Best Laid Plans (Part 18)

Voodoo (Part 2)

So there I am in a hut with my fellow traveler, Jodee and two women from the voodoo village. They’re helping us take our shirts and shoes off. Yep, shirts were coming off. Honestly, beyond my initial surprise at the priest’s request, the first thing that came to mind was ‘why in the hell did I wear the fartiest bra in the world that day’. Oh well...
After Jodee and I took our shirts off, the very gentle women then wrapped us in white sheets. So there we stood, wrapped and ready for the church. The Voodoo priest told the group that appropriate attire whilst in the church did not include shoes or a shirt. So while the men just disrobed out outside, Jodee and I were taken to a more private area.

Then we were ready.

Our group was escorted into the church. I didn’t know what to expect in there – I didn’t know just how ill the people would be and what sort of ceremonies would take place. It also wasn’t a church in the way that I knew them. It didn’t have tall ceilings, it didn’t have a steeple, or pews, but it was an honored, though makeshift space. The benches were in an L shape and the priest and his assistant sat in chairs at the front. Our group filed in and sat down on the nearest benches and, after a hello from the parishioners, the music began. It was loud and beautiful and heartfelt. I don’t know what I had anticipated I’d feel when I went into that church, but it was not this. It was like the rest of the world closed down and there was only this space with these people. The music and the singing was amazingly engaging and then, two-by-two, people got up and danced toward the priest. This was a celebration and nobody seemed ill at all. It was like they were all borrowing energy from each other and were moved to move. Clearly, what I don’t know about voodoo is a lot.

Robert and Richard turned to me again to see if I wanted to say something to the priest about my heartbreak. I couldn’t do it. First of all, I’m sure that all of these people had way bigger issues that required his attention and secondly, I didn’t want anything to invade this experience.

So here’s my advice... If you ever have the opportunity to go to a voodoo village in Ghana, do it.

Best Laid Plans (Part 16)

Here's the thing... I'm in okay shape. I'm not ready to run a marathon or anything, but I'm pretty capable of carrying semi-heavy loads around. Adept in construction I'm not, but toting things around is totally feasible for me. However, I am (and was) not quite in the necessary shape to carry a freshly cut tree plank from the woods to a construction site. How do I know this, you ask?

Well, see, one day during my week in the village, our group was told to venture into the neighboring woods. We followed Robert down a narrow path and came upon a newly cut humungous tree. The tree had been cut into long planks of wood and that wood needed to get to the construction site, and we were the ones that had to do it. Looking at the longest freaking planks of wood I'd ever seen I thought of those weird health surveys you sometimes have to fill out at the gym or at a doctor's office. Like -
'how quickly do you get out of breath when exercising?'
'how fast can you run a mile?'
'how many wet tree planks can you carry from the woods?'
I had a partner with me, ready to carry the damn plank from this chopped tree to the building site, just as everyone else did. Though it did seem that nobody else's mouth was hanging as far open as mine was. There they'd go, two-by-two, a plank on their head, trudging down the overgrown path, across the dirt road and up to the computer center. Everyone was doing it. I hadn't quite experienced peer pressure like this before. Frankly, I think I would've been more comfortable if the group had taken me out to the woods, surrounded me and offered me cocaine. That, I think I'd be fully able to comprehend how to handle. This, I had no reference point for.

I looked over at my fully willing (and strong) partner. He was ready. And I said to myself - isn't this why I came all the way to Africa - to experience things I had no reference point for? Sure, I anticipated that those things would be more along the lines of new environments, new food, new sites (new bugs), but you simply can't anticipate everything. I mean, when I walk along the lanes of my local park, I'm not exactly observing the vegetation as something that I'm going to pick up and carry to my home. So there I am, in the woods, terrified that I'm going to drop this plank, thereby injuring my poor partner in labor. Of course, everyone is saying that maybe the 5'1" girl should avoid the heavy plank and do something else, but I've been presented with a challenge and I hate backing down from challenges.

They put it on my head.

The plank begins to sink into my brain.

My partner says he's ready to begin the walk back to the site.

