PERSONAL NARRATIVE OF PATRICIA HAMILTON

This story began on July 5, 1994 when I was accepted to serve in Ghana, West Africa as a United States Peace Corps Volunteer. My assigned project, or sector as it is referred to in the Peace Corps, was to establish a tree seedling nursery to provide grown saplings for countrywide distribution. The project was to be developed in conjunction with The Ghanaian Forestry Department, The United States Department of Forestry and The United States Peace Corps.

I had just finished an exhaustive and exasperating application process, which took me eleven long months. It included specific physicals and an abundance of paper work that detailed my life history. Acceptance followed and it confirmed that I had been accepted to serve in Ghana, West Africa. I was thrilled and basked in the approval. My neighbors and family immediately became fully aware of my joy and happiness. immediately became fully aware of my joy and happiness.

Instructions were included in the acceptance letter. I was to fly to Philadelphia in two weeks for a three-day Peace Corps Orientation. In the envelope was a one-way airline ticket to Philadelphia dated July 5, 1994.

In the following two weeks I was to wrap-up all personal and business matters. The request included canceling car insurance, writing a will, and giving someone power of attorney to handle home, business, banking, health decisions and legal matters. It was a very active two weeks. I went to an electronics store and bought a fax machine so that my daughter could fax me at the Ghanaian Peace Corps Office in case it became necessary to communicate in a hurry. I sold my car, put my daughter on my checking account, filed a personal power of attorney, wrote a will, made out a Health Power of Attorney and explained all my personal business matters to those who would officiate over them. I quit-claimed my home (just in case I didn’t return) and then started packing. My duffle bag became the most hostile challenge. What does a girl need in a remote part of Africa? The Peace Corps had provided a basic list to follow but, of course, everyone has their own unique requirements.

On the 4^th of July my entire family and I went to see the movie “The Lion King” at the El Capitan Theater in Hollywood. The theater is owned and operated by the Disney Corporation who cordially honored me for my pending volunteer service to my country; it was special to receive acknowledgment from the fully outfitted Disney cartoon characters. A photo shoot followed and I felt a moment of fame.

The next day my family escorted me to the Los Angeles International Airport and I set out on an adventure never to be forgotten.

At the Philadelphia Airport I spotted two young loners and found them to be volunteers too. We shared a cab to the Double Tree Hotel for our three day pre-Ghanaian orientation.. We had a lecture on medical hazards in Africa that would turn the stomachs of most. The exposure to potential medical peril was considerable. Tropical diseases we had never heard of were discussed and graphically depicted. We felt administrative eyes assessing our reaction to the vivid descriptions; our response was cold sweat and shuddering.

Most volunteers reported back on time and in safety, however, one volunteer was found in the gutter drunk on local brew. Warnings about the high alcohol content had been given, but there were those who wished to challenge the knowledge.

The days were slowly drifting by and a few volunteers elected to return home. The experience over powered some and others were just lonely for home and best friends. One volunteer became very ill with disturbing psychological problems and others had piercing physical maladies. Our numbers were diminishing; six left before we were given our site assignment and in that first year we lost a total of twenty-four. The radical change became a ridge between two peaks and tread upon expectations. In time, the returnees would mend, recover and discern their true-hearts calling.

I guess the corps administrators felt we needed additional challenges. We were all given a village name and the name of a resident in that village that we were to stay with for three days and two nights. The school administrators told us that this would give us practical village experience. The majority of us felt uneasy about being in a village among total strangers. Nevertheless, I was assigned to the Village of Under The Tree. In the village I was to locate a-young women named Gifty. I successfully found the village with a taxi driver’s assistance and with a persistent tone, found Gifty. On the foot path Gifty and I encountered a group of youngsters of all ages who took one look at me and began screaming, crying and running in all directions. I was flabbergasted; “what is happening,” I asked. It seems that the children were not accustomed to seeing white skin and had been told frightening stories about white skinned people. Gifty suggested we leave and she took me to see other areas of the village. Gifty introduced me to key people in the village like the chief, queen mother, midwife, and all her very own family. I met her prominent aunt and uncle, Valerie and CK, who were visiting. CK is Ghana’s soccer coach and Valerie a candidate for queen mother. I found out that Valerie and CK lived in the capital city of Accra. I decided that I might need information sometime and asked for their home address.

