stephanie looking up

Today was one of my favourite days since I have been in Ghana. Robert took Miki and I to his farm to harvest yam. “Today we are in the classroom,” he told us. Yes, we learned a lot. We went in the late afternoon. We walked all the way through the forest and out the other side, arriving at a great expanse of wide-open farmland, dotted by great towering trees- the leaves were glowing in the sunlight and the shadows were starting to stretch. With great pride and a terrific enthusiasm, Robert’s tour began. There on the right, Robert pointed out, was his wife’s farm of groundnuts, and here on the left was the queen mother’s farm, this one there was Mr. Jacobs farm, and this one here was his farm – could we see how the land goes as far as that big tree over there?  We stopped to see his wife’s groundnut farm. She had made the mounds already, in nice rows, and did we know how to make the mounds? Robert showed us, so that we could try planting some groundnuts ourselves at the guesthouse,

Men in Ghana. There are those who ask me to marry them; there are those who declare their love for me before even saying good morning; there are those who ask me to dance; then there those with majestic black coats and long white tails who mostly ignore me.  Everyday at  7am  I sit down to (or stand, or fantically dash around) an eight-hour episode of my favourite soap opera, revolving around the life of 10 super fine men from this latter category.  I observe as to how strong they are, how well they look after their children, and how many women they are sleeping with at once. I have a team of employees assembled for the purpose of meticulously recording this information. At least once a day I demand that my employees ‘find me another man!’.  This week there is a new category of men in these woods (or should I say man?); no long black coat, no white tail, does enjoy dancing, does love me. Without disrespecting those tailed sort, this super fine man is indeed my #1. Yes, he is final

There are many people in Ghana who I have not had a chance to tell you about. I have decided to do a short series of posts on a few of my favourite people. Today, Postman Ben. Postman Ben works at the post office, naturally, and gladly checks our post box for us every  Tuesday  when we arrive in town. Ben is extraordinarily friendly, has an extraordinary large smile, is ever determined to help us practice our twi and learn new phrases, and always welcomes us with a terrific sense of humour. On top of this, how could one ever dislike the person responsible for delivering to them joyful envelopes from home. Last week, Ben told me we weren’t friends anymore because I forgot to call Tony to tell him to pick up his mail, so Tony’s mail was still waiting in the postbox. With the straightest of straight faces, Ben said my deep heartfelt apologies were simply not enough. He even said there was mail waiting in the postbox with my name on it – mail that he saw with his very own eyes – and h

The month of September has brought rain, and quenched the thirsty land at Boabeng-Fiema. Monkeys stop for rain… but only until they get hungry again. So we watch, we watch, we watch; it rains, it stops, it pours again. We are prepared with rain ponchos of course; the rain is no problem for us.     And the good thing about rain ponchos is that if you wear your backpack it can also be kept dry. But then of course, you look like a turtle. To begin with, everything that a white person does is funny, and then it becomes especially funny if they are also looking like a turtle. This week Andy and I became a turtle duo, seen scuttling around the forest day after day.     On Saturday , we were watching monkeys by the edge of the village, and it was raining. There was loud music playing from the house near by - we couldn’t help but bop along, and when our dear friend the old lady Afia Afofi saw us form afar, she came over to join, and then of course we couldn’t help but bop with a little more v

On the afternoon of Friday September 13 th , after long hours of searching and no finding, Andy and I regretfully reported that Iron Man was missing in action. With a charisma to fill the forest - and our hearts - we sorrowfully miss this trouble-making, data-creating, and entertainment-providing small boy. This forest and your small family will not be the same without you (and your adrenaline addiction), Iron Man. We hope you rest in peace.   Iron Man  Iron Man and Villain: a duo greater than the sum of their parts.