I beg you sign

Have been taking the sun for granted. My skirt and sunglasses were my uniform. But as rainy season is starting now, millions of potential malaria mosquitoes have turned me into the burka kind. And sometimes in 10 minutes enough rain falls to flood the streets. I take of my shoes and walk barefoot. To the car of course, not far. On an average day I don’t walk more than 300 meter. I have been told that this is about the distance an average American walks a day as well.

I just found out by the way that officially in Ghana cars coming from the left have the right of way. That could explain my numerous hunking sessions in traffic. Luckily though, I now know the “I beg you” sign. If you put the back of one hand in the palm of the other it means, depending on the context: “I beg you, please let me get into this line”. Or: “I beg you, please lower your price, as you can see I live here and I know the sign language, so don’t fool with me”. And last but not least (after going back and forward with orders that are 'finished' today): "I beg you, I see you have 500 things on your menu, but what DO you have?" Answer is always simple though. There might be crocodile and crab on the menu; all there really is, is chicken.

I'm actually having a bit of a crocodile theme lately; but I did in fact come across the one restaurant that did have it. Failed to live up to expectations though. It was just like chicken.

De groeten aan de rimboe, ik heb meer zin in het kopen van een krokodillen leren tas. Daarom kom ik lekker een weekje naar huis! 25 juni-2 juli. Het lijkt me heerlijk om jullie allemaal te zien. Alleen lukt dat natuurlijk niet. Bij deze baal ik daar al van en voor de duidelijkheid: het zegt niks over hoe lief ik je vindt, maar meer over hoe ver weg of dichtbij je van de Amsterdamse grachtengordel verwijderd bent, het aantal uren in een dag en het feit dat, gezien de ervaring afgelopen kerst, Taco mij waarschijnlijk aan de tafelpoot vast gaat binden.

En jullie hebben ook nog andere dingen te doen dan met mij in de Bakkerswinkel te zitten. Werken en kinderen opvoeden enzo. En facebooken natuurlijk. Maar wie weet kan ik deze en gene wel overhalen om ‘ineens snotverkouden niet te kunnen werken’ en toch een koffietje met mij te drinken. Desgewensd kan ik ook wat tropische ziektes importeren zodat we gezellig met een beetje malaria aan de bar kunnen hangen. Of pastasalades eten in het park. Of kampvuren bouwen op ons balkon. En vieren dat ik de week daarvoor dan toch echt een volwassen vrouw met kleine lachrimpeltjes ben geworden natuurlijk. Overigens trek ik het tot nu toe best goed, dat 30 worden. Ben er bijna trots op, al heb ik er niet echt veel voor hoeven doen. Maar tzt kan ik vast wel een borrel gebruiken. Of twee. En een taart.

Play time

Children in northern Ghana are lucky. They go to school maximum about 2 hours a day and the rest is play time with their mates around the school. This conclusion is not the result of scientific research, yet my conclusion after some observations. Everywhere we went the schools ‘happened to be’ on break. Such a coincidence. We visited eight primary schools in very remote northern Ghana, close to the Burkina Faso border. In all of them, except for one, the kids were running around outside. The very few teachers that did show up that day were hanging on their motorbikes under a tree. Chilling out, not having the slightest intention to teach. All the head teacher but one were on sick leave. It must be a horrible job as they all fall ill within months after being appointed.

Some class rooms had no furniture and the children were sitting on big stones or on the floor. Some of the small ones were sitting there all day. Waiting for the teachers to come. Or waiting for the school feeding programme to give them at least one meal a day. The food seemed in fact all they were there for.

It was the first time that I wished to work for the Ghanaian government instead of UNICEF. Indeed, I wished I were the the Minister of Education. Not only would everybody call me ‘ honourable Madame Swart’ then, but I could sack them all. Hire good and motivated teachers. Although with the 150 Euro they make per month that could be an illusion. It’s even hard to blame them for not doing anything. If I were the Minister I would want to shake up the parents and communities for them to demand for a good school. I would fire about all my staff at the ministry, region and district level. I would want to know where the one billion dollars that is spent yearly on education in Ghana has gone every year. But I'm not the minister. Lucky me. I'm just a bit worried sometimes that it doesn't look like anything ever seems to change here.

First time for everything

I’m sure everybody remembers his or her first flight, as long as you were not younger than 2 at that time. My mom thought hers was ‘absolutely fabulous and fantastic’ and she looked out of her window for 6 hours before landing at Kotoka Airport. Smart as she is, she picked her spot deliberately at the right window to see the sunset. And there I saw them at the airport, my mother and brother walking into their first African night.

Pictures below give a good impression on how we spent our time together. It involved lots of wine, beers, reading, discussions and talking about all the million thoughts and things that we had not shared for the past 6 months. I also gained a lot of respect for driving in the madness of Saturday markets. I lost some respect however by admitting that all I do for housekeeping is organising my closet full of shoes every once in a while.

It was great to show them around in my life. And the next year and a half that I will stay here seem long today. But I’m glad that they developed a warm heart for Ghana. A warm but sweaty heart.

April in NY pictures

You can leave your country, but you can’t leave the Dutchness behind. Why take a cab if you have a bike right? Even though it was nerve wrecking from time to time, it was the best way to explore NY outside Manhattan.


The big blue building in the back is the UN by the way.




Coming from Africa I burned lobster red while touring the Big Apple in the first spring days. Song I felt like singing out loud all day was Nina Simone’s: Birds flying high you know how I feel / Sun in the sky you know how I feel / Reeds driftin’ on by you know how I feel / It’s a new dawn / It’s a new day / It’s a new life / For me / And I’m feeling good. With a very long and happy eeeee in feeling and oooo in good.

After nescafe powder and milk powder for over half a year, a heartshaped cappuccino, blueberry muffin AND carrot cake for breakfast tasted like an angel pied on my tongue. I am aware that this is most likely no English expression, but it was so good!

After spending the amount of the money on a haircut that would have been enough to vaccinate the complete population of Ghanaian children under five against all possible deseases, I felt bad. So we went to the MOMA in Queens to do at least something reasonable and go for a swim in modern art swimming pool.









And the rest of the time we hang around in parks (even old railways are parks in NY), listened to great jazz from a balcony stage, had a lovely picknick with old friends, went for a jog and romantic evening walks and yes, I spent some more money in my new favourite shop (Japanese Uniqlo, go there, it’s Japan’s gift to mankind apart from sushi, suzuki and tamagogis).