Yesterday I went and visited my dad and my sister. Dad was sending her to bed at 8:30 because she had to get up at 5 to go on a band trip to Seattle. She was supposed to make her lunch and put it in the fridge. She asked what I pack in a lunch because she doesn't usually pack lunches, so I told her I like to pack the ingredients for a sandwich in separate containers and then put them together on-site so my sandwich doesn't get soggy (like a little container of peanut butter, a container of jelly, a portable butter knife and two slices of bread). Dad was sending her off to her room when I peeked into her lunch sack.

She packed: a bag of marshmallows, a bar of Hershey's chocolate, and a baggie of Graham Crackers. I pulled her back out of her room and asked her what kind of real sandwich she wanted with dessert. She finally agreed to let me make her a tuna-sandwich and to add in a box of apple juice. I asked dad if he was going to just let her take that without looking. He said that she can pack whatever she likes and she'll learn the hard way if she's too hungry to play her trumpet. *sigh* This is what happens when my mom, as much as she gets to me, is gone all the time at my Mamaw's. My sister eats S'mores for lunch . . .

On Wednesday, our anniversary and the day after we returned from our trip, D. flew off to D.C. It wasn't planned ahead of time and it was a work emergency. So the last few days I have been by myself digesting and thinking and running errands. I was very sad at first to have him go so soon after getting back and on such a bad day, but all in all it's been good. I've had lots of time to read books and write things and think and digest by myself and to hide out from the hot weather that appeared out of nowhere. I went outside for 15 minutes today on my break and now my arms are bright pink.

I'm picking D. up from the airport late tonight.

We landed in San Francisco and then went to pick up a rental car, which, due to a confluence of events, ended up taking nearly forever. We didn't get in to Santa Rosa until close to midnight. I was very stressed by this because I felt like it was really bad form to go impose ourselves on people and to show up two hours late and to make them stay up just for us. Fortunately, when we got to the house, we were greeted with open arms. Mark and Michelle were still up packing and talking. They are late nighters and were just happy to see us.

Mark and Michelle live in a beautiful Eichler house. The walls, it took me a moment to realize, are covered with Michelle's large format abstract oil paintings. The home had open airy ceilings, a piano, a fireplace and a glass walled studio off the master bedroom. The house was filled with daylight. The downside was that either all my relatives from California, or Californians in general, have a penchant for hard-as-a-board beds. In the morning I woke up early before everyone else and went out into the garden to sneak a feast of fresh strawberries. They grew enormous irises in the garden with blooms as big as two and half fists. When I went inside Michelle offered to cook us omlettes while Mark finished up the packing for their upcoming trip they were taking directly after Dorothy's party. After breakfast Mark told me that the one thing left for him to do was find an alligator lizard that had been running around in the house and get it out before they left for the week. I located it in the bathroom angry and hissing. It slid around uselessly on the floor unable to stick its feet to the wood, but still managed to evade me. Finally, we trapped it in an upside-down Tupperware container and then slid cardboard underneath to transport it outside. Then Mark and Michelle told us to enjoy the morning and headed up to Mark's brother Phil's house to make party food.

D. and I drove around searching for a gift and card for my great aunt. Eventually I settled on a malphigia bonsai in a light green pot. Then we went to Phil's house in San Raphael to help out with the food. We took long enough getting there that everyone was just finishing up the cucumber sandwiches and scones, so we helped load up the food in our car to transport it. Phil, like Mark, also lives in an Eichler and filled it with cultural artifacts. Later D. admitted to me that he felt worried when he saw this that I might expect the same level of fanciness in our home some day. I told him not to worry. Our home will be lovely, but I doubt it will have an indoor atrium like Phil's house. I also told him that it's good to remember that these houses have been in the family since they were built and didn't cost close to a million back then. These relatives just knew a good thing when they saw it and still are holding on to it.

With food in the back and a tiny tree in my lap, we drove around and around windy roads to the exact opposite side of the mountain where Dorothy lives in a shingled cottage. She rents out the large house and then lives in a mother-in-law in the garden. The weather was lovely -- in the 70s with a breeze. And animals were out: we had to stop for a flock of pheasants crossing the road, and I thought once that I spied a deer. Dorothy's caretaker later told me that it was the most beautiful day they had experienced in weeks. When we got to the party, everyone went to work. People just looked around for what had to be done and they pitched in with a minimum of discussion. D. took pictures of everything. I've posted a Flickr set of the party here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/aprily/sets/72157605039128115/.

