i'm thoroghly shocked as I write this, from the VIP lounge of the Accra airport using wireless internet.
I came to the airport this morning and stood behind a really really long line. Then, out of the blue, an attendent came over to me and took my ticket and passport and told me to step to the head of the line.
Then, they told me I was in First Class and I got shuffled through everyone.
Then they gave me a ticket to the VIP Lounge where juice and fruit and cookies flow freely for all passengers.
I think that the travel gods must have taken pity on me for all the pot holes I've stumbled into this year. What a morning. And what a way to go out!
8.29.2008
Life's a beach...
Last morning in Ghana.
I’m heading towards a hurricane in a few hours. How fitting. I was hoping to outrun the chaos by coming here and now I seem to be heading straight for it. I’m certainly better prepared, as a result.
I’m leaving my peace corps experience with only good feelings and gratitude.
I’ll continue to write, whether here or in other capacities.
Now I must hurry, I heard the only thing on time in Ghana are the departing airplanes.
Visiting Mandy…
If I could paint a picture of the brightest colors, to show you what I’ve seen, it would still be a disgrace because you couldn’t taste the salt water mist, feel the ocean breeze on your sunburned shoulders, and hear the waves crashing.
If I could perch you on a star, high above the earth, you’d see four women, diverse in age (25-60) yet all in their prime, playing like children in the late evening surf.
A fire on the beach, fresh brewed tea, skinning dipping like little children at bath time.
We sat each morning at the peaceful intersection where the river dances with the ocean, where cold water meets the sun’s shadow. We watched the fisherman send out the nets and brings them back, pulling against the ocean’s current for hours.
We walked through the village of sea farers, seemingly the oldest people that ever lived, mild and peaceful, bathing in the river, smiling at the four white ladies trying not to gawk at the grown men in the water.
We cooked together and ate together and laughed together in the way that only women really know how and then we parted ways, just like the tide stretching back to its mid-day home, leaving thousands of memories like scattered seashells across the sand of my memory, forever imprinted.
Thank you, Mandy, Terri and Janet for such an amazing send off. We will meet again.
I’m heading towards a hurricane in a few hours. How fitting. I was hoping to outrun the chaos by coming here and now I seem to be heading straight for it. I’m certainly better prepared, as a result.
I’m leaving my peace corps experience with only good feelings and gratitude.
I’ll continue to write, whether here or in other capacities.
Now I must hurry, I heard the only thing on time in Ghana are the departing airplanes.
Visiting Mandy…
If I could paint a picture of the brightest colors, to show you what I’ve seen, it would still be a disgrace because you couldn’t taste the salt water mist, feel the ocean breeze on your sunburned shoulders, and hear the waves crashing.
If I could perch you on a star, high above the earth, you’d see four women, diverse in age (25-60) yet all in their prime, playing like children in the late evening surf.
A fire on the beach, fresh brewed tea, skinning dipping like little children at bath time.
We sat each morning at the peaceful intersection where the river dances with the ocean, where cold water meets the sun’s shadow. We watched the fisherman send out the nets and brings them back, pulling against the ocean’s current for hours.
We walked through the village of sea farers, seemingly the oldest people that ever lived, mild and peaceful, bathing in the river, smiling at the four white ladies trying not to gawk at the grown men in the water.
We cooked together and ate together and laughed together in the way that only women really know how and then we parted ways, just like the tide stretching back to its mid-day home, leaving thousands of memories like scattered seashells across the sand of my memory, forever imprinted.
Thank you, Mandy, Terri and Janet for such an amazing send off. We will meet again.
Early Termination...
Tonight is my last night alone in my house in Jirapa. I’ve decided to end my peace corps service and return to America. Tomorrow, my dearest friends, Erin and Gray are coming to say good-bye and help me put the finishing touches on the library. Then Monday, I’ll head south to say good-bye to a friend at the coast and then on to Accra and home.
There are so many things I can say about this experience its hard to know where to begin. I’m sure I’ll be digesting it for some time but tonight, in reflection, I can see so much growth that has occurred with in.
Since I was a little girl, I’ve walked around with this heavy loaded burden, filled all the way up with a need to “help people”, especially the underdog. Maybe because for part of my life, I thought I was the underdog, and then I grew up and sort of struggled to not be the underdog and felt a little guilty for those that appeared to have it rough. Coming here has sort of washed that entire burden away. Well, it washed what remained of it away.
Before coming here, I had a lot of practice in getting rid of that heavy weight, and now, its all gone.
Some of that burden has been washed away as I’ve learned how to let my family members live there own lives the way they want to and not fight for the life I think they should have. I have one family member who was in a relationship with a drug addict who continued to take her car and not return it on time, so I was called on occasion to bring her to work and holidays and things like that. Once, after leaving her at work, I drove to the guy’s house and spent an hour beating on his door until he finally answered and then I hysterically, demanded the keys from him. Much to my surprise, he handed them right over and as he did, it dawned on me that not once did he ever actually steal the car, he took it with permission, her permission, and I was fighting someone else’s battle and they were on the other team.
