Thursday, June 3, 2010

If You Have to Skip a Post, Make it this One

As your dedicated blog writer and editor I feel obligated to introduce the following post, written by an elderly, ADD-riddled, possibly demented (in the clinical sense of the word) accountant. I figured hey, nothing's happened since Monday but I don't want to wait until next Tuesday when we return from northern Ghana to post again; why not let Debi post? It will allow our few readers to enjoy a transition between being entertained by reading to being entertained by the writing. Plus, she's annoying the hell out of me wanting to tell "her side," although of course I've been nothing but objective. So for her sake, I let her write a post; for your sake, this will be the only time. I have neither read nor edited any of what follows.

Here is what she first sent me:



Debi Nordstrom
Executive Consultant - Finance & Accounting
DebiNord@msn.com (206)898-4160

"The best things in life are not things."





The New Busy is not the old busy. Search, chat and e-mail from your inbox. Get started.


Once she figured out how to use this modern sensation called the internet, she was able to include what I take to be her true post:

An Elder’s Perspective

Of course, I taught the author of all prior Ko-For It posts nearly everything he knows (at least all that’s good), including how to be a better writer than his mother. However, I should elaborate on the experiences I have had without David, including jogging to work while he completed his 12 hours of sleep each night. The morning jogs bring about many thoughts and sensations. Being a more organized-type, my points are written with bullets. Even though they are not long, sensationalized paragraphs with condescending vocabulary and grammar, I think you get the idea . . .


- There are no real “stores” in Kofofidua. Goods are sold in stalls along the road with locals selling everything including roasted corn, fabric, handmade furniture on which they are pounding nails on location, elaborate one-of-a-kind coffins (In case I get eaten by an elephant this weekend, I want to be cremated with my ashes split between the low tide sand in Cultus Bay, the pond by hole 18 on the Grandview/Sunnyside golf course, in the Snake River at Fishhook Park, the yard at 706 E. Concord, and the top of the big chair at White Pass). Sorry, bi-polarism took over – back to the point at hand.

- Along the road to work, men are off-loading concrete bags (two at a time on their heads). I asked them if I could carry just one and they told me I was incapable. Why then, do only women have to carry all of the other products all day long on their heads? This creates significant sway-back problems for the women as they age.

- Hopping over the soft metal grates spanning the sewers bring about smells of the worst kind; the odors are even more potent when running by one of the homeless souls who is so thin he can barely stand. The extra high curbs meant to accommodate flash floods provide for a great step workout.

- We’ve seen maybe 20 Anglo-Saxons in 2 ½ weeks in all of our travels, including those with whom we work at Burro. Ghana is definitely not a vacation destination and it will be many, many years before it is.

- Same question is asked of me over and over, mostly by women – “Why are you running?” because they think someone is chasing me. When I tell them I am exercising or jogging, the more athletic men and many of the uniformed school children start running with me.

- I am confronted with stares from everyone and chants of obrohni (“o-bru-nee”, meaning white person) from every child. Their expressions all begin as frowns until I responded with a “Good morning”. The glares turned into instant, gorgeous smiles and a “you’re welcome”, meaning “welcome”.

- Women sweep the “highways” with hand wisks (no handles). However, there is garbage absolutely everywhere – obviously a completely different perspective from ours on what constitutes “clean”.

- I finally decided to respond to the children who demand we give them money that obrohnis will never give them money if they demand it and that we call it “begging”. To see the look of apology in their eyes and hear them respond with “God bless you, bye-bye” is heart-breaking when you realize that they have no idea that what they were saying was inappropriate.

- I’m so tempted to take one of the teenagers home with me who comments “when you go back to your hometown, take me with you.” Fortunately, Eric, the retired mayor of Alki warned me to not bring any of the children home, or I just might have been to the adoption agency by now.


When you look at all of Ghana’s natural resources, you realize it is not dissimilar to those of other lucrative tropical, equatorial nations, especially considering the hefty supply of gold that Ghana once had. Many of those resources have been depleted. We Europeans captured their ancestors, put them in dungeons and brought them to America and Europe under the worst imaginable conditions and extorted them into slavery. And today, we still bargain with them in order pay 40 cents instead of 50 cents for the biggest and best avocado or pineapple we’ve ever tasted. And yes, the Ghanaians still smile and say “welcome” as we pass by them on the road as we sport our $200+ in athletic apparel listening to our i-pods with our cell phones in pockets as they struggle to earn a dollar a day selling mangos.


How is it that many of us feel that it is unacceptable for Africans or any other non-US-citizen to be coming to the US to look for work? Aren’t we all just trying to survive the best and only way we know how?

I do have to say that it shouldn’t take rocket science to figure out that there needs to be something like a bi-annual ban on reproduction of the human species. What are the missionaries thinking who are telling people to not use condoms? There has to be least 100 children under the age of 12 to every person over the age of 50 in Ghana. Where does that leave the country in 30 years, considering Ghana is the size of Oregon and contains an estimated 22.5 million people? Expand that to all of Africa and the rest of the world and you wonder what situation we have created for our own children. Sorry, David and Kyle, I’m checking outJ.


Oh, and David! It should have been clear by May 1 that the visa wasn’t going to arrive and that something was wrong. As usual, if it weren’t for your mother, you wouldn’t be here now (or ever) and the lesson which should have been learned is not, “Don’t sweat it and it will work out”, but “Listen to, and do as, your mother says”. As Kyle put it, “the trip to North Carolina wasn’t much of a vacation”. That’s because it was focused around David, Kyle. Next one, we’re in charge. And I almost forgot about one of the many rules I tried to instill in your younger years but was overruled . . . you had to learn to drive a stick before getting your drivers’ license. Once again, you should have listened to your mother and avoided your having to be chauffeured around Ghana.


Although I got used to not checking e-mails, texts and voicemails in less than 24 hours, I still miss Kyle (or at least knowing I can get to him in 5 hours to whip him into shape which entails giving him a big hug) and Mom who is spoiling WAZZU, Kirby and Perlita to death (we’ll be there Fri, 6/18 to get them). I don’t miss you, House. I’m ready to retire from you, but do miss your beautiful views of the Sound and the Olympics, and, most importantly, the wonderful West Seattle friends you attract.


And you wonder how I raised a child who claims to be liberal, is as idealistic as they come, struggles in a third world country because he can’t get a Big Mac, wants to backpack South America on his own teaching English and coaching baseball, and plans to attend a top-ranked law school and become one of those despicable attorneys. Sorry for the schizophrenic and ADD genes, David. Fortunately, Kyle didn’t get themJ.


And of huge importance, good luck to the Coug baseball team in the post-season. I’ve never been to Nebraska and will be home in time to go!

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