The Steampunk World
I started teaching the chopping class. First we talked about how to recognize a strong bike, emphasizing that I don’t believe in ‘good’ and ‘bad’ bikes. A good bike, I said, is one that is ridden, and a bad one is one that is not used. But some features indicate stronger construction- solid dropouts, three-piece cranks, cantilever brakes, ornate lugs, the sort of features they will have to look for when choosing a bike to create a truck from.
In two days of classes, we’ve built a scooter trailer, a tallbike, a randem, and the beginnings of a mule. These kids (they are all younger than me at least) are quick to learn and already know lots of ways to get stuff done without the right tools. More fodder for the book.
Ooh, and I saw a tallbike on television! It was at a bicycle rally in a city east of here. Looked just like the Mpls style. I gotta track down that nutty Obibirim.
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Oh, and the only American program on television seems to be... Babylon 5? THIS is the culture we export?
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I think the malaria pills are wreaking their havoc on my dreams. I wouldn’t call them nightmares, they’re just extremely vivid and usually disturbing. The worst yet has been a particularly disquieting dream about watching homosexual bum sex. I can’t get that toothless ‘oh-face’ out of my head. :(
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I think I understand the purpose of English in this country. They tell me there are 10 tribal languages in Ghana. English has become the common language, for when you are talking to someone who doesn't speak your language, or for modern terms, or if you're trying to sound Westernized. I saw a school with a sign that said ‘Day School, Please Speak English, Our Motto: The Fear Of God’. Sounds like a cheerful place.
So, in this area, most people speak Twi. However, it’s the Asante version, one of seven. Bible translation is done in Akuapem Twi, and this is the version my little lesson book is in, so any request for help results in a raging but charming argument between the locals about the ‘right’ way to say things.
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The heavy Christian presence results in a lot of shop names that we might consider irreverent, such as ‘Jesus Power Tire Outlet’, or ‘God’s Own Locksmith’. I also saw a fast food stand that advertised ‘Americanian’ food. Who cares how they spell it, I’m desperate for potato chips! Everything I eat here is delicious, but ‘crunchy’ seems to be a foreign concept, and I’m one of those people for whom texture is more important than taste. I can’t even get down the fufu, as tasty as it is, it’s like eating wet play-doh.
Fortunately, coming from farming stock has me prepared for the slaughtering being done here at home. Actually I’m rather fascinated with it, as it strikes me that most Americans wouldn’t know what to do with an animal if they were starving, even if they caught one, myself included. Did you know that as you and your buddy hold a freshly-killed goat over a fire to burn off the hair, it farts? But not really, it’s just goo bubbling out the neck-slit.
Meat seems to be too precious to just eat in steaks, instead, it’s used to flavor other dishes. ‘I wonder what they do with the feet and head?’ I thought, as I watched them cut up the goat, even handing the intestines to a kid so he could go make them poop in the woods. I got my answer later that evening, when I found a hoof and a jawbone in the soup around my fufu. Something about gnawing on teeth is just wrong.
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Everything here seems to be a matter of cobbling together technology. We have three cameras- one won’t take disks, one’s lens is too dark, one needs flash ram. One computer will connect to the Internet, but turn itself off after two minutes. Another will connect but the dns just stops resolving after ten minutes. These sort of challenges are fun for me- if they occur when building bikes. With computers it’s frustrating, because so much is ethereal.
When I weld (with our brand-new, homemade stick welder), I have the center’s electrician on hand to finagle the electrical system to keep the power on. Sometimes we just have to give up and wait until the load on the region is lower.
Hmm… something tells me I should get into the business of making welders from scrap.
In two days of classes, we’ve built a scooter trailer, a tallbike, a randem, and the beginnings of a mule. These kids (they are all younger than me at least) are quick to learn and already know lots of ways to get stuff done without the right tools. More fodder for the book.
Ooh, and I saw a tallbike on television! It was at a bicycle rally in a city east of here. Looked just like the Mpls style. I gotta track down that nutty Obibirim.
---
Oh, and the only American program on television seems to be... Babylon 5? THIS is the culture we export?
---
I think the malaria pills are wreaking their havoc on my dreams. I wouldn’t call them nightmares, they’re just extremely vivid and usually disturbing. The worst yet has been a particularly disquieting dream about watching homosexual bum sex. I can’t get that toothless ‘oh-face’ out of my head. :(
---
I think I understand the purpose of English in this country. They tell me there are 10 tribal languages in Ghana. English has become the common language, for when you are talking to someone who doesn't speak your language, or for modern terms, or if you're trying to sound Westernized. I saw a school with a sign that said ‘Day School, Please Speak English, Our Motto: The Fear Of God’. Sounds like a cheerful place.
So, in this area, most people speak Twi. However, it’s the Asante version, one of seven. Bible translation is done in Akuapem Twi, and this is the version my little lesson book is in, so any request for help results in a raging but charming argument between the locals about the ‘right’ way to say things.
---
The heavy Christian presence results in a lot of shop names that we might consider irreverent, such as ‘Jesus Power Tire Outlet’, or ‘God’s Own Locksmith’. I also saw a fast food stand that advertised ‘Americanian’ food. Who cares how they spell it, I’m desperate for potato chips! Everything I eat here is delicious, but ‘crunchy’ seems to be a foreign concept, and I’m one of those people for whom texture is more important than taste. I can’t even get down the fufu, as tasty as it is, it’s like eating wet play-doh.
Fortunately, coming from farming stock has me prepared for the slaughtering being done here at home. Actually I’m rather fascinated with it, as it strikes me that most Americans wouldn’t know what to do with an animal if they were starving, even if they caught one, myself included. Did you know that as you and your buddy hold a freshly-killed goat over a fire to burn off the hair, it farts? But not really, it’s just goo bubbling out the neck-slit.
Meat seems to be too precious to just eat in steaks, instead, it’s used to flavor other dishes. ‘I wonder what they do with the feet and head?’ I thought, as I watched them cut up the goat, even handing the intestines to a kid so he could go make them poop in the woods. I got my answer later that evening, when I found a hoof and a jawbone in the soup around my fufu. Something about gnawing on teeth is just wrong.
---
Everything here seems to be a matter of cobbling together technology. We have three cameras- one won’t take disks, one’s lens is too dark, one needs flash ram. One computer will connect to the Internet, but turn itself off after two minutes. Another will connect but the dns just stops resolving after ten minutes. These sort of challenges are fun for me- if they occur when building bikes. With computers it’s frustrating, because so much is ethereal.
When I weld (with our brand-new, homemade stick welder), I have the center’s electrician on hand to finagle the electrical system to keep the power on. Sometimes we just have to give up and wait until the load on the region is lower.
Hmm… something tells me I should get into the business of making welders from scrap.
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