking powder, allowing it to dry with the baking powder on it. It worked!! I have a real chalk board and its awesome for my schedule and shopping lists.

OK, SO I WROTE THIS WITH THE INTENTION OF PLACING PICTURES IN IT BUT I'M OUT OF TIME, SO THE TEXT CORRESPONDS WITH THE SLIDE SHOW, YOU'LL JUST HAVE TO VIEW THEM SEPERATELY, SORRY.

I bought the cheapest fabric, its used as lining, in plain white and washed all of the windows and hung the curtains using simple nails and just hammering it in leaving a little extra in between so that it has a nice flow.

I used the old broken door from the bedroom closet as a bulletin board, because you can’t really use the walls since they’re concrete. I took some of the extra panes of glass and placed pictures of Louisiana between them and placed them on the coffee table.

I found some chicken-wire fencing and cut a piece big enough to fit the space above the sofa and cut some pictures out of a book someone left behind here and made a wall hanging. It suspended by two rubber-bands between the window frames, the only thing you can hammer into.

I used stuff I already had to decorate, like my straw hat and market bag, they’re easily accessible and look nice hanging in the red kitchen. I moved the furniture around and brought in the wooden reclining chair from outside where it was never used. I cleaned up the kitchen counter, which was disgusting, and repainted it with the left over black paint.

The Christmas tree is from my mom. I can’t remember if I mentioned the day I got it. I came home from the post office and opened the box with the little tree and the tiny ornaments and I just couldn’t get over how much mom’s know what you need. She made Christmas so special for me by sending that tree, words escape me. I love it so much, I’m not ready to put it away.

So that’s it really. I love it here now. I sit in the living room listening to all of the hustle and bustle outside while I paint and draw and boil water for tea and I feel at home. It makes such a difference.

My courtyard is small but nice because I can hang my laundry privately and store my bike. This is my gate to the outside. I’m not ready to take my camera out in front of people here yet, so I only have inside pictures. I’m going to gradually ease myself into taking pictures here. Its different since I live here. I am trying to be equal, not the rich white lady.

The pigs are behind my house in a mud pen and I save all of my peelings and food compost and feed it to them. Someone had just fed them, so when I got there they were pretty happy. As I stood there, I saw this sunset.

And finally, my little bathing area and my room ready for bed. It’s a great little place.

13 years of sobriety

1/2/08 Today I am celebrating 13 years of sobriety and almost 3 years without cigarettes. I have a 13 year chip that my sponsor gave me before I left America. I am as far away from a meeting as I could possibly be in this country. The only meetings I’ve heard of are exactly diagonal from me on the other end of Ghana. As much as I’d love to attend one, its fine that I can not. I didn’t expect the luxury of being able to attend any meetings while here and I know I’ll get a chance to return to them once I’m home. My life today is a far cry from the terrified teenager I was, hoping to die rather than give up drinking. Its even a far cry from only a few years ago. I suppose a few from now, I’ll be saying the same thing. I can honestly say every year gets better and better.

I’ve been feeling bits of doubt and frustration, unsure of my purpose here. On New Year’s Day, I stayed home, put on some music, brewed a pot of tea and sat down and wrote, collaged, drew, painted, and read. I allowed the creativity in me to flow naturally and today I woke up with a new sense of enthusiasm about my work here. Its amazing to me that simple things like meditation and creativity can turn my mood and perception around so easily.

Today has turned out to be just like every other day, pretty amazing. I’m feeling like my presence here is warranted and has purpose.

Should I be here?

Should I be here?

(I’d like to preface this entry by stating that my feelings about this have begun to change. I’m not as frustrated as I have been. I am trying to be open to my purpose here and I am trying to find the positive impact that the Peace Corps has made in Jirapa. I’m taking each day as it comes and making baby steps.)

12/30/07 It is known that spirituality for the African Traditionalist encompasses his whole life. Just as one cannot separate man from his own breath, severing an African from his spiritual practices will surely cause harm.
Since I was a young girl, I’ve admired anyone who chose to devote his time as a volunteer providing international aid. It is here that Hebert Spencer’s theory of contempt prior to investigation takes on new meaning, for it is truly impossible to access any situation in life prior to one’s own experience with it. It is only now that I realize the power and responsibility that the Western world holds when entering a country with the motive of providing aid. Prior to living here, I imagined to find suffering so terrible that nothing would have prevented me from coming to help. Much to my surprise, people here are doing just fine.
Like every story of invasion through out history, this one is the same:
There exists some group of people, native to the land, eking out a life, oblivious to the rest of the world. Then along comes another more powerful group, deciding for one reason or another, that these people should change. They slowly begin invading, bringing along their new religions, new behaviors and big dollars, convincing the innocent people that the way they’ve carried on all this time is faulty. The problem is, as you can probably see, what works for one may not work for another. Eventually, the unsuspecting people begin to doubt their happy lives, especially after being informed that they are barbaric, filthy and even evil. Their “inhumane” spiritual practices are condemned and new churches are built with foreign currency.