Here, I’ve pushed for people to want a better life, better education, equal rights, better treatment, living conditions, clean water… and on and on. But, honestly, everyone here is doing exactly what they want to be doing, and if they aren’t, then they’ll probably do something different as soon as they feel like it. As I was cleaning up the library today, a job that took much longer than I ever anticipated, I realized that it will probably go back to the way I found it in no time. Especially when I realized that previous volunteers (not peace corps) had done exactly what I was doing, a few years before. And that thought led me to the next one, which is that: so much of my need to help others has to do with pleasing something within myself. Something in me will feel more peaceful and fulfilled if everyone else is happy, healthy and pain-free. Well, guess what, sometimes the best part of life is growing through pain. (Read: Man’s Search for Meaning. That will put a little perspective into pain and the importance of each man’s journey!) Why do I always forget this? This is nothing new, I’ve been trying to rescue people since I was five years old. Once again, I sit here, realizing that I’m learning the same things over and over and I can only hope this is the last time with this particular lesson because it sure is a tough one. Its interesting how the most selfless acts are actually based on a foundation of complete self-centeredness. All along, sitting here in Ghana, reading these emails of praise and adoration for the work I’m doing here and all along something felt fraudulent. Something about the reception here and the expectation and it all feeling like I’m fighting the fight for these people but they’re fighting on the other team and that somehow I was fighting more for myself than for them. This is especially apparent in the greed and dishonesty that exists with grant writing and proposals. I could write a book exposing the careless mismanagement of funds donated to the “developing world”. Its really sad. Everyone’s fighting to give these suffering people welfare so that they can go and buy the newest cell phone and dvd player with surround sound. I remember feeling this way in college while I worked and payed taxes and my single-mother friend was coasting along on a free ride to college, living on welfare and buying $400 boots. Its basically the same thing.
I rode in bus a few months ago that was smuggling wheat flour. The wheat was donated to Ghana Education System by Catholic Relief Services and then sold to the black market by the headmasters then it was smuggled all over the country. Easy money from foreign aid. It’s the foundation of this country and its accepted by everyone, even peace corps. Everyone just jokes about it and shrugs and rolls there eyes. Well, I can’t. I just can’t. its sort of breaking my spirit.
I suppose part of me coming here was to learn this, and many other lessons, but this one is huge. I feel lighter than I’ve ever felt in my entire life.
I don’t feel the need to sacrifice anything for anyone anymore. This doesn’t mean I won’t help people. My entire life’s goal is to help people, to guide people to find their heart’s desire, to help them to express their true nature through art and dance and yoga and meditation or through my writing. But now I know I’m free to do it or not do it or do it at my leisure. Or even walk away and do something totally different if one day I feel like it.
I no longer feel this weight that was always sitting atop my chest, making me do this or that, preventing me from being free.
The thing about it all, thought, is that if someone asked if I’d do it all over again, come and live here and discover all of this, I’d say yes, in a second. And if anyone wants to know whether or not I think they should try development work for themselves, I say yes, do it. Your lessons may be different from mine and mine have all been worth every single moment. It’s the experience that’s the point and so just like all the others I’ve had, I have absolutely no regrets. I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be and I’m so excited about what life has in store for me next.
Bike ride with Mayumi
I took a bike ride and it touched my soul. I’m not exaggerating. It was an experience I’d always dreamed of. Bike riding through the country side, fields of wild, green grass so lush, that it appeared to be a sea of green waves rolling in the wind. Stopping in small villages along the way for refreshment, meeting locals and being offered water. All of it I dreamed of, I just thought I’d be in Europe, naturally, not in Ghana. I mean first of all, the green was so unexpected. And then, the bike ride was 40 kilometers, beginning in Jirapa, where I live! So this beautiful country side exists right here (only during the rainy season, but still, it right here!)
We rode to three villages and the ride lasted nearly all day. Then we hitched a ride half way home and waited and waited for a ride the rest of the way (Mayumi was giving her bike away before heading back to Holland so we had to find a ride back to Jirapa, only having one bike now). The only transport that came along was an enormous tipper (dump) truck. They offered and we accepted, threw the bike in and climbed up. We were as tall as the tops of the trees in the back of this enormous monster truck. We along with about 10 other Ghanaians and the sun went down and the stars came out and we bumped along these red dirt roads watching a lightning storm off in the distance. We shook and rattled along for two hours and when we finally arrived, I felt like scrambled eggs must feel when being served for breakfast.