I met Phil's daughter M. at the party, who is 25 and back from an internship with NPR wondering what to do with her life. She was quiet and shy and reminded me of an elf with her pixie cut, cloth booties, and dark blue dress. I realized later that she was giving Dorothy an MP3 recorder to record her stories for us. M. told me she is going to upload them to the internet so I can hear them. I felt like crying because this is exactly what I wished I could have done but don't have time or the expertise to do. I thanked her, but I don't think she knows how much it means to me. M. loves her grandmother so much.

Halfway through the party a woman named Andrea arrived with a little toddler girl called Natalie. It took me a while to piece together that she was Mark and Michelle's daughter. I don't understand what was going on, but Michelle didn't seem to be very interested in her daughter or grand-daughter at all, and Mark was happy to play with the child but not in a way that I was able to infer that he was her grandfather. Perhaps I'll understand that later . . .

I was also puzzled about why my father's cousin Cynthia didn't come, but my dad said that if her father goes to a party, she won't attend. I am amazed that people care so much about their family disagreements. I can't stand my family sometimes, but I wouldn't refrain from being in the same room with them at all times. Apparently, according to my dad, Cynthia feels that her father John (Dorothy's brother, the Stanford China professor) and his wife Jackie are too uptight and is still angry that they forced her to wear frilly dresses and didn't allow her to be an artist like she wanted to be when she was younger. Cynthia is a fiber-optics artist now and works as a life coach who helps people investigate their past lives. Personally, I don't see a contradiction between academic rigor and art (although the past lives thing seems sketchy), so I'm clearly missing something about this relationship trouble as well.

After the party, a group of the cousins met at Phil's and then drove down to an Indian restaurant for dinner. Strangely, my aunt Marian, who asked me 5 times if I was going or not, suddenly bailed and left with her husband before the restaurant. I was starved by the time we got there and the waiter was incredibly confusing, asking if we all wanted the buffet and then coming back with only three menus for a group of 10 people when we said we didn't even know what other options there were. In addition, a large screen TV on the wall silently flickered insanely colorful Indian music videos. We felt disoriented. Cousin Ann kept looking around her as if she had just arrived spontaneously in actual India. Finally, after lots of clarifications and back-and-forth, people got up and began eating at the buffet.

At this time, a strange thing happened. A man sitting at a table nearby began having a grand-mal seizure. His face was turning blue and his wife/girlfriend/partner got up and began screaming, "Somebody help!" and "He peed himself" over and over. My first aid training from six years ago felt a little rusty and I mentally thought of the first thing to do, which is, call 911. I didn't have my cell phone on me, so I yelled to the woman to call 911 until she verbally confirmed that she was doing so. Then her friends ushered her out into the hall where she could continue to be hysterical. I then looked at the man and thought that either he was choking or having a seizure. The funniest thing happened. I realized then that I was going to need to get him to speak to me or stick my finger in his mouth and the thought of actually putting my hand in his mouth terrified me. I wondered if he would bite me. I started to move towards him, but noticed that Dorothy's caretaker had come to dinner with us. She was moving the man onto the floor already and talking gently to him. I stepped away and she turned to me and said in her British accent, "Don't worry, I'm certified." I felt such relief. The man opened his eyes and I felt faint. I went and sat in my seat and looked at my food that I was so hungry for a moment before. The man began to barf and shit himself violently and loudly. M. looked at me with her eyes wide. She pushed her food away. Everyone stood or sat around paralyzed. If we looked at the man it seemed intrusive. It seemed that what he was doing should be private and should not happen in public. But if we looked away, we felt heartless. As if we were immune to his suffering. So people looked at him and looked away and looked and looked away with difficulty. The ambulance arrived and finally they took him away. The caretaker came back to the table. She told us that the man had recently been to Africa and that perhaps he was suffering from an unknown illness. Then she dug into her food. That seemed somehow to signal to the rest of us that it truly was okay to eat again and that it was actually over, although no one ate with much enthusiasm. The meal was subdued after that and people brought up morbid topics. They talked of Aunt Ida's bar smashing days and Anne told about the time my father smashed her fingers in a door. Mark and Michelle departed and gave us the keys to their house to stay for a couple days.

So this week is reading week. We're officially done with classes, and now it's time to start studying for exams--but really all that means is that we're going to travel and then cram the night before. Tomorrow I'm heading up north to the cities of Wa, Larabanga, and Tamale. We're going to Mole National Park, where there are a ton of elephants, and the hippo sanctuary in a town by Wa with a bunch of cool, ancient ancient mosques. This time I'll remember to bring gifty things, because I totally should have known to do it when I went to Cape Coast.

