I joked around at the beginning of this long travel-span, which started on May 16th, saying by the end of the summer I would be a new woman. The sheer amount of new experiences I was in line for were going to be challenging for a whole whack of reasons, and now that I’m a very mature 35 (i.e., so old), and that I’ve been more-or-less nomadic for 2.5 years, I honestly just wanted to stay in one place to feel more grounded, and settled. But the summer was set, and I had a lot of work to do.
My schedule was intimidating, and often caused me to lose my breath. Brian would tell me ‘it’s okay, it’s going to be hard but it’s going to be worth it’. From May 17th-28th I would help teach an exploration geology fieldschool in Norway. From May 29th- June 13th, I’d meet most of my boyfriend’s extended family in Ireland. From June 13th-21st, I’d be in Saskatchewan applying for my Ghanian visa and preparing for the long trip up north to the Yukon. From June 21st- July 9th, I’d do my second field season in the Yukon, which included two solo 36 hour roadtrips. From July 10th-16th, I’d spend a week in Calgary with my boyfriend preparing for Ghana, and organizing information collected inthe Yukon. From July 16th-20th, I’d spend a last few days in Saskatcheawn with my family. From July 21st- August 26th, I’d make the huge trip to Ghana for my first round of fieldwork. Finally, from August 27th-September 8th, I’d spend in the Burning Man Playa. From September 8th-12th, I’d make my way back to Calgary to tie up some loose ends (finger prints for a job with the Feds), and finally fly back to Cornwall on September 13th. Sweet, sweet Cornwall, England.
The problem was not just an overpacked schedule, but also an overpacked bag. I always pack too much. You’d think that after years and dozens upon dozens of flights that one would learn how to travel with a carry-on suitcase. I believe my culprit is my toiletry bag. For the love of God, my toiletry bag weights like 5 pounds, literally a third of all the weight I have. I need day cream, night cream, eye cream, nose cream, hand cream, lip cream, hair cream, and like 6 types of vitamins. I need body sunscreen, face sunscreen, hair oil, nail oil, acne treatment, wrinkle treatment , wax strips, shavers, face masks and malaria pills.
Malaria pills. The first time I visited Africa, I travelled to Botswana, and took anti-malaria medication with me. I was so weak in my legs and arms, and easily scared (as in jumpy and constantly worried) when I was in Botswana that I swear to God I thought I had developed MS (I did not, thank goodness). I even got checked out when I was home because the symptoms scared me so. So now, I’m in Ghana, and I am again on malaria pills. Today I did a half hour of easy yoga, and I could barely walk after my legs were so weak. I’m one of those unlucky few that experiences ‘weakness’. I think the pill also blesses me with an intensified social anxiety and jump response, which is not ideal in a place where you’re honked at every 2 seconds when walking down a busy street. My nerves are frayed and my legs are shaky and I’ve only been here for 5 days.
It always helps to take things with a dose of humour. Today I went on a walk for some exercise, even though it was a challenge because my legs are not the most sturdy. I was so angry at ‘men’ in general because I have been harassed a number of times at the hotel I’m staying at. When I was on the walk this afternoon, a man asked me where I was going (fair question as he could tell I’m not from here and he thought I might be lost). He told me where to go, and wished me a good day. I walked away thinking ‘thank goodness, he was just a nice man giving me some directions.’ Like three seconds after having that thought he whistled at me, which I ignored, and then he whsitled at me once more, twice more, three times more, until I finally turned around. He beckoned me towards him, and with a deep rooted sigh I went back, and was asked ‘Can I have your number?’. I was so frustrated at that point, that I lied and told him I was married, and he said that it was okay he understood, and we parted ways. There is a seed of humour in there for sure, and I need to start seeing it that way, otherwise I’ll go crazy. I hate feeling caged up in the hotel. Even in the hotel I don’t feel super comfortable sitting down at the restaurant or poolside any more. LIke really, I’m not even that good-looking over here and I’m constantly sweaty and probably look grumpy (because I am). Maybe I’ll paint on a unibrow and call myself Steve.
Between being hyper scared and weak because of the malaria-pill side effects, and constantly swatting away unwanted male attention, I’m not feeling super great about ‘putting myself out there’ and getting interviews. It looks like my methodology of going to public places and gleaning information might not work here as it did in the Yukon.
The best place I’ve been so far is called ‘My Choice Restaurant’, because it seems to be ran by women, who are amazing, and who make me laugh. Tonight I had a bowl of fufu with goat, and the broth was DIVINE. Every time I ate the meat I said ‘poor guy’ in my head, which maybe means I shouldn’t eat goat any more (poor guys). I experimented eating with my hands which was fun, but I need to be a bit more savy, because I got delicious broth all over my giant jean shirt. Even though I asked for a small serving of fufu, it was still too big for me, and the watiress said next time we’ll halve it again (it was already a half size). The meal cost me $2.50. I came back a happy girl, chalk full of mosquito bites, which may or may not be full of malaria. I guess weak leg and extreme jumpiness is a more-than-fair exchange for being malaria free.
I know my experience will only get better, and that actually so far I’ve learned a lot with the workshop I attended and the mine I visited, which will appear in another blog, after I write a fancy blog for the wonderful NGOs that hosted the event. The small-scale mine I visited was also really cool. My learnings are rich, and so is my life, even though I can’t feel my legs right now.