My legs hurt in a way I never imagined they could, so much so that at 2 am, i was angrily standing, half-asleep, in the dark, rubbing my thighs and feeling like Charlie’s horses were trapped in both of them. Such a terrible thing to wake up to! I finally, against my better judgment, took a few ibuprophen and the next thing I saw was the sun and my legs felt fine.
Reading
Well, I’ve already mentioned Mutant Message Down Under by Marlo Morgan and how wonderful I felt that story was but I must mention it again. I’ve also recently read Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl, excellent book, I highly recommend it. Also, I read my favorite story of all time, funny enough, I’d never read the original version of it, Peter Pan, by James Barrie, such a great book. He was so clever and witty and magical in his writing. Its really for adults more than children and I sort of swam around in its magic for a week or so. Also, a light and fun book I read, one that made me laugh several times out loud, About a Boy, by Nick Hornby, great little story, heart warming and fun.
There are so many things I can say about this experience its hard to know where to begin. I’m sure I’ll be digesting it for some time but tonight, in reflection, I can see so much growth that has occurred with in.
Since I was a little girl, I’ve walked around with this heavy loaded burden, filled all the way up with a need to “help people”, especially the underdog. Maybe because for part of my life, I thought I was the underdog, and then I grew up and sort of struggled to not be the underdog and felt a little guilty for those that appeared to have it rough. Coming here has sort of washed that entire burden away. Well, it washed what remained of it away.
Before coming here, I had a lot of practice in getting rid of that heavy weight, and now, its all gone.
Some of that burden has been washed away as I’ve learned how to let my family members live there own lives the way they want to and not fight for the life I think they should have. I have one family member who was in a relationship with a drug addict who continued to take her car and not return it on time, so I was called on occasion to bring her to work and holidays and things like that. Once, after leaving her at work, I drove to the guy’s house and spent an hour beating on his door until he finally answered and then I hysterically, demanded the keys from him. Much to my surprise, he handed them right over and as he did, it dawned on me that not once did he ever actually steal the car, he took it with permission, her permission, and I was fighting someone else’s battle and they were on the other team.
Here, I’ve pushed for people to want a better life, better education, equal rights, better treatment, living conditions, clean water… and on and on. But, honestly, everyone here is doing exactly what they want to be doing, and if they aren’t, then they’ll probably do something different as soon as they feel like it. As I was cleaning up the library today, a job that took much longer than I ever anticipated, I realized that it will probably go back to the way I found it in no time. Especially when I realized that previous volunteers (not peace corps) had done exactly what I was doing, a few years before. And that thought led me to the next one, which is that: so much of my need to help others has to do with pleasing something within myself. Something in me will feel more peaceful and fulfilled if everyone else is happy, healthy and pain-free. Well, guess what, sometimes the best part of life is growing through pain. (Read: Man’s Search for Meaning. That will put a little perspective into pain and the importance of each man’s journey!) Why do I always forget this? This is nothing new, I’ve been trying to rescue people since I was five years old. Once again, I sit here, realizing that I’m learning the same things over and over and I can only hope this is the last time with this particular lesson because it sure is a tough one. Its interesting how the most selfless acts are actually based on a foundation of complete self-centeredness. All along, sitting here in Ghana, reading these emails of praise and adoration for the work I’m doing here and all along something felt fraudulent. Something about the reception here and the expectation and it all feeling like I’m fighting the fight for these people but they’re fighting on the other team and that somehow I was fighting more for myself than for them. This is especially apparent in the greed and dishonesty that exists with grant writing and proposals. I could write a book exposing the careless mismanagement of funds donated to the “developing world”. Its really sad. Everyone’s fighting to give these suffering people welfare so that they can go and buy the newest cell phone and dvd player with surround sound. I remember feeling this way in college while I worked and payed taxes and my single-mother friend was coasting along on a free ride to college, living on welfare and buying $400 boots. Its basically the same thing.
I rode in bus a few months ago that was smuggling wheat flour. The wheat was donated to Ghana Education System by Catholic Relief Services and then sold to the black market by the headmasters then it was smuggled all over the country. Easy money from foreign aid. It’s the foundation of this country and its accepted by everyone, even peace corps. Everyone just jokes about it and shrugs and rolls there eyes. Well, I can’t. I just can’t. its sort of breaking my spirit.
I suppose part of me coming here was to learn this, and many other lessons, but this one is huge. I feel lighter than I’ve ever felt in my entire life.
I don’t feel the need to sacrifice anything for anyone anymore. This doesn’t mean I won’t help people. My entire life’s goal is to help people, to guide people to find their heart’s desire, to help them to express their true nature through art and dance and yoga and meditation or through my writing. But now I know I’m free to do it or not do it or do it at my leisure. Or even walk away and do something totally different if one day I feel like it.
I no longer feel this weight that was always sitting atop my chest, making me do this or that, preventing me from being free.
