Don’t it always seem to go that you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone

I’m a little concerned that the tone of your blog and that of your e mail to me don’t coincide my Occasionally Nefarious Friend wrote to me in his last e mail. I understand completely what he means but it’s a tricky one to answer. It’s the close to impossible task of explaining an experience that is both taxing and rewarding.

We have just over three weeks left in Ghana: two in Paga. Some days can be so difficult that the early bed times are a relief. I spend my working days testing a stream of sick people hoping that they will get the treatment they need and deserve. We reuse everything in the clinic apart from needles. Slides for blood samples are all washed and reused until they barely resemble anything that was made from glass. Containers for urine samples likewise. When a stool sample is to be tested I have to dilute it with a solution before stirring it with a twig which I then use to transfer some to the slide for analysis. And that only happens if the electricity is on. Power cuts here are more regular than commercials are on TV at home. With no power we cannot use the microscopes and the sick people simply have to wait, in the oppressive heat – hoping that they’ll get some sort of result which they can then take back to the consultant who will decide if there are drugs available for treatment.  Most of the people are sick with Malaria but there are also many cases of typhoid and other mysterious illnesses that we haven’t a hope of guessing given our resources. Seeing so many pregnant ladies and very young children horribly ill with a disease like malaria that will continue in this area for far too long into the future is depressing beyond words.

Amid all this I am working with three wonderfully upbeat, friendly and competent people. The best I could wish for really. Their jokes and the fact that I can make a wailing child giggle by just producing a lollipop can often make up for just about anything I may be feeling.

I come home and then face more and more rice for lunch and dinner before taking a ‘shower’ with a bucket of cold water. Some days, depending on my mood it can be invigorating, other days it has me cursing – in Dutch just so as I don’t offend anyone within earshot.

I check my kindle constantly for e mails from friends or comments on my blog and these give me more energy than you could ever expect. It’s not that I am lonely here. You are never far from anyone in Paga and they are genuinely the friendliest people I’ve met in all my travels; so welcoming and open. But of course they aren’t my people and I know I’ll be leaving them shortly. Contact with home or a reaction on my blog grounds me so well, helps me remember that I have great friends and family all of my own just waiting for me to return.

A short while ago after a particularly tough day when we had both been ill and had experienced all sorts of difficult situations I reminded My Very Own Newfoundlander that there were only three weeks left. We’re on the home stretch I chirped encouragingly.

I know he replied with a straight face, it’s the ‘stretch’ part that I worry about.

And I know only too well that as much as I cannot wait for a hot shower, a washing machine and a well stocked supermarket that I will miss so much of this place – most likely as soon as I touch down in Europe again. I will miss the two goats always outside our house. The male is just getting over a cold which caused the cutest goat sneezes imaginable. The female is pregnant and getting bigger by the day. I was scandalised to learn that her partner couldn’t have been the father as he had been neutered. My very own soap opera outside my window. Who needs a television?

I will miss Weja who cares for us two like a mother – despite being a young man who should have thousands of other things to occupy his time rather than looking after two needy foreigners. I would love to have the chance to take him to Ireland some day and repay his kindness and generosity. It makes me horribly sad to think that the likelihood of this ever happening is close to zero.

I will yearn for the amazing greetings I receive here, always with a big smile and an extravagant welcome. Or how whenever anyone sits to eat they look at you, smile and say you are invited, which means you are welcome to share their food, no matter how little they may have.

I know I will be thinking about my little prince as I sit at home in Ireland wandering if there was enough rain for the crops to feed his family or if the rumour that they will finally get electricity has materialised. I will miss his wonderful eager smile whenever he sees me, the one that never ceases to produce the mirror image in my own expression.

I will not miss how unorganised and chaotic things can be at times. How there isn’t always enough food or medicine and how goddamn difficult some people’s lives are here How when it rains people just don’t bother going to work. Or how those sick people have to wait so long to get treatment.

And I think everyone knows where I stand on food, showering, laundry and belly aches.

So it’s a complete mixture of thoughts, experiences and emotions. It hasn’t been easy. Has it really been all that hard for me? Not by a long shot– it’s just far too easy to moan. You don’t miss what you never had and the problem is that I’ve had a very blessed life up until now. If I had had any doubts beforehand, living here has made that remarkably clear.

One particular day will stick out – which in a way encompasses how many emotions spin together for me in Paga. I found out through a text message from home that my aunt had passed away. I was on a minibus coming back from the village where my little prince lives. While it wasn’t out of the blue as she had been ill for a while now it is always a shock. I kept my reaction at bay until the bus brought me to my bike and I began my cycle back to the house. As I raced down the hill I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer, remembering how she made me a special Christmas pudding for the first Christmas I spent away from home. How I always looked forward to her and my uncle’s visits when I was a kid. Imagining how she would once have played with my father as a child. My Aunt, Uncle and my Dad all no longer with us.

As I sped along on my bike through my watery eyes I noticed I was being greeted on both sides of the road – Hello White Man on one side, Welcome White Man on the other all waving and beaming at me. This continued for my entire journey back interspersed by groups of laughing children who would ran after me waving and singing Fella Fella Good Morning. By the time I had reached my door I honestly didn’t know if I was laughing or crying any more. I certainly wished I could have been with my family but I was also comforted by the fact that while that wasn’t possible – this was really not a bad alternative.

Certainly not for this lucky white man.