It’s Friday.
Sonjelle left at noon. The
kids were in school when her cab bounced and bobbed away in a cloud of
dust. We slowly dropped our waving
hands and, like zombies we turned back into the compound and sulked off to the
office. I’d been too busy to clean it properly, but now I was too overwhelmed
to worry about anything outside of that little room. Sonjelle.
Left. At noon.
I whined to John about how I’d cleaned the office shelves a
few days ago, made Justice and Lebene clean the whole room after they fought
yesterday, and Sonjelle said she cleaned it twice this week herself, but it’s
still a mess. John grumbled about
how there is no order, and no consequence for not taking care of things. When we got to the medicines- the only
things on the shelves that aren’t perpetually messy- we look at each
other. We stop griping about the
messy room and discuss our plan for dispensing medicine we aren’t qualified to
dispense to children who trust us with their lives.
When the older kids came home, John and I went to the market
with Justice and Elikplim. My last
market day. I bought myself some
cloth to take home, brooms for the boys to take to school, and coal for the
kitchen. The brooms and coal cost
80 cents. The woman selling it
wanted to charge us for the plastic bag.
Poor Justice was so irritated and had to argue and argue with her, but
we ended up not paying for the bag.
Justice explained to us that people in Ghana like to cheat white people-
then he re-stated – people from abroad, because they have more money where they
come from. I said that while it is
true that I make more than I would if I lived here, things also cost more
there. And while that 10 extra peswas
wouldn’t make me poor if I gave it to that woman for the bag, I’d rather give
it to someone who is honest than be cheated out of it. John added that meeting that woman
didn’t make him feel good, but knowing the people at the home – our new friends
– makes us want to come back and visit Ghana again.
On our way home we met Justice’s mom – she was selling
kenke, and carried it on her head.
I was impressed until we passed a woman carrying a kitchen table
upside-down on her head.
Rice and okra stew for lunch, which is not an acceptable
combination. Matilda said “oh”
when I suggested it when she asked me “what will you take this afternoon?” And “oh” means “no.” I insisted and we got it. But then for dinner we were only given
plantains- no beans. Mauwli said
it was because we didn’t finish the exorbitant amount of food we were given for
lunch. I’m not positive, but I
think we were being punished. The
kids did have beans.
Emma was particularly excited about his beans, in fact. He sprinted-flailed (as only a toddler
can) to the kitchen where Matilda plopped the slop into his bowl. Since we weren’t given our own beans, I
had tried to procure some of the children’s beans, but they were too
spicy. And I like spice. So when I say it was too spicy, I mean
I could almost feel blisters in my throat after swallowing. As I watched Emma smash his little palm
into his meal and smear the contents across his face, I couldn’t help but wonder
how it didn’t melt his face off.
Then, to my horror, he picked up the bowl over his head and poured every
last drop directly into his eye.
And then he started screaming bloody murder. I scooped him up and dunked him head first into the metal
water tank thinking about how I’ve just let the sick kid blind himself with his
dinner and now I’ve contaminated the water source. This is what happens when Sonjelle leaves us. Once Emma calmed down he was fine, and
a second peek into the tank revealed worse contaminants than spicy beans and
toddler filth.
We all survived our first eight hours without her.
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