I'm going with five other people, which I think might be kind of a hassle. But I don't really know any of them well, so it should be fun to get to know them, finally, with one month left in our trip. But we're on kind of a deadline with time, and travel in the north is difficult because of really unreliable transport. I think what I'll do is that if things go south, I'll peel off on my own and see the things that I need to see. I'm excited about some of the shopping I hope to do. I still have a lot of gifts to get, and I still have a lot of things that I want for myself... I'm going to have to buy another suitcase to take everything home. :O

It's weird that I'm thinking about going home so, so much. It seems unnecessary, but our trip really is 3/4 finished. I have so much more traveling to do, and so much more things to see, and buy and all of that...

I'm trying to remember what I did this week, but I think I am resting at a resounding "absolutely nothing". I went to Maxmart at one point, had a cup of coffee and a delicious cheese pie. I made some veggie things and then got a little sick. Oh, and Olivia visited me yesterday. Olivia is Dominic's (this Ghanaian guy at my school) sister, and she lives in Accra. I've seen her a couple times and she's just so cool. She's very animated, very personable--just all around great.

I still feel like I've spent a lot of time on the internet, though, lol. I uploaded all those photos on Monday, then did some other things on Tuesday.. I think I was at this silly IPO internet cafe once (if not twice) every day this week. What a ridiculous thing to do. But I'll make up for it by going up north this week. My original plan for today was actually to go shopping, but just as I was about to leave, I was confronted with a black sky--so I guess I'll wait on that one. Probably go in the afternoon, but now I'll have to go to Madina instead of Makola. I was looking forward to exploring a different market, but ah well.. I need fabric for the dresses I still need to buy!! I keep buying more and more.. yesterday I tried on one that Adwoa had made without measurements--it looked fantastic, but she needed to fix it up a little bit for me, so I should get it next week. It's green. I'm excited, lol.

Anyways.. on with life. I need to waste time while the rain clears out.

All of the stories about my grandmother somehow secretly start with her grandfather, the pater familias, Bishop Wilson Seeley Lewis. Before the Methodist Bishop, the family history is sketchy and discussed as if it were largely irrelevant. After Wilson Seeley Lewis, things somehow relate backwards, generation through generation until they reach him again. There is BWL and AWL. He founded a midwestern college and then went on to become one of the first Westerners to enter China as a missionary. As an Episcopalian Methodist, he valued tradition, beauty and education.

WSL's oldest daughter Ida Belle earned her PhD and became the president of Hwa Nan College. She traveled extensively by herself as a woman in the 1920s and purportedly even rode a camel in the Middle East unattended. She wrote books about her missionary work, her travels, and one venerating her father. Ida Belle never married had a good friend from Britian that my father's cousins call Auntie Dot. Apparently she met Dot, another lifelong bachelorette and suffragette, on one of her many worldwide travels. This is important because the Lewis' and Auntie Dot's family became such good friends that one of Auntie Dot's great-nieces is now living with my Aunt Dorothy as her full time caretaker. It just came to me that perhaps my aunt Dorothy is even named after this Auntie Dot. In any case, Ida was a feminist, a missionary and a devoted member of the WCTU. The WCTU was so violently against drinking alcohol that some chapters even went and smashed up local bar furniture. This is important to remember, because ripples of cause and effect from Ida's strong opinions on alcohol continue on in my family to this day. Dorothy's son Mark, who lives near Sonoma wine country, gave Dustin and I a confusing lecture about why wine was not alcohol but actually food within less than an hour of our arrival at his house.

My great-grandmother Clara, WSL's youngest daughter, had no mother. Her mother died giving birth to her. According to my Aunt Dorothy, Clara felt responsible for her mother's death her entire life. After her father remarried, he left Clara for five years (starting at the age of twelve) with a guardian so that he and his new wife could go visit China. Clara loved her father very much and felt that this was what she deserved. Clara, like her sister, was a writer and wrote books and plays throughout her lifetime. Unlike Ida, however, Clara preferred fiction (my Aunt Dorothy is planning to send me copies of her work so that I can read it).

When Clara married, she chose a handsome man with an education, a German geology professor at the University of Washington. Like China, geology is another theme that continues on in Clara's children. Clara's son John became a professor of Chinese studies at Stanford. Her grandson Mark, a professional geologist.(A third theme is landscaping: Dorothy's husband was a landscaper and consequently she has a fabulous garden and three children with amazing gardens -- her son Phil became a landscaper, has an indoor courtyard, and married a woman with a doctorate). Sadly, the geology professor, Al Seeman, left Clara in the 1933 for his secretary Elizabeth and asked for a divorce. Clara was so shocked by this that she had a nervous breakdown. In addition to being from a very religious family that frowned upon divorce, she was living in a time when divorce was practically unheard of. Also, it was the beginning of the great depression.

