passing by

Hay un aire reconfortante en el vecindario. Rostros conocidos me saludan en la mañana y en la tarde. Mis compañeros en el laboratorio se han convertido en mis confidentes, nos reímos juntos mientras me cuentan tolees. Los tolees son básicamente chistes. En resumen, esta semana se sintió más cotidiana. Levantarme con la luz del sol, leer, ir al trabajo, regresar a casa a descansar y en los entre-tiempos compartir y reírme con la gente que voy conociendo en el camino. Caminando por mi vecindario: Uno de los intercambios más chéveres que tuve fue con un señor en un trotro, una de las tantas personas que se sorprenden cuando les hablo en Twi. Me preguntó si vengo de América –aquí como en la mayoría de países no latinoamericanos, América equivale a Estados Unidos-, ya me he frustrado tantas veces dándome la vuelta explicando que si soy de América, el continente, que consiste también de Latinoamérica. En fin, mi respuesta fue no. Soy de Ecuador en Sudamérica. El me dijo, ...

Obroni= White person, but used for all foreigners, most foreigners here are white though, including my phenotypical self. Etesen= How are you? Bebeni= Black person Imagine chaos. Then colors, all of the colors you’ve ever seen, all the ones you have imagined and even those you never thought of. Then there are hips swaying and penetrating glances, bags, bowls boxes balancing over women’s heads and not as often, over men’s heads. There are hands that want to touch, appropriately and not, sometimes to call attention, others out of curiosity, and others for a grab. Howls of “Obroni!” and stolen smiles for when I say “Etesen”, laughs when I say “Bebeni”. –that was Kejetia market and to a lesser extent, everywhere in Adoum, the city center. Kejetia or Central market reminds me a lot of the Monday market in my hometown- el Mercado Mayorista but the variety goes to some greater extent, covering more contextual needs like machetes and wigs. It is also supposed to be larges...

It is pouring outside which means I must write. My arrival to Ghana was… in a hurry. I was trying to get out of the international airport as quick as possible so that I could catch the 6:50am flight to Kumasi instead of waiting for the 1pm one. I was already too tired… I couldn’t do it. My luck, blessings, persuasion tactics, the pity I exuded or the kindness of the person on the counter, whatever you want to call it or a combination of all got me into the early flight. On the flight I met this lovely professor of botany, specializing in apples and potatoes –yes, I did try to convince her to come to Querochaca, my family’s property where we harvest just that- doing research in Kumasi under funding by guess who- Gates foundation. We exchanged stories, I really loved her trip trying to get from Burkina Faso –I believe- back to England during the Icelandic volcano explosion; the story was fascinating and she was also a great storyteller. As soon as I got out of the pl...