FAQs

How many volunteers are in Ghana?

About 160, all over the country.

Do you live with another volunteer?

No. We all live alone at our sites unless we’re a married couple (which I am not…SURPRISE!). The closest volunteer is about 20 km from me (as the crow flies), or an hour(ish)* by public transit.

*There is no actual reliable public transit, an hour(ish) means roughly anywhere from one to four hours.

Do you live in a mud hut?

Unfortunately not. I live in a 2-room cement building in a compound with another teacher. I have electricity (MOST of the time) and used to have running water. Those days of luxury are over – the water pump broke, the school has no money to fix it, so for the foreseeable future I’ll rely on the borehole on the school campus like everyone else. Minuses: back to the bucket bath, my toilet no longer flushes. Pluses: FINALLY an excuse to really practice balancing things on my head…and……no, that’s about it for pluses.

Are you going to steal a child?

I’m going to call forth all the powers that lie within me to try.

Do you ever feel unsafe?

Not at all. I’ve been stolen from once, and it was a small boy sneaking into my house to steal crystal light packets while I was in the other room. He was caught, all packets were returned to owner and promptly consumed.

If you stay in the sun of equatorial Africa long enough will all your freckles meld together and you’ll turn black?

A note to the wise…never ask me this question again.

Are Ghanaians amazed at your red hair?

Not at all. They think it’s brown. I’m going to write a blog about my first-ever experience as a brunette later. But to summarize my semi-scientific analysis: redheads DO have more fun.

Do you get sick a lot?

I’m pretty much in a constant state of sickness. With that said, I have yet to get anything remotely serious beyond a fever of 101 every now and then. My body prefers to take the long and steady route, and while it might take 5 full years for my digestive tract to regularize again, I have no complaints. Of course there are currently outbreaks of both Cholera and Anthrax in Upper East so…we’re gonna move on before I jinx myself.

What do you miss the most about America?

Is that a serious question? The food obviously. Oh….I mean….my friends and family.

Are you fluent in Sign Language now? Do Ghanaians use a different type of sign language?

I’m conversational in ASL. I can communicate well enough to teach a class using a lot of other visual cues, but I think it’ll take me years before I really feel like I’m fluent. Ghanaian sign language is essentially the same as the ASL from the 1980’s (read: the ASL before Americans realized some of the signs were politically incorrect and changed them. I still feel weird when I use the sign for Japanese. Luckily that particular word doesn’t come up much over here). Of course, there are subtle differences and some new vocabulary (weirdly enough the American Sign Language dictionary doesn’t have a sign for “fufu”), but I’m sure a deaf Ghanaian and a deaf American could understand each other without too much trouble.

What are you working on right now?

A couple projects, all of which I’m VERY excited about

  • Looking for funding to create a Post Junior High School vocational department at my school. This will allow even students who fail the national senior high school entrance exams to continue their education and learn a practical trade. I just need $20,000 more, so if you find it growing on the trees over there or something, feel free to send it my way!
  • Hosting a Leadership Camp for the deaf at the end of the month with 6 other volunteers. Every other deaf ed volunteer will be bringing 4 students and a teacher from their schools up to the Upper East for 5 days of the best camp ever. It’s a ton of work but I have no doubt it’ll probably be the best thing I do with my service.
  • Running an after school vocational club. Right now my students are sewing and basket weaving. We’re hoping to jump-start the bead making in the next week or two.
  • Working on an IFPRI study (International Food Policy Research Institute) – they work closely with the Ghanaian government to consult on agricultural policy. They’ve asked PCVs to help out by doing weekly interviews with a farmer from their village for the duration of the farming season and sending in reports so IFPRI can better understand the decisions farmers are making at the grassroots level. The farmer I interview is name Buzong Kennedy Sandoog and he’s awesome.
  • Hopefully planting some fruit-bearing trees around the school campus to create an internal income source
  • Planning out the logistics of fleeing the country with one or several Ghanaian children (“nuggets”) in tow

What’s the most frustrating part of service?

The transportation. No, no, no, the fact that it usually takes 4 weeks, 15 cancellations and uncountable hours of waiting for someone to actually have a meeting with you… no wait! Probably the heat. But then there’s also the aggressive men who don’t take any female seriously and propose constantly despite assertive claims that she’s already married (ok, I know I told you earlier that I wasn’t, but work with me here alright? I’ve been working a year to convince these guys and I trust you won’t blow my cover). Being called WHITE PERSON everywhere I go and always being the center of attention? No, the lack of volume control on anything that makes noise. Oh man, I can’t decide. Point is, there are a LOT of really frustrating things about service. That’s what makes the awesome parts (see list above) so damn awesome.

