I have always enjoyed the movie Sabrina, even though I must admit with some embarrassment that I have never seen the Audrey Hepburn classic, only the Julia Ormond/Harrison Ford remake. In it, Sabrina tells her father that one of her favorite things about him is that he became a chauffer simply so he could have time to read. She said she imagines him sitting in a long procession of cars, waiting for the Larrabees, and reading.

That being said, I am seriously considering becoming a chauffer. One of the things I enjoy so much about living in Ghana is that life is slow enough for me to read. In just over four months, I have read what is inching closer and closer to twenty books. And I have added some new favorites to my old favorites…like East of Eden and A Tale of Two Cities. I love that I finally have time to read and enjoy the classics I was supposed to read in high school.

I am also seriously considering going the route of unemployment. Then my reading time would not be obstructed by the bothersome task of driving. Plus, no other job besides unemployment will provide me with the amount of time necessary to do the amount of traveling I intend to do once I get home – and from then on, for that matter.

I will worry about finances later. I think that is enough major life decisions for one day.

This is a picture I did not take of the most contented man I have ever known, crying silently into his handkerchief. He had just received news of the death of his young daughter. And a baby girl, unable to sit still, tottered over to him. He took her into his arms. And for one moment she was still. And for one moment he stopped crying, content again.

Calendars and Americans have been trying to convince me lately that it is Christmas time. A small, silly part of my brain does the calculations - I came here in September and I've been here three months, so it must be December. But, the rest of my brain is too smart to believe something that preposterous. It can't be December if I am sleeping with the windows open and wearing sandals. It must be June. That is the only logical conclusion.

My parents arrive here tomorrow night. I am really excited, and a little nervous. I am worried about them being bored here, but the fact of the matter is that compared to the rush and efficiency that is America, Africa might be a little boring. Travel is a problem, too, when you combine my mom's bad back with the pitiful state of the roads here. I'm quire sure the next two weeks will be completely beyond my control, but I'm sure they will be good.

My Christmas present to myself? A real, custom-made, African djembe. Molly, Lauren and I each got one, and we are even learning to play them. We will be traveling minstrels before you know it.

My early Christmas present to you? Well, there are two - the first, and lesser in terms of excitement, is that I posted some new pictures on the website. I have always been a firm believer in save the best for last, and with that in mind, the second early Christmas present is this: I will be back Stateside on May 5th. I guess that is more of a really late Christmas present than an early one...

This is a picture I did not take of Lauren and Dinah doing an impressive showing of Walk Like an Egyptian, while Molly and I pretended to know how to play our djembes. Fine performances all around.

Top 10 Things About My Ghanaian Thanksgiving:

Fresh Prince of Bel-Air theme song at breakfastHurling yam ballsDinner music provided by Shaggy, including the "Angel of the Morning" remix and "It Wasn't Me"Old-school hand turkey centerpieceWisdom singing: "Happy Thanksgiving to America...Happy Thanksgiving to America...We are now a part of America...Even though we live in Ghana..."Mama Pat calling us her kidsWisdom singing: "I'll never forget the day that Jesus washed my sins away...I'll never forget Lauren...I'll never forget Molly...I'll never forget Lesley...I'll never forget Dinah...I'll never forget the day that Lesley fed us lots of food..." And from Christian, the backup singer: "...never, never, never..."Feasting with eight Ghanaians who thought it was America's anniversaryTalking to my whole family in New Mexico as they passed the phone around at my aunt Carolyn's houseEsenam, with her big beautiful smile that comes out when you least expect it, shy, gracious, and so very, very kindThis is a picture I did not take of the looks of absolute confusion on our faces as people around the table began to raise their plastic plates up in the air, and we timidly followed suit and stifled our laughter. Cheers!

I took a pause from teaching and village life to go back to Accra, the land of good internet access, for a couple of days. We are going to brave the downtown market tomorrow, which is the scariest place in the city, quite possibly in the whole country, if you ask me.

We went to the Amedzofe waterfall last weekend. It is an incredibly steep hike down to it, so much so that you have to hang on to a rope as you descend. The whole thing was very Indiana Jones. I only fell once...but I am somewhat ashamed to admit it was before we even got to the part with the rope. The falls were beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Being there was one of those moments where I just paused, and it hit me, I live in a village in Africa.

Another thing that makes me pause and realize that I live in a village in Africa are all of the creatures. Giant millipedes are my least favorite. Followed at a close second by giant spiders and giant cockroaches. The three of us are becoming much more adept at killing them, but we haven't quite figured out how to do it without screaming. Give it time...

This is a picture I did not take of Lauren, Molly, and me, having a Celine Dion dance party in a darkened room with a bunch of Africans and two women who are about 60 years old. Priceless.

Using pictures on this site often makes me feel artistic and interesting. However, when the best internet connection I can hope for is pitiful on a good day, it’s just not worth it. I hope you all still find me artistic and interesting with just my unphotographs to look at.

My first day of school. Research Methods. I have three students. I am the youngest person in the room. The oldest is 30 years older than I am. My classroom has no electricity, windows that are missing glass, a broken door knob, rickety old wooden desks and chairs, cobwebs galore, dirty cement floors, and an extraordinarily dirty chalkboard, with hand-made erasers that look as though they have never been cleaned. It is very African. I actually enjoy it. Simple.

For my first class, I wanted to give them a taste of why Research Methods is an important topic for them, and show them some of the things we will be learning. My class is scheduled to meet for three hours, but I planned to let them out after two, since it was the first day. After two hours, I told them they were free to go, but they could stay and ask me any questions if they wanted.