The thing about it all, thought, is that if someone asked if I’d do it all over again, come and live here and discover all of this, I’d say yes, in a second. And if anyone wants to know whether or not I think they should try development work for themselves, I say yes, do it. Your lessons may be different from mine and mine have all been worth every single moment. It’s the experience that’s the point and so just like all the others I’ve had, I have absolutely no regrets. I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be and I’m so excited about what life has in store for me next.
Bike ride with Mayumi
I took a bike ride and it touched my soul. I’m not exaggerating. It was an experience I’d always dreamed of. Bike riding through the country side, fields of wild, green grass so lush, that it appeared to be a sea of green waves rolling in the wind. Stopping in small villages along the way for refreshment, meeting locals and being offered water. All of it I dreamed of, I just thought I’d be in Europe, naturally, not in Ghana. I mean first of all, the green was so unexpected. And then, the bike ride was 40 kilometers, beginning in Jirapa, where I live! So this beautiful country side exists right here (only during the rainy season, but still, it right here!)
We rode to three villages and the ride lasted nearly all day. Then we hitched a ride half way home and waited and waited for a ride the rest of the way (Mayumi was giving her bike away before heading back to Holland so we had to find a ride back to Jirapa, only having one bike now). The only transport that came along was an enormous tipper (dump) truck. They offered and we accepted, threw the bike in and climbed up. We were as tall as the tops of the trees in the back of this enormous monster truck. We along with about 10 other Ghanaians and the sun went down and the stars came out and we bumped along these red dirt roads watching a lightning storm off in the distance. We shook and rattled along for two hours and when we finally arrived, I felt like scrambled eggs must feel when being served for breakfast.
My legs hurt in a way I never imagined they could, so much so that at 2 am, i was angrily standing, half-asleep, in the dark, rubbing my thighs and feeling like Charlie’s horses were trapped in both of them. Such a terrible thing to wake up to! I finally, against my better judgment, took a few ibuprophen and the next thing I saw was the sun and my legs felt fine.
Reading
Well, I’ve already mentioned Mutant Message Down Under by Marlo Morgan and how wonderful I felt that story was but I must mention it again. I’ve also recently read Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl, excellent book, I highly recommend it. Also, I read my favorite story of all time, funny enough, I’d never read the original version of it, Peter Pan, by James Barrie, such a great book. He was so clever and witty and magical in his writing. Its really for adults more than children and I sort of swam around in its magic for a week or so. Also, a light and fun book I read, one that made me laugh several times out loud, About a Boy, by Nick Hornby, great little story, heart warming and fun.
8.01.2008
Haikus
Hi…kuu..s
Sleepy feet
Wet grass, laughing back bend
Morning yoga
Sad tears flow
Mind racing through dark valley
The real world
Big is heart
Warm, wise words reach hungry ears
My Momma
Pink sunset
Heavy clouds, pregnant with wet
Night rainstorm
You me them us her him it
I cried a river this month for all
Waking to reality
The dark is gone now
New light falls on fresh spirit
Love has bloomed in me
Sweet baby called me
Nanny, you come tomorrow?
No, baby, soon though
Heart to heart
Tied with string across the sea
Sister love
Bright smile
Lit my heart, calmed my sadness
Mayumi
An angel
Sent to guide me out the cave
Thank you, friend
Far away
Facing sideways, silly boy
I miss you
Is she there?
Do you call my soul to you?
Pining heart
Pine needles
Mountain pose, selfless giving
Shoshoni
Her new baby
In healthy womb, loving mommy
Best friend, part deux
Harley ride
Open air, no hair, freedom
Miss you dad
Big laugh, HA
Pulling legs and bending backs
YOGhanA
Push hook pull
Ball of yarn diminishing
Sewing class
Lift sort stack
Dusty treasures surround me
Library
(that was my week in Haikus)
Walden
When Henry David Thoreau set out to live a solitary life at Walden Pond, he was 28 years old just as I am now. As I read Walden, his account of the two years he spent more or less in solitude, I can only grin at the similarities swimming between the perception Mr. Thoreau held and the one I posses, 163 years later.
He was so certain in his judgment of the problems of his society and so certain his solution was the right one. I guess you could say he was self-righteous. Its interesting, how one moment in a man’s life, when written down for all to read, will be viewed as his own personal doctrine for the rest of eternity.
If I’d written a book this month, I’d probably be viewed as a bitter, diatribe composing, self pitying creature, bound in the depths of a deep depression. Thankfully, I was only sought in the blither and dithers, as my friend Nina likes to say, and its finally clearing up.
Last night I made the decision to stay here for now. Today, I made myself get up and go out to the football field and teach yoga. I was so terrified, but it turned out to be an amazing experience. Seven Ghanaian women tried yoga with me and several more walked up as we were practicing. The coach for the Keep Fit club welcomed me and they all asked that I come back next weekend. I couldn’t believe these women were going along with me. Its so needed because they bend at the waist to do everything and their lower backs are misshapen as a result. There were even two middle-aged women and an elderly one, bending along with the rest of us. It was so beautiful.