Having passed crucial tests we were ready for graduation. We had grown tired of discipline and the daily regimen. One trait that we noted was common to all of us, was independence and independent judgement. We were tired of the school food and we needed our space. Our nerves were knotted and we wanted to fly on our own power.

We were yearning to prove our capabilities and we had lost our fears.

We were required to wear Ghanaian style garments on graduation day. We were a colorful bunch in our loose-fitting outfits; women in dresses with billowed sleeves and the guys in full northern-style smocks. Our eagerness just seemed to bounce off our skin. The local tribe and their chief came to officially welcome us to their country. There was tribal pageantry, drums and royal robes. The tribal umbrella sheltered the chief and words were spoken and interpreted. The U.S. Ambassador to Ghana officially swore us in as Peace Corps Volunteers representing The United States of America; and it was all “special.” The Country Director, Harriet, spoke to us about the seriousness of our assignment and then handed us the name of the town, village or business site that we had been assigned to. We were also given the name of the village chief who we were to greet appropriately with a gift of Snaps. Harriet handed each of us a packet of Cedis to assist us in setting up house. We would need a cooking pan, plate, cup, utensils, a bed, mattress, bed cover, table and chair. Then we were given a “go” and told to retrieve our duffle bags and leave the school. Mind you, we were so eager and impassioned, that each of us had our belongings all packed. We were ready and ambitious to fly. I felt as if I was leaving detention hall - I was free. There were a few hugs and goodbyes, but in most part everyone made a quick-independent getaway. We were now on our own and feeling first rate and worthy. The age difference between me and my fellow corpsmen had created a strong need for some space even though I respected them all. I needed time alone and I wanted to capture the adventure on my own strengths.

I walked to a car park and hired a “small car” (better known as a van) to take me back to the school and load my belongings in the transport. We were headed for a town called Little Ada. It was a good three-hour drive to Little Ada and Ada was just as the name implied; little. It was reasonably near the coast (South Atlantic Ocean) but far enough inland to create a town known for salt flats. In fact, Ada is where salt is produced for the local markets. Ada is a particularly dull, arid and parched looking place. My first thought is why put a forester in a salt flat? You could count the trees in Ada on two hands and the region looked scorched and dehydrated. The brush was thorny and dull and there were termite hills in abundance. There was an elementary school, a petrol station, a blacksmith, and an outdoor market; that was Little Ada.

The driver assisted me in finding Mr. Mensa who was my town sponsor. Mr. Mensa introduced me to the chief of Ada who I gave appropriate acknowledgment; a gift of Snaps. I was then led to a 6x6 concrete structure and was told this would be my home. It looked like a lawn mower shed. The shed had one window, a door and cement flooring. There was a bed (which I paid the town carpenter for) a borrowed corn husk-filled mattress and a chair. I added my aluminum bucket, a kerosene lamp, duffle bag and first aid kit. There was, of course, no electricity. I was to eat with the Mensa family and bucket bath in my 6x6 sleeping shed. The Mensa outhouse was about 30 yards from the 6x6. Outside my one window was a mud hole filled with ducks and ducklings which I considered a good place for mosquitoes to breed. To the front of my “shed” lived a lady who had just given birth to a little baby boy that I immediately became fond of. The baby was named Henry. Henry and I became close; he was someone for me to love and care about. Henry and I somehow needed each other. He slept in an old whacked-up dishpan and yet looked angelic in his rustic carriage. Henry filled a space in my lonely hours and he helped to bridge the missing of my own children. Later Henry and I would become stars of a Peace Corps poster that my son David developed from a photo he had taken of Henry and I.

Living under the rules of the Mensa family became intolerable and I felt I was not able to properly begin my sector project. I was also required to lead an outreach program to teach nursery development and encourage tree planting. However, the salt flats were not favorable for healthy new growth, certainly a vast understatement.

In the meantime the food had become a major problem for me. I was not eating much. Ghanaian kitchens are outdoors and so are the roaming goats, ducks and chickens. I knew if I were at home, a health organization would shut down the place. I usually had breakfast (oatmeal) and then pieced on popcorn or peanuts that I could buy from a vendor. There ware mangos, watermelon, and pineapple. My system could not tolerate the well water and thirst was a major matter in the Ghanaian heat. I was able to buy bottled drinks, but had no refrigeration. Ghana produces a cola drink called Pee Cola and it became my salvation. The warm carbonated fizz filled my stomach.

