The alarm on my phone, that ingratiating chatter of MIDI chimes and artificial percussion, chastises me at 5:30 am. I roll over, confused and annoyed, and promptly hit “snooze.” Three minutes later, I again hear the infernal racket in my ear. Again, I hit “snooze.” This happens maybe one more time, until I realize that I really do have to get up and get ready for school. I stand up, bleary-eyed, straining to see in the pre-dawn darkness, and grab the implements of hygiene—toothbrush, soap and bucket for bathing, deodorant—and walk outside to the little bathhouse, greeting my host-mother and sister along the way, who have already been awake for half-an-hour sweeping, preparing food, or washing clothes. After I have cleaned up and gotten dressed, I grab my books and materials for school and head down to the chief’s house (“Nana’s house”), where the Bridge Year crew eats all of its meals, for breakfast. By this time, it is around 6:30; the sun has risen, and as I walk over the hard, rocky ground, I pass houses made of mud brick or cement, with thatched or aluminum roofs. Trees scattered throughout the village will provide wonderful shade once the sun gets hotter later on in the day.
Upon reaching Nana’s house, I greet Nana, Serwaa, Clara, Ama, and anyone else who is rummaging about. Usually, Nick has not yet risen, but perhaps Aria is getting ready for school, and Kathleen may be helping Clara make breakfast. I set the table, put the water on the electric kettle for tea or instant coffee, make sure I have everything I need for the day. After eating my breakfast of browned porridge, sugar bread, and fried egg, I take a bike and head off to school. Unfortunately, the ride to school is almost entirely uphill. Huffing and puffing and sweating, I stop at the little village before Senchi to say to hi to some of the people doing chores or lounging on benches outside their houses. Then I reluctantly push my overheated body up the last hill to Senchi and finally to the JHS building, where I stop, throw down my bag, and begin to fan myself with any loose paper or book I can find. I am usually one of the first teachers to arrive, so I observe the students as they clean the compound and chat casually with them.
“Okyere Darko,” I call to one of the students in form one. “Did you do your science homework last night?” “Yes, sir,” he replies respectfully. “Was it hard?” I ask. “No, sir.”
At 8:00, after assembly, the kids go into class. I don’t teach until 12:25, so I sit down to prepare the next day’s lesson. Once I finish that, I open the book I am currently reading, The Brothers Karamasov, and immerse myself in it. This is difficult, though, because almost as soon as I start, I am interrupted by the arrival of the Pre-Voc teacher. She very recently had a baby, who she is carrying on her back, and the presence of this beautiful child causes a stir amongst the teachers in the teacher workroom.
“Akwasiii,” a teacher drawls to the baby, carrying him over to me, “come and greet your father.” Turning to me, she jokes, “Kwame, this is your son; he likes oburoni’s very much.” I laugh and carry on reading, giving some mild, evasive response. When the students have break, I go into the form one class to talk to the kids. I am wearing a button down shirt with the very top button undone. Seeing this, one boy points to my small bit of exposed chest.
“Sir, how can I get some of this?” he asks, referring to my chest hair. “It is so beautiful.” All I can do is laugh in reply and tell him, “It will come.” He must be only 12 or 13.
I teach during one of the last periods of the day, so when I have finished, there are only a few minutes left before closing. At 2:00, the bell is rung for closing assembly, and the kids come together to say a closing prayer and hear announcements from the teachers or headmaster. The students are at last dismissed, and, collecting my things to leave, I say goodbye to the teachers. Hopping on my bike, I see a boy who also stays in Oguaa walking home. I ride up next to him and tell him to sit on the rear rack of the bike. He gladly accepts this ride in the searing Sub-Saharan sun, and we head home. The ride back, which is mostly downhill, is much easier and faster. I hardly have to work going down the hills, and the apparent wind cools me off nicely. I let the boy off near his house and walk the bike past the communal well, where many people fetching water greet me, saying “Akwaaba,” or “welcome.” I am indeed glad for the shade of the trees, but I am still sweating miserably by the time I reach Nana’s house. Clara has started preparing the food for us; while I am no expert on Ghanaian cooking, I can still help out by cutting tomatoes or onions, grinding pepper, boiling yam, or just…setting the table. Once everyone gets back from school, we sit down to eat and discuss our days. Often the conversations are similar, but there are still many new thoughts, observations, and funny/upsetting/interesting experiences to share.
Once we finish eating, it’s time to do some clean-up. A couple of us will wash dishes, someone will sweep up, and another will ensure that the food is stored properly. After all this is finished, it is usually around 4:30. I have many options as to what I can do at this point. Sometimes I go for a run, sometimes I read, sometimes I mark assignments. I may go home to relax for a while, and my host sister Ama is always there. I f she isn’t doing chores, she is studying Maths or Scince or English—she is in form one—so I may help her out with that. When evening comes, I return to Nana’s for the last time of the day to eat a light meal, maybe left-overs with some fruit. After that I say goodnight to everyone and head home. I brush my teeth, floss—you know, the usual—and set my obnoxious alarm for 5:30. I finally sink down on my foam mattress, cursing the heat and soaking the mattress in sweat. At last, I drift off to sleep, enjoying a sleep of Mefloquine-induced dreams that is only disturbed by roosters crowing, my alarm, and the inevitable sounds of a newly-dawning day.
