Wild Peppers, Homemade Earrings, and a Goat

About a month ago, a family friend had given Hamida a goat to roast and serve at her wedding. They'd sent the goat off to a friend's farm, where it would serve out the remainder of it's happy quadruped life until it met it's maker shortly before the wedding. Unfortunately, the goat fell sick and died, so Mus and I- being the village dwellers that we are- were put in charge of bringing a replacement.

Mus went down the mountain to the market with our friend, Mister Yacobo. While Mus is plenty savvy at buying things and negotiating markets, he comes off to village folk as a well-educated city person, and a goat is a large ticket item, so it was important we get the best price possible. Mister Yacobo helped bargain for a price, and after helping Mus to hog-tie the goat and place it in the trunk of a hatch-back taxi, he headed off to run other errands.

Mus took his seat right in front of the goat and the taxi took off. Shortly afterwards the goat decided to voice her displeasure by shrieking. The particular type of goats most common in the south of Ghana have an uncanny voice that, at least to my ears, sounds remarkably human. When you consider that the taxi had three other passengers in it- who were total strangers to Mus- it made for an uncomfortable ride.

The goat didn't scream the entire ride, however. She would give out a short, wild scream, making everyone in the taxi jump in their seats, and then lapse into silence for several minutes, only to startle everyone again with another screech. One of the elderly gentleman who was sharing the backseat looked at the goat, then looked at Mus and shook his head, saying, “You couldn't tie up a goat like that in America. No sir. They would take you to court.”

The goat agreed by screaming again.

Finally in an effort to alleviate the situation, Mus shared his lunch of roasted plantain with the goat. It didn't quite shut her up, but it took her voice down from the screaming decibel to more of a bleating tone.

By the time they got out of the taxi, the goat was quite smitten with Mus. She placidly followed him home, which is not necessarily normal goat behavior. When he left her to come inside she started bleating piteously, so he took her to a nearby field that had other goats in it and tied her up in the shade, where she contentedly grazed her way through the afternoon. Later when we went to check on her, she trotted right up to Mus to snuggle his legs.

Tonight, when Mister Yacobo was butchering her, Mus had to look away. I don't blame him; I even mentioned to him this afternoon that the goat seemed to have developed a very dog-like affection for Mus. Mus has butchered goats and chickens before, mind you; but this little lady's displays of trust tugged at his heartstrings.

So tomorrow we head off to Accra like Wise Men from the East, bearing three gifts in celebration of Hamida's wedding:

- A bagful of wild peppers (These are the spiciest peppers here, and she loves spicy foods) >

- Homemade Earrings (designed by yours truly to give her)

- A Very Fresh Bag of Mutton

A-Hiking We WIll Go!

Mister Yacobo is on my right- I adored his outfit! I thought he looked like a golfer! The other guy- I don't know who he is. He jumped in the photo and whipped out his phone- he's not actually talking to anyone.

I think this sign is funny. I think they let three little boys write whatever they wanted on three separate portions. The one side says "Madness!"

This was a crazy, skinny little flower.

A squirrel ate the inside of this cocoa fruit.

Wild Peppers picked for Hamida, who loves spicy foods.

We met these people on the road, and they asked me to take their picture. With a shrug, I took it. When I showed it to them, they were so happy it made my day. Then later when I looked at it, I liked it so much it made my day. So all around, this is a happy, happy picture.

Squirrels aren't the only ones who like to eat cocoa fruit- yum!

This was the most magnificent rooster I have ever seen. This picture does not do his plumage justice- he was bright red, bright, blue, bright green, bright purple...

Mr. Yacobo

Supposedly the hill in the background is being mined for gold.

I think this chick looked like a duckling. Except for the beak, of course.

One of the chickens knocked over some corn in a bedroom, and everyone gathered around to join the dinner party...

This goat was just chillin' in a bedroom.

It was too hot and sunny, so I used a "bush umbrella" as a parasol. It's actually a leaf from a banana tree.

I feel kind of bad stealing a leaf from banana tree since they only have like 5, but Mus assures me the tree can handle it.


Besides, it's not like the leaf goes to waste. At the end of the hike, my umbrella made a tasty snack for some goats, including one who was eating for three!


A goat should not stretch like that in her delicate condition.

Road Rash

It's been a rough weekend.

First off, I want to take a little poll. Who out there knew that spicy peppers can cause chemical burns to your skin? That's right, raise those hands... I mean, we eat them for crying out loud. I knew not to let the oil of raw peppers get near my eyes or nose or anything, but my hands? Really?

I was making vegetarian chili and found a package of fresh peppers in the fridge. Usually I just used dried cayenne pepper, but Mus's sister had recently visited us and had bought some fresh peppers, so I decided to try cooking with them.

The peppers were small and I wanted to take the seeds out, so I sliced them open and then used my hands to pull out the seeds and tear the peppers into pieces. It's quite possible that I am the clumsiest human being on earth (as I will soon prove to you), and when I try to cut small things with sharp knives, disaster finds me. So I thought- let me play it safe and use my fingers.

The peppers smelled delicious. They gave off a sweet smell, like red bell peppers. I threw them in the pot and washed my hands well in case I should touch my eyes or nose.

About 15 minutes later my whole hands burned- and I mean it felt like I had a burnt myself on a flame. Mus and I tried different remedies- baking soda, alcohol, lemon juice, milk, shea butter... Nothing seemed to help. Even worse, while I didn't get any of the oil on other parts of my body, I seemed to have spread it through the kitchen. In the next few days I got the oil on my fingertips when I touched the boil that had held the seeds, or the container I put the chili in; in the end my fingertips were covered in pink blotches.

New rule- no more fresh peppers in my kitchen.

They may look pretty, but don't let them fool you!

Then the next morning, I was heading outside to get some exercise, wearing comfy clothes and a pair of sturdy sneakers, and I stepped on a golf-ball-sized rock on the hill outside our house. The rock rolled, my feet slid, and down I went, iPod in hand.

My iPod and my body are, for the most part, fine, although both sustained considerable damage to their coverings. The clear protective case on my iPod shattered along the bottom (it's like a bike helmet for your iPod- definitely the wisest $1 investment I've ever made) and the skin on my left palm has some growing to do. I also have a small cut on my right palm and some minor road rash on my right leg and elbow. The pain was bad at first, but Mus and I rigged up bandages out of gauze, maxi pads, and a lace glove we found. That with some ointment and Tylenol has made a big difference.

Mama, a ten-year-old girl who lives in the house with us, was witness to my blunder, and she was utterly horrified. She had no idea what to do. I got up, brushed myself off, and trudged back up the hill to the house, where I woke Mus up. “What happened!” he demanded.

“Stigmata,” I told him.

Carefree pantyliners- don't leave home without 'em!



I'm trying to scare Yusif with my mummy hands. He's not impressed.

I think the lace glove gives it more of a punk/Gothic affect. (or maybe we ran short on guaze....)

On the Prowl

>I've been informed our high-security house has been breached. You see, as with many homes in Ghana, many residents of Obo construct their houses with iron bars over the windows (and sometimes reinforcing the doors), such as I've only seen in the “less desirable” neighborhoods in San Antonio. They turn your house into an unbreachable fortress, which can be a bit unnerving; makes you think that violent crime is rampant in this country.

If you walked up to a house in the middle of the night in Obo, chances are, you would find the door unlocked.

This lackadaisical attitude backfired on us, I have to say. Not only were we negligent about locking the door; some nights we forgot to shut the door entirely. And well-

We had a cat burglar visit us.

First, he licked all the crumbs off the floor. Then, he jumped up on the counters and overturned some of the dishes, including some food the family had been preparing to sell the next morning.

Then, the feline made off with all of the meat he could grab, except for what was safely locked up in the fridge, since his little paws couldn't manage the latch without opposable thumbs.

But, you'll be happy to know, we have learned our lesson. No more free meals for the vagrant neighborhood riffraff. At least not in our kitchen.