Thus, his breath is severed. It is impossible to separate man from spirit, inevitably some part of him will die.

The culture begins to shrivel before the eyes of its people as that of a three-day old umbilical cord. With the life force snipped, eventually, the dangling piece will dry up and fall off permanently. Enough decades elapse and the memory of the old ways slowly disintegrate. Few even remember the traditions that preceded the synthetic imported world that now surrounds them. Anything indigenous is viewed as inferior. A finely crafted, hand-weaved, reclining chair is sold for 3 dollars while flimsy uncomfortable plastics ones are sold for 5. Finely woven, natural fibers are discarded for imported see through synthetics. Drumming and singing are replaced with the blaring tunes of foreign musicians in a language no one understands. The younger generations believe these ways are modern and therefore superior. The elderly are shunned and left grasping their traditions in their frail hands with heads bowed in reverence and mourning.
Missionaries and volunteers are different in approach but similar in outcome. One attacks the soul and the other body and mind, together leaving, in their wake, skeletal robots unsure of their origins though they’ve never left their homeland. Even more baffling is the result that such extreme disempowerment brings about: the people begin to think they can not function without foreign aid.
A depiction has occurred to me as follows: A healthy young man is standing on a street corner, minding his own business. Walking towards him is a generous group of men all breathing through oxygen tanks. Upon seeing the young man with no oxygen, they tackle him and rush him to the nearest hospital. After many hours, they finally succeed in forcing his healthy lungs to use the oxygen. The poor young man lies helpless and confused, since he does not speak their language. The band of men stand proudly over their newly rescued success, smiling and patting one another on the back. The victim lies in bed, longing for his lost breath and all that is heard is the whirring of the oxygen machines.

So, where does this leave me?

When I was 20, a loving woman, whom I deeply respect, kindly pointed out that I had no integrity. She was right. As long as everything appeared to look good on the outside, I was content. It didn’t matter if the truth was ugly because all you could see was the pretty picture I painted. Living that way caused me extreme turmoil that I was comfortable with for many years. Today, you can see the whole picture and uncovering the truth plays an important role in my life. Since there are varying degrees of the truth, I try to remain open, mindful and considerate of my fellows and the environment. As I’ve been made aware of this reality, its been painful to be honest with myself. Do I keep my mouth shut, turn the other way and continue working? Do I quietly play the role of volunteer, adding to the previous 45 years of disempowerment, telling myself I’m helping? Do I tell the truth as I see it? I don’t feel like I’m here by mistake. How do I keep my integrity across the board with the peace corps and the people of Ghana? These are the questions that I ask myself tonight as I sit in my home on the last night of the year.

I know one thing, thanks to my beautiful friend and spiritual guide, Nina, when you don’t know what to do, wait until the answer is revealed. It is always revealed, sooner or later. So I keep plugging along through the days. I’ve made plans to meet with a traditionalist to learn what’s been lost. Maybe I’m the needy one. I’m open to what ever my purpose turns out to be.

The book responsible for my current mind-set: Lame Deer: Seeker of Visions, by John (Fire) Lame Deer and Richard Erdoes. A book about a Sioux Indian and his life. While reading it, I became nauseous from the similarities between the torment endured by the Native Americans and the assistance inflicted upon Ghana. I believe books make their way into our lives providing the next course in life. I came here with no books, deciding all that I am supposed to learn will find its way to me. It is no coincidence that I read this book.

Market day

12/30/07 Today was picturesque of the life I hoped to experience here. I woke and had a leisurely morning drinking tea in the center of town. Later I walked down to the grand market and greeted the few people I recognize from my weekly trips. I bought the same foods I always buy, garlic, ginger, limes, tomatoes, cabbage, bell peppers, bananas, papaya, carrots and fresh wheat tea bread, which I can only find once a week from a lady living in a remote village. She greets me with a hug now and even though we can’t understand each other, the purchase is filled with smiles and plenty of head nodding.

I walked home, during the hottest point in the day, kicked on the fan and began preparing hummus and salad. I found Tahini paste in Techiman and there’s a bean here that is close enough to a chick pea to use in place of. Mix in a little lime, fresh garlic and olive oil. Its delicious. The only hard part is hand mashing the beans, this takes time and elbow grease. Here they mash everything, so I have clay mortar and pistil that I mash the beans in.