Brrrrr! Cold, cold Ghana

My kids are freezing. I blame it on Leslie. We picked her up from the airport on Sunday morning, and on the way back into Tema, she asked me how bad the Harmattan has been. I told her, truthfully, it’s been a non-event. In fact, it was one of the mildest Harmattan’s we’ve had in a long long time. Fast forward to Monday, the Harmattan hits Ghana with all its fury; not to mention dust.

The Harmattan, for those of you not familiar is, according to Wikipedia, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harmattan, dry and dusty West African trade winds. Believe it or not, the winds carry fine dust particles from the Sahara desert all the way to our shores. I’m not that good in geography, but I’m guessing it’s more than just a few hundred miles away.

Monday morning, we woke up and the Harmattan was waiting for us. It’s not as pretty as a blanket of snow, and you can’t make snow men or snow angels. The dust coats everything – the cars, the windows, the desktops – it’s a constant effort to keep everything clean. The window screens catch the silt, and then when the wind blows hard enough, it blows straight on through.

It’s most noticeable at dawn and dusk, but even during the day it still looks as though you’re moving through a light fog. Cars have their headlights on in the day time – which is actually pretty amazing since the majority of them don’t even switch them on at night!

You can feel the heaviness in the air. Your skin is dry and ashy, your lips are chapped from the constant licking, and your hair is filled with static electricity. Okay, probably only my hair gets this way, but trust me, I know static electricity and it knows me. I’ve been slicking it down with body moisturizer. Not exactly my best look. Now that I think of it, I really don’t have a best look. I have lots of worst looks, but let’s not go there, hmm?

Alex has been complaining of a sore throat since Tuesday, and her eyes have been itching her like mad. She’s also got the snuffles. All likely Harmattan related. I’m waiting for it to clog up my sinuses as it usually does, but since I’m taking allergy pills maybe I’ll be immune.

One thing I’m hoping not to see is what I call “Harmattan eye.” A couple of years ago, I woke up with Harmattan eye; it was all gooked up and puffy and I could hardly open it. Sand must have irritated the inside of my eyelid and I probably rubbed it a lot in my sleep. It didn’t hurt, but it looked horrible. “Oh, Sister Barbara, what happened to your eye?” I heard that one a lot the first two days or so, before the swelling finally went down. Thinking I might never get an opportunity like this again, I quickly put the blame on my husband. If Sly were nearby, I’d jerk my chin in his direction and say sweetly, “Ask him.” I’m lucky “him” didn’t lock me in the house till I was “normal.”

The wind is what really gets you. You can actually hear it, whistling through the alley ways and stirring dried leaves into a frenzy. But the wind is what the old people hate. My 87-year old mother-in-law is probably wrapped up in two cloths. It’s a “cold” wind, alright. I heard a news broadcaster on the television this morning talk about how cold this winter already is. Yes, they call it winter.

It seems we’ve become “real” Ghanaians; my kids are actually wearing long sleeves and jackets, just like the other kids, to school. For them, this is a treat. They long for long pants and shirts. Jeez, they’d be wearing mittens, if I had any.

I’d like to think Leslie jinxed us, but I know it’s just bad timing. Still, if anyone asks me when the Harmattan started, I’ll jerk my chin in her direction and say, “Ask her.”

A bit of home

Yesterday, I picked up my American friend, Leslie, and we took off to the environs of Accra for the day. As a Fulbright exchange teacher, Leslie is a quasi-employee of the U.S. government, so she heads out to the U.S. Embassy located in Accra a few times a month to take care of business.

Despite the fact that I and my family have been living here for almost five years now, I’ve never been to the new U.S. Embassy, so I looked at it as an opportunity to check things out. The “old” U.S. Embassy was in a small, crowded dirty building, not easily accessible and certainly, in my opinion, not worth of an embassy, irrespective of which embassy it might be. The fact that it was my embassy only made it that much more disreputable.