Is everyone a really good dancer? Are you becoming a better dancer because of it?

Yes everyone’s a really good dancer. And I’ve ALWAYS been a really good dancer and resent anyone who says otherwise. Mary’s embedded those skills in my DNA. Ok, but yeah, maybe Ghanaian’s have taught me a thing or two.

Do PCV’s ever date locals?

All.the.time. In fact many get married to locals- we have a PCV-Ghanaian wedding this month, a PCV with a Ghanaian child already, and another recent engagement announcement. You’d be surprised. Will I? No… I’m married, remember? Unless of course a prince comes along and then all bets are off.

What’s the weirdest thing you’ve eaten?

The other day I helped one of my students, Sumaila, catch hundreds of flying termites after the rains. I thought we were just catching them because they were everywhere and it was annoying (literally, there were so many that if you walked outside all you could hear was a loud hum from the beating of all their wings). Turns out fried termites are delicious with a little peppe, groundnut powder and salt! Also, I tried dog (and it was delicious). I’m sorry America, you might hate me now but you’ll forgive me when I bring you African NUGGETS!

Leadership Camp for the Deaf!

Help me host a Leadership Camp for the Deaf this summer! We will be training deaf JHS students from all over the country leadership and confidence building to help them create a nationwide community and advocate for their rights in Ghana!

You can make donations here:
https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=donate.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=641-321

Every donation helps, no matter how small! I get a full list of donors and can assure you, you’ll be thanked and appreciated for your help!

A Tale of Two Homes

As many of you know, I took a 2 week vacation back to MA for my good friend’s wedding (Congrats Laura and Vinny!!!!). I desperately wanted to write this blog detailing my reunion with cheese, but then I realized most of you are in the modern world and might not be interested… so, for YOU, I changed my mind. And I want to thank everyone who made my trip home so AWESOME. AS much as I talk about all the food I ate, it was really the people that made it worthwhile, so thank you! So here it goes….

I don’t think I’ll ever get used to being a visitor in my own home. Does anyone? I guess I have been for a couple years now- spending most of my time at school or in various apartments, instead of the house in which I was raised. None of my previous “visits,” however, came after a full year away in a place so starkly different from Acton, Massachusetts as Gbeogo, Ghana. So of course, when I was making my SECOND attempt to return to the States, (my first flight was cancelled) I was expecting to come home feeling like a stranger. I was preparing myself for paralyzing culture-shock, and an overwhelming sense of alienation.

So what was different about this visit, you may ask? Well…to be honest, not much. YES the first time I ate my first bite of a new American dish was exquisite, but by the third bite I’d already forgotten how visceral my year-long cravings were. YES my first time back behind the wheel was exhilarating, but by the third gear-shift I felt like I’d never left the road. The speed at which I adjusted back to my old life calmed me, but also made me nervous. I was happy I wouldn’t have to spend any of my precious two weeks frantically searching Boston for fufu, or trying to buy all my groceries off of peoples’ heads. But at the same time, did my ability to fall seamlessly back into my pre-Peace Corps self mean I wasn’t learning anything during my time in Ghana?

Ok, ok, ok. It wasn’t ALL seamless. There were some things I never fully readjusted to in the 2 short weeks, but they were the small inconsequential things that I didn’t see as a sign of a change in my overall character. For example:

  • We wear everything so SHORT! I’m guilty of it myself, coming from a mother who once told me that she believed nothing could be too short, and frequently sang the Producer’s tune “If you got it, Flaunt it.” But after living in Ghana for a year, the site of thigh catches me off guard – and I was REALLY caught off-guard walking down the streets of Boston. I even felt myself self-consciously pulling down on dresses I used to wear confidently.
  • People use their left hands for things! At the airport on my way out of the US, I was still transferring my purse to my left hand so I could properly pass my ticket with my right…
  • The smells. I got a headache walking around the mall.
  • The food (only from my digestive system’s point of view….moving on..)

