a cheif's head, a missing finger, and no water.

Day 62.

The festival didn’t happen. The five of us (from now on called the Superhero Five: Carmen, Travis, Matt, Sauce, and I) arrived in Busua on Friday night, and while eating dinner we were told why there would be no festival this year. The Chief of Busua, who was killed about 170 years ago, had his head taken away from the community by the Dutch when they were in power of the Gold Coast. The head was moved from place to place but was most recently kept in a museum in Accra. This year, the head was finally returned to the village where it is to be buried. In Ghanaian culture, there is never a festival the year of a chief’s burial as the community is mourning…even if more than fifteen decades have passed…and all you have is his head.
No festival meant relaxation. Relaxation on beautiful beaches in the friendliest place we have been yet. As we had been to Busua before, I felt comfortable finding my way around and venturing a bit on my own. Our days were spent in the sunshine and waves enjoying the quiet, reading, and playing games. My attempts at body boarding ended unsuccessfully and I got too sunburned on Saturday to try again on Sunday. Along the beaches there were many children yelling, “Picture, picture!” After every shot, they want to see what they look like just so they can laugh the same every time.

After staying at Sabina’s Guest House (where we stayed last time) for two nights, we decided to move to the Black Mambo Corner on our third and final night. To get to the place, we had to wade through the river that flows into the ocean. The owners of the place, a Rasta named Alex and his brother Joseph were great hosts and interesting to talk with. The accommodations were outrageous for the price – ocean-side octagonal guesthouse surrounded by native plants. A gazebo only ten yards away with a terrific view of Abokwa Island and the fishing boats coming back to shore. We fell asleep to the sound of the waves crashing with great power against the rocks and this is what we woke up to in the morning. Amazing. After we checked out on Sunday, we heard from someone in the village that there is a rumor that Alex, who was married to a German woman that he told us “left him” two years ago, murdered his wife, and that is why he cut off all of his dreads…he was also missing his pinky finger on his left hand, a sign?

We returned from the weekend to school, sunshine (it's hot!), and celebration (Travis' birthday was on Tuesday so we splurged on 2 for 1 pizza and ice cream at Bonjour). This is the sixth week of instruction and as the semesters are only 13 weeks long, we are almost halfway done...then finals...then traveling...then home.

The water in Volta Hall has been out for over a week. The Polytanks (big black water reserve tanks that are located in every block) are all out too. This means all we have is sachet water. It is not so bad to not shower (though I can see dirt in the crease of my elbow), but not flushing the toilet when 10 girls use the same one is a problem. The halls located closer to the main gate have water more consistently because it doesn't have to be pumped as far. Maybe we will go there with our buckets to collect water and bring it back? I guess this is Africa...