Rambling: Ghana Report

Of course, everyone knows the dangers of Africa. Malaria, snakes, HIV, those guys chasing Johnny Weissmuller, Hepatitis B, those guys chasing George of the Jungle (early Clooney), spiders, starvation, ethnic warfare, being lost in the jungle, head hunters, ebola, Idi Amin, and god knows what. They don't advertise this, but you have to sign a waiver not holding the government of Ghana responsible for your likely demise when you get off the plane.* It's just every man and woman for himself out here. Sadly, it seems I may be joining the list. Having survived all of the above challenges, and those damn crying babies on the plane, I may succumb to….my allergies. How weak is that? Like having kids, you have to build up a tolerance over the year(s), and it seems the JFK to Ghana direct flight has not given my poor sinuses time to adjust. I am holding a handkerchief to my face more than Michael Corleone in Godfather 1. (May be 2—I don't remember much about 1 other than James Caan getting a little on the back of the bedroom door, and Michael's Italian wife sliding off the straps of her slip on his wedding night. In fairness, I think GF1 came out in the early 70s, and such things tended to stick in the mind of a young man). So here I am, sneezing and sniffling through Ghana. No amount of Tylenol Sinus will cure me, though taking 4 in 3 hours last night made my eyes feel like sandpaper, and I think I heard my eyes screaming as I put in my contacts this morning at 6:15 am. It was a high-pitched 'iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii' and ended with an f-bomb. Had to be my eyes. I don't blame them, as it really sucked. Before my head explodes, here are a few notes on my trip to Ghana:

Easter is a very big deal here. Yet both Saturday and Easter Sunday we worked 12 hour days, because muckety-mucks and citizens alike wanted to talk to us about a local governance program in their community. This reminds me why I do international stuff—in Ohio citizens want to talk about the life threatening risk of a rear yard setback for the neighbor's storage shed. In Oregon, the urban growth boundary MUST NOT be extended beyond the rear lot line of the last guy that moved to town. In a place like Ghana, they want to learn about citizen participation, how to interact with the Council, and how they can participate in a still young democracy. Guess which place is most intellectually invigorating?
More about Easter. Joyous is the best word, although I almost called the cops on the damn fools that showed up outside my window at the hotel Sunday morning at 5:30 am with their drums, whistles, and trumpets to gather people up to march….somewhere. This was a perfect opportunity to get up and take some pictures, but I made a calculated guess the second coming was not going to happen, and chose to stay is bed for another 30 minutes—at which time I had to get going because we were advancing the cause of democracy, and Easter could not stand in our way.
People dance everywhere as part of church. I am told (but cannot confirm) that people are leaving the Catholic Church for the Pentecostalists because there is a lot more singing and dancing in the latter. Amen to that. All I know is that my Lutheran peeps seem not to be in a big growth surge out here—I don't remember my time with those guys as something I could describe as joyous. Anyway, it seems healthy to think of God as fun and good, and these folks have got it down.
As noted, it was Easter and there was singing and dancing, a lot of it outside in parks. And everywhere you go there is music. People seem to be genuinely happy. Pap, who is my new spiritual guru, tells me that money has nothing to do with happiness, and that the poor of Ghana, of which there are many, can still be happy. Now he tells me—in fairness, I just want enough money to fly to Ghana and other places any time I can to see people enjoy themselves despite being poor. And I have come to prefer cold rooms and hot showers. Not quite sure how I reconcile this.
Had a meeting late this afternoon. 20 minutes in, a woman sitting under the air conditioner turned it off—I mean, it was only an 88/88 day (heat/humidity) and we were suddenly trapped in an airless room with 20 of our closest friends. 45 minutes later I was drenched and ready to pass out. (Had the barber in Accra not cut off all my hair and beard just a few days ago in anticipation of the heat, I likely would have died). It looked like we were ready to wrap up, when a composite of every bullshit citizen I have ever had to tolerate stood up and killed us with a 20 minute diatribe on some damn thing—he didn't speak English, though I wouldn't have listened regardless. I kept mumbling 'Please make it stop' to no avail. Apparently some traits are universal. Tomorrow I intend to tell the Mayor not to allow any citizen input at meetings, lest he lose his mind. (Ok, not really, but holy shit people of the world, get a grip).
This is anecdotal, but this seems like a very young country. Damn, half the women under 25 seem to have a baby strapped on to their back, and there are young people everywhere. Maybe this is because I just came back from the bar across the street (medicinal purposes—treating my sinuses—yes, Tylenol and liquor=dumb/liver failure, but I am in the 'bush' and certain compromises are necessary—I feel like Hemingway) where everyone was young. Anyway, who knows? Remind me to check it out when I find an internet connection.
Oh ya, my new spiritual guru is NOT a good driver. (I suspect his ancestors weren't either). He seems to like to go up hills on the wrong side of the road. But I am good with it—he drives thousands of miles a year, and when in Africa…..but to paraphrase George of the Jungle, 'watch out for that CAR.' (This should resolve any questions in your mind—yes, I do this solely for my own entertainment, and yes, I make myself giggle. It is not my care that zillions of people—or the 4 people that read this (I think my mom quit) have no clue what I am talking about. I am writing to a niche market—me. Thank god there is something on the internet I find useful to read and ponder).
We drove through some serious bush today. I half expected a lion or tiger or bear giraffe to jump out, but alas, we are not in that part of the country. We damn near ran over some goats though, and a couple of chickens barely escaped. Yep, not much different than driving to Walkerton, Indiana.
Speaking of goats, there is one outside the hotel running free and bleating. Meanwhile, there must be a 10:30 pm sound ordinance (I always wondered what Bruce Henry would end up doing) as the bar across the street has shut it down. Dammit Bruce, the curfew applies to the goat too!! Good thing I am seeing the Mayor in the morning. Somebody's catching hell.
South African dramas are the worst—and just about the only thing on TV. Stupid, laughable and poorly done, with a star who seems only to pose with a cigarette and blow smoke. I miss John Forsythe.
The above reminds me—virtually no one in Ghana smokes. No one. There was no one even smoking at the bar. Osum—or a Phillips Morris (or their new made up name) marketing failure.
A 6'9" athletic looking kid was walking down the street toward me tonight. Trying to do my part, I have signed him to a letter of intent to IU. No need to thank me Tommy Crean. Enough with the guards—you need some size, dumass. I mean really, Butler? And we're sitting? WTF?
The family jinx placed on Bobby Huggins continues. Apologize for blowing off the second grade at Montgomery elementary in 1992 Hugs, or me and my ancestors (you know who they are) will keep the jinx alive until: 1) you quit greasing your hair or 2) you wipe that sneer off your face. And sober for god's sake.