On the other hand, things I was expecting to have to readjust to came naturally to me:

  • -Hanging out with Americans ALL.THE.TIME.
  • No longer being a celebrity
  • Having luxury items again (dishwasher, washer and dryer, hot shower etc)
  • The availability of soap, toilets and toilet paper
  • Not greeting everyone I passed in the street and every new, stone-faced, commuter who entered the T
  • Being on time, and having other people be on time
  • The food (from my mouth’s point of view…and the ultimate winner)

After 2 weeks in Boston I was so comfortable that I was nervous about coming back to Ghana. Once again I was saying goodbye to the people, things and cheeses I wouldn’t see for another year, and yet, although I’d done it all before, it was harder this time. I felt myself yearning for another day, another visit, another bite. I was SHOCKED. Again (it’s a theme isn’t it?). I hadn’t anticipated feeling so bad about my return to Ghana. I loved my anonymity in America, my clothes, my friends and hey, I could put up with the stomach cramps for some more slices of extra sharp cheddar! But I also remembered a distant vision of loving my students, my projects and my friends in Ghana too. Why was I so hesitant to board that return flight (not cancelled this time, but delayed)? Was I going to feel like a stranger again in the place I’d loved so much for the past year? I was nervous.

That is…until I landed in Accra. Breaking a sweat the moment I stepped off the plane onto the tarmac, waiting an hour and half to pick up my bag, and being proposed to by my cab driver was all it took. I was back. And I was ECSTATIC to be back. I slipped back into my Ghana voice and frumpy mid-shin skirt as if I’d never left. It dawned on me that a home is called “home” for a reason – it’s ALWAYS easy to come back to. So no, the ease with which I returned to America wasn’t a sign that I hadn’t learned anything from Ghana, I was just going home. And upon coming back to Ghana I learned that it’d become a home for me as well. A little dustier (perhaps), a little hotter (definitely), but a home nonetheless.

So was it great being in America again? Pfft, of course! Does it feel great being back in Ghana? Well… doesn’t it always feel nice to come home?

p.s. a full inventory of the cheeses I ate will be available on individual request.

Thank You!!!!

THANK YOU to everyone who donated to my grant! I’m happy to say the project has begun, and was funded so quickly that some interested people weren’t even able to give! This coming week I’ll be working with the school carpenter to start the classroom renovations. This term is nearly finished, so renovations should be complete by the start of next term and we’ll begin our club then! I’m also really really excited to announce that we’ve now received official permission from the District Office of Education to transform this Vocational Club into a full-fledged Vocational department within the next year. This essentially means that the department will be recognized by the federal government, thus the school will be awarded extra funding for it and will be given the necessary permanent staff to keep the department running. This couldn’t be better news for me, the project, or the school, because it means it will continue after I leave! It also means that once the official department is registered, the students at my school will have another Post-JHS option, since it will be open to post-JHS students regardless of whether or not they pass their SHS entrance exams (which almost none do – no one from my school has since 2009).

So that’s where my project stands. The rest of my life is slightly more difficult. We’re now in the middle of hot season, which is……well……hot. Really hot. For example, I’m currently sitting in my computer lab with a student who I’d promised to let use the computers this afternoon. In order to get here he had to knock relentlessly on my door to get me off the floor, where I was lying under the fan with a soaked piece of cloth covering my entire body. My cat was in his usual place in the fridge and refused to get out when I opened it for a fresh bottle of water (he’s still in there…spoiled brat).

BIggie in his usual position


I attempted to follow the student up to the computer lab, but his pace quickly overtook mine and I was left in the (literal) dust. So, 2 more minutes of walking (dragging…or, what do sloths do? I was doing that) later, I arrived where I am now, exhausted, with a completely empty water bottle and a dry, panting mouth. I can’t think about the 2 minute walk back down to my house yet. It might actually be a one minute walk. Either way, it’s too far.

What else? I’ve been basket weaving with my students after school. And by that I mean I’ve been sitting with my students while they weave baskets. I try sometimes and we all have a good laugh and then they take out what I did when they think I’m not looking. Turns out basket weaving isn’t my strong suit. It’s been fun though, and is incredibly labor intensive. First you take the straw and rip it in half, almost all the way. Then you take the halved pieces of straw and spin them on your thigh until they are like double helixes (this is the part I REALLY can’t get). Then you take the double helixes and dye them different colors. And then ONLY then do you unravel them and begin to weave your basket. Once the club gets up and running this will be a more official activity – along with glass bead-making and tailoring – but for now it’s really informal.

