Why Am I the One - Fun

Here we are.  It is almost October, almost one year in country and just about to mid service.

Mid service is accompanied by a few distinct occurrences.

Mid service medical.  That one time a year you get to travel all the way to Accra to poop in a jar.  But you get smoothies, sushi, and KFC so apparently it is worth it.  And you get to know if you have intestinal parasites.  I’m pretty sure I do have parasites as I have multiple times transplanted rice in snail infested paddies.  Fingers crossed.

For many volunteers mid service means a trip home.  I’m lucky my sister is getting married in November.  I am visiting home soon.

Mid service blues.  A common bout of unhappiness right around your one year mark.  I never knew if the one year mark starts when we first came in October or when we started our service in December.  Either way, as I talk with peers, people seem to be hitting the blue period early.  Their projects failed, nothing is working, they do not know what to do, their work is not worth their being here, unwilling counterparts, and that little feeling at the back of your heart that says You could just go home now.  You tried.

I am not there.  I do not think.  I think I am…annoyed.

You get used to most things here.  You let things go.  People think you can’t do thing because you are white, because you are a woman, because you are young.  I let it go.  Sometimes it feels like you are constantly laughed at.  I let it go.  Public transportation you get used to.  Food, culture, people, customs that are different you get used to.

But I have reached a new place, I do not know if it is above or below the acceptance of these differences but…everything just seems so so ridiculous here.

Seeing men in knitted winter hats.  Men who yell at me to sit in the back of the tro-tro even though I am dropping half way and will have to crawl over a dozen people with my bags.  Oh and their “Playbog” (Playboy knock off) shirts.

People who pull their motorcycle up to my house and rev the engine until I come out instead of knocking on my door or calling my name, stupid.  People who stand outside my window at six in the morning yelling at a person in the next house.  Walk over there.

Prophets that heal people addicted to ice cubes and mint candies..  People who will not help me get to the next village because I should be helping his village instead, absolutely ridiculous.

This is not about Ghana but I have itchy red bumps on my left hand and it is spreading to my right and a stupid volunteer told me it was probably a flesh eating bacteria.  Flesh eating bacteria has been known to happen to PCVs and now I am scared.

But I wouldn't call it the blues.

Who gave the beggar a megaphone?!

The man who overcharged me for fabric and the taxi who overcharged me and me who paid for it.

When I ask an English speaking Ghanaian “When?” And he says “Yes.” “No, when.  What time?”  “Yes.” 

But I would not call it mid service blues, this is just…an inevitable phase.

Here, I stopped and discussed these feelings with another volunteer locally know as “Sista Faima.”  She said, “Alyssa, I think this is your mid service weirdness.  Remember when we were at the Mystic Stone [one of the many mystic things that Ghanaians say cannot be moved.  When people try to move it to say, build a road or building, the stone always returns.  So people think it is holy and they pray at it and they charge white people money to look at a really normal looking rock.  And white people rub it and make wishes.]  You said you could not think of anything to wish for, that you were content.  I think that is just who you are, maybe your mid service thing is a peak of anger and frustration rather than a low of sadness and depression.”

I do not know.  I will say it has made me appreciative of home.  When people told me this experience would make me appreciative of what I have, I never thought they were right.  At home, I am appreciative.  I am thankful.  I regularly step back and give thanks for things I love.  Warm beverages with good people.  Good friends.  Fun times.  New places.  Good bikes.  Church I can feel.  Driving.  Family.  These are things I would regularly give thanks for.  I recognized them, their greatness and my thankfulness for them.  I guess up until now I thought I would return to these things, and yearn for Ghana but now I am not so sure.

I guess the next step should be to list things in Ghana I am thankful for, because that happens too, like:  When PCV’s call me to check in.  When I get a free ride into town.  When I find lemons and garlic in the market.  When people give me free food.  When kids help me carry my bags or weed my yard.  When people do not cheat me.  When seeds germinate.  When tires hold air.  When tire pumps work.  Having good tools that Dad gave me.  When I leave my cutlass outside and it does not get stolen.  When I am at market and women recognize me and call me over to join their motoking and take me home.  I've not been sick.  Not had malaria.  And I've met amazing people.

“You tell them that the mystic stone is the most mystic, awesome thing is Ghana!”  -Sista Faima