a smiley smiley thing.

I have finally sorted out this internet thing here in Ghana, and expect to be able to post semi-regularly. The below post was meant to be published on monday May 20th but was interrupted by a power-outage. It's finally up now. 

Also check out the "Welcome to Sandema" post just below. 

If us SmileySmileys (aka 'SmalleySmalleys, meaning white people) weren't crazy enough already, our african sisters in our house have just witnessed my roommate Katie and I roaming our backyard for the better part of an hour searching for phone service and an internet connection. I'm fairly certain they didn't know what to do with us when we borrowed lawn chairs from the front room and toted our computers around, giddy at the thought of finding enough bars to establish an internet connection. Of course they didn't realize we'd already searched the house, and the roof for an internet connection. The yard is our last resort. This is Africa, or TIA, is what us SmileySmileys like to say when things go this way. We've already spent an adventure-filled 3 days in Sandema and had our first official day on the job today. 

I have begun navigating the language barrier of communicating in English. I speak too fast they say, and they pronounce words very differently from how I do, but re-learning how to communicate in my native tongue may not be easy. After hearing me introduce myself to a colleague, my supervisor confessed he needed to confirm my name. "Oh it's Brittany?" he asked, showing me my phone number in his cellphone contact list. "I thought it was this." I literally had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing when I saw he'd written my name as 'Brainy'. 

"Keep it." I told him. "It makes me look smart." 

This same supervisor, Maxwell, invited me to accompany him to a funeral on Saturday. It was an exciting opportunity to meet many of the respected individuals from Sandema I may work with over my time here. As we were leaving the funeral three men said something to Maxwell in Buli. He laughed, grabbed my hand, and we started walking away. (I am, for the record, also attempting to adjust to hand-holding being acceptable between anyone and everyone and not meaning anything) 

"Did you understood what they said back there?" Maxwell asked me. 

"I understood well enough." I replied. "Are they offering many cows?" At this Maxwell went into hysterical laughter and we began to retrace our steps. As soon as we were close enough he shouted to the men. 

"How many cows will you offer? She wants to know!" The men too, began to laugh, and one approached me. 

"How many cows are you asking for?" He questioned. I smiled. I know the fair price for a bride is around 10 cows. 

"Oh well, I thought at least 200 would be fair." 

"200!" He shouted. "Fair?" 

"Minimum." I replied back. And soon enough there were ten men circled around me, engaged in a bidding war, for how many cows they would offer. I haven't yet, accepted any of these proposals. However, I have bumped into at least one of these men in town and he complained about how high my bride pice is and lamented that he may not be able to find the money. I told him my father is the one he should talk to, but that he is very picky. 

Maxwell later questioned me about how I knew men were expected to offer cows, clearly impressed I would play their game. I simply chuckled at how easy it is to play. Most of the men don't actually want to marry the crazy white girl. 

And it's just another day navigating Africa and getting ready for my internship to start.