I also held a cultural day at my school right after Ghanaian Independence Day (March 6th, for all you IGNORANT folk who don’t know Ghanaian Independence Day). Kids did their local dances, while others drummed and honestly, when they dance you’d have no idea they’re deaf. I, of course, did my usual mom-dance stint which made them laugh but also probably reinforced the stereotype that Americans can’t dance. My friend Melissa then fire danced for them (yes….my friend Melissa can fire dance. I’m learning, don’t worry, but I’m about as good as I am at basket weaving). I’ve never seen my students so excited. They made her do the whole routine twice and then pounced on her with hugs after the second round. Then they asked when I was going to do it and I had to explain that not every American knows how to dance with fire. In fact, very FEW Americans know how to dance with fire. I’m still not sure I got the point across because they still ask me about it. Really, though, I take it as a compliment, they must have really liked my mom dancing.

My student, Monday, showing off his traditional dancing skills


This was longer than I intended it to be, but THANK YOU again to everyone who has supported me. You’ll be receiving something in the mail someday in the future (hopefully soon, but you never know with Ghana)!

GO BRUINS!

A Day in the Life

Of me, if that’s not already clear.

5:30– I wake up to the sound of sweeping, roosters and radios on full volume. On a good day, I get up and go for a jog, listening to a playlist that is predominantly Ke$ha (i dare you to judge me), and watch the sunrise over African savanna. On a bad day I stay in bed, think nasty thoughts about my neighbor’s radio, and throw pillows at my meowing cat’s head until 6:30.

6:30– At this point I put on some water for oats and coffee (if i have electricity that day…i don’t right now), and probably do the dishes I failed to do the night before. Sometime during this portion of my morning, Sumaila, a p5 student, will come knocking on my door and remind me, as he reminds me every day, to put my bowls in the kitchen so he can get me school lunch at 2. I’ll tell him, as I tell him every day, that the bowls are already there, and yes, I am going to teach p5 today. We part ways.

7:30– After I am cleaned, dressed, fed and caffeinated, I will make my way up to the school classrooms (about a 500 yard walk from my house in the teachers’ quarters). The students will all be lined up in rows according to their classes for morning assembly. This is the time to make any necessary announcements, and also when the students sign the national anthem and morning prayers. I enjoy watching the small ones the most because:

  1. they’re small and therefore cute 
  2. they don’t know sign language very well yet, so usually during the anthem just repeat the same sign over and over again and pretend they’re following along.

Once assembly is over the students MARCH in their lines to their classrooms. Again, I watch the small ones.

8:00 – First period begins. Let’s say this is a Wednesday, and I’m teaching my P5 ICT class. When I enter the class every student stands to great me “Goodmorninghowareyoufine” and we begin. Sign language is very good for some things – story telling, descriptions etc. Sign language is not very good for other things – like teaching ICT for example. I will begin my lesson using the small sign vocabulary there is for ICT-related words, sometimes making up my own signs for things like “hard drive” and sometimes just relying on the written form. Some students understand, some students dont but nod their head anyways, some students are signing to someone outside the window. Yes, the class is quiet, but MAN it’s still distracting when they try to sign over you. Dependable Sumaila sits tall in the back row, diligently copying down everything I write in his wobbly handwriting. Three students will come in late and I will scold them and they won’t care. Finally, I’ll tell the students that it’s Group 1’s turn in the ICT lab and the 10 group one members will peel off with me and enter the lab. I have printed out and laminated paper keyboards that I hand to the rest of the students with the intention they work on their typing even though we both know that won’t happen.

    side note: our computer lab used to be a tiny room with one working computer. It is now a tiny room with FIVE working computers thanks to my parents and sister-in-law donating old laptops and fellow PCV Travis taking the time to come help me set them up! Thank you guys for your help and donations, it’s made such a difference to have more computers! If anyone reading this also has an old laptop they’d like to donate to our school please contact me (via an email or comment).

Anyways, I have all my classes broken up into groups of 10 so they can fit in the lab. They will take turns doing whatever assignment I’ve made for the day, pertaining to whatever lesson I did on the board. Sometimes typing their names, using the shift key, saving and re-opening documents, or their favorite, making a Ghana flag in paint.

9:00 – breakfast time! Students head down to the kitchen for some cocoa porridge and the teachers gather under the mango tree. We discuss everything from politics, to American culture, to sick students, to whether or not deep massaging a breast will make it grow, to “church services” (ie eating dog), to the recent news from Bawku (a region about 50 Km from me that is currently undergoing tribal violence over the chieftancy). Don’t loose sleep over it, Peace Corps doesn’t let us get within a 30 km radius of the area.

