Missing the basic luxuries of development

Time to come clean. As much as I'm loving it over here I have to admit that there are just some aspects of living in a developed country that I am too accustomed to. I could never survive the plight of living permanently in a place that doesn't have sanitation and air-conditioning. The showering with a bucket- easy, the walking to the internet- easy, but the toilet- failboat.

The smell. It's very much the stench of human waste and rubbish that tortures me. I never really appreciated the smell of nothing until I came here. Rubbish is a huge problem over here. There are signs all over the big cities urging the population to keep Ghana clean yet there are no rubbish bins. Rubbish peppers backyards, plagues streets and drowns in rivers and lakes. If it isn't dumped then it is worse yet. They burn it, and the pungent aroma of burnt rubbish is one that is difficult to overcome. It stays with you for the whole day after you have long since passed the site of burning.

I'm also beginning to miss simple things like food. Over here, although the food has varied somewhat, we have to fight to get fruit and vegetables to liven up our meals. To me this is perplexing because I'm living in a rural village where fruit and vegetables seem to be the predominant source of production and shops. Nevertheless, people never seem to actually eat any of it. Almost every Ghanaian I have met laments eating both fruit and vegetables and prefers meat, rice and other heavy foods. Fruit is really important over here because it really has become one of my only sources of sugar. And boy do I need sugar to survive. The overwhelming lack of chocolate may well be my biggest downfall while over here. There is, however, icecream. My new addiction its called fan-ice and it is my sugar heaven.

I'm totally craving my Iphone to send inane and trivial texts to people updating them on anything I feel like.

This is going to sound insulting but its the truth, I also miss civility. The attitudes over here are so abundantly different to at home. Yesterday, we were cleaing the walls of the daycare centre so that we can paint the creche for the children. This is on top of our other work and we're doing it in our own time. The teachers rather than be helpful or even absent which I would have preferrred ambled in and out of the classroom watching us, laughing at us, eating and talking to eachother in Twi. It was so frustrating. I'm getting sick of being called a white person and feigning a husband at home merely to avoid the affliction of male Ghanaians.

Alas, that's all for now.