Look at the previous post, too :) this is the one meant for today/tomorrow

Dear family and friends!

Hello :) Greetings. There are two posts today… the one below this was supposed to be posted last week, but the internet went out just before I posted it (the power went out somewhere along the internet chain and destroyed some adaptors) so alas, I apologize for the lack of blogging last week. I have not quite fallen off the face of the earth ;) please read the one below first if you want a sequential understanding of how the past two weeks have been.

As for this week, it’s been as complex as ever. On Thursday night I had my third in what I consider a series of good dreams. The first one occurred a couple of weeks ago, and it was about going back to a Yachting Club meeting. Naturally, it was very surreal and bizarre, but some of the appropriate people were there, and all was well. The second happened right around my trip to Takoradi, and it ended with me waltzing with Tristan. We defied some physics, and even though that’s not at all necessary for great waltzing, the dancing in this dream felt perfect.

The dream I had on Thursday night was the first dream that I remember which was set in Ghana, which is interesting, because I had noticed this lack of Ghana-dreams a day or two before having this one. Also, I know I had been thinking about Eric Mortensen, my academic advisor at Guilford. But anyway, in this dream Eric came to visit me in Ghana, and even in my dream I was quite surprised, but it was great. We had a big, long hug, and I expressed things that I needed to say that basically sum up my home/Ghana experience – specifically that I’m doing just fine in Ghana, and learning and enjoying a lot, but that this doesn’t diminish the fact that any new experience carries some stress, and that I truly value and miss everyone at home. Don’t worry, Eric will get a more complete letter on all of this.

So anyway, this was the happy feeling with which I embarked with my group on a trip to the Eastern and Volta regions of Ghana; or at least, it was supposed to be happy. It was at certain points, but it took us a long time to leave on Friday morning, and for some reason I felt *awful* for about an hour before we left. I had no idea why at the time, but it turns out that that’s what malaria feels like ;) joy. Fortunately I was able to sleep for a while on the van, and the worst of the feeling eventually left me. We basically spent all day traveling, stopping for a late lunch in Accra and then seeing a bead-making place near the Akosombo dam (which we never got around to seeing. O well). The bead making was very interesting, and I bought one necklace and was given one bracelet, which I appreciated. Our tour was somewhat truncated, however, because it was Light Off in the area and dusk was fast approaching. We looked at the beads in the shop with flashlights and lanterns. After that, I simply grabbed a snack and we all went to bed at a closeby hotel.

That night it was extremely difficult to sleep because it was also Light Off where we were sleeping. They ran the generator so that we could use the lights before we went to bed, but the generator would not suffice to run the air conditioning unit in our room, so Katie and I sweltered in a room with no real windows. Eventually, though, we slept, and awoke at 5am to leave at 6am for the Volta region. Fortunately, by this point I was feeling better again, and didn’t feel ill again until lunchtime; thankfully that too was brief.

But anyway, in the morning we went to a beautiful waterfall, supposedly the tallest in West Africa. Comparisons between this and similar experiences in the US:
Similarity: I have been on 45 minute walks to see waterfalls before- that’s normal.
Difference: Usually paths for 45 minute walks are not so nicely laid out and so wide.
Similarity: We crossed sturdy bridges that gave gorgeous views of the stream that came from the waterfall. Nine of them. It was lovely.
Difference: There were mangoes that had just fallen onto different points along the path, so someone gave me a ripe one and I ate it. Yum!
Difference: At the waterfall end of the path, there was litter *everywhere*. People don’t litter to that degree on park paths in the US. I have pictures that you can see when I get back.
Similarity: gorgeous waterfall
Difference: this waterfall had a bank that was covered in fairly smooth stones. We also learned that right underneath the waterfall the water was only waist deep, though in another section it was deep up to my neck, and we were explicitly invited to swim. We did so, and had a marvelous time. The water pressure was intense, but not so intense that it wasn’t enjoyable. Katie, Chantal and I got in while Akwasi took pictures for us. Also, there were bats and butterflies to be seen. It was grand.

