Bats and other such things...

Before I can delve any further into this email I must pause and relate something crucial to your understanding of my emotional state: "frenzied rush of adrenaline" being the phrase of the moment. As I type this I am saturated head to toe not in sweat, but in 'guano.' Yes, guano. I suspect I have raised many justifiable questions with such a statement, among them undoubtedly: "By 'guano' did she really mean bat fecal matter?" "How does one become saturated in guano?" and perhaps most fundamental of all, "Why in God's name is she at the 'washed in the blood of Jesus cyber cafe' instead of bathing?" (Oh the irony. Need I point it out) All good questions, and I will get to each in turn. But first I shudder to think mere bat guano has interfered with protocol.

Maha! (Good afternoon.) Wo ho te sen? (How are you?) Me hoye paaaa! (I am very good.)(Bat Dung Aside.) Yeda Nyami Ase! (We thank God.)

In Ghana, greeting is an art. Not to great before conversing is beyond uncouth, approaching a more bestial state - though I suspect my language and culture instructor may have been exaggerating a touch. However I am still taking his advice, and integrating Twi into my daily life, even my conversations with you all. (You all being a second person plural, thereby translating as 'mo.')

But back to the bats. Where to begin? I have just returned from the "Mprisi Sacred Grove Caves and Bat Colony at Buoyem." It was... more than we imagined even in our wildest dreams? Yes, that seems appropriate, for I did not imagine spending my morning slithering on my belly through narrow caves as thousands, tens of thousand? of bats swooped through the open (and I say that only a touch sarcastically) spaces, creating a general ruckus every time them became entangled in our hair. "They're fruit bats" our guide informed us, as though that somehow made them less bat-like. Their sheer number was impressive, though at one point a friend, opening his mouth to say “wow” got a mouthful of something other than amazement, so to speak. (Others got eyefuls, earfuls, and in the rare case, nosefuls.) Next week we are visiting the monkey sanctuary where, and I am not kidding, "monkeys live happily with human beings." Oh man. One can only hope. What a great morning.

Currently I am in Techiman before returning to my home stay village, Twimia Nkwanta. I thought I'd embrace the internet before returning to no electricity. Though despite not having electricity you can bet that the Muslims have a generator they fire up after dark to celebrate Ramadan with a speaker system at full volume. Usually its fine, but last night some yowling cats outside my window added to the general volume and it was a tough night. It's a good story, and then I should probably go.

So it's two am, everyone is asleep (except for the celebrants of Ramadan which is going strong), and suddenly I am awoken by what sounds like the screams of dying children just outside my window. I get up, flashlight in hand, and am astonished to discover that male cats are capable of emulating with remarkable skill, the screams of dying children. (At least they exhibit this fun skill when there is a female feline in heat on the other side of a wall.) I try in vain for the next hour to block out the love sick cats, and am reaching for my earphones when my host fathers door bangs open, and soon his grumbling in Twi begins to overpower the yowling. Suddenly, mid-yowl, I hear a snap (if you will), a strangled/muffled half-yowl, and... silence. I'll let you put two and two together. If it says anything about my cultural adaptation, I just thought, "Thank God" and fell asleep.

That about does it for time! Love you all!

Note:
I have just related a rather unique series of events, somewhat violent and dirty, but not necessarily indicative of Ghana as a whole. A better picture to leave you with is one where my host sisters are pounding fufu, a local food, and shouting help to me as I study Twi by kerosene lantern. The highlight of the evening is a goat in the garden, my mothers furious leap into the garden, the brandishing of a machete, and generally fantastic laughter following the commotion. When the rains come, little boys run around naked in the courtyard soaping themselves in order to escape a bath… and as the stars come out I realize there is very little that would improve my life.