There is an inevitable part of traveling that is never easy. When you place yourself so far from everything you know and love, everything that is 'normal' and comfortable, and the bizarre world comes pounding down all around you, there comes a time when you simply have to break. These periodic break downs are as much a part of traveling as getting on the plane.
I think the most personally striking part of this Ghana experience, witnessing my peer's breakdowns or having communal ones as we often did really help put into perspective just how far I've come since that time I was 17 and insanely decided I was going to go live in rural China by myself and attempt to teach thousands of children English.
Like Jamie who went out and bought a machete after some children and old women decided they would throw rocks at him while he slept so he could wake up and be their friend. (No one got hurt, he just released some tension on some trees). Michael Jackson and Disney sing-alongs inside a flooding tro tro while the police try to arrest our driver. Erica's tears thinking about granola and Lou Manatti pizza that spurred her to turn around and say to a few dozen children bothering us in Poano: "Have you ever wanted something so bad it made you sad??" I looked at her, laughed and said: "Did you really just look at a group of really really poor African children and asked them if they've ever wanted something so bad while talking about $40 pizza?? Oh I don't know...shoes, a guaranteed next meal, clean water perhaps?"
There are plenty more of these, and as insane as they may sound, it's just the reality of traveling. I remember many the nights that I cried for a salad in China and how every other weekend I packed planning to come home. And just how many days I seriously contemplated the killing of a few children (There were so many, really, I bet you they wouldn't have even noticed).
There comes a point when you wish you had an off button for the world around you- when you want to see what's familiar, who and what you love, to stop the constant headache caused by a world speaking around you (and about you) without you being able to understand, when it simply all comes breaking down. And it comes often. Sometimes unexpectedly, a certain event triggers it (some group of men touching your breast and laughing hysterically at the fact that you get mad*, or some jerk blocking your way, putting his cameraphone in your face and laughing with his friends when all you're trying to do is get on a damn tro tro and home before rush hour). Sometimes it brews over days, little things piling up until you just can't anymore.
The title of this post has a special meaning. About three months into my China fiasco I had decided I was coming home. Friday was my terrible day with back to back classes of 45 fourth-graders each determined to make me quit. Seriously, it was translated to me by some other staff, 25 of these children had made it their absolute mission to make me mad and have me leave. They were upset their row didn't win the candy game the first class, and every week they held the grudge. And no yelling from the headmistress or disciplinary action was going to make them stop. Children can be truly evil. I was done. I had typed my resignation letter, I had looked up the next flight on Sunday getting home and arranged a way to get Hong Kong. I was preparing my Saturday morning classes, my absolute favorite students at the middle school, I knew I couldn't leave without saying goodbye to them. I was in search for things to "sell" for an "act a commercial" activity, and at the bottom of an old moldy box of papers in the back of my office I found Dr. Seuss' book, Oh, The Places You'll Go! I'd never read it before. And at that moment at midnight alone in my office I did, and man did I cry, and because of it decided I would stay. Those children might have wanted me to quit, but goddamn it they learned. (In fact, according to the headmistress, I was the best teacher they've had. Those kids came around by the end of that semester).
I don't know how that book got there, English books are highly regulated and many prohibited from entering China. But ever since, that book has become an integral part of my travels or just existence. I've read it so much, I can actually recite it. When at home, that same copy I found in China sits on my desk, and I take it anywhere I go. It's a mixture of that, prayer, meditation, journaling and an iPod that I find the recipe to dealing with every breakdown Africa or anything or anyone else in the world, throws at me.
A few days ago, I had what I think has been my worst moment so far in Ghana. It all just came tumbling down. After a morning squished amidst a crowd watching the enstoolment of the gong gong chief of Bamvim. People all around grabbing and laughing at me, the sound of screaming Dagbani, singing and crying children, ten different drum groups each playing separate things and crowding around me asking for money, the smell of sweat and kola nuts (a truly disgusting smell) , the spitting of these nuts all around, I thought I'd never get out. And I did, only to be followed by my arrival at a new village, Kpanvo, four mice came to greet me as I laid on my mat in my hut, only rain water available to bath in, no privacy, no way to lock it all out, no electricity to connect an iPod to life and tune out the crying babies, the goats, the laughter of people at your mere site. A group of people trying to convert me right after an old man continued to yell at me, entirely furious with me for not having children. He was just enraged that I had not given birth and demanded I divorce immediately so he could impregnate me.** I laid there on my mat under a very loud zinc roof during a thunderstorm, stomach grumbling, praying with all I could that I wouldn't get diarrhea when there is nothing but a field, and a terrible storm. I sat there and simply said to myself: I can't do this.
The next day became one of the few times in my traveling experience that I left someplace early. Logistically, it made sense, upon my arrival in Kpanvo I learned the advocacy group I was coming to work with no longer existed, so I really didn't have much reason to stay. And the next morning I met with over 30 farmers and their families, and got all the info I could. But really I just couldn't stay there and maintain my sanity.
If the morning after a breakdown I'm still not feeling better, that's a clear mental sign I need to get out. A few hours of break and I was able to regain some of my sanity. But before I knew it, I had to be out again (the clock is ticking, just a few more days left to finish a lot). I found myself back in Bamvim with the newly outdoored gong gong chief whose ceremony I was at the day before. I moved into his palace with his six wives and 42 children.*** And man has that been an experience! Once again, no words.
Being with these six women, I've discovered that female animosity transcends all languages. There is some serious rivalry between these women. And one never wants to be in the way of an angry woman. (That's true no matter where in the world you are). I just greet them all, eat everything they give me, and under no circumstance do anything that may be perceived as picking a favorite...easier said than done. But really, it's been pretty awesome. Minus all the children. I really hate children. This is not exactly my ideal place, so much going on, but as Dr. Seuss says: "When things start to happen, don't worry. Don't stew. Just go right along. You'll start happening too".
*As much as I can understand the expected cultural silence of women. There is a big difference between understanding and accepting. Avoiding unwanted harassment was definitely on my list of reasons for choosing the North for my ISP. Certainly not the main reason, far from it, but it's a pro. Muslims might have all kinds of issues when it comes to how they treat women, but you can rest assure no one is going to touch you. That's always refreshing.
** When it comes to marriage proposals from men I'll have to deal with again, it's a lot easier to simply say you're already married. If it's some random guy on the street, it's easier to ignore or just go the humor route: "Well you're number 16 this week, after I marry the first 15, you're next!"
***Apparently the rules of Islam can be bent if you have a high enough title, who needs to follow that four-wife limit?
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