All of this happened before 10am, though afterwards we had trouble gaining momentum again, and had to wait quite a while for lunch. The afternoon, however, was similarly eventful. We proceeded to climb one of the tallest mountains in West Africa, and there’s a reason why I’m not saying “hike”. This was more of a climb – almost always straight uphill, nearly as steep as a staircase, but on rocks and ground, with occasional trees as aids. It was tough, and though Akwasi went straight ahead (he’s in good shape) Katie, Chantal and I picked slower paces. Eventually, though, we made it, and the sight was truly beautiful. We could see Togo from where we were positioned, and they had cleared the little spot that formed the top of the mountain so that you could gaze out and even down in practically all directions. Apparently sometimes people camp up there for the night, which would be grand in my opinion.

Climbing down the mountain was of course difficult, but not unmanageable. I got to eat yet another mango after we reached the bottom. Afterwards we drove the few hours back to the hotel and slept, this time with air-conditioning, and I had another good dream. This one was about reconciling with Jon, an old friend from middle school who I haven’t spoken to for years (not out of malice, simply out of lack of communication). Again, it was really nice, and I woke up happy and wishing that it had truly happened, though it also had many surreal aspects. For example, the setting was a mix of Cape Coast, Greensboro, and Midland – and none of those match my middle-school settings. At this point I seriously wondered whether I was having so many good reunion dreams simply because I like having them.

On Sunday, we were told we would go on a ferry ride, which I wrongly presumed would be short. In fact it lasted from 10am to 4:30pm, and I was sick again at the beginning and by the end of it. But fortunately, there were some very nice beads for sale before the ferry actually took off, so looking at those killed some of our down time beforehand, and though the ferry ride was long they gave us food and drinks during the trip, and Katie, Chantal and I played cards for the rest of it. The middle of the ferry ride was particularly bizarre, because we were sailing along the Volta River with very little context about where we were or what we were doing (though Chantal had been on this trip before and warned us a little); the middle, though, consisted of us getting off of the ferry for a half hour and walking around on a little island. Basically as soon as you got off the boat, little children would grab your hands and keep you company for the rest of your time there. At the end, they beg for money. Along the path to the other side of the island (where there’s a beach) two sets of people playing music and dancing are stationed, encouraging the tourists to enjoy the atmosphere. It’s simultaneously extremely real, because you know they’re playing local music and doing local dancing, and extremely fake, because they’re doing it for tourist entertainment, and only receiving tips in exchange. It’s like they’ve tried to set up a mini-African island paradise for your half hour’s pleasure, but the ironic thing is that the people who are begging there don’t even live on that island. They canoe over there on days when the ferry comes. The whole situation is very bizarre and frustrating to me, especially because people are encouraged to act like someone’s friend in exchange for money. It left a bad taste in my mouth.

Also, by the end of the ferry ride I felt extremely sick, a feeling which didn’t leave me for the entire five hour journey back to Cape Coast. We never really stopped along the way because there was too much traffic and everyone else wanted to get home, and so that, the stop-and-go of traffic in Accra and the hundreds of speed bumps between Accra and Cape Coast only exacerbated the problem. And I’m not at all kidding about the speed bumps. Literally every couple of miles there are at least two sets of them, and each set consists of 5 (occasionally 3) bumps, and none of them are tame. My insides were threatening to mutiny long before we reached our city, and I stayed sick all night.

The next morning I went to one class, but after informing some classmates I skipped the next one in favor of going to the hospital. I’m not sure if I explained this before, but there aren’t really doctor’s offices or emergency clinics here. If you’re sick, you go to the hospital. After a couple of slight fiascos I ended up in the correct department of the Regional hospital which I had visited once before, in Abura. I waited a few hours, and became very tired, but I realize that this probably took no longer than unexpected visits to the doctor take in the US. C’est la vie. Eventually I saw the doctor and she (I’ve only seen two doctors and they were both women) said that I had malaria. It seems even more clear than last time. At least I now know what it feels like.