The plank sinks further into my brain.

I adjust said plank a little.

I fear brain damage.

[Note: this is the moment in the hollywood story when the protagonist rises up and defeats the challenge. This is their moment of triumph! Success! This is not one of those stories]

I call it quits.

Afraid for, not only mine, but my partner's brain, I say I can't do it. Joe takes over and I try to film him.

Ah, failure. I feel that I'm getting to know you quite well.

The fact is, when you are facing down a failure as big as your marriage breaking down, it makes every other failure that occurs in the same timeframe seem as if it's quite massive. So, while not being able to carry the freaking wood from the forest to the center might seem like a small thing, I was quite pissed and embarrassed. I am getting a divorce AND I can't carry planks of wood. What use am I?

And you can see how the thought process degrades from there...

Joe, of course, was thrilled because it all made for better television programming. CONFLICT! YIPPEE!

Oh, and by the way, do you know who carried the remaining planks of wood? The women of the village. One by one, they carried their very own plank of fresh, wet wood (which were probably around 200lbs. each).

Huh.

Best Laid Plans (Part 10)

The Countdown Has Begun!

Joe and I head out in two days! Already packed and ready to go is our cancer in a bottle – better known as deet bug spray, some toilet paper for those ‘just in case’ moments, immodium, pepto, our visas, passports, customs letters, sunscreen, band aids, malaria pills, flashlights and a very sexy fanny pack. After much trial and error, Joe has also found a protein bar that doesn’t make him wince (for those of you picky eaters out there, your leader opted for the peanut butter flavored clif bars). We purchased lots of those, as well as some additional bars for me. At Alicia’s insistence, we also purchased some mosquito netting for our beds. Not yet sure what we’ll hang it on but I’ve realized that, folded up as it is, it’ll also double as a nice pillow on the plane. I know you might be feeling some major packing component is missing from this list, but not to worry, Joe and I will not be waltzing around Ghana naked. This, for me, is actually the most challenging part of the pre-trip preparation. How can I be sure that my 3-inch black heels won’t be needed at the volunteer site? Are chandelier earrings really excessive? There might be a very appropriate occasion for my sequin top and I would be so disappointed not to have it. Perhaps I can be clothed and Joe can go naked. I bought spf 50, so he should be fully protected as he carries the equipment in his skivvies. Kimberly from Globe Aware says that there is nothing you can’t live without for a week but I beg to differ. So if you happen to be watching CNN this week and here of a story about a naked tourist running around Ghana, know that I did indeed win the battle over bringing the sequined top!

Hopefully, the next time you hear from me, I’ll be in Accra, Ghana!

Best Laid Plans (Part 5)

Embassies?  Consulates? Press Pass? Whaaa??

I am a narrative girl.  I make up stories.  I say... lets pretend that so-and-so meets so-and-so in a coffee shop and then...  Or, let's make believe that some girl meets some guy in the park and then...

I can for sure say that I've never uttered the words, "Can I document my travels as I traipse around Accra to sightsee, and then make my way to Ho to interview people and volunteer?" Nor have I ever asked my doctor if she wouldn't mind if I film myself getting a shot (and oh please god, let them not put me in the paper apron that opens in the front, while they administer my yellow fever vaccination and capture it for eternity on tape).  That is all very real.  Sure, I was never the type of writer that told far fetched stories.  You'd never catch me spinning a tale about a girl meeting a guy in the park, falling in love, and then combining forces to combat rockets shooting out some secret government bacteria.  My story would most likely entail my girl and my guy falling in love and then dealing with, oh, I don't know, relationship issues.  So, unless those rockets came with a surprise pregnancy, or a cheating boyfriend/girlfriend, it's not really a story I'm likely to tell.

I should say however, that just because my scripts are usually grounded in reality it does not mean that they are real, so now, my days of documenting the actual is throwing me off a bit.  My days consist of Joe's voice humming in the background saying things like: 'Julie's freaking out about plane tickets - let's get this on film!' Or 'Julie's freaking out about getting the press pass - let's get this on film!' 'Julie's freaking out - who cares about what! For godsakes get the freaking camera!'