Clara took her three children, John, Dorothy and my grandmother and they moved in with Clara's aunt Florence in California. Because her aunt only had a two bedroom house, and was already allowing her daughter and her daughter's husband to live in the spare room, Clara and her children slept in a tent in the back yard. It was during this time that family roles began to solidify. Dorothy, as the oldest, tried desperately to be a second mother to her siblings and to be calm and do what had to be done. John followed his older sister's lead. Margaret, as the youngest, at only 7 years old, least understood what was happening and least remembered her mother from before the divorce. She had a very strong and vibrant personality and insisted when children teased her in kindergarten for being named Clara Belle like the Disney cartoon cow, that her name be Margaret from then on. She was sure enough of herself that nobody questioned this decision and Margaret became her new name.

As she grew older, my grandmother Margaret began to butt heads with her distraught single mother more and more often until she finally decided that perhaps there was a good reason her father had left her mother. In her early teens she went to live with her father and his new wife in Seattle. Her father's new wife was much younger than her mother and had not been raised in a religious home. She allowed my grandmother to begin drinking at age 15 and to go out dancing. My grandmother married a sailor, my grandfather, Preston, at 17. Margaret's younger brother John served as the best man and his childish signature is on their wedding certificate. Dorothy remembers that my grandpa Preston was very handsome when he was young and says that in a way she envied Margaret even though she also felt sad for her (because she couldn't get along with Clara). Clara didn't approve, but it didn't much matter.

My grandfather soon went to war leaving my grandmother Margaret alone. Because her father taught at the University of Washington she decided to go to the University and get her teaching degree. Unlike Dorothy, however, she did not get any education beyond this initial certification though, and her heart was not in it. She had a brief and unsatisfactory career as a teacher for a year or two. Margaret at this time was already addicted to alcohol (as was my grandfather, Preston). Preston came back from the war and got a degree at UW while Margaret began having children. Preston got a job down in California with Lockheed Martin and moved Margaret and her three children down to live there. This time spent living near Dorothy again is what my father and his cousins all remember. There were endless family get together and picnics with Dorothy, John and Margaret's children. Dorothy recalls that Margaret was very dramatic and funny to be with, but also at that time very depressed. Margaret's depression and drinking worsened and it became the 1970s. Margaret became sick with a very painful and misdiagnosed appendix problem. She began smoking and taking prescribed Valium for the pain and began to literally go crazy. My father's two oldest sisters left home in their teens to live with friends and hitchhike around the country at this time. My father, the youngest (like his mother), understood the situation least, but unlike his mother, he stayed. His mother yelled at and berated him. She threatened to kill herself if he didn't do what she said. My father tells me that he had no concept that this was not normal. He thought this is how mothers behaved.

My father never learned how to read properly. I don't know if this is because his mother was too distracted to teach him or if learning disabilities weren't recognized in the 60s when he was a child. He had almost no marketable skills except for his shop classes in high school, so he signed up to be a Navy Seabee. He never dated because he spent so much of his time agonizing over his homework, which he could barely do, and caring for his mother. Then he met my mother at a high school graduation party they were both attending. He had a broken leg and my mother drove him home. They married at 19 after a year of dating. I was born a year after that, and about six months later, Margaret died.

My mother has not always been as strange as she is now, but she has always been a bit brusque and bossy. My aunt Dorothy observes that in her opinion my mother is and has been clinically depressed for a long time and that since Margaret treated my father far worse, that he probably doesn't think my mother is being cruel or mean to him when she yells or bosses him. He probably thinks it's normal. Also, in a world as confusing and as mean as my father's was to him when he was a child, it makes sense that he wanted to convert to become a conservative Baptist. The Baptists believe in idealized families and shun drinking (the ripples). They provide a very concrete and simplistic explanation for everything, and, like the military, an order for everything to follow. The church assigns roles to each family member, that when fulfilled, promise to yield a 1950s-like paradise of perfect parents and perfect children. My father at his core has always wanted to be a good person. He is still trying to be good, even now when he is the sick one and others have to care for him.

I tried to talk to him on the phone yesterday about his mother. He sounded terribly uncomfortable and kept repeating, "Yes, she did drink a lot." I finally said, "Don't you want to understand why she was the way she was?" and he sighed, "Not really." Perhaps even though I find solace in memory and in understanding, it's best to let my father do what he does best: forgive and forget.