The first question: “Are you married?”

This is a common question for me lately. I proceed to explain that no, I am not, and the ring I wear was a gift from my mother. I had to draw what a typical American engagement ring looks like on the board to explain why people in the US don’t confuse me for a married woman.

After that, all the questions turned political. Since all of you know how very politically minded I am (or am not, as the case may be), you can all guess how much I enjoyed the next hour of questions.

Here is the best part, though. As soon as class actually ended, my youngest student (who is 32, still 10 years older than I am) said he had something to give to me. He opened his bag and pulled out a bushel of bananas. Like the African version of an apple for the teacher. I laughed to myself the whole way home.

This is a picture I did not take of myself, walking through the town square, being followed by a herd of tiny African children in school uniforms, none of whom I know, who giggle every time I make eye contact with them.

What do these three things have in common?

1. "ef-wa"

2. "ef-fee-ah"

3. "ef-fee"They are all different tribal ways to pronounce my African name, Afua. Or, Auntie Afua, as I am often called.What do these three things have in common?

1. April 29, 1983

2. October 24, 1986

3. December 19, 1986They all fell on a Friday.In Ghana, everyone has two names - the first is their given name, the second is their "born" name. I am Afua, which means "Friday born." So, when Molly and Lauren arrived this evening, one of the first orders of business was to discover what their African names would be. Lo and behold, we are all Friday born. This could make communication interesting... I am so glad they are here!This is a picture I did not take of a little girl, no more than three years old, with a solitary braid standing up in homage to Alfalfa, a pink floral dress, and combat boots, sticking her head through the barrier at the airport to smile at me.

Today, on my three week anniversary as a Ghanaian, I went to church in Nima. It is the poorest, and most densely populated area of Accra. Approximately one million of the three million people in Accra live here, and it is considered a Muslim stronghold. I was asked to speak. Everything was translated into three different languages. I love that. It feels like heaven.

These little boys were in charge of the percussion section. (Please note their apprentices.) They played while the people danced and sang. They were spectacular. Maybe if I ask them nicely, they will let me be an apprentice, too.

This is a picture I did not take of two goats, marching back and forth on the steps in front of a vacant building, like the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.

I would like to introduce everyone to my new friend I made last night. Dinah and I were walking through the neighborhood to our house, when we came upon this guy walking down the street, and grazing. Keep in mind that this is a residential neighborhood (note the house in the background). Dinah laughed at my shock and told me that the real shock comes when you are walking around after dark and bump into one.

I was recently inspired by my friend Scott's site, as I often am. He has the most amazing links, and one of them is to a site called Unphotographable. It is a website devoted to verbal accounts of photographs missed. In the short time I have been here, I have missed many photos, and I am sure I will miss many more. You simply cannnot live your life through a camera lens. So, I find this idea nothing short of brilliant.

This is a picture I did not take of a boy, about eight years old, bathing only ten feet away from a busy street. He was covered in soap suds, stark naked, and standing in a small, metal tub. Part of me was pleased to see that no one has ever told this boy to be ashamed of his body. Another part was grieved to see that he had nowhere else to bathe.

I have been offered a Guinness numerous times since arriving in Ghana. The most interesting was one day at the Parliament House when I almost passed out. I asked to sit down and for some water, the man asked if I wanted a "malta" - I kindly said no and asked again for water.

The second most interesting was today. I went to a baby adoration, which is where tons of people gather to see a newborn baby. The first thing that happened to me was a woman tried to thrust another Guinness into my hands. I asked her if I could have a coke instead. I figured it would be best not to have my first attempt at alcohol when trying to see a baby.

The music was so loud it hurt my ears. They fed us - my first Ghanaian meal at someone else's house. One of the girls I lived with traded me plates because she said what they gave her wasn't spicy at all. The "not spicy at all" plate had rice with a huge lump of pepper on the top. I ate around the pepper, and it was still so hot that my tongue burned the whole two hours we were there. All I can say is thank You Jesus that Seth doesn't like pepper.

The parents, who I had never met before, ever, asked me to come and take a picture with them and the baby. I am pretty sure they wanted my picture because I was the only "obroni" (white person) there. But, that meant that I got to hold him. He is beautiful. His name is Jeff Joseph Tete Asine. I am certain I butchered that spelling horribly. I wish I had brought my camera.

Welcome to Ghana.

Last night I decided to head to my room for the night. I got there, went to open my luggage, and realized that you can't open luggage that is tied shut with plastic ties when your pocket knife is in your luggage. I roamed around the darkened house looking for assistance for about 10 minutes before resigning myself to defeat and going to bed in dirty clothes. I suppose I didn't even need the airline to lose my luggage for me...

In other news, my body is reinforcing the existence of jet lag.

Roasted plantains are absolutely wonderful.

Ghanaian chocolate is not.

The chocolate tastes like the air smells. For those of you who have not smelled the air in Accra, it is not too wretched, but certainly not fragrant. I think, though, that the situation sounds a little more lovely when I say that the air smells like chocolate.

Clovis.

I have torn nostalgia off of the walls . cleaned out the overabundance of my past . eaten at Taco Box numerous times . seen the few people I still know and enjoy there . realized how few people I still know there . walked down Wilshire . gone to Wal-Mart out of sheer boredom . seen how much things have changed . seen how much things are still the same . . .

And it will be a long time before I go "home" again. Will Tulsa still feel like "home" when I get back from Ghana?