Market Day

It was an exciting week. Jamie and I gave all ten of our midterm exams, graded all 400 of those tests and then hosted a workshop on library resources and lesson planning.  (Did Lizziey really make all of the teachers pretend to be superheros during said workshop? Yes, she did.)  We introduced short "i" words to our after school remedial reading group and attended a workshop on early childhood education.  In between doing all of those things we found some time to teach.

At the end of our busy days, Jamie and I often indulge ourselves in recreational activities. It almost always involves drinking coffee on our veranada. It usually involves philosophy.  It sometimes involves playing the guitar and sketching. But last night God gave us an even better gift than the ability to engage in conversation over Betty Friedman's orginal ideas on the Feminist Mystique: God gave us rain. It poured from heaven, cleaning our windows and spilling over onto the veranda.  Jamie and I soaked it up. Then, we had a dance party.  Somewhere in our glee, Jamie decided to say "I think we should go to Accra tomorrow to get our packages."

In my typical fashion I rolled my eyes and pouted. (Being the youngest in my family, I've always been really good at pouting. Teaching fourth graders has allowed me to perfect that trait.) And then I said, "well maybe," and continued to dance to my playlist of Lady Gaga and Lily Allen while some African drumming from a nearby church service accompanied.

This morning I woke up from the previous night's coffee coma ready to go. On the way to the kitchen we ran into the candidates who were getting ready to go to Accra. Jamie said, "Hey, would you stop by the Circle post office for us?" They agreed, so we were excited that we didn't have to find the Circle post office by ourselves.

But then an even better thing happened. Tuesdays and Fridays are market days, but they are also school days. I teach school, so I rarely make it to the market. But this morning we headed to the kitchen and found out that Ama was getting ready to go to the market. We invited ourselves and off we went!

We had some fun exploring New Market with Ama.  We didn't buy anything, as we went looking for cloth and didn't find anything comparable with the quality of Grandma in Accra (an elderly woman who sells batik fabrics).  So eventually we hopped on a tro-tro and went to the Kasoa post office.

Kasoa's Only Traffic Light. Do not call it a stop light, or the tro-tro driver will get very confused and have no idea where you want to go.

(sidenote: after the tro-tro ride, but on the way to the post office, I saw a pretty dress. Since I can't officially go wedding dress shopping yet, Jamie let me go into this shop on the main street in Kasoa to look at the pretty dress. The owner let me try it on by simply moving a rack of clothes in front of me. I'm sure that no one noticed the half naked 5 foot 8 inches tall white girl trying on a formal white dress in the middle of Kasoa.) 

Oh the post office. First of all, we open our mailboxes with skeleton keys. Skeleton keys make me feel like I am part of a novel where the main character is participating in an act of greatness like hiding former slaves on the Underground Railroad or finding buried treasure on an island full of danger. Jamie and I wandered behind the post office, over the gutter where chickens are pecking through the trash and black muck, through a narrow alley way and unlocked our tiny PO Box. We took out the overflowing loot and stuffed it into our satchel and went inside to plunder the world's smallest post office for even more blunder. Oh the treasures we found! I received a box and an envelope full of books and dictionaries. (I've been praying for dictionaries. I read my 4th graders Frindle, and now they need dictionaries. Funny how that happens)  My mom sent me a Valentines Day box full of chocolate. Some dear friends of mine sent me a note with a box of fabulous goodies: including Nutella, Parmesan, peanut butter, POP ROCKS, Slim Jims and the world's cutest sewing kit.  Jamie and I are so thankful for those who remember us even though we don't always do the best job of staying in touch.  It seems that whenever we need a little something something, a package or a note from home arrives exactly when we need it.