Then I curled up in my chair with tea just in time for an early morning rainstorm and read further into Mr. Thoreau’s experience, very enjoyable.
This evening, I planted sage, basil, sweet peas, lima beans, watermelon and cucumber with five precious little children. It took a long time because each one had a turn filling the bag with dirt and pushing the seed in all the way until his knuckle was hidden; then, carefully covering the seed with dirt. We went in order, each got to plant the same amount. Its beautiful to watch how serious children take a task given to them. They did exactly what I showed them to do. This was somehow remarkable for me because I’ve been praying to act loving and giving toward the children here. Tonight, I just wanted to squeeze them. They are so cute when you take time with them. Once we were finished, with pride oozing from their tiny bodies, they ran off with a gift of chalk to draw all over my house. I really feel fulfilled tonight.
So, what changed?
Its so silly what was standing in between myself and happiness. Me, of course.
Its taken me only 8 months to finally get up the courage to stop going to the district assembly office every morning and sit around with nothing to do, like the previous volunteers have done before. I told everyone that I had actual work to do in town and I wasn’t going to come to the office unless they had work for me there.
Then, last week, the worst week of all, I decided that I’m no longer going to do anything else with the bakery group. I’m finished. I sent my report, the people spent all the money and its come down to a choice between my happiness or the bakery, I’m going for happiness. I don’t know what will come of it, but the Peace Corps was supposed to call me back on Monday and today is Saturday, so if they aren’t concerned, I’m going to go ahead and follow suit. Why waste precious energy worrying about something that will be resolved with or without me?
So, I’m putting my energy into things that are actually working, like the other women’s group I just met who actually do need to learn about washing their hands with soap and the teen mother’s and their sweet little play about teen pregnancy, written, directed and acted out by the teens themselves! Then there’s teaching yoga and cleaning up the library, planting a garden and dancing in my living room. I guess in the end, I had to throw out my ideas of what makes a good volunteer and just be true to myself. It was either that, or go home and I’m not ready to give up just yet.
My Mom
I cried to my mom and she’s so cool, she just simply said, Oh, you’ve been through harder times than this, Erica. And just think of all you’ll have to write about… Sometimes, you just need your mom to tell you its all ok and then you can suck in your bottom lip and get on with it. Thank you, Mom.
Mayumi
One morning, I was sitting at the tea stand, something I haven’t done nearly enough this month and I met two girls traveling through, one French and one Dutch/ Japanese. The latter was planning to come back through and I offered for her to stay with me. Just as the words left my mouth, I wondered who had spoken them and if I was crazy. Did I actually want more stress? I wondered if I’d soon be diagnosed insane or the like. Anyway, we parted ways that morning and I forgot all about it. Two weeks ago, I received a phone call, saying she was in Jirapa asking if she could stay the night? The call happened to come in the midst of my really negative state and lucky her, I couldn’t have cared less who or what came to stay with me.
Funny things happen when you’re busy worrying about everything you can’t control. The universe, in all Its infinite love, has a way of orchestrating the most miraculous invisible safety net, all the while, its little children keep climbing to greater daredevil heights. Mayumi, the girl who’s stayed here off and on for the past two weeks is nothing short of a divinely appointed soul sent to walk me through this rough time. Little does she know, I’ve simply fed off her enormous heart and simple manner, her beautiful outlook and unending kindness. A presence that is calming and inviting. This violin playing, flamenco dancing, passionate soul has brought me back to the beauty that I was forgetting exists in the world. I guess she gave me a new pair of glasses. How does it always work? Every time. I don’t understand. Every. Single. Time. It. Works. The universe really is perfect.
July 17 Breakfast with the flies…
I’m distracted from my book by the flies that continue to land on the breakfast table. Every time I raise my hand to shoo them away, they leave for just a moment and then land right back on the table. I’ve swatted at them nearly twenty consecutive times and then returned to my book just in time to read about being a slave to wandering thoughts. This statement, being so true for my own mind, is paramount in the comparison to these flies.
I think they are my teachers this morning, showing me exactly what my thoughts do during meditation and especially outside of meditation, where I am not able to notice their consistency. Just the moment I shoo them away and return to my breath, a new one lands in its place.
I even imagine the flies doing this little dance, rubbing their front legs together, singing Nanny Nanny Boo Boo, you can’t get me.
It’s the same with my thoughts, they plop right down out of no where and won’t buzz off. Thus meditation, for me, is a necessity.
This analogy keeps growing by the second as I sit here eating my breakfast. I know not everyone is as distracted by their thoughts as I can be but also, most people sit peacefully unaware of the flies buzzing around us while I am painfully annoyed by their presence.
