I am surrounded by uproarious laughter in the gathering gloaming, as the people of Komoayeli, a nearby village, teach Marc-André and I how to dance.
The crunch of the grit in my first home-cooked Ghanaian meal, rice balls and groundnut soup with goat’s liver. Delicious, but gritty nonetheless.
The thunder on the tin roof makes me wonder if the whole world is washing away.
I am having a conversation with the keeper of the guest house and feeding centre where I am staying. Our common history of entymology and shared dreams of becoming doctors are surprisingly congruous.
Trapped by the torrent of water running over the path. I take the plunge…my internet stick is on the other side of a damp walk.
Buying the most beautiful cloth in the market. I am being charged a lot for one and just a bit for the other (9 GHC and 3.5 GHC, about $6 and $2.50 per yard). The difference? I can’t tell at this point. (edit: I have since realised that I bought twice as much of the “expensive” one, so it was only 4.5 GHC per yard, which is quite reasonable. Yay for understanding what I am purchasing!)
My first uses at Agric (MoFA): having the best handwriting and so putting the names of farmers who have successfully completed their seed germination and planting course on their fancy certificates, and in the field looking at the beautiful demo plot of the village assemblyman, and taking photos with the digital camera as everyone receives their certificates of recognition.
Internet battles. Who knew how spoiled I am in Canada?
Sitting out of the rain (saa in Dagbani, the local language) and watching part of a Dagban movie with my friend at the one juice shop in town.
Going to eat at the same yam and beans seller for three days in a row, and the little boy not crying when he sees me. Victory is sweet.