First the Japanese :P

今日、「All Japanese All the Time」というウエブサイトを見つけました。このサイト聞いたことがありますか？彼は二年間たった日本語を全く覚えてました。ある意味で、ちょっと落胆させていますね・・ｗｗでも、私の勉強頑張ります！

URL: http://www.alljapaneseallthetime.com/

先週末は、彼氏はXbox360を買いました！普通は自分自身を購入しませんですので、「いいよ。買おうね」って言いました。

この金曜日は彼氏の誕生日です！＾＾早めプレゼントもうあげました。｢Assassin's Creed」というXbox360のゲームだった。もう一つのプレゼントを買いましたけど次の火曜日まであげません。

人材派遣会社に面会がありました。ちょっと神経を疲れましたけど、上手く行くと思っています。じゃあ、見送っています。

最近、Lang-8に本当に書きたいですが、何を書いていいか分からない。T_T

じゃあ、またね。

Well, I said I'd come back and post later today, and.. here I am! I don't really have much to write about except that it's TJ's birthday very soon :o It's not like I won't tell him in person but..

[7. Dawson's creek animations (320)
11. Gossip Girls animations (104 & 117)
41.animations, icons & wallpapers (517) ]

**credit if you use please**
***comments are love***
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TEASER

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The rest Here

I am an icon whore :3

But they're just so much fun making!

[7] Arashi (Aiba, Nino, Ohno)
[1] Eikura Nana
[1] Oguri Shun
[2] Eita
[1] NewS

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This last weekend I went to California for my great-aunt Dorothy's 80th birthday. Last year my aunt Marian got re-married and I met many of my father's cousins for the first time in person. In the past I've occasionally written to them, but haven't really gotten acquainted. At the wedding, Dorothy's children (my father's cousins) invited me to come down for the big family reunion/birthday. They said that Dorothy always asks about me and that she wanted to meet me. They also said that she could answer some of my questions about my grandmother (her sister) who died when I was a tiny baby.

So, I went down to Santa Rosa to see the Wizard/Oracle, and discovered the most wonderful human being. Dorothy lives in a cottage in Santa Rosa with the most beautiful lush garden and she likes to take tea and receive visitors. She has a caretaker now who mainly helps her keep track of her social calendar and cooks for her.

I had heard before that Dorothy was a teacher but didn't know much more about her. To say she was a teacher is a gross understatement. Dorothy started out as a grade school teacher in the late 60s. In the 70s though, she created an experimental K-8 program that mixed grade levels in certain subjects (so students learned about English or math that was appropriate to their skills and ability instead of at grade levels etc.), taught about gardening and nutrition, and did PE in a new way that incorporate gymnastics and balance. The program lasted for 10 years and eventually was disbanded because of the lack of money for qualified teachers. However, Dorothy then decided to become a consultant for San Marin County and helped them translate the more successful elements of her program into many other school curricula (apparently students in San Marin to this day still learn about gardening and nutrition using her method). She eventually worked as an administrator at the California state level, helping teach schools with poorer math scores how to improve their lessons. Finally, Dorothy "retired" in her 60s and taught kindergarten for another 15 years. The reason she stopped was because she has a condition that is causing her to lose her voice. When we "talked," it was a mixture of whispering and writing.

Dorothy explained to me why and how my grandmother died, which no one has adequately been able to do for me until now. My grandmother was an alcoholic who developed acute peritonitis. However, she was misdiagnosed because of the alcohol as a hypochondriac and she was treated with Valium. This is why some people in my family tell me she went crazy and others say she drank herself to death and still others say she was sick with "something" but they don't know/can't remember what. Dorothy knows what happened because she was there when my grandmother died and remembers what the doctors said had killed her. She explained a great many other things as well that have always puzzled me, but this is the main thing that I badly wanted to know for a very long time.

This insightful woman even freely offered me advice about how to handle my mother. She also said she invited my parents to let me stay with her in her cottage every summer when I was little, but my parents never took her up on it and she wanted to know why. All I could say was that no one ever told me about it. She said it's okay an that I can have her as another grandmother now if I'd like. Of course I said yes!

More stories about my family and trip to come . . .

[001-015] Dawson´s creek
[016-027] One tree hill
[028-052] Ana Serradilla
[053-072] Matsuda Shota
[073-087] Eita
[088-103] Tamaki Hiroshi
[104-128] Vampire Knight (ep 4, 5)

Teasers:



More in my journal!

This is back a ways... this is inside the Kente hut in Kumasi, some weeks back. I just love the lighting.

Cape Coast Castle--









Fishing boats from outside of the castle.


The castle wall, complete with the ridiculous amount of cannons, and the football game going on the beach. I like the clouds in this pic too.