Moments ago, as I stood waving my arms back and forth hopelessly willing them away, it occurred to me I’d have to do this until the end of time or be at peace with them, ha, just as my meditation practice shows.
There is yet another element to this comparison that has just occurred to me. While in America, I never noticed the flies because I was constantly distracted by so many things, but I’m sure they are there. Now, here, in the quiet and solitude of day break, my thoughts and these flies have caught up to me.
One last thing… I just looked up from my wondering, to see them all over, dancing joyfully, happy as can be and I just let them be. I gave up, gave in and that is exactly what I do daily when I can’t fight it anymore… I plop down in a big chair and daydream.
July 29 Sewing
I enrolled in sewing lessons today. Every Tuesday, I’m going to sewing school. The teachers are a small group of physically disabled women and they’re wonderful to work with. I spent the day crocheting and next week I get to use the machine. I have all of these ideas of clothes I want to make and pictures to show them from my magazines. I had so much fun.
July 30 What a day
This morning, I got the privilege of giving a bunch of moringa tree seedlings to a women’s group I’ve been working with. Here are some pictures of them. The man is Richard, my devoted counterpart, whom is making my work here sustainable, thank you dear Richard. The rest are the women appointed by the group to make the journy to Jirapa to collect the trees.
(The gentlemen in the yellow shirt is the sweet deaf gardener who helped me to prepare the trees for the women, somehow we communicated, he's a beautiful man.)
They walked a far distance from a village south of here. I’ve been visiting them on Sunday mornings and their entire community is full of energy and love. Its so different being there with them, in the village, versus the busy-ness of Jirapa. I can’t believe I think Jirapa is busy, I wonder what America will seem like. This village sits off the main road and is about a 40 minute bike ride. It’s a great place to sit and just listen and watch the children playing and everyone talking. Wednesday, we’re going to plant the trees in their new moringa plantation.
After the women left, I worked in the library. Its meditative, sorting and wiping and organizing the endless piles of books. There were two sweet girls helping me to sort everything and since I still had my camera, I snapped a picture of them.
I have this thing with books. I feel like they hold clues that guide me onward. When I’m reading a book I really like, and the character in the book is reading a book, I try to read that book next. Anytime a book is mentioned to me more than once, I set out to find that book immediately. This has been a real adventure in Ghana, but more books have come to me here spontaneously than ever before. The last three books I’ve read mention the Bhagavad-Gita and of course, it came across my path last week at the Peace Corps office. Then, a few weeks ago, Gray mentioned a book to me about writing. An obscure little book that according to him, every writer should have and keep on him at all times, called The Elements of Style, by Strunk and White. Well, I believe my hands were shaking and my face was aglow as I raised this book from the pile today, as though it were the Holy Grail. There are countless stories I could mention about books making their way into my life, as though the energy they posses actually propels them through time and space, dropping them nearly in my lap, time and time again. I desire to make a map of the history of my book affair, though I haven’t yet discovered a method by which to write a book about books.
Then, I held an oh-so familiar book in my hands. I’m surprised I didn’t recognize the rough blue texture the minute I picked it up. I turned it over, its size and weight as familiar as my arm, fitting in my hand so naturally, a book I’ve read more times than any other by far. The text of Alcoholics Anonymous, an old copy, but not older than I’ve seen. If I sound deeply sentimental over a simple piece of literature, forgive me, its just that when it was presented to me, it held the stories of so many as afflicted and hopeless as I was in that desperate moment of need and it held an answer as well. It was so great to see that book sitting amidst these old books here in Jirapa in the Upper West.
One last thing, I have just read the most beautiful book and I beg you to read it, oh man its so great, its touched the deepest part of my soul...
Mutant Message Down Under by Marlo Morgan
Sleepy feet
Wet grass, laughing back bend
Morning yoga
Sad tears flow
Mind racing through dark valley
The real world
Big is heart
Warm, wise words reach hungry ears
My Momma
Pink sunset
Heavy clouds, pregnant with wet
Night rainstorm
You me them us her him it
I cried a river this month for all
Waking to reality
The dark is gone now
New light falls on fresh spirit
Love has bloomed in me
Sweet baby called me
Nanny, you come tomorrow?
No, baby, soon though
Heart to heart
Tied with string across the sea
Sister love
Bright smile
Lit my heart, calmed my sadness
Mayumi
An angel
Sent to guide me out the cave
Thank you, friend
Far away
Facing sideways, silly boy
I miss you
Is she there?
Do you call my soul to you?
Pining heart
Pine needles
Mountain pose, selfless giving
Shoshoni
Her new baby
In healthy womb, loving mommy
Best friend, part deux
Harley ride
Open air, no hair, freedom
Miss you dad
Big laugh, HA
Pulling legs and bending backs
YOGhanA
Push hook pull
Ball of yarn diminishing
Sewing class
Lift sort stack
Dusty treasures surround me
Library
(that was my week in Haikus)
Walden
When Henry David Thoreau set out to live a solitary life at Walden Pond, he was 28 years old just as I am now. As I read Walden, his account of the two years he spent more or less in solitude, I can only grin at the similarities swimming between the perception Mr. Thoreau held and the one I posses, 163 years later.