The evening brought a contemplative silence and a rich and splendid sunset. Animal sounds drifted in the evening distance. The air was dim with sand stirring in a gentle breeze. It was quiet and far from the

Morning sounds and smells woke us in time for the bus to town. We quickly assembled our belongings and boarded the caustic smelling transport. Over rutted, grooved and dusty roads we once again wandered.

In Tamale we caught our flight back to Accra, the capital, and were able to find a delightfully air-conditioned hotel with a small restaurant. We wasted no time in refueling our weary bodies.

It was wonderful to have my daughter with me as we continued to share West Africa together. Having her with me during the Christmas holiday helped me bridge my Peace Corps experience with home; the holiday could have been lonesome and friendless.

Involvement with Peace Corps seemed to give my aging years a lift. I no longer carried the over-the hill label. In Africa age carries a sign of respect. My children appeared to be proud of Mom’s efforts and contributions and they boasted about my service. “Volunteering appears to be an activity that can facilitate positive adaptation by enhancing the individual’s self concept through opportunities to demonstrate competence, control, personal growth and usefulness.” (Zimmer A. Hickey T, Searle MS.) I was feeling youthful again as my daughter and I triumphed over the challenges we faced with each adventure. We giggled together like school children.

The next day we took a taxi and went to the home of Ghanaian friends, CK and Valerie. It was an instructive and highly-enjoyable companionship that I had with Valerie and CK. They became like family to me. I had described my relationship with Valerie and CK to my children through letters. My daughter, Debbie, gave them a gift from home. We stayed overnight with them and the following day their driver took us to a town where caskets are built. We had wanted to see these unique caskets as they had recently been discovered by a National Geographic photographer. The caskets reflect the personality or profession of the deceased. They are hand carved in unequaled images. For instance, if the deceased was a chicken farmer the casket would be carved in the shape of a chicken, or if the deceased had always wanted a Mercedes Benz Car the casket would be carved in the shape and color of the car he desired. A women seamstress might have a casket carved in the shape of a sewing machine or perhaps a coco bean if she was a farmer.

These caskets were bright, colorful, and dazzling to the eye.

In search of history, the driver took us to see a Portuguese fishing village along the coast of Ghana. The prominent village edifice was El Mina Castle. El Mina was one of the coastal deportation sites during the slavery period. The museum and site identification signs say it all.

Debbie and I continued to pack her seven day visit with a countless number

of explorations. We went to the botanical gardens in the eastern region, ate corn on the cob from the street side vendors and went to market. We enjoyed the wood-carvers village in the mountains, visited the school children in Little Ada and went to visit Issac’s birth village. We visited The American Club (a U.S. Embassy facility) and enjoyed a trip to the State Fair Grounds.

Having Debbie visit during the Christmas holiday really gave my spirits a lift.

She brought me gifts I shall never ever forget. The gifts included jars of jelly, peanut butter, pickles, and packages of pudding mix, macaroni and cheese and scented soap. These gifts were memorable, extraordinary and well celebrated by me. I will never forget

Christmas1994. Having a visitor gave me the boost I needed to continue with the importance of my assignment. The social support from home and family minimized the challenge.

The airport departure was sad, but it primed me with positive passions and unequivocal determination. Debbie said, “I’m proud of your Mom, even though I don’t think I could do it.” Peace Corps is certainly not for everyone. I guess I have always been a person who could navigate around bumps and potholes. Now in midlife I was practicing skills I had acquired earlier in life.

Back in Little Ada, the nursery was taking shape. I had over one hundred trees germinating in their individual containers. Issac and Alfred dutifully provided care and water from their family well. However, during this time, I had some suspicions about

Mr. Mensa. Basically, I felt he was acquiring money from the Peace Corps for projects that did not even exist. I took a tro-tro to Accra and discussed my concerns with my forestry director Ed; he was not surprised. Ed asked me to chronicle a few events over the next few weeks and then report back. Mensa was a cleaver man who knew how to work the NGO (non-governmental organization) he had organized. Fortunately, Ed and I were able to confront Mensa with the discrepancies. The next plan was to have me move to a better location. Ed and I discussed the matter and I asked to have the opportunity to look for new location myself. I wanted a place where I could have richer soil and a better water source.

