I spent last weekend at a guesthouse in the hills of the Volta Region (eastern part of Ghana) called Mountain Paradise Lodge. There were a surprising number of American Jews there (generally more than just me is surprising).

Apart from the Jews, the nice thing about Mountain Paradise Lodge is that it's isolated and it gets chilly at night. The change in temperature is really a novelty. Anytime that it's not hot enough to make me sweat I take notice.

The compartmentalization of sweat is a phenomenon that I had never noticed before. For millions of people in the US, Canada, Europe, and elsewhere, sweat is a choice and not a way of life. For many months of the year, people can carry on with their daily routines without fear of sweat and can choose whether or not to engage in activities that will lead to sweat. Not so for me in Ghana. Everything makes me sweat and there is little respite.

The worst is traveling. Mountain Paradise Lodge is a couple hundred miles away, so the journey home was sure to be sweaty. It began at about 10:20 in the morning when me, two Jews, and two non-Jewish NYU students (they have a campus in Accra) left Mountain Paradise Lodge. It's situated on the top of a mountain and unless you have a car the only way out is to walk down the mountain. The walk took more than an hour, which translates into more than an hour of continuous sweating.

Once we made it to the bottom, we had to take a tro-tro (packed mini-van) to someplace to take another tro-tro to Accra. It goes without saying, but I'll say it, that tro-tros are not air-conditioned. Open windows and the movement of the vehicle can create a pleasant cross-breeze that makes the journey tolerable. But once the tro stops, either to pick up, drop off, or because of traffic, the vehicle heats up like an EZ Bake Oven. More sweat.

The first tro wasn't terrible, and once we stepped out into the blazing sun (more sweat) we were lucky enough to soon get on a tro headed to Accra . When traveling in remote parts of the country, it's not unusual to wait hours for the right car. This tro was a bit roomier, but by now my clothing is already soaked with my drying sweat while new moisture accumulates on my body.

And then we got a flat tire at around 2 PM or so, which means more standing in the sun while it's being repaired (and more sweating).  This could have really been a disaster since we were in the middle of nowhere, but luckily this tro had a spare and the driver flagged down another tro to get a jack and whatever else he needed to change the tire. Less than 30 minutes later, we were moving again (and sweating slightly less).

By 4 PM we were in Accra drinking lattes at an American-style shopping center. Then, two more tros (more sweat) to get to one of the city's larger tro stations where I said goodbye to my new friends and headed home. Recently I have made a lot of weekend friends. That is, people that I meet on a Friday and say goodbye to on a Sunday (or in this case Monday) and then never see ever again. Sometimes this process can last a bit longer – for example volunteers who are in the country for a few months that I may see half a dozen times. It is a good way to build a database of people from around the world, but also a bit unsettling.

By 5 PM, I am sitting in the way back of the worst kind of tro. It's more like a bus than a minivan with eight rows of five across. And it's tight. Some people buy one ticket for two people and sit one on top of the other. I sat in the back right corner with my large bag on my lap, as if I'm trying to make the journey as uncomfortable as possible. The man next to me tries to make small talk using what little English he knows and me testing out my Twi. He seems harmless until about 10 minutes into the journey when he puts his arm around me and tries to lick my face. This behavior is as inappropriate in Ghana as it is in the US and I gave him an elbow to the chest and told him to stop. Other passengers noticed what was happening and the man next to me got the message.    

Unfortunately, we then got caught in some serious traffic. Luckily, the sun was going down so there wasn't too much sweating, although by this point I have been sweating all day and would have barely noticed. What should have been less than a two hour trip took almost three while I'm awkwardly ignoring the man seated next to me.

I got out of the tro sometime after 8 PM, or about ten hours after I left the Lodge. My last stop before home was the taxi station where I hoped to get a car going to my town. Ghanaians aren't big on waiting in lines, so when a taxi pulls up and the driver announces where he's going, a full contact sport breaks out as people struggle to get one of the precious seats. I tend to forget about this, so I missed the first car but got the second

(although I did yell at a guy claiming that I was there first. He replied, "It's not about that.").

¶ 5:53 PM