My room at Cape Coast. Look at those ridiculous colors. ^^;


Pounding fufu!! I was really bad at it. ^^;


The chop bar where we did the cooking. This is a pretty typical restaurant.


Our delicious meal!


Cape Coast from the top of Victoria Fort. It's the highest point in Cape Coast.


A similar shot, but LOOK AT THOSE CLOUDS!! This is facing inland.


John the Guide.


Street + taxi.

So this weekend I picked up and left Accra, almost at a whim--I decided to leave on Wednesday, and since everything here is difficult, it felt like suddenly deciding to leave. I picked a place that I knew I would feel safe traveling alone--where I could remain in town, have a STC bus take me there.. you know, something simple but fun. Cape Coast is a gorgeous town.

It's on the ocean, I guess as you could imagine--and the focal point is the enormous Cape Coast Castle. We went there about a month ago--I wrote a long entry about it, but we visited the Elmina Castle, another fort situated a few miles down the road. It was a Portuguese fort for some time, then Dutch, and finally British, but not until much later. Cape Coast was the British base of operations until sometime in the 17 or 1800s when they moved it to Accra and Osu Castle. When we were in Cape Coast last, though, we stayed in a very nice hotel on the hill—a ways out of town. My hotel this time was just ten or so minutes from the castle, and it was a very quaint (though slightly run down) place. I certainly wasn’t complaining, though, considering that I paid 6.50 for a night. Hopefully I’ll be able to post a picture of the room I stayed in. The colors in it were all kinds of ridiculous, and it was dark and cramped. I felt like I was in a place that I had made up myself, oddly enough.

The first day I traveled to the castle, thinking I would just poke around and do a real tour later, but I met this guy on the way there. He basically tricked me into buying him a ticket to the castle, but I guess it was only one cedi, because he was a Ghanaian student, so it wasn’t that frustrating—but mostly the principle of it was annoying. I was kind of annoyed at men that day anyways, but we won’t get into that. He turned out to be a really cool guy. He went on the tour with me, being rather overprotective to make sure that I didn’t slip or stumble or anything. I’m starting to get used to people always holding my hand, or putting their arms around my shoulders. Sometimes, especially in a smelly dungeon, that can get a little claustrophobic, but it’s also nice to know that someone is there.

Cape Coast Castle was considerably more intricate than Elmina. It was also younger, so the dungeons were more lattice-like. This tour was very different—instead of being with a group of American, mostly white, tourists, I was now with a Ghanaian student and about 15 students from a girls school. This was their country and their history, and they, of course, looked at it from a very different way. I think when we went to see it with Americans, we were continually conscious of the fact that the African Americans in our midst were the ones wronged, that we had to be conscious of who was wronged and what was done—but when I went with Ghanaians, it was different. I was, of course, still very conscious of being white. But in Africa there is a very different legacy of the slave trade—there are the white perpetrators, and then there are the African perpetrators—those who cooperated and sold their prisoners, their brothers and sisters, or their war captives to the Europeans. It felt different, because nobody was accusing anybody, maybe. I don’t know. Maybe, too, it was because we were with mostly girls. I always feel intimidated when I’m with large groups of men that I don’t know. I guess that sounds strange, considering the company I keep. Who knows.

Cape Coast is a fishing town, and since I was there alone, I was not hurried back onto the bus after our tour of the castle, like I was at Elmina. Mark (the guy I met) showed me around the fishing beach, though it did feel a little awkward because he wasn’t really from Cape Coast either. At least he spoke the language, I guess. The ground was littered with bright red seashells, and he picked one for me and gave it to me. I like it a lot. The fishermen have these big ol’ wooden boats, but they use motors on them when they want—but they share motors, so they have these long racks with motors hanging on them. It was pretty neat. He asked me if I wanted to take a picture, but I said no, because the men were all working. I would have felt so rude.

On Saturday, I hooked up with this NGO that I found in my guidebook that gave workshops on various things, and I decided to do a cooking thing. I spent basically the whole day in this tiny little chop bar learning how to make red red, yam and palava sauce, groundnut soup, light soup and fufu. The best part was that the fufu was actually GOOD. I was so surprised that I liked it that it made the whole thing worth it. By the end I was exhausted though, and I felt kind of bad.. the guy who was teaching me was definitely doing all the work by the end. He was young, too, only twenty-three or so—and I must say, quite a looker. His friend came in, who was in his last year at Cape Coast University. He was pretty cool too—loud and boisterous. He yelled at me for dancing and cooking at the same time. ^^; (So of course, because he had teased me, he instantly won my friendship? I should probably work on that.)