I went to visit my friends Valerie and CK after leaving the Administrative offices of the Peace Corps in Accra. Together we discussed the dilemma created by the local NGO

in Little Ada. Valerie and CK actually drove me to Little Ada and they spoke to one of the members about the situation. Since Valerie and CK were also Ghanaian they were able to

obtain a better picture of the predicament and hopefully arrive at an acceptable solution

The solution ended up with a suggestion from CK and Valerie that I move to The Village of Under The Tree where CK had once been the Chief and Valerie was soon to become Queen Mother.

Before I left Little Ada my Father decided to fly over and confirm my safety.

My Father, a retired Sheriff, enjoyed seeing the local police station (a one room office)

and discussing investigative means with the officer. The conversations were always relatively short because the local police department was really nothing but a desk and chair and a rotating staff. He met my neighbors and watched them prepare chicken for dinner and draw water from their well. We also went to the salt flats to see the salt production activities. My Father, who is in his 80’s, suffered with the heat and arid conditions. There never seemed to be a change in the weather in Ghana; it was always hot. We decided to go to the sea a little south of Ada and visit a small foreign resort. We enjoyed the cool breezes and a menu that included pizza and ice cream. It was a delightful change from the barren look of Ada. The next few days we enjoyed the town and catching occasional breezes on my veranda. Before he left to return home we visited my friends CK and Valerie, The Peace Corps office and the U.S. Embassy Club in the capital. Once again I said goodbye.

Several days later Valerie and I traveled toThe Village of Under the Tree and I had an opportunity to see prospective living sites and potential nursery locations. Valerie was successful in finding me a house that was owned by a man who lived in Accra. The man held no objections to my residing in the house and permission was granted. The land around the house would be more than adequate for the development of a tree nursery. It looked ideal. The climate would provide the seedlings with high humidity and the forest canopy would defoliate and create good rich earth for the newly sown seeds. I was convinced. The next opportunity to go to Accra, I spoke to my forestry director and proposed the move. Ed liked my presentation and agreed to the move. Valerie and CK offered to provide me with their van and driver.

Down with the new curtains and goodbye to my unique outhouse and shower room. Farewell to the pink and white Periwinkle bed and a fond goodbye to Issac, Alfred, Helen, Moses and Set. It was sad when I left, but I had another puddle to cross and a new challenge to accept. I was five months into my two year service and still struggling to find

a place to settle.

It was yet another hot-humid day; sticky, sultry and damp. The weather never changed. The ground was always parched and the air waves always quivered with heat; it was predictable. The sweat always lounged on your body and every movement of moving air was pure luxury. The region was strewn with termites, red ants and geckos; all were everyday realities. Little Ada was falling into memory; the road ahead unknown.

We meandered, twisted and rambled up the mountain road to the village of

Under the Tree. It was about a three hour drive through heat and dust, but as we began the climb to a higher altitude, the temperature fell slightly. The tree canopies were thicker

and provided better cover from the unforgiving sun. The drive was a welcome relief from the salt flats below. The red, rich soil was a beautiful sight and gave my heart great hope.

I enjoyed the fields of corn and cassava as the fragrance of green floated by my reaching nose. Ladies sat by the road side tending large black kettles of boiling corn on the cob. It was a tranquil moment.

I took pleasure in the rural surroundings and enjoyed seeing the red mud homes. The homes were positioned in the shade of the trees and had roofs of palm fronds or corrugated aluminum. The houses were simple-square forms with a door and a window. Children and women paraded with pails of water on their heads as they trod the well worn foot paths. The paths took them past the cement block school and the children wearing neatly pressed uniforms. Every thing seemed cloudless and assuring.

A small young lady named Gifty greeted me and introduced me to the village chief.

Appropriately, snaps was presented and routine gestures extended. Gifty and I set out to tour the village. The serenity rapidly broke; the village children began to scream and scatter in every conceivable direction. Gifty explained that the children had not been exposed to white skinned people and that my visit was probably frightening them. It seems that the children had been told stories about bad white people. My heart sunk because I wanted so much to enjoy the children. Perhaps in time I could win their hearts.

Gifty and I continued our tour of the village; it was not a large village. There was a small outdoor market, a couple churches, two schools, a midwife, a carpenter, a beverage seller, a chicken farmer, a fish fryer, a couple seamstresses and the town house painter. The political unit consisted of a chief, his board of officers, and two queen mothers. Other town officials consisted of several ministers and some of the school teaching staff.