First stop before the embassy though, was a detour to Bake Shop Classics, a bakery near the Ghana Trade Fair. Now, I’d never been there before, but I had “heard” that they made and sold “New York Style Bagels.” I haven’t had a bagel, New York, New Jersey or Maryland-style, in almost two years, and I have been dreaming of them. I can stop dreaming, I think. We went in and though they only had a small selection (by U.S. standards, of course) of baked goods, they did have bagels and cinnamon rolls and cheese and fruit danishes. Oh, joy. I have no idea how they will taste, but they sure look good. I buy eight bagels at 60 pesawas each and a cinnamon roll for GHC 1.50.

The morning after my purchase, I can truthfully say, not as good as a New York bagel, but pretty darn close. Add in some cream cheese – no, not Philadelphia but again, close – and it’s a taste of home. I’m wishing now that I had bought more than just eight bagels, since half are gone already. I may have to make a special trip, next week.

From there, we went straight to the Embassy. The Embassy compound is large, with a neatly manicured green grass lawn -- truly a rarity in Ghana. Two security guards stand in front but don’t try to stop us from entering into the visitor’s lounge. Once inside, Leslie puts her bag onto the x-ray machine conveyer belt which scans the contents; no one pays any attention, so no one notices that she carries two phones – mine and hers. I have to fill out a form and show my passport; it doesn’t even get cracked open. Could be my whiteness, my Jersey accent or my “Hi, how ya doing?” is the tip off that I’m an American. Or it could be my entrance with an employee, quasi or otherwise. Perhaps I’m being paranoid, but I actually wish they had looked at my passport a bit more thoroughly; security was just a bit too lax for me.

With a visitor badge strung around my neck and my handbag scanned (minus my cell phone, of course), we’re off to the main building, which belongs to U.S. AID. It’s like being back in any American government office building – open, airy, granite walls, heavy duty air conditioning, and the ubiquitous pictures of G.W., Dick and Condee. Leslie and I joke about how we can’t wait to come back after January 20^th and see Barack, Joe and Hillary up there instead. That alone will be worth the trip.

First things first, I have got to check out the Embassy bathroom. It’s just like back home. Doors that lock, toilets that automatically flush, and toilet paper on a roller – wish I had more to do in here, but my breakfast coffee is long gone.

Leslie conducts her business and shows me around a bit. We head to the Community Liaison Office or CLO for short. Inside are some pamphlets and brochures for local tourist sites and hotels. Nothing special, but what is special is a great big wall of books, all kinds of paperbacks and novels; adult books, kids books, every genre you can imagine. We meet a woman there who is the CLO liaison, Kristen from Annandale, VA. She says the books are loaners, “borrow what you want and return them when you can.” Oh, the honor system. I’m familiar with the concept, of course, but the truth is in Ghana it’s hardly ever put into practice. Finders keepers, is more what we’re used to here. Still, it looks promising.

Kristen tells us that they often have community programs and events, but this is the first I’m hearing of it. I’m kind of ticked off about it, if you want the truth. I’m part of the community, I live here and the Embassy knows I live here, since we’re registered. So, why can’t they send me a newsletter telling me about these events? I’d love for us to get out and meet other Americans. Leslie promises to send me the newsletter that she gets from them, as an employee. It shouldn’t really be this hard, should it? The Embassy does more for American tourists than Americans living here. Weird, huh?

The cafeteria is our next stop. And they’ve got specials, just like home – hamburger or hot dogs with fries, pizza, grilled cheese sandwich – I’m tempted, I’ve got to admit, but I make these things at home, I’d want something really different. What I’m really jazzed about is the cold case – there’s Fresca, Diet Pepsi and Diet Dr. Pepper. The doctor is calling my name. Um, not quite as good as I remember. Next time, I’ll try the Fresca.

Yeah, a Fresca, with a bagel and cream cheese, and it will be like home. If only it were that easy.

Robocall -- Ghana-style

This is a shortie... the house phone just rang, and truthfully, I usually don't answer it. It's usually not for me -- Sly, Sean or Mike, but never me -- but I just figured since Sly is out of the house it might be him, even though he'd normally call my cell.

Me: Hello

"Hello, this is Nana Akufo Addo. I am running for president of Ghana. I urge you to vote for me on Sunday, 7th December. Tell all of your family and friends... Blah blah blah"

Hah! A robocall in Ghana. I thought that we'd be immune to that over here; we are, after all, registered Democrats.

Ghana! We are moving forward!