Anyways the meal was delicious, and now I know the basic steps of cooking these Ghanaian dishes—so when I get home, I’ll find recipes and cook for people. After I did that, I wandered up the hill to check out one of the sentry forts. This one was called Fort Victoria—there were two, one was actually a lighthouse, and I probably should have gone there, but I just didn’t make it. As I was heading up the hill, I met two old men walking in the same direction. We chatted, and they said that they were actually the caretakers of the fort. They took me to the resthouse, and then the older of the two, with probably like three teeth, lead me the rest of the way through the weedy path to the fort. It was whitewashed, though not as well as the castle, and the ways were a perfect cylinder, while there was a small box in the center. It was definitely too small to house anyone—clearly it had only been used as a sentry place. There were about three canons, which appeared to be better taken care of than the ones at the castle, most of which had rusted into the ground. My guide pointed out to me the tunnel that went all the way to another castle down the coast, and then showed me Kofi Annan’s old house. Cape Coast, since it was the British base for so long, was also the site of the first western schools in Ghana—he pointed those out to me as well. I found out that his name was John, and that he was 66 years old—he’d lived in Cape Coast all his life so he knew tons of things about it.

All the while there was an enormous storm climbing up the horizon, on the land. I think it was hovering over Kakum National Park, where the rainforest is. It never came out to the coast, but it was very impressive. I have a picture, and I’ll add it at the end of this entry. I’m having tons of luck with the photos for some reason—I’ll probably jinx it by saying that, but ah well.

When I returned to the resthouse, the second man I had climbed the hill with started rattling off the entire history of Cape Coast—dates and everything. I was so surprised, and I asked him if he studied history. Studied history? No, no—he taught history, and religions, at University. I think it was the University of Cape Coast, but I’m not sure. He was also an honorary chief—so he had a long, chief name, but I only remember his English one—George Freeborn. So we’ll just call him Nana George. (Nana is a chief title—for male and female.) It was tons of fun. I wandered back to my hotel, took a bath, and then fell asleep until 8 or 9.

Sunday, too, was fun—but I really only did wandering and shopping. I took a cup of coffee next to the ocean, and explored the rocks around the castle a little. However, rock climbing here is not exactly a good idea—unless you want to step in poop. Most people use the ocean as a public restroom, and I think it’s being cleaned up around the castle because it’s a major tourist site, but there was still a lot of poop around. ^^; It didn’t deter me too much, though. There were about six discarded cannons lying on the rocks like waste, stuck in crevices, after having rusted so much that they fit the shape of the rocks.

Again I am taken aback by just how old the world is here. The ocean pounded those rocks like mad, and they had been for millions and millions of years—over and over and over again, and still these rocks still stood. I guess I am unable to really comprehend these things, since America is so, so young.

Overall, traveling alone was a huge success. I really enjoyed it, though I don’t know if I really need to do it again. It would have been nice to have someone at the hotel to talk to. Out and about, I always had someone to talk to—people just approached me. That’s what I like about smaller places, because in Accra you can never, never trust people that simply approach you. Big cities are just not my thing, I guess. I never thought I’d say that, but I like the medium sized cities—I miss my Minneapolis. Not enough to want to go home yet, but such is life. I’m just not looking forward to studying for finals. Bleh.

I soon hope to have pictures uploaded so I can link them… but I’m still waiting on Facebook. I’m surprised at just how much I have been able to get to load, today, though. It’s fantastic.

Okay I'm going to post twice in a row with the photos....

- Woke up after 4 hours of sleep
- Showered
- Called Rubys, talked to Peter
- Ate breakfast while putting on make-up
- Went to Rubys
- Went to Nic's and played with Katie, Nic, Andy, then went to the mall
- Went back to Ruby's with Christina
- Went to Minneapolis to see Gaby's new place
- Ate dinner with her family at a hotel
- Hung out with Sarah, John Backes, Dani (his girlfriend) and played wii blocks
- Went to the bowling alley and had so much fun!!!!!
- Typed this, and I am off to bed!

Big first day back.

#01-19 // Random
#20-23 // Dawson's Creek
#24-25 // Dr. Evil
#26-35 // Smallville
#36-41 // WWE
--Credit is Manditory. Seriously.
--Blanks are not bases.
--Please do not hotlink.
--Comments reek of awesomness.
--Enjoy!:D

Battlestar Galactica, Dawson's Creek, The Office + Cast, Doctor Who + Cast, Heroes + Cast, The OC + Cast, Friday Night Lights, Veronica Mars, Harry Potter, Forrest Gump, Random; Demetri Martin, Jesse Lacey from Brand New, Threadless



here @ takeanotherexit

皆さん、今晩は！昨日は学年末でした！ああ～嬉しいよ！夏の授業始まるまでに二週間休みがあります。

昨日の最後の授業の間にクラスメートが変なことをやりました。彼の絵についてスピーチして、そして突然かみそりの刃で絵をぶち壊し始めました！信じられないよ。

えええええええ・・・・・何で・・分からないよ。芸術的にしようとしたのかな？・・・

今日は短いエントリーですｗｗ

Edit: I forgot to post this up, I was debating whether or not I should, but I decided to because it's pretty much one of the only pieces that came out of my Drawing 2 class that I was fairly happy with. The class didn't seem to have much to say about it, but.. whatever.