The next tour stop was a tree. The tree had a strong-dense trunk and full foliage; I thought a handsome shade tree. The tree stood like it was a prominent member of the village society, in fact, it was. Gifty explained that when you needed to speak to someone in another village you could leave a note on the tree and when a traveler was going in the direction needed, they would take the message and personally deliver it. The Message Tree was the village telephone and postal system. It was old; but stately and often celebrated. Villagers would gather under its dense canopy for afternoon shade or to exchange information with their fellow consorts. Respect for the aged tree was a parallelism to the village elders who were recognized with abundant esteem. Broad value and regard for village ancestors was evident. At every ceremonial event, snaps was poured on the earth in respect of the village forefathers. The ancestral burial ground was also well designated under the forest canopy with each gravesite noticeable and prominently designated.

The Message Tree had a profound effect on my sector duties and obligations. The trees that I grew would become an integral part of village life and I would be contributing to future ancestral traditions.

Studies in the U.S. have found life satisfaction strongly correlates with volunteerism,

work satisfaction and the feeling of usefulness. These findings support the idea that social activity has a productive purpose that could be used as an intervention in promoting life satisfaction and successful aging. The “Activity Theory” continues to suggest that older adults live longer and have more satisfactory adjustment to old age when they maintain the activity levels that characterized their middle years and add new activities to substitute for any lost. (MacNeil 1992) I feel that my Peace Corps years allowed me to have the opportunity to fulfill my youthful dream to join the Corps. Had I not seized the opportunity, I would have been disappointed with myself. Even after enduring the hardships of Corps life, I have no regrets of my experience. The Activity Theory, proclaimed by MacNeil, is a truthful hypothesis.

Gifty and I then walked to the house that would be my home for the next two years.

We opened the door, the rats scurried and my heart did a flip flop. Rats are not my favorite rodent. With the help of a few brooms I discouraged the rats and tried to establish a place for me to root. The men I had procured to assist me in the move began carrying in the few belongings that I had assembled for transportation from Little Ada. Another home (now my third) and I had my anxieties. Gifty was kind to help me clean the cement floors and to try to clean up the debris left by a former tenant. I didn’t know any of my neighbors and I really felt alone when Gifty left. Nightfall was uncomfortable; the village drums stirred my heart.. The rodents and geckos served as nighttime colleagues, and forced me to sleep in the middle of the room in a straight backed chair. Every movement in the room made me hurtle into space. It was a long night. When the sun rose I sought counsel and directions from Gifty. Together we decided that paint and a proper cleaning is what the house needed. I went to the outdoor market in a nearby town and bought some apple-green wall paint and shiny-brown floor paint. I believe my white skin caught some curious eyes in town. When I returned to the village I sought out the services of the town painter and hired him immediately. He started in the bedroom and before long I was hanging the Little Ada curtains on my new village windows. The town carpenter helped me put the bed frame together and once again I pulled out my U.S. made bed sheets and adorned the newly assembled bed. The intense heat allowed the room to dry quickly and that very evening I slept in my new bedroom. When the drums stopped beating around 10:00 p.m. I fell into deep slumber.

Two times a week the church ladies sang and danced in the village churches. The drums and dancing tambourines joined the night sounds.

The town painter came each day until all the rooms were painted and the rodents became discouraged with the new unblemished decor. Apple green began to take on an embracing token of “Home Sweet Home” and the gingham green and white curtains were ornaments. I put local produce baskets in a few corners and threw in American periodicals and then added a green and white cloth to my small breakfast table. Later I added dish shelves for my plastic dishes and laid Ghanaian sleeping mats on the floor like scatter rugs.

Nightfall, with no electricity, was a little frightful, however, the house brightened with the light from my kerosene lantern. Each evening I would have a small meal at my candlelit table for one and then I would read, write or journal. I wrote many letters that were kept in chronological order for me at home. Meals were sparse and quite often consisted of bread, jam, tea and fruit. I became a “quick” vegetarian as there was, of course, no electricity to refrigerate meat. The meat offered at the market place was generally un- refrigerated goat meat.

I always made it a point to be in the house at dusk because the mosquito population always increased in the evening. Fortunately Peace Corps requires the village that homes a volunteer to provide window and door screens. Mosquitoes breed malaria.

