chapter 5: am i really this sexy and influential?

day 25 in ghana dawns like any other. roosters crowing, dogs barking, kids crying, radios blaring, and your sexy hero blearily wishing he didn't have to dump cold buckets of water over his head. i'll explain the odd, seemingly random reference to my overwhelming machismo in a moment.

first, a word of explanation on the water situation. it's in extremely short supply here. most times, you're lucky to get a trickle out of the shower head, and there's no hot water. good thing hot showers aren't really needed to warm up in the morning. anyway, everyone keeps buckets of water everywhere, because inevitably, you'll need them to wash up. and with the amount of personal body moisture i'm excreting these days, i have to take a shower every day. ironically, i was never one to shower every day at home. not because i'm dirty, but out of a desire to conserve water. ironic then, that in a place that has next to none of it in comparison to canada, conservation is no longer a priority.

okay, back to my suddent conversion to irresistible adonis. since i've been here, i have received no fewer than four marriage proposals from women, and one from a man on behalf of his sister. they usually begin when i'm walking down the street or going innocently about my business:

"hello! comes the shy greeting of a smiling ghanaian woman.
"hi," i craftily reply. "wo ho to sen?" (how are you?)
"eye." (i am well) a pause. "what is your name?"
"brennan."
"where are you from," she asks.
"canada," i respond.
"we will get married?" she asks hopefully.
"sure," i say.

this conversation has taken place no fewer than four times, and once a man offered me his sister's hand. i know what you're thinking.

only five proposals?

but, try as i might, i can't convince myself i've suddenly blossomed into an object of calvin klein obsession-esque desire. no, apparently, ghanaian women and men with sisters are clamouring for a canadian mate to take them off to paradise, where they'll no doubt live like princess diana, before the unfortunate tunnel thing, of course.

that brings us to my unexpected surge in power. unbeknownst to me, i have acquired the ability to mobilize vast, static bureaucracies into action.

"you will take me home with you," they'll say. i'm not sure if this is a request or an order. i politely explain that in canada, i am a little man, and have no power over the immigration system. it rarely registers. after all, i'm a rich obruni. i can simply "convince" my government to let me naturalize whomever i please, right? have money, will travel. that's how it works here. how to explain that at home, when you get a traffic ticket, you can't pay off the police, and immigration officials can't be bribed with a mere few dollars either? no, it takes millions to corrupt our upstanding civil servants.

i avoid the non-starter of a conversation and say, "i will take you to canada," praying they'll forget by the time i go back. but in the meantime, i'm looking for a much better paying job. after all, i've got a lot of mouths to feed all of a sudden.