My Day - Part 1

“Mario!” The first sunlight is penetrating through the window as I open my eyes. “MARIO!” Mama's shouting is getting louder. I turn over, pull the pillow over my head and try to ignore the many layers of noise penetrating the window from outside. I can hear the Zoom Lion rubbish truck in the distance announcing its presence to the local community by playing the same old, repetitive, high pitched melody. Someone is sweeping just outside our house, so close that I briefly open my left eye just enough to convince myself that the person isn't actually standing in our room. “Maaarioo!”, this time just a little louder, a little sharper, but Mario has no intention of heeding his mother's call. Meanwhile his brother is cranking up the Fugees, killing me softly with his song. His niece is enjoying it so much she joins in “with his song, killing me softly” and even though she has a beautiful voice, I appreciate it a lot more at dusk than dawn. The noise level is even upsetting the rooster so it decides to show everyone who's boss, which in turn upsets the dog, which starts to growl and bark. “Maaaaaaaaaaaaarioooooooooooooooooooo!” mama yells again, making full use of her lung capacity, so much so that I'm fearing her lungs might collapse. She's nearly as angry as me now and if someone gave me the cane stick I'd finish the job for her. I'm starting to develop a real dislike for this kid and I haven't even met him yet. If only he was a little more like his cousin Hubert, an incredibly well disciplined kid, even for Ghanaian standards. Mama wouldn't even need to call Hubert, he would have read her mind instantly and completed the task before she uttered a word. Unlike “MAAAAAAAAAAARIOOOOOOOOOOOO!”. I can hear goats running across the courtyard: “Maaaah, maaah, ...” and chicken rummaging through the dirt. And to round it all off, the pilot on the 6:15 flight to Timbuktu decides to have a real close look at what's going down in Labadi town.

It's time to get up and by Ghanaian standards I'm late. Everyone's day is already in full swing, except for the goat that just got slaughtered and the chicken being plucked. Men sweeping the streets, ladies selling eggs, tomatoes, bread, onions, grains and bofrots. You name it, they sell it, and if they don't the local hawkers will, anything that promises to make a cedi from the strangers passing by. Coconut vendors wheeling their carts through town, supplying everyone with their favourite refreshment. Trotros whizzing people from A to Z, racing around corners and through markets as if there was nobody else on the street. I crawl out of bed, trying not to get entangled in the mosquito net and slowly drag myself to the shower. The water pressure is a joke today, so I kneel down to marginally increase the flow of water coming out of the shower head. It's already hot so I'm thankful for every drop of cold water running down my body. I haven't used the hot water once. As a matter of fact I don't even know if we have any hot water! As I step out of the shower I feel like going straight back in again. I can feel sweat oozing out of my pores the moment I turn off the water. The humidity kills me, which is why I stopped wearing long pants and a shirt to work on day two, swapping the office attire for shorts and t-shirt. Luckily all the volunteers have conspired to wear the same outfit and refuse to compete with the crisp, clean shirts and the beautiful dresses the Ghanaian men and women wear to work every day. I do admire the local office workers, especially my colleague Vincent who wears a suit and tie to work every day. I have no idea how he can bear it and how he will cope when summer comes along in a couple of months. I enter the kitchen and scrape the last bit of peanut butter out of the jar, marvelling at my rate of consumption. It's the end of jar number three in as many weeks. I'm addicted to the stuff! As I devour my toast I discover a coconut in the fridge and a banana on the table. I pull out the bread knife, chop the top off the coconut, pour the cold juice into the blender, add the flesh, banana and honey and eagerly await my next course. After finishing off with some muesli and a fresh papaya I put on my backpack and leave the house. The sun's out, people are smiling, the music is playing “and I think to myself, what a wonderful world”.