He was so certain in his judgment of the problems of his society and so certain his solution was the right one. I guess you could say he was self-righteous. Its interesting, how one moment in a man’s life, when written down for all to read, will be viewed as his own personal doctrine for the rest of eternity.
If I’d written a book this month, I’d probably be viewed as a bitter, diatribe composing, self pitying creature, bound in the depths of a deep depression. Thankfully, I was only sought in the blither and dithers, as my friend Nina likes to say, and its finally clearing up.
Last night I made the decision to stay here for now. Today, I made myself get up and go out to the football field and teach yoga. I was so terrified, but it turned out to be an amazing experience. Seven Ghanaian women tried yoga with me and several more walked up as we were practicing. The coach for the Keep Fit club welcomed me and they all asked that I come back next weekend. I couldn’t believe these women were going along with me. Its so needed because they bend at the waist to do everything and their lower backs are misshapen as a result. There were even two middle-aged women and an elderly one, bending along with the rest of us. It was so beautiful.
Then I curled up in my chair with tea just in time for an early morning rainstorm and read further into Mr. Thoreau’s experience, very enjoyable.
This evening, I planted sage, basil, sweet peas, lima beans, watermelon and cucumber with five precious little children. It took a long time because each one had a turn filling the bag with dirt and pushing the seed in all the way until his knuckle was hidden; then, carefully covering the seed with dirt. We went in order, each got to plant the same amount. Its beautiful to watch how serious children take a task given to them. They did exactly what I showed them to do. This was somehow remarkable for me because I’ve been praying to act loving and giving toward the children here. Tonight, I just wanted to squeeze them. They are so cute when you take time with them. Once we were finished, with pride oozing from their tiny bodies, they ran off with a gift of chalk to draw all over my house. I really feel fulfilled tonight.
So, what changed?
Its so silly what was standing in between myself and happiness. Me, of course.
Its taken me only 8 months to finally get up the courage to stop going to the district assembly office every morning and sit around with nothing to do, like the previous volunteers have done before. I told everyone that I had actual work to do in town and I wasn’t going to come to the office unless they had work for me there.
Then, last week, the worst week of all, I decided that I’m no longer going to do anything else with the bakery group. I’m finished. I sent my report, the people spent all the money and its come down to a choice between my happiness or the bakery, I’m going for happiness. I don’t know what will come of it, but the Peace Corps was supposed to call me back on Monday and today is Saturday, so if they aren’t concerned, I’m going to go ahead and follow suit. Why waste precious energy worrying about something that will be resolved with or without me?
So, I’m putting my energy into things that are actually working, like the other women’s group I just met who actually do need to learn about washing their hands with soap and the teen mother’s and their sweet little play about teen pregnancy, written, directed and acted out by the teens themselves! Then there’s teaching yoga and cleaning up the library, planting a garden and dancing in my living room. I guess in the end, I had to throw out my ideas of what makes a good volunteer and just be true to myself. It was either that, or go home and I’m not ready to give up just yet.
My Mom
I cried to my mom and she’s so cool, she just simply said, Oh, you’ve been through harder times than this, Erica. And just think of all you’ll have to write about… Sometimes, you just need your mom to tell you its all ok and then you can suck in your bottom lip and get on with it. Thank you, Mom.
Mayumi
One morning, I was sitting at the tea stand, something I haven’t done nearly enough this month and I met two girls traveling through, one French and one Dutch/ Japanese. The latter was planning to come back through and I offered for her to stay with me. Just as the words left my mouth, I wondered who had spoken them and if I was crazy. Did I actually want more stress? I wondered if I’d soon be diagnosed insane or the like. Anyway, we parted ways that morning and I forgot all about it. Two weeks ago, I received a phone call, saying she was in Jirapa asking if she could stay the night? The call happened to come in the midst of my really negative state and lucky her, I couldn’t have cared less who or what came to stay with me.
Funny things happen when you’re busy worrying about everything you can’t control. The universe, in all Its infinite love, has a way of orchestrating the most miraculous invisible safety net, all the while, its little children keep climbing to greater daredevil heights. Mayumi, the girl who’s stayed here off and on for the past two weeks is nothing short of a divinely appointed soul sent to walk me through this rough time. Little does she know, I’ve simply fed off her enormous heart and simple manner, her beautiful outlook and unending kindness. A presence that is calming and inviting. This violin playing, flamenco dancing, passionate soul has brought me back to the beauty that I was forgetting exists in the world. I guess she gave me a new pair of glasses. How does it always work? Every time. I don’t understand. Every. Single. Time. It. Works. The universe really is perfect.
