I reluctantly pulled myself out of bed on Monday morning and got dressed for class.
My roommate heated up some of her spicy, chicken gizzard stew and rice for breakfast. I must say, my roommate makes the best stew in all of Ghana.
I started walking, at my fast American pace, toward the JQB where my History of Africa class was. By the time I got there I was dripping in sweat and realizing why Ghanaians walk so slowly all the time.
I sat in the classroom for 30 minutes until the teacher’s aide walked in and said that our professor was in South Africa. Irritated that I pulled myself out of bed for a canceled class, I walked back to ISH at a much slower pace. I was in no hurry.
I noticed the sky growing darker by the minute and watched as yellow flower petals were ripped from their tree branches and tossed into the wind, wildly flailing about as they fell to the earth.
I kept on walking slowly, enjoying the beautiful shower of flower petals. Then the wind came. This wind reminded me of television clips depicting New Orleans during Hurricane Katrina. I decided that perhaps it was time to use my American speed walk again.
After about a minute, my speed walk turned into a full blown sprint.
I could hear the voices of Ghanaians rushing out to the clothes lines like they were running into battle. Everyone knew what was coming. Everyone, that is, except for me.
I mean, I knew it was about to rain. But I didn’t know that the floodgates of heaven were about to open up, dumping endless amounts of water on its innocent victims who were merely walking home from class. I have never seen a rainstorm like that in my life.
I guess I should have expected something that intense when I decided to go to school in the middle of an equatorial rainforest for a semester.
I was running through the rain, clutching my purse tightly to my body and hoping that my homework tucked inside wouldn’t be ruined. There was no use though. Everything got soaked.
When I arrived back in ISH, I thought about bringing my shampoo outside and washing my hair in the rain. I mean, why not? The pressure was a lot stronger than any shower I’ve encountered in Ghana, or even in Tennessee for that matter. I didn’t venture back outside though. Instead, I stayed in my dorm, propped up against my window with a camcorder. Call me “Tourist Joe” all you want. It needed to be captured so that everyone back home will believe me.
I had plans to go to the orphanage that day and hang mosquito nets, but the rain kept me off the roads. It wasn’t worth risking it, especially in a trotro. Ghanaians are never in a hurry, until you put one in a vehicle. Earnhardt doesn’t have anything on these madmen (the trotro drivers).
As I write this, I can hear the sound of thunder rolling in. The rainy season is beginning. I guess it’s about time I invested in an umbrella.
I’ve also decided that I need to start wearing my fake wedding ring again. I had a Ghanaian man propose to me today at the post office. It was charming. It was everything I could ever dream of in a proposal.
Check out my blog for more African adventures at www.kimberfoli.blogspot.com.

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