It's all becoming real in a way that I never considered before: the budget, the plane tickets, the program, the interviews, the shots... yellow fever, hepatitis, malaria pills, tetanus, cipro for extreme diarrhea, an epi pen for my shellfish allergy... oh my... and while I've had many of these shots from previous trips or from swimming in the Hudson River (don't ask), hearing the list once again is, well, not a small thing.

Recently, I told my mother that I've been having anxiety dreams about forgetting to take care of something before Joe and I leave.  For example, my dream would have me forgetting something like the malaria pills only to then look down at my leg and see a smiling mosquito eating my ankle for lunch.  To this, my wise mother asked, "Then why are you doing this?"  I thought to myself, can I answer that it's because I'm getting a divorce?  Is that a legitimate response?  Should I even care if it's not?

From the stories I've heard, when relationships breakdown, most turn to the bottle, maybe have a lot of sex, refuse to leave the house, or bury their head into a huge tub of ice cream.  I don't know that I've heard the old tale of the person making their way to Africa.  Yet, I think the thought behind it is the same, and certainly I am not any different from anyone else.  You see, while I find myself having an anxiety dream about some Ghanian prison, I find that I'm not having a dream about my husband walking out again.  The rotation of ideas and thoughts and reasons for his leaving play less often in my head and is slowly being replaced by the trip.  I'd be lying if I said that I planned it this way, because I absolutely didn't.  I hoped for a distraction sure, but I never imagined how much this trip would consume me. And it's consumption in the best way possible.  Now I'm certainly not negating the building blocks of the drunken stupor, or the night of random sex, or the various flavors of a well-churned ice cream - it's just that that wouldn't do it for me.  I needed something more lasting, I guess.  I needed something that would match the pace of my racing mind.  

And I have to tell you... I think I've found it.

Best Laid Plans (Part 4)

Joe and Julie Go to Ghana

In order to do a documentary about going on a trip, you must have someone there doing the documenting.  This someone is a sweet-tart-eating, pancake-loving, root-beer-drinking dude named Joe.  Let me be clear on this - the list of foods and beverages that Joe will take into his body can be counted on one hand.  Pancakes: Yes. Sweet Tarts: Yes.  Root Beer: Yes.  Pizza: Yes.  Salmon: Yes.  Everything else: NO.  Many questions arise from this list, such as how salmon somehow got an acceptance letter to Joe's stomach but say, Milky Way bars didn't.  

Now, if Joe were standing over me as I wrote this, I'm sure he would throw some more foods and beverages onto this sad little pile, but there wouldn't be many.  In fact, a typical non-work conversation between Joe and I goes as follows:

Me: "Hey Joe, what about lasagna? Will you eat lasagna?" 

Joe: "No. Gross."

Me: "But you eat pizza and it has basically the same ingredients."

Joe: "But pizza's not gross."

Me: "What about vegetables? Don't you eat any vegetables?"

Joe: "No. I talk alfalfa pills."

Me: "Joe, you need to be studied by the AMA."

Joe: "Bring it on."

Somehow, every conversation degrades into me telling Joe that the American Medical Association should study him and Joe expounding on the power of alfalfa pills.

So, when I was first thinking about doing this documentary and initially talked to Joe about whether he was interested in going with me, my first question was not, 'are you interested?' or 'how do you envision this,' it was "what in the hell are you going to eat???"

Joe promises me that he will "iron man it" as he likes to say, but we've been planning this documentary for awhile now and I have yet to see him show the slightest bit of interest in any foods outside of his safety list.  So now on my Ghana 'to do' list I have: visas, shots, permissions  and ensuring that Joe doesn't whither away and die from lack of food and drink.  I have also promised him one carry-on bag filled with Sweet Tarts, but I'm not exaggerating when I say that I've wondered if Customs will assume that Joe and I are somehow carting drug laced candies with us, since nobody would understand needing to carry an entire bag of Sweet Tarts with them.  Though I also realize that I tend toward worrying... while Joe tends toward... relaxing.

Yes, this is going to be a great partnership.