Market Fail

I’ve discovered that going to the market is like playing slots. Sometimes, you get lucky on the first pull and you walk away happy. Sometimes, you have a really bad streak, but you keep playing because you are just hoping that next pull will be a winner. Yeah, that’s me and the market. Some days when I go, everything is there – everything I need. Sometimes, I go for just carrots or a cucumber. Nada, sold out. Really?

Today, I travelled all the way to Techiman in search of some sandals. I have a pair of sandals that I love dearly, unfortunately, they are starting to fall apart. They were made here in Ghana from recycled tires, so I’m pretty attached to them. You would think finding a Made in Ghana product would be easy. WRONG. I’ve checked for these sandals every time I go to Techiman, no luck. That’s where I bought them originally. I asked around and everyone told me that I can get them during the week. Ugh. I walked around the biggest market in West Africa for hours today searching for my sandals. No one was even selling decent sandals. Nothing, it was dead. No one was there, the other times I have gone it was super busy. Why Ghana? Oh, WHY? So, I bought a pair of 4cd sunglasses to replace the ones that just broke yesterday. That makes 3 pairs of sunglasses that have broken in country so far.

Dejected, hungry, and tired, I hoped in the taxi to go back home. The lady in the middle seat thought it would be fun to keep her elbow and arm in my lap. And to wave in front of my face while I was reading. Yeah, that makes sense. The lady sitting next to her didn’t have an arm in her lap. So, when the lady got out one town early and complained to the driver about him charging her the full fare, she opened my door again and was causing a fuss. So, I told her in my most passive aggressive bitchy voice – you are complaining about 30p and holding up our taxi. Move on. Then I closed the door in her face. The driver sped off. Everyone in the taxi was complaining about that lady, they looked at me with reverence. I’ve entered my “I ain’t putting up with your b.s.” stage of my service. Also known as – sassy me. Also, when I was walking home, the little annoying kids chased me screaming the white person song. So I just muttered obscenities at them under my breath and kept walking. I’ve been living here for almost 8 months now, you’d think after 8 months they’d figure out that singing that song doesn’t work for getting my attention, or my autograph.

Some days I really do feel like a celebrity. The other day, someone was walking towards me. He stopped, pulled out his cell phone, snapped a picture of me, THEN greeted me as I walked past. I’ll admit, I looked really good that day, so it didn’t bother me as much. I just chuckled and walked past. People who I don’t remember, recognize, or know greet me by name anywhere I go in town. When I enter the taxi station it is like walking on red carpet. Everyone is calling my name, trying to get my attention, trying to take a picture. It is a little ridiculous, a little fun, and partially an ego boost. There is one house next to me, whenever I walk by the entire gang of kids runs out to greet me. Even the little toddler who is never wearing pants says: “Mama Good Afternoon, How Are You.” Kid has no clue what he is saying, he just repeats it. Good for him though, 2 years old and busting out the English to impress the ladies.

Side note: How dare you come to my house, uninvited, while I am not feeling well, and tell me that my headache is because God is punishing me for going to the market today. I just met you 2 minutes ago, when you knocked on my door. Go away and let me have my sinus headache because there is low pressure today. I replaced a volunteer at my site, there used to be a man who lived in my town. He is now a cashew buyer and the big man. For some reason, everyone thinks I either his secretary, daughter/wife/sister, accountant, or banker. Nope, just his friend. People are always coming to me with news or info for the guy. Hey, why don’t you try calling him? Just a thought.

So, now I sit here, dejected, tired, with a headache. Days like this make me mutter under my breath like an angry old man. GET OFF MY LAWN. That’s really what I want to say. Thank goodness I’m going on vacation in a little over a month. I sure need it. I also really need some chocolate and I could go for a nice hot fudge sundae, maybe with cashews on top?


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