The curious thing is that while people at home flip out when they hear the word “malaria”, people here say, “o, it shall be well,” or “really? you’re still feeling sick?”. It’s just not a big deal here, and Ghanaians have different theories on why that’s so. Some think that Ghanaians are simply more resilient than foreigners, because they’ve been getting malaria all their lives. Others say that it’s simply psychologically less stressful because people here have been treating and surviving malaria for ages – long before modern malaria medicine was invented. People here know how it works: they know the symptoms, they understand all the options for treatment, and they understand how all of these things interact with each other. When they feel sick with malaria, they don’t go to the doctor, they just go to their local chemist or pharmacist and get some medicine. And some doses of medicine are stronger – you don’t have to take them for as many days, but they’ll inhibit you from functioning in your daily life and they can kill you if you don’t have enough weight to take them. But there are plenty of other options which work just as well that are less strong, and people know what they want. They know their schedules, and they know how to take care of themselves. UCC students generally don’t miss class because of malaria.

Now that said, I definitely missed class for malaria (all of Tuesday), and I don’t feel bad about it because I felt really sick. And do you know why? Because I had no idea I had malaria. Had I been a Ghanaian, I would have known what was going on, and I would have bought some medicine. Since I wasn’t, and since I was only feeling ill off & on, I felt perfectly justified in waiting till Monday to see a doctor since we were traveling. In truth, I didn’t even feel distressed until Sunday. So, that’s that for the sickness itself. Malaria ;) yay.

I do have one thing to say, though, on getting drugs here. I can understand all the more clearly why HIV drugs are so inaccessible to people in Africa, because the exchange rates are all wrong. The drugs that I got here would be considered dirt cheap in the US, but are a slight annoyance in Ghana. The pharmacy at the hospital rang up my bill for three of the four things I needed, and it totaled 90,000 cedis (These were: artemether (the anti-malaria), vitamin capsules (overkill, because I already take a multivitamin), and Oral Rehydration salts (also overkill, because I never got dehydrated, but they didn’t ask me)). As you may recall, 1$ is approximately 9,300 cedis right now, so the two Ghanaian and one Canadian pharmacists laughed and said “haha, that’s only ten dollars!” I wanted to laugh mirthlessly and say “ha, that’s absolutely all the money I have with me right now,” but I restrained myself. To be fair, I had brought over 140,000 cedis, but 10,000 was spent on transportation and 40,000 for visiting the doctor. My medicine had only cost 60,000 the last time. Did you know, you can buy a filling meal for 1,000 cedis, and a balanced meal for 2,000 to 4,000 cedis? If you go to a real restaurant, of course, they’ll have you pay about ten times that. It boggles my mind, but I suppose in some ways it’s not so different from home.

So, anyway, after that I pushed myself, went to the bank, bought some toilet paper, and went to Ola. I briefly got to see Katie there, but my true purpose was attending a bible study for my Jesus in the African Context class. We had them read two verses in Matthew on divorce, and then asked them some questions to bring out all their thoughts on the matter. It was very interesting, but I only caught bits and pieces because it was almost entirely in Fante. It’s amazing, though, what you can pick up on when you know just a little but you pay attention. For instance, in a cab ride today when we were first taking off, someone asked what the price was (we were going from station to station). I already knew, and therefore didn’t need to ask, but simply handed over my 3,000 and waited for 800 in change. At the end of the taxi ride, however, I’m pretty sure that someone was telling the cab driver (who had been considerate throughout the short drive) that he could have given the obruni (me) 500 in change. Someone had, afterall, before the driver’s correction suggested that the fare was 2,500. But in response I’m fairly sure the driver said “she understands Fante a little”, which is happily true. I smiled and waved on my way out of the car, and felt good.

Back to Monday, though: after bible study in Ola I went home and essentially crashed. I really was planning to go to school the next day, and I woke up for it, but about ten minutes into getting ready I decided that I couldn’t. I told my Mother and she replied “nobody is saying that you should go! Go to sleep” ;) Mother and Ruth were extremely supportive, though the kids were kind of confused at how sick and sleepy I was.

