Personal Essays – Unphased

30 days in a Shack

Kafui Gana — Thu, 02 Jan 2025 20:51:14 +0000

30 days with one stove plate, one pot, some bowls, a knife, a spoon, and a fork. No refrigerator, and largely at the mercy of whatever happened to be fresh at the market. It was a challenge I held for myself, both to save money on food during my long term traveling and to see what I can come up with while living in a shack close to the shores of Laguna Atitlan.

On top of the limited kitchen supplies, what made it even more of a challenge for me and not just living life, was that where I was staying could be described as a food desert. These are places where access to fresh and often more nutritious foods are less available. Where as the more “developed” towns around the lake, often had at least one fully stocked supermarket with meats and a variety of fruits and vegetables, the smaller towns had markets of proportionate size that tended to be filled with chips, sodas, and various processed and canned goods. Eggs were plentiful, so were beans and rice. However, fruits and vegetables weren’t consistent. They depended on whatever was brