SUNDAY JUNE 26TH - SUNDAY JULY 2ND
After 24 hours flying - waiting - flying - bussing it was eventually time to step off the coach, I wish I had gathered as many mini bottles as I could off the flight to help ease me into a sleep but I hadn’t been thinking straight. I clutched ahold my sketchbook, my camera and took a deep breath. A brief wave of sheer panic hit me along with the humidity and overbearing shouts from the locals trying to demand Cidi's off you to carry your ridiculously oversized a bag a mere few meters to your taxi. I refused. I’ll also admit I shed several tears, I felt out of my depth and slightly overwhelmed. I was also incredibly sleep deprived, the alcohol had worn off and my comedown was hitting me. I remembered this was just a moment, it will pass, I adapt to new situations incredibly quickly and people seem to be drawn to me because I am calming and trustworthy (though usually I am riddled with anxiety and a total drunk mess so god knows why this is the case) so I knew it wouldn’t take long for me to find some people to help pass the time. Though this is not what I had travelled 3,176 miles for. I stepped off the bus, in to my new home, Ayeduase, Kumasi and into my new found freedom.
My host family is fine, it’s nice, there is no culture shock so far. I share my room with one other but it doesn’t feel intrusive, it may come to be, I am too tired to care, I wish I had Gin & juice. Why didn’t I load my bag full? Stupid, oh silly me. At least I picked up three dollar smokes in Dubai airport, one a day, it will make quitting so much easier, going cold turkey on everything in a different environment will make it easier right? Wrong. After the first day I have chain smoked a whole pack of Marlboro Lights and to make it all that bit better women who smoke are seen as shamed women here. EXCELLENT. Right now I couldn’t give less of a fuck, I am having to wear clothes that make me feel like a foreigner in my own skin, I am not able to drink or I am also shamed and it makes me liable to be raped ... because it’s acceptable after one beer right? I totally deserve it. God this is fucked. We have to get up at six a.m, eat breakfast which our host momma does incredibly well, I realise I will probably get fat, she has promised to teach me how to cook before I leave, god knows I need it, then the four of us have to rush to our ten hours of intensive training, we are already late but then I have been told to expect nobody is tardy in Africa. I’m on African time now.
I see people rushing across the main road and it reminds me of Bellas’ fear of roads. I see chickens frolicking around every curbside and it reminds me of Jackie. I hear ‘Communication Is Key‘ in almost every lecture and from my host father, it reminds me of my mothers advice in the reasons as to why my relationship broke down with my old love and I realise I am not home sick. My phone is still not working, all three, are not working with the in country sim, I could be at the bottom of the Atlantic ocean right now my family and friends would have been none the wiser, others are stressing they are out of communication, I feel relieved, I now can ghost rather than be ghosted. I realise I have sheer dis-contempt for my phone and it is the sole reason I have been such an anxious mess. I don’t care to see your life and feel an unnecessary false sense of jealousy, as I know you do not wish to with mine. I see people clutching and peering into their screens, I feel their aura and their anxiousness. I feel sorry for anybody reliant on their phones, their computers, its limiting, it’s dangerous. I breathe in the warm air and probably a thousand mosquitos into my lungs, the city no longer makes me happy, I need greenery, the salty air of the sea. I feel sorry for anybody living a 2.5 life in a Beige office block, in fact I feel sorry for you now currently reading this off your screen, get off this page. Go outside, breathe, enjoy life, it’s beautiful, without it you would be dead.
I miss coffee with my morning pack of smokes, I miss running, I miss wearing whatever the fuck I want. I miss one meal a day, at current three heavily based carb meals have left me feeling like a fat fucking mess. I realise I will be sick to the teeth at the sight of rice by the time I leave. It is seen as rude to leave food on your plate here, it’s an offense, I wonder what isn’t? I wonder their views if they knew at home I throw every other meal up. At least my hair will finally grow. I miss sex. I am unsure if I miss my ex.
At training we stand in a circle clapping our knees and throwing a ball. I feel like fucking happy clapping myself. Forced happiness makes me nauseous. I realise at this point suicide would be less painful than enduring another second of playground antics. I walk off. Thank God I came into finds with another pack of Marlboro Lights, I thank God further for them being so cheap. Luckily I have formed a clique consisting of an army against clapping and a penchant for sneaking off to smoke during such banal exercises.
My Friday night is treated with a can of cold coke and a snippet of Biggie Smalls as we traipsed past a bar with sweet beautiful beer in the ice cool refrigerator. How I would kill for a bottle between my lips. My belly is big, I am impregnated with carbs. Samuel & I took a stroll after dinner and we spoke our pasts, I decided it was probably for the best I stayed sober for the next three months. I lay in bed and didn’t feel sad, I realised I had finally let go.
Saturday morning I am awoken again by a loud phone call, phones are insufferable, I am glad to still not have one. If am to be kidnapped let me be kidnapped. ‘The White girl has gone‘ I laugh a little. I start my morning looking down at my knees whilst practicing my morning yoga routine, I realize they are no longer filled with youth. My previous life has tired my body and taken a toll on my skin. I meditate only for it to be interrupted, the intrusion has started, I guess this is the compromise to be made when sharing a room, at least I am in mediative state. I have not yet had my morning smoke. We have to do chores after breakfast. I realise I most likely will sell all my possessions when I get back to England, starting with my bed and move, I want a simple life by the shoreline, backed with palms and it is so attainable and it has all I have ever wanted, why wasn’t I residing in happiness, in calm, in clarity already?
I start reading Will Self ‘The Butt‘ as I finish ‘Junky‘ W. Burroughs. I have bought thirty four books along with me, I realise this may be slightly ambitious. I also realise I have not yet had a smoke.
Our activity today is meeting everybody at the big airless mall, where I can purchase coat hangers, coffee and cigarettes. We are meant to be there at twelve - I am due to meet someone but it is now one forty five and there is no sign that we will be leaving any time soon. I wonder if African Time will start to grate on me or whether I will adjust and struggle to adapt back once I am home. Luckily we get driven, we have a friend visiting for the weekend, we have one up on everyone else here, it takes us fifteen minutes to get to the mall, it took everyone else over an hour in a tiny, uncomfortable, sweaty Trow Trow. The mall is shit, I hate it on an equal par as to how much I hate them back home. Though there is a stage being set up and it’s so good to hear music, we dance, a crowd gathers around us, I guess some people have never seen White people before. Especially as my friend slut drops every so often whilst he’s sucking on a smoke. We can’t even stay and watch the show because of the eight thirty curfew, we say goodbye, we get driven to a bar. I drink. We dance in the rain, we laugh until our stomachs ache. I am happy, I realise the chances of staying sober for three months are slim to none.
Sunday starts off with an all mighty workout, I’m sweating balls and I can barely breathe, maybe I should cut down on the smokes. Yesterday at the mall I purchased three packs for two pounds. So far they taste like ass and I can feel myself sucking down cancer on every drag, this will probably make it easier to cut back. I lay in the sun reading for a while and expose as much skin as possible without giving excuse to being stoned to death, my belly is milky White and fat and still hidden, I feel at present this is a good thing. My legs and arms are golden dotted with bites. I have got to loose weight, I feel uncomfortable. We get driven to a pool today, nobody has bought stuff to swim in bar me and the friend of a friend. I am convinced to go in. I am the only White person and covered in tattoos, I get stared at frequently, this time it’s for my skin rather than some debaucherous antic. The water on my skin feels beautiful, I forgot how much I love to swim, I need to make sure I am running and swimming regularly. We sip on beers and watch the emerging rainstorm approach, it doesn’t stop for several hours. We order more beers. They play ‘My heart will go on‘ in the background. It is flooding everywhere. The soundtrack is incredibly apt given our current situation. It’s almost curfew so we have to leave. The first week has been testing, I hate the classroom, I hate screens, I finally feel free, I have met some incredible people, I feel happy, this is a rarity but I want it to stay. I am scared to go home and lose it.