Also, sadly, one of the lecturers at the seminary died completely unexpectedly on Tuesday morning, so the place is still bustling in a sad kind of way. There are also a few important Anglican people here from the US, so between entertaining them and taking care of all the people who are suddenly at the seminary, Mother’s still quite busy. She’s very good at this kind of thing, but it wears her out.

Since I felt sick & sleepy & didn’t want to be in the way, I truly slept through most of Tuesday. As a result, today (Wednesday) I feel fine. I’m particularly writing today because the power will be out at the internet café tomorrow, and I don’t want to miss posting for two weeks in a row.

Also, for the past two nights my pattern of good dreams has been broken by nonetheless extremely interesting bad dreams. After the first night of this (Monday night) I was looking at the side effects of my medication, and the cipro (sp?) I’m taking does list bad dreams, so I completely blame that, because I really tried to avoid them last night and failed.

Now, I wouldn’t properly call these dreams nightmares. I wasn’t scared in the same way that I feel I should be for a nightmare. They just simply weren’t good.

On Monday night I first dreamt that I was arguing with this boy, approximately my age & white, who was turning evil. I was trying to sympathize with all of his & his friends’ grievances but not condone any of their methods. Also, I was always trying to counteract what I saw as their misperceptions. I feel like this argument took place in some kind of tall, dark tower, and that there was a big gothic-looking desk (if such a thing exists) with papers scattered and gathered on top of it. I think I was trying to convince him not to do this one overarching bad thing.

Then, in a second dream, I was mainly an older brother or sister (I’m not sure) and half of my consciousness knew that some great chaotic evil had been unleashed upon the world that I should know about, and the other half of my consciousness was oblivious, just like everyone else. All these crazy things kept happening, like cars going missing and blowing up, and the entire middle row of pews in a church crashing over the altar and into the street (this would be a US street), and half of my consciousness would say “Rachel, you know why this is so! You vaguely remember pouring some flammable liquid all over your car for no known reason… o, except for that great evil thing that’s happening” and then the other half would say “O, that’s strange, where did my car go?” Such is the logic of fantasy novels, which inform much of my imagination. Also in this dream, I had a younger sister (not Chelsea, though she was blond) who was about seven years old, and the evil forces wanted to take her but of course I couldn’t let them. And usually in this dream I was the older sibling, but sometimes I was the younger sister. A weird dream.

Also, last night I had a dream in which Albus Dumbledore (from the Harry Potter books) had actually turned Smeagol/Gollum from the Lord of the Rings into his dog, but he changed him back into Smeagol sometimes to play with him and teach him things. Somehow the One Ring from LotR had turned into a semi-neutral but still powerful blob, but when Smeagol started to act possessively and obsessively over it again, Dumbledore (from whose perspective I was looking) made the horrifying decision to kill Smeagol with the blob(s). It was awful and sad. Dumbledore looked upon it as a necessary loss, and then successfully hid what he had done by transforming both himself and Smeagol’s bodies into other creatures. And then later there were zombie prisoner problems at Hogwarts, which had for some reason turned into Azkaban, and there were continuity problems, and I made friends and sympathized with a zombie prisoner who liked to escape every day, but it didn’t end well because we eventually got caught and he separated into different fragments. For some reason one of those fragments absorbed into me and therefore mandated that I go on a rampage of anger, which was not at all consistent with either of our personalities, so it was upsetting, but not quite nightmarish because the rampage of anger didn’t happen.

Anyway, I know all of this is strange, but I think that dreams are very interesting, both because of why they come about and the perspectives we take or are given within them. I don’t remember my dreams *that* often, so when they’re vivid I try to take notice.

But, now it’s getting towards 7 on Wednesday night, and I need to get home :) Exams are coming up in a week and a half, so I should be posting again before then, and should be completely recovered from malaria.

I love you all! :) Thanks for touching base here, and thanks so much for caring!

love love love,

Rachel Rose