9:30-12:00 – classes continue (or don’t as the case often is). Teachers not in class remain under the mango tree or make various trips to town. On Tuesdays and Thursdays I’ll teach ASL to the teachers, in addition to my other classes, which usually ends up being one of the highlights of my day.

 
12:00 – I’m not scheduled to teach my p4 art class until 1, but upon passing the room I notice half the class is sleeping on their desks and the other half are playing with the paper airplanes we made last week. I decide this is the moment. It takes about 15 minutes to wake everyone up (with very hard and painful looking hits to the head!) and collect the other ones who figured the school day was over and went back to the dorms. I’m feeling nostalgic today, so we talk about snow.This involves me acting a lot of things out, like shoveling, and walking and penguins. I look like a fool, the children laugh and everyone has a grand old time. I pass around some pictures of snow and then the questions start.

  • “me travel america die? (Translated: If I go to america will i die?)”
  • “someone tell me women old cold die! (I hear the cold kills old women!)”
  • “Me clothes more more more, ok? (if I wear a lot of clothes will I be ok?)”

The translations aren’t meant to make my students seem stupid – they aren’t (well…most aren’t) – it’s just proper ASL grammar vs. English grammar I’m using. People (including myself) forget that English really is a second language to the deaf, and tend to judge them when their grammar isn’t correct. Well, it IS correct in their first language – ASL. Essentially every class these kids take is a bilingual class, because nearly every teacher has to rely on writing on the board (in proper English) when their signing isn’t good enough (or when their signing is non-existent, which is an unfortunate occurrence at schools for the deaf in Ghana, see: my teacher ASL classes, above). These kids are dealing with a lot more struggles than initially meets the eye (and they’re not lacking in those either), and I’m learning to appreciate how strong and motivated they really are.

Back to my day… Finally, we talk about how snowflakes are all different and unique, and I hand out paper to have them each make their own. I leave class to 47 paper snowflakes being thrown in the air and realize the students think snowflakes are actually the size of paper….. something for next class.

2:00 – school is “over” although it’s likely there haven’t actually been any classes for a while. The students head to the dining hall for lunch, and I sweat my way to my house because at this point it’s too hot for me to think about anything but being stationary and horizontal on my cement floor under a fan (again, if there’s electricity). Sumaila brings me some school food for lunch (not great, but FREE!).

3 – 5 – Any range of activities including : laundry, sweeping my house for the 4th time that day, cleaning the mess my cats made, biking into my village for food or cellphone credit, working on Peace Corps grants/reports/stuff, writing more lesson plans, wiping the dust that layered itself on all my furniture in the few hours I was gone, hanging out with my teachers’ kids,wandering the campus and having students try to teach me the Azonto (a dance, look it up on youtube, it won’t let me post the video i have), going to America on the back of Agana’s motorbike, declining another marriage proposal, watching a football match with students crowded around one small tv the school owns, or remaining horizontal on my cement floor and sweating. This is also a time when the side of my house creates a nice shadow from the sun and turns into prime play territory for a lot of younger students. I’ve gotten quite used to the noises made by my deaf students, but when I have visitors it often catches them off-guard. It’s adorable and I prefer them to the jarring noise of a guinea fowl any day (if the students don’t play the guinea fowl take over the shade and like to be very vocal. I think the reason I like their meat more than a chicken’s primarily has to do with the fact that I feel like I’m getting my revenge…)

5:30 – DINNER TIME! Students head to the dining hall for dinner. I sometimes visit them, sometimes stay in my house and concoct some sort of meal out of whatever i have at the moment. It often involves lots of tomatoes, onions and starch, although I’ve gotten pretty good a mimicking mac and cheese using powdered milk.Peace Corps gives me pre-natal vitamins to fill in the nutritional gaps, don’t worry.

7:00 – Students return to classrooms for night studying. This time is intended for them to do their homework, but because they almost never are assigned homework usually just turns into a play time. I’ve found this is one of my favorite times to wander around and encourage them to take out their notebooks and answer the random questions they ask. Or, again, have them try to teach me how to dance (they’re just SO GOOD). If I don’t go up to the classes and hang out with the students I’m usually found in my house reading (or if it’s a night like last night, I fall asleep at 7:15 with my book open to the first page…)

9:00 – Night classes end, although many of the children have been sleeping at their desks since 7:01. If I chose to hang out with the kids that night, I’ll also head to bed and promptly pass out in a puddle of sweat.