The other threat at night was the nightly flock of fruit bats that flew in to enjoy the almond tree in front of my bedroom window. The in-flight bats looked like an advancing storm cloud and dependably came to rest on my almond tree. The fruit bats nibbled on the outer skin of the almond and left a forbidden looking fruit. If I retired early (which I often did) the bats would wake me with their sounds. Between the buzzing mosquitoes, the chomping bats, the beating drums and the tambourine dances, it was not restful. Occasionally that rhythm would change and I would hear crying, pleading and supplication; the sound of a wife beating. Peace Corps clearly stated that we were not to get involved in the local political views or in cultural or spiritual beliefs. If, however, our safety became an issue we were to report it immediately to the Peace Corps Office in the capital. I often worried how I would contact the Peace Corps Office if there was an emergency situation. I did not have an automobile or a telephone and The Message Tree was out of the question. In fact, I knew of several occasions where volunteers had to be moved from their work site because of threatening conditions.

It was 4:00 a.m., and the usual foot traffic was beginning. The village farmers were walking the well-worn path to their cassava farms. They started early because the children were expected to help their moms on the farm before school and because of the intense afternoon heat. The foot path was right in front of my house and the morning parade always started with the sound of tall-moving grass. When the sleep got out of the farmers step, their voices would chime in. The parade always reminded me of the Disney tune, “Off to Work We Go.”

I got up and began evaluating the land behind my house and devised the beginning plans for construction of a large tree nursery. I went to the market and arranged to have a good number of wooden support beams and sacks of cement delivered to the nursery site. The activity of the delivery immediately caused curiosity and the villagers began to peer. Children climbed neighboring trees and surveyed what was going on while the adult male curiosity wanted to help. I had a rectangular lot about 80 feet long. I distributed the beams evenly and asked the male villagers if they would plant the beams one foot down in the ground where I had placed them; then fill the hole with cement. Among the helpers was Aboulaway, the town mason, who spoke good English. Aboulaway became an invaluable helper in support of the nursery project.

While the cement dried I had time to explore my neighborhood. I walked over to the compound of my friends Valerie and CK and met all the folks who lived their. While their, I met a young teenage boy named Benjamin who was a little mentally incapacitated and he asked if he could work for me as my small boy. I remembered how much Issac and Alfred had helped in Ada and agreed to accept Benjamin’s offer. The offer really bolstered his ego and made him noteworthy in the village. I enjoyed seeing his glee and exhilaration.

I agreed to pay Benjamin a stipend for his assistance.

I continued on my walk through the village and came upon a wondering newly born-Calico kitten. I fell in love with the precious little female and asked if she was for sale. The owner agreed to sell her to me and I christened her with the name Sipsey as she lapped up a saucer of canned cream. Sipsey became my best friend and confident on those long and lonely evenings. My only concern was that the local village inhabitants ate cat (particularly on Thursday) on “Cat Special” day at the market meat shop. Consequently, Sipsey became a well protected house cat. She was cute and playful and made my concerns less troubling

Benjamin began to teach me the whereabouts of places I needed to find.

First on the list was dinner. Benjamin told me about a lady with a chicken farm very near by and I sent him to fetch me a couple of fresh eggs. That evening I had an omelet and bread, it was heaven considering my usual diet of bread and fruit. He also showed me

a very small serving counter where I could purchase soda. Benjamin knew things, people and places that would ordinarily take me a long time to find. Later in the afternoon Benjamin showed me the town water well. We took my aluminum water bucket and my laundry bowl and filled them with water. Everyone, but me, carried their water home on their head. That was a balancing act I had not acquired yet. When we arrived back at my house I boiled the water on my butane stove for 20 minutes. Gifty came by to see how things were going and we ended up enjoying girl talk. Gifty inquired about American girls, marriage rituals and dating. It was a great “getting to know you day.”

I often walked around the village introducing myself to the ladies and on this particular day one of the ladies named Sofe was going to see her doctor. I asked if she would mind if I went along for the opportunity to see the medical facilities offered to the local inhabitants. She had no problem with my accompanying her and we became friends.

Sofe’s doctor sat on a bench below a giant tree in a forested place. The doctor listened to Sofe and then prescribed some forest products for her to make into a tea. The scene was reminiscent of a story about a good elf that lived in the forest that I had read as a child.

