one very bad morning

written yesterday, June 1, 2006

Last night, after arguing with a tro-tro driver about whether or not I was going to pay an amount the equivalent of which was about $0.08, I lost my wallet, containing about $30, 5,000¢ (about $0.50), my credit card, my friend Rachel’s credit card, and my driver’s license. I discovered the loss this morning when at 7:15am Kofe, one of the hotel guys, knocked on my door with my clean laundry, and I needed my wallet to pay him. Fortunately, most of the cash I had gotten from the ATM wasn’t in my wallet, so I was able to pay him, but then there was the matter of finding the wallet. So off I rushed, retracing my steps along the very highly traveled route we had walked last night, asking at the tro-tro stop (interesting, the phone card lady had a lost checkbook someone had left with her, but no wallet). No wallet. So I crossed the street, with the intention of asking the tro-tro drivers who were going to the appropriate destination whether they’d seen it. I hadn’t yet found such a driver when two men asked me where I was going (I could tell by the way they asked that they wanted to be helpful). So I heaved a big sigh, contained my tears, and explained to them what had happened. They told me that I needed to go ask at the major tro-tro stations, and I then realized that I’d rushed out of the house without any money (probably a reactionary move), and one of them, Abraham, offered to take me.

Abraham turned out to be very very nice, so there was at least some pleasantness in the midst of the un-. We went first to one station on a tro-tro, which he paid for, and then another station and another, in a taxi, which he also paid for, quite a lot, actually. We tramped around in the hot sun in these stations, among people selling all sorts of things, what seemed like thousands of tro-tros and taxis, and people calling for my attention, all under the hot humid sun (I hadn’t had any breakfast). At the second station, I was standing by Abraham as he talked in Twi with one of the tro-tro men, when another man grabbed my arm from behind (not particularly unusual). I was quite focused on the conversation that Abraham was having, so I just turned and looked at the guy who had grabbed my arm, shook my arm free and turned around again. He then sort of wiped his hand on my arm again, and it was wet, but I just assumed it was sweat and didn’t pay attention. When he did it a third time, I turned around and looked at him—he was staring at me, didn’t say a word—and then at my arm, and discovered that he had wiped spit on me. That was pretty much the last straw and I cried right there in the tro-tro station. But then many people gathered around and asked what happened (I was a spectacle to be sure) and the next thing I knew a little old lady was wiping off my arm, and someone poured water on it and she wiped it off again, and she kept telling me it was ok and that I should smile, which I finally managed to do.

Then Abraham sort of abruptly walked off, and I followed, saying thank you thank you to all the people, of course, and he said that the man must be crazy, which is what I will believe too, because otherwise there isn’t anything good to think. So we went to more stations, and I calmed down and we chatted about where he was from and eventually I went back to my hotel, turned my room inside out again, and it was still missing so I called Rachel to tell her what had happened (it was around 4a.m. there, I’m guessing) and she was lovely about it. I had woken my mother up too, who was also lovely about it. Then I went to Busy Internet to cancel my credit card but you have to call, so I got the number, went back to Asylum Down, my neighborhood, bought another phone card and called the credit card company. And then finally the ordeal was over (at least so far as I know).

So that was my very bad morning and if it doesn’t any worse than that then that’s not so awful. I have some money, the cards are cancelled, my new bank card will be here on Monday, I have friends here, and a new friend Abraham, so really it isn’t so bad.

. . .

written today, June 2, 2006
The rest of the day was great, by the way. Not much to do at work, so I wrote that post, then Stefanie and Zach, our new 20-year-old Canadian intern, and I went to the market where I bought some consolatory fabric. Then we visited Zach's compound, which is called the Obruni House=The White People House (and indeed all the white people present liked it very much). On to the Koala Supermarket, which is where one buys delicious western items dark chocolate and granola, and where we met up with Kristin and her fellow intern, Christina, a Ph.D. student from George Washington University. And from there we all had quite a delicious dinner at an Italian restaurant. And went home fat and happy. the end.

. . .