The Tallest of the Small Boys

First and foremost, a belated Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!  I had the odd pleasure of spending Christmas time in the 80 degree savanna where it was completely devoid of snow, cold, shopping malls, commercials, Santa and all other things a New Englander relates to Christmas.  However, I was not pining too much as mother was kind enough to send me a miniature Christmas tree and an elf nutcracker.  The Ghanians found this a source of great amusement and dubbed the elf "my baby".  Best of all the decorations came with an entire box shipped from home full of Christmas presents.  Not to mention home made brownies (baked with love) which were a delight to me and my compatriots.  It took all the self control I have but I managed to hold off opening the presents until the 25th, and it was well worth the wait. 
Despite the decorations, it still didn't feel like Christmas.  The fact that on Christmas Eve Day I was able to take a hike and climb a tree was enjoyable, yet very, very odd.  Worst of all was the lack of family and pangs of homesickness really hit me.  More than ever I felt lost in a culture and place that was absolutely foreign.  However, I soon realized that I did have a family in Ghana.  There was a whole group of people willing to accept me simply because I was one of them.  Thus, Christmas day found me traveling to the Peace Corps sub-office in Tamale.  The journey there provided a wonderful opportunity to replace my homesickness with an entirely new set of troubles.
One of the main forms of transportation in Ghana is through the use of tro-tros.  Vans in various states of disrepair are crammed full of passengers and cargo and briskly transported to their desired location.  Thus, what would be a 12 passenger van in the U.S. becomes a 21 passenger van (with the tro-tro collection agent hanging out the sliding door) plus a handful of small children.  Needless to say, they're cheap. 
The tro I picked up to Tamale was loaded with 50 kilo bags of maize (corn) and a few people strategically crushed in amongst them.  I was given the seat of honor up front next to the driver.  The tro took off and much to my unsurprised the right rear wheel was having some issues.  It might have been the shocks too, since upon swerving around every pot hole (trust me, there are a few) I could hear the comforting sound of metal grinding against metal.  Just like sleigh bells.  The whole tro rocked back and forth causing a surge of . . . excitement to course through me. Eventually the tire blew (surprise, surprise) after a particularly rough stretch or road.  So out hopped the driver with a jack and he threw on the spare.  As we were clamoring aboard, I heard a gentleman behind me exclaim, "White Man, Merry X-Mas!"  Upon turning to discover the user of such a contextually peculiar phrase, I was faced with a smile and a bottle of black anise schnapps.  "Drink" extolled the friendly Ghanian.  Upon briefly considering the ride the ride I had just experienced, I gladly took a swig.  Hopping back into the front seat I felt slightly more fortified for what was to come.  Blowing the tire ended up being a good thing, as the ride markedly improved.  However, upon stopping to let a passenger out, the tro proceeded to roll backwards once the driver left the van.  This issue was solved by the passenger sitting next to me as he reached his foot over onto the brake.  How the driver actually parks his tro, I haven't the foggiest.  Eventually we all made it one piece to Tamale.  It was truly a Christmas miracle.  Here would be a good place to apologize to my mother for the next two years of even more anxiety, but that story is way to good to keep hidden for that long.
Anyways, I found my way to the sub-office, donned my home-made reindeer costume and had a lovely time.  We swapped two yards (colorfully printed fabric popular across Ghana) ate lots of food, sang Christmas carols at the neighboring houses and had a general good time.  It was nice to have that mutual, unspoken understanding between the volunteers who understand what it's like to be so far away from the familiar. 
I spent New Year back in Toronyilli.  My counterpart (the Ghanian who acts as a local guide and close advisor) provided me with a bottle of pito (a beverage made out of fermented millet).  After weighing out bags of maize (never done that on New Year) Yusif (my cp) and I sat down to enjoy our beverage and I thought we were going to have a nice night counting down the New Year together.  However, he left me at 10:30.
I sat in my room in near darkness, finding the mood rather depressing.  Soon, I heard the voice of Yusif talking to the other men outside.  I realized that I could either sulk in my room, or make the most of it.  Since I didn't want to celebrate alone, and I certainly didn't want to drink alone, I brought the rest of my libation out to the group who were much amused and thankful.  Even so, they all retired before midnight leaving me to count down the last seconds of 2012 with a chicken as my closest companion.  The comfortably cool night air was filled with the sounds of goats, ducks, chickens, insects and people settling down to sleep.  I could almost see the spirits of my ancestors standing in the clumps of tall, pale grass in the fields.  As much as I was alone, I was surrounded by life.  This energy filled me with an undeniable sense of how fitting this moment was.  I will be isolated during my time out here, but that will chisel out a more independent nature.  My perceptions and results of my experience here depend entirely on me.  All the tools I need are around me and inside of me.  When I am stuck, I can always reach out to the villagers and the PC support network
My rumination upon the present surroundings eventually turned towards anticipation of the future; what the village needs and how I will help them.  I thought about the fields I had worked in the past week and how, come sunset, Yusif would send me home with the "small boys", the group of elementary school aged children that went out with us to the farm.  Those twilight walks came back to me as I watched the moon and stars rotate their way towards a new year.  I realized that I am in a lot of ways a child in this new country.  I have much to learn about its people and land.  Like an infant, I am learning the language through listening.  My tongue fumbles and stutters over unfamiliar letters as I parrot what enters my ears.  Like a child, the best is yet to come, and the answers that I seek will be revealed in good time.  The wonder and excitement of exploring a new environment and diverse culture renews sophomoric curiosity.  I count down the last seconds to midnight and rise to face the new year; the tallest of the small boys.