1. I made more icons. I think I'm getting better, I can get things to look the way I want in a more reasonable time.. anywhoooo, here they are~

There's a lot of repeats with slight changes made to them, because I have a hard time deciding on a finished one sometimes..

1	2	3
4	5	6
7	8	9
10	11

spiderliliez

boys_paper

miyasan

keepsaked

I just find this picture funny..

I literally did not leave my hostel yesterday. I was feeling kind of sad, just not in a good mood. I took out my hair in the morning, which felt great--I could finally scratch ALL OF MY HEAD. Braided extensions are not really good for fine hair like mine. The sheer amount of hair that fell out with the braids was scary. A lot of it was natural shedding that hadn't been allowed to fall for a week, but my hair definitely feels thinner now. It's a little spookie. Either way, though, I'll do it again right before I come back, so I can freak everybody out. XD It doesn't last long enough on my head, though, because the hairs start poking out at the bottom and all of that. It was worth it, though.

I'm starting to get a little stir crazy, because I only have a month left, and I suddenly feel like I haven't gone anywhere. All the places that I wanted to go have eluded me. I want to go away this weekend, too, but I don't think I'll be able to find anyone to go with. That's the problem--I'm just too damn lazy. I never actually make an effort to find people to go with, and when people say "Oh you can come with us to here" I'm always indecisive because I don't know if I actually want to go there. Sigh. I need to get my act together.

On Monday I visited the Accra Museum to look at the slave trade exhibit that my history professor basically put together. It was a good time--I bought a lot of nice things at the gift shop, and the museum was decent. I had a good conversation with the cab driver on the way back, too, which was fun.

Also on Monday was Amy's birthday party, which was an estrogen fest, except for when Nate and I showed up. He looked at me and said "Oh wait, am I the only guy here?" It was slightly awkward--I'm pretty sure he was the only non-expat in the whole establishment, too, except for the people who worked there. Getting a cab home was weird, too. I dunno. That whole night was a little weird, and I haven't really figured things out yet. Like I said, I need to get myself together--travelwise, socially, and academically. The academic part is the easiest, so I think that's what I'll go accomplish....

I AM SO DONE WITH CLASSES.

HEYULL YEAHHH...

NO MORE DRAWING CLASSES...

>_<

YAHH!!

lol..

This kid did something really dumb in class today.

He had 3 paintings of his up and we were critiqing.. they were fairly large paintings.. and I never really liked this guy in the first place.. he seems to be very egotistical.. without really verbally stating it.. I mean.. his signature is like a picture of himself...

Anyway... he gets up and starts doing his schpiel, which I always tune out because he always talks about how he wants to be all 'artistic' and blah blah the crap like that that just makes people sound like their head is straight up their ass..

Suddenly he pulls out a giant razor blade and cuts his painting from one corner to the other, and rips half of the painting off, revealing RED! omg.. RED.. under the canvas. So symbolic people...

He said he did it for a reaction.. well, this is what he got out of me..

*First 3 seconds of him ripping, cuz I was looking at my ipod and suddenly hear ripping noises, so I was confused as to what was happening* "Omg.. what's going on, I hear ripping noises~! *look up* uh.. why is he ripping... um... o....kay... what a little attention whore.. *looks back down at ipod*"

He then proceeded to stand there and look smug while another classmate (pretty much the only one who thought what he did was cool and artistic) told him that it was awesome and better than what he had before blah blah..

Then the rest of the class, and teacher totally just ragged on him about how what he just did was stupid and pointless was just to get everyones attention and say, "LOOK AT MEEE LOOK AT MEE!!"

I wouldn't have really cared as much as I do if he had done it outside of class.. but apparantly he is a little attention whore and needs people to look at him and his "pretty paintings" and be "shocked at destroying his own painting", which.. I thought were pretty damn good until he pulled this stunt, because now any remaining speck of respect I had for the artist is pretty much gone.

Anyway, I'm sitting in the library, got 5 more minutes until TJ comes and picks me up :X

*hugs the world*