Bye bye, swallows...

When I first arrived in Achiase the air was teeming with swallows, looping and soaring around the roofs of the houses. There was something very gratifying about the fact that they really do come to Africa in the winter. It was like having friends from home around to keep an eye on me. Now, without my noticing, the swallows have left- clearly sensing the change in season back home, and somehow knowing it's time to begin the migration back to Europe.

There are only two seasons in Ghana; the dry, and the wet. The dry season will last until early May. It is very, very hot. A sticky heat, that clings to you throughout the day. In the early afternoon it's too unbearable to go outside, but it's also the time when My Roomie and I go staggering home from school, gasping for breath and waving feebly at the cries of 'Obruni!' Occasionally I think I've just about mastered the heat; then there comes an absolute scorcher of a day, when I can do little more than lie on the front porch moaning, with a cold flannel over my face.

I go out jogging several mornings a week to help deal with any neurosis over gaining weight, (fuelled by My Roomie, who loves to tell me what a fatty I'm going to become if I keep eating so much). I get out on the road at around six am, the only time of day cool enough for exercise, and go pacing down the hill to the military barracks and back. At this time the day is only just beginning, and the sun hangs on the horizon like a huge golden bauble while the clouds cut swathes across the sky. It's beautiful.

Unfortunately, jogging is a completely alien concept to Ghanaian people. Once I'm out on the road, I can instantly feel a multitude of astonished stares burning into the back of my head, and a silent exclamation of what on EARTH is she doing?? All the men walking to work with machetes in their hands cheer as I go charging past them, and hoot "Go on! Go on!" So nice that I can bring a little amusement to their morning. Even worse is when a soldier goes walking past- because then I can't stop running, even if my head is about to explode with the pressure. I can't seem like a weakling in front of them; they're all huge and scary looking, dressed in khaki and enormous combat boots.

Despite all this, I can generally manage the run to the barracks without too much trouble. The real problem is when I have to turn and run back home- uphill. It's normally at this point that my calves start screaming for mercy, and I am desperate to indulge them; but first I have to go running back past all the men I overtake on the way down the hill. They are always delighted to see me again, and yell "Well done! Well done!", or occasionally "Why don't you run? Quick, quick!", at the times when the heat has become too much to handle, and my pace has slowed to a crawl. By the time I get back to the house, I'm absolutely drenched in sweat, and a charming boiled-lobster red. It's a good look.

The volunteers travelled down to the coast again last weekend; early on Saturday morning we went canoeing upriver. The sun was already hot, although it was only just past seven am; but it was very peaceful. Herons and kingfishers peppered the banks of the river, and mudskippers went running over the surface of the water. Our guides pointed out all the crabs strolling along the banks, and there was a moment of excitement for everyone when a monkey went swinging through the trees past our boat. The rest of the weekend was spent on the beach, playing football and getting swallowed by the waves, screeching with slightly panicked laughter. We spent most of the night on the beach as well; a blessing, because the dormitory beds were full of fleas that ate us alive. It was a great weekend.

And now I'm excited, because my GOM is coming to see me this week, and I can't wait to see him. I feel like a hysterical little child nearing Christmas. It's hard to imagine him in the setting of Achiase, trying to negotiate a taxi price with an overbearing driver or eating Fufu with his hands, but it's going to be fantastic to see him. My Roomie and I are eagerly anticipating the supplies coming from home; little shorts and vest tops, some new pillows, salt and vinegar crisps.... There are so many things I can think of.

Most of all, I want Spring. It is March now, and at home, the temperature will slowly be easing off. There will be rain, but it will be more forgiving now than it was in Februrary. Slowly the green will be coming back to the trees. It's my favourite time of year, and I'm missing it... Could someone bring me Spring in a suitcase? Send me armfuls of daffodils, great sprays of pink and white cherry blossom, wet with dew. A heaped basket of primroses to hang from my bedroom ceiling, and a hyacinth bulb for the windowsill.

Spring in a suitcase, to remind me of home.