16th
It’s been a while since I’ve written for real. Last Friday Richard came. I can’t remember if I mentioned him last time. I went on and on to Mom and Dad in a letter about how normal he is and how all he wanted to do was come up and do some accounting at the school to bulk up his resume, and poor, poor Richard who has to put up with all the chaos of the house in the school. Anyway, I’m formally retracting that opinion and submitting this: Richard is nuts. I offered him my room because Dada was going to sleep on the floor. But now he wakes me up 30-40 minutes early every morning because he’s singing Ghanaian R&B at the top of his lungs. He’s always, ALWAYS sighing. Something’s always wrong with him. We had this conversation the other morning where he was talking about going into town to get fish and rice for breakfast. He said, “I just…I can’t keep eating the liquid food.” “What do you mean by that, Richard?” “I think maybe I’d like some porridge.” “But porridge is liquid-y, Richard. I thought you said you didn’t want liquid food.” “I meant like tea and coffee.” “But tea and coffee aren’t food, Richard, they’re drinks.” “Then how can you only take tea and coffee for breakfast?” “We don’t, Richard, we eat bread and banana and pineapple and groundnut paste every morning, you’ve seen us.” “Ohhhh. (A pause.) So…the bread is your food?” “Yes, Richard, the bread is our food.” He’s a treasure. And 10x the mumbler I am. Anyway, he’s harmless, and he’s written a play to promote HIV awareness for the school. I edited and typeset it, but only to get out of directing it, which is what he originally had Fiona and I slated to do. (New paragraph. I’m emailing these entries in, and I think the formatting gets lost.) Last night I had grits! They call them something else, but really, they’re just grits with a little less water than we add. I almost peed myself. They were served with this foul-smelling fish sauce, but I just melted some cheap Babybel cheese into them and heaped on the salt. FANTASTIC. Grits in Ghana is a potential name for my potential memoir. Saturday morning, Fiona and I went to Kumasi. Valentine’s Day cards and chocolates EVERYWHERE! It’s very big here. We walked around the market, the largest in West Africa. I was called Peter Crouch about 6 times by separate people, and Steven Gerrard once. There are definitely worse things to be called! Word spread quickly in the market about my braces, so every couple metres we’d come across a woman who would say, “Show me your teeth!”, gasp, and then send the message further down the row so that others could ask to see, too. The boys at the school call them “ices” and all want them very badly. I wish braces on an 18-year-old were this cool back home! Saturday night there was a huge Valentine’s Day street party in front of our favorite bar. EVERYONE was out dancing, and many of them kept at it even once it started pouring down rain. We got drenched, but it was great. This weekend we are going to Lake Basumtwi and staying in little cottages on the shore. It will be a welcome change from Ejura and Kumasi. Swimming and biking are on the agenda. We’re also busy planning our excursion up north during the second week of March. I’m making an effort not to say, “I can’t wait!” for you, Matt. School is school. Today it kind of fell apart at 11, and everyone ended up going home. Thanks for the tips, Cinde! I’ve been thinking that now that I know the kids better, I’ll put together a seating plan. My “punishment” is making kids who fight apologize to each other and shake hands. They DREAD it. Anyway, I’m off. Overcast but very humid today, so I think I’ll buy some ice cream on the way home. Love you all!
