Life without the spin cycle (and other observations)

As many of you know, I'm not exactly the most domestic girl on the block. I tend to shove my clothes into a giant heap and toss them all into the washer when the heap gets so large I can't shut my closet. That's right- I mix colors and whites (GASP). I've ruined a few shirts and maybe a pair of khakis this way, but as a college student on a budget, shelling out the extra $1.00 in quarters just isn't worth it. I also take full advantage of the dryer and often race downstairs to the Kappa Delta basement to pull the clothes out when they're still warm, burying my face in scents like "Mountain Spring Air" and "Fresh Rain." I didn't know how good I had it.

Here, the power flickers off if we turn on one too many fans, so a washer and dryer is out of the question. Laundry piles up at an alarming rate, since I change out of my sweat-drenched, dusty outfit and into a clean one at least once a day. This, of course, presents a problem. I tried giving my laundry to the security guard George once, a pleasant man with ears that stick out like an elephant who likes wearing shirts with rappers like 50 cent holding assault rifles. When he asked me to shell out 5 cedi for a measly load (P.Diddy pointing a smoking gun at me from his black t-shirt) I decided to try it myself. I strategically filled two seperate buckets, one for soaking and washing and the other for rinsing. As I scrubbed the sopping fabric together like I remembered Mom doing, I was immediately repulsed at the grime--was that really coming from something I wore? Are you sure? After just a few shirts, I thought I should probably start with some fresh water. Sure enough, soon after the water was again a cloudy brown. Oh well--the dirt has to go somewhere, right? To rinse my clothes, I tried to imitate the cycles I remembered from the rattly dryer in the basement. Rinse--okay, easy enough. I swirled my clothes around in the crystal clean water as little bugs hopped around at my feet. Spin--Oh, no. How was I supposed to do that? Well, the purpose of the spin cycle is probably to dry things out, I thought, so I wrung out my clothes, one by one, and swirled them over my head like a lunatic. That ought to dry them out pretty well, right? I hung each article on our sagging line after their spin cycle, letting them wave in the breeze like a colorful row of palm leaves. I was pretty proud of myself the next day when I retrieved my crusty garments. I buried my nose in their clean folds: Ahhh, a little something I like to call "Accra Morning Pollution." Maybe I can market it?

One thing about laundry: Mom, I will never again knock you for hanging our towels out on the line to dry in the fresh air. While it does make them hard and impossible to bend, there's something about the smell of fresh, air dryed laundry that will always remind me of you.

Laundry isn't the only thing that's utterly different here in Ghana. As the 13 obronis morph from mere visitors to actual residents of Okpunalow, we've learned a few things.

1. When it rains, it pours. No, I don't mean that in the figurative sense--it literally pours, monsoon style. Yesterday, I was sitting in the office of ABANTU by myself and thought something might be wrong with the fan based on a strange noise coming from the ceiling. I turned the knob to "off" only to realize that it wasn't the fan but rain coming down in buckets. Scratch that--BATHTUBS. Literally, this rain had ten times the pressure of our shower head and filled up the four-foot gutters so trash and other unpleasent things bobbed on the surface of the murky water like little sailboats. Today, the roads were muddy and covered in little swimming pools where potholes used to be. The road to work, which is usually pretty bad, was nothing more than a red mud path, interuppted by little lakes of water where malaria probably began.

2. Ghanaians use words we're not used to. Every day, I'm either called obroni, white lady, friend, beautiful seestah at least once, which I've become accustomed to. But in newspapers, I read a headline that said "13 army school students pass out." A tragedy, right? Were they poisoned? No, no conspiriacy here: they simply graduated. A few more: goundnut=peanut and elite=get off (like a tro tro).

3. Money here is a PAIN to deal with. The government redenomiated the cedi last year, so instead of paying 10,000 cedi for a loaf of bread, I now pay 1 cedi which is about a dollar. That's great, except no one here gives prices in the new currency. My trotro driver on the first day of work told me I owed him 4,000 cedi, and I felt like shouting, "WHAT KIND OF SUCKER DO YOU THINK I AM?!" until I realized that it was the old currency. This problem has also led to a serious shortage of change. I'm not sure if the banks don't produce enough coins and small bills or if people just don't carry any, hiding them away for some rainy day, but no one will ever give you change. The bank only disepenses tens, so I have to go to the mall or some other place where I know they'll have change before I can walk across the street and buy some eggs.

4. Speaking of the mall, it's INSANE. The new Accra Mall was opened the second week of our stay here and with its slick tile floors and air conditioning, it could be mistaken for any mall in America. There's a Mr. Price, which is like Forever 21, and designer stores that sell Gucci, Dolce, Guess and Luis Vuitton. There's a place called "Game" that reminds me of BiMart. They have a food court and rumor is, they're installing a movie theatre. If that's not globalization, I don't know what is.

5. Free range chicken will never mean the same to me after being here. Sure, I'll buy it back in the states but I'll do so knowing that 'free range' means running around in someone's back yard whereas here, all chickens are free to rome the streets, pecking at discarded corn cobs and other things that might not be so appetizing. Baby chickens often follow their mother, plopping down into gutters when they aren't full of rain water looking for treasure. I don't know how the process of determining chicken ownership (or that of goats and cows, for that matter, because they roam just as freely) works, but I imagine that people just might decide they're hungry and catch a chicken in the street. It'd be that easy. If you did, though, and it wasn't your chicken you'd be in serious trouble, because here, theft is a serious offense and I wouldn't put it past Ghanians to chop a robber's fingers off.

6. There are two beers that matter here: Star and Club. Early on, you must decide whether you're on team Star (owned by Guiness, who also sponsors the Black Stars) or on team Club (supposedly the only real Ghanaian brew). As most of you know, I don't particularly care for beer but most of the obronis here hopped on team Star. For those less than excited about beer, you can buy small packets of gin and brandy. The idea is to rip the corner off the packet with your teeth and drink the thing, though I suspect it's slightly more than a shot.

7. There will never be a better bartender than Michael, our 14-year-old main man from Wazzu who always pours a little more than we paid for and always charges a little less than what his father.

8. Children will never tire of having their picture taken, so long as they can see it on the display screen after you've taken it. They squeal in delight and dare each other to make funny faces for the next shot.

9. Driving here is like putting your life on the line. Every day, your fate lies with tro tro and taxi drivers as they dart and weave through any open space in the bumper-to-bumper traffic.

10. If you ever come to Africa, bring a lot of Immodium. I won't go into details, but I think you get the idea.