After the doctor-patient dialogue, Sofe was directed to visit another man who again sat on a bench below a very large tree canopy. The man was busy mincing leaves and twigs to give to Sofe. One might easily consider this to be a primitive form of medicine and pharmacology, but it peeked my curiosity enough that I decided I should give it a more serious look. Several days later I traveled by tro tro to a medical lab some six to eight miles away from Under The Tree. I spoke with the lab workers and found they were actively pursuing remedies for major diseases by testing local vegetation. That visit became very important later in my nursery work when I started propagating a plant for the lab that was being tested as a diabetic aid. The berry from the plant had an unusual property; it discouraged one from craving sweets. I named the plant “Serendipity” and actively started propagating the shrub.

Sofe and I continued meeting and she later invited me to join her church ladies one afternoon. The ladies were all dressed in outfits of the same cloth and obviously dedicated to their church projects. Language differences were always a problem, however, Sofe was a proper translator.

I got in the habit of doing light aerobics in the front of my house each morning. The village children who once cried and ran from me began to sit in the tree tops and watch. I am sure they thought aerobics were a strange and bizarre cultural practice They studied me with an intent gaze, however, the children eventually began to creep forward as I strained and stretched through my exercises. One day they were but six feet from me.

I decided to fetch an inflatable ball that I had brought with me. I threw the ball into the crowd of children and they all stretched and reached with delighted sounds and it seemed we were becoming friends. The next morning the children came once again after they had returned from the farm and before they started school. We played briefly with charade like-movements until time to prepare for school.

I enjoyed watching the children as they followed the foot path to school. Each child, uniformed in required attire, carried their desk and chair (provided by their parents) on their heads along the foot path. In the school room the headmaster would require their strict attention. Uniform and behavioral rules were treated vigorously. There were no books and there was no paper; each child had a small slate.

The nursery became my primary daily concern. First I had Aboulaway, the mason, increase the height of the wall to keep out wondering goats, chickens, dogs and children. Next was a badly needed watering system. I asked Aboulaway to make me a cement water reservoir so I could collect rain water off the roof. He created a downspout off the existing roof gutter and directed it right into the reservoir. The reservoir was approximately 6 feet tall and abundantly strong. We put a faucet near the base of the reservoir (that would clear the height of a water bucket) that would let us release stored water from the reservoir tank. We were well on our way to creating a rain forest nursery.

Days later, after the cement around the support beams was well dried, we stretched shade

cloth across the support beams. The shade cloth had been rolled tightly in my duffle bag awaiting its debut. Now the cloth was tightly pulled and tacked to the beams and we stood under its shade with pride

I decided to pack a small cloth carry-all and go to the country capital to secure supplies. I locked up the house and told Benjamin I would be away for a couple of days. Benjamin lived with his mother, not far from my house, so my two-day departure was not a housing concern for him.

I found transportation at the end of my foot path and went to the car park in the next town. In the car park I located a so called fast car, small station wagon, to the capital. After a two hour road trip down the mountain we arrived in the capital. It was hot, as usual, and the rocky walking paths were hard on my feet. I made my way to the giant outdoor market where it was humid, dusty and crowded and where foul smelling odors permeated the air from the open sewers that lined the street. Yelling and bartering beat like drums as I made my way through the hot sweaty crowds. Shoving and pushing to get where you wanted was the way. I found my way to the hardware area and began to barter for a thick plastic water storage tank. I had not even thought of how I would get it to the village if I succeeded with the sale. When I succeeded, I found a man (for a price) to carry the tank to a car park. A taxi driver agreed to tie it to the top of his car and take it to Peace Corps headquarters. I could safely keep it at the Peace Corps office for a few days because there was a 24 hour team of guards around the Corps compound. My next stop was to find some edible supplies. I walked to a market and found a few non perishable items like soap, paper, bottled water, canned milk for Sipsey, toothpaste, tea and a rare find; Kellogs Corn Flakes. The Corn Flakes would give me a new addition to my diet of bread, eggs, and fruit and I was delighted.

Near the market I found a little Ghanaian five-room hotel that was clean and pleasant. A lawn swing and green grass caught my eye at the entrance; for a moment I thought I was in Santa Barbara, California. The people inside were nice and I felt very comfortable so I arranged to stay for the night. In the morning I was offered tea, bread and jam. I felt pampered and a moment of home crossed my thoughts. I rested in the shade of the lawn swing and visions of my grown-up children danced in my slumber. I went to a telephone office and called home.

Site Copyright: Jeanne Curran and Susan R. Takata and Individual Authors, August 2003.
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