July 17 Breakfast with the flies…
I’m distracted from my book by the flies that continue to land on the breakfast table. Every time I raise my hand to shoo them away, they leave for just a moment and then land right back on the table. I’ve swatted at them nearly twenty consecutive times and then returned to my book just in time to read about being a slave to wandering thoughts. This statement, being so true for my own mind, is paramount in the comparison to these flies.
I think they are my teachers this morning, showing me exactly what my thoughts do during meditation and especially outside of meditation, where I am not able to notice their consistency. Just the moment I shoo them away and return to my breath, a new one lands in its place.
I even imagine the flies doing this little dance, rubbing their front legs together, singing Nanny Nanny Boo Boo, you can’t get me.
It’s the same with my thoughts, they plop right down out of no where and won’t buzz off. Thus meditation, for me, is a necessity.
This analogy keeps growing by the second as I sit here eating my breakfast. I know not everyone is as distracted by their thoughts as I can be but also, most people sit peacefully unaware of the flies buzzing around us while I am painfully annoyed by their presence.
Moments ago, as I stood waving my arms back and forth hopelessly willing them away, it occurred to me I’d have to do this until the end of time or be at peace with them, ha, just as my meditation practice shows.
There is yet another element to this comparison that has just occurred to me. While in America, I never noticed the flies because I was constantly distracted by so many things, but I’m sure they are there. Now, here, in the quiet and solitude of day break, my thoughts and these flies have caught up to me.
One last thing… I just looked up from my wondering, to see them all over, dancing joyfully, happy as can be and I just let them be. I gave up, gave in and that is exactly what I do daily when I can’t fight it anymore… I plop down in a big chair and daydream.
July 29 Sewing
I enrolled in sewing lessons today. Every Tuesday, I’m going to sewing school. The teachers are a small group of physically disabled women and they’re wonderful to work with. I spent the day crocheting and next week I get to use the machine. I have all of these ideas of clothes I want to make and pictures to show them from my magazines. I had so much fun.
July 30 What a day
This morning, I got the privilege of giving a bunch of moringa tree seedlings to a women’s group I’ve been working with. Here are some pictures of them. The man is Richard, my devoted counterpart, whom is making my work here sustainable, thank you dear Richard. The rest are the women appointed by the group to make the journy to Jirapa to collect the trees.
(The gentlemen in the yellow shirt is the sweet deaf gardener who helped me to prepare the trees for the women, somehow we communicated, he's a beautiful man.)
They walked a far distance from a village south of here. I’ve been visiting them on Sunday mornings and their entire community is full of energy and love. Its so different being there with them, in the village, versus the busy-ness of Jirapa. I can’t believe I think Jirapa is busy, I wonder what America will seem like. This village sits off the main road and is about a 40 minute bike ride. It’s a great place to sit and just listen and watch the children playing and everyone talking. Wednesday, we’re going to plant the trees in their new moringa plantation.
After the women left, I worked in the library. Its meditative, sorting and wiping and organizing the endless piles of books. There were two sweet girls helping me to sort everything and since I still had my camera, I snapped a picture of them.
I have this thing with books. I feel like they hold clues that guide me onward. When I’m reading a book I really like, and the character in the book is reading a book, I try to read that book next. Anytime a book is mentioned to me more than once, I set out to find that book immediately. This has been a real adventure in Ghana, but more books have come to me here spontaneously than ever before. The last three books I’ve read mention the Bhagavad-Gita and of course, it came across my path last week at the Peace Corps office. Then, a few weeks ago, Gray mentioned a book to me about writing. An obscure little book that according to him, every writer should have and keep on him at all times, called The Elements of Style, by Strunk and White. Well, I believe my hands were shaking and my face was aglow as I raised this book from the pile today, as though it were the Holy Grail. There are countless stories I could mention about books making their way into my life, as though the energy they posses actually propels them through time and space, dropping them nearly in my lap, time and time again. I desire to make a map of the history of my book affair, though I haven’t yet discovered a method by which to write a book about books.
Then, I held an oh-so familiar book in my hands. I’m surprised I didn’t recognize the rough blue texture the minute I picked it up. I turned it over, its size and weight as familiar as my arm, fitting in my hand so naturally, a book I’ve read more times than any other by far. The text of Alcoholics Anonymous, an old copy, but not older than I’ve seen. If I sound deeply sentimental over a simple piece of literature, forgive me, its just that when it was presented to me, it held the stories of so many as afflicted and hopeless as I was in that desperate moment of need and it held an answer as well. It was so great to see that book sitting amidst these old books here in Jirapa in the Upper West.
One last thing, I have just read the most beautiful book and I beg you to read it, oh man its so great, its touched the deepest part of my soul...
Mutant Message Down Under by Marlo Morgan
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