Welcome to Sandema

This post was written on May 17th. 

My thermometer tells me it is 40 degrees in the shade but all I know is I've drank nearly three litres of water today and still have yet to pee any of it out. Instead every surface of my body is covered in one, immensely thick coat of sweat, so that every time I move a little more drips off my nose or pools in the creases of my elbows. I am sweating much more than I ever have before. 

The contents of my first aid kit are strewn around me, and I attempting to jimmy-rig the sole electrical outlet in the room to keep power pulsing through the fan for more than 5 second increments. It takes me many cycles of electricity-on-fan-on-electricity-off to discover not only does the electrical outlet only work when perfectly poised, but that the fan doesn't work at all. I switch to trying to get the fridge running, and start duct taping the outlet to keep it running. As I'm putting the finishing touches on my duct tape creation I hear my name being bellowed from a front room somewhere. 

I make my way down the hall to a see a man I have never met before shouting my name. 'Bridgany. Bridgany!' He calls. Finally I am close enough that he sees me. 'Uh huh.' he says. After we shake hands, the man and the woman accompanying him, simply stare at me. "I'm Brittany." I say, stating the obvious. They nod but make no move to introduce themselves, though I have no idea who they might be. 

"How long have you been in this house?" The man says in a way that sounds accusatory but I know is not. 

"I just arrived." 

He smiles,  "From Canada." he says "Welcome to Ghana. I'm here to see Pastor." 

The man finds pastor and I return to my room. On the way feel the familiar snap as my flipflop breaks beyond repair. I pull out my first aid kit and start digging for a way to make a temporary fix, getting lost in thought as I do. 

It's friday afternoon. I have just traveled from Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso to Sandema, Ghana. On the way I detoured to Temiele, accompanied by a Dutch man I met at the bus station, to see the famous houses there. Our on-the-fly sightseeing arrangements are the kind best made in Burkina and the 2 hour detour went seamlessly - filling time before I needed to cross the border to make the 2:00 bus and adding another fun adventure to my Burkina travelogues. 

Just before the border my taxi driver warned me not to make conversation with the border officials. Though I promised to follow his advice I somehow found myself in a discussion with the senior officer about my thesis. Regretting this immediately, and fearful he would suddenly tell me I wasn't allowed in the country, I tried to figure out how we'd got on this topic of conversation. "Do you think there is child labour in Sandema?" he asked me. "I've never been there, I'd have no way of knowing." I replied back, praying this was the right response. He nodded, and moments later I was on my way.

The 2:00 bus was not a bus at all, but a trotro - a van that's usually filled past to capacity and that drives to the smaller towns. It was market day in Sandema, so there were a lot of people going. I got to ride shot gun, which was especially interesting on this trip. I had the clearest view of the moment when our vehicle clipped a moto on the road beside us, and the moment right following, when the driver decided to drive faster instead of stopping. Fortunately the moto driver was fine, and we all made it to Sandema in one piece. 

From there my supervisor Maxwell picked me up and brought me to where I'll be staying: Pastor's House. It's a hike into town from here, but Maxwell promised to bring me a bicycle in the morning. He also introduced me to some British girls staying a little ways down the road and immediately they invited me for dinner. Someone will pick me up, Maxwell tells me, for now I should go home and get settled. 

There's a knock at my door, interrupting my thoughts, and I scramble to answer. There is a woman I haven't met before standing with Maxwell's 5 year old daughter. She smiles at me but says nothing. "I'm Brittany." I say, again stating the obvious. This time though, she gives her name, and soon we're on the back of her moto headed for dinner. As we drive down the dirt road as large bug snaps into the side of my face. I reach up to brush it away and can feel that it's several inches long with large wings. I don't look at it - it could be anything. 

As they say, This is Africa. And I've finally arrived for my three month stay in Sandema.