And that, my friends, is my weekday in a nutshell!

This post is in response to a request. If there’s something specific you’d like to hear about, let me know!

On Parenting…or not, as the case may be

Ok, well, a lot of things in Ghana have told me I’m not (do you hear that Ghanaian men? I’m NOT) ready to have children. This country is one of the most fertile I’ve ever seen. There are baby everythings everywhere – children, goats, puppies, guinea fowl chicks (not cute), piglets, calves, dinosaurs, sheep, donkeys….. everything.  Ugh FINE, dinosaurs don’t exist anymore, but chickens are SO MUCH funnier when you think of them as mini Velociraptors so that’s what we’re going to do.
This country is in a constant state of renewal and rebirth. It is a shining beacon of the natural cycle of life, which, unfortuantely, also involves death.
As all of you know, my cat had six kittens. As some of you know, the kittens are now five. As is common with large litters, one of the kittens succombed to the cycle of life a little early. Now, this was extremely difficult for me.  As a general rule, tiny things should not die. Especially not if they’re tiny AND fluffy. An animal’s death is significantly more tragic if that animal was tiny and fluffy. You might try to disagree with me, but I don’t make the rules, so don’t bother.

Exhibit A: Tiny and FluffyExhibit A: Tiny and Fluffy. Don’t worry, this is not the deceased, just a semi-scientific size reference for you

Anyway, as I said, i struggled a lot during the hours and hours of sickness my kitten endured, and it got me thinking about how impossibly hard it must be to have a young child who is sick. How mothers and fathers must ache for their children. I mean, I knew this cat for about 2 weeks. It couldn’t talk. It didn’t love me back. It wasn’t part of me or the life I’d planned for myself. It was just fluffy and tiny. He looked up at me with pleading eyes, he mewed these pitiful, weak mews, and I was completely devastated and completely useless (don’t worry, I’m over it now, although you can still send me condolance chocolate in the mail).
In a small way (I don’t mean to say my experience was anything like a parent watching his/her child become ill), it showed me it’s almost harder to be the one watching the sick than to be the sick themselves. Espcially in the case of parents. Especially in the case of my parents, who had to endure my moaning and groaning assertions and this time the sickness WAS actually fatal and I was going to verbalize my suffering until the very end. No, it wasn’t just a sore throat, it was a flesh-eating bacteria that was making its way to my heart. You might think that’s just a headache, but I know for a fact that it’s a tumor, I read it on WebMD. No, Mom, I don’t think you’ll truly understand how painful my earache is unless I tell you about it at five minute intervals for the next two days. Please sit with me again as I watch “Dunstin Check’s In” for the third time today, I need someone to hear me complain.
Every time I got sick (with a fatal illness, inevitably) I would melt into a feverish pile of self-pity, completely unaware that it SUCKED for my parents to watch me sick. Not just because i was unbearably obnoxious (still am), but because it’s insanely difficult to watch someone (or something) you love (that is tiny and fluffy) in pain. Maybe they needed someone rubbing their backs, too.
Yes, yes yes, i know, that’s pretty obvious. It’s something I’ve been aware of my entire life, but hadn’t been fully conscious of until now. Kind of like when I realized that the fact that my parents were 30 when they had me meant they ACTUALLY had 30 years of real, living and breathing life before I was born (it’s true, ask them). Peace corps is good for realizations like that. Something about the long hours sitting and waiting for various distings leads to strange meditations. And something about blogging makes you think random thoughts are supposed to be public.  So, in summary:

  • Thanks, Mom and Dad. I have yet another newfound appreciation for you and the strength it takes to be a good parent.
  • Based on my reaction to a sick kitten, I am even more convinced, despite the compelling arguments of Ghanaian men, that I am NOT ready for children.
  • Fluffy, tiny things should live forever, or at least until they are no longer fluffy and tiny.
  • Chickens are dinosaurs.

Note: between the time of me writing this and posting it, I learned that my dear 15 year-old Abby cat had to be put to sleep. There seems to be a theme in my life right now….anyway I hope she is eating mice to her fat little heart’s content up in kitty heaven. It was almost as if life sent me the kitten as a test-run for Abby, and I dare say I’m handling it pretty well, given the fact that I’m me. I’m just happy to know she left this world peacefully, sprawled out on a sheep’s skin with two people petting her, instead of the way this kitten did.  And I swear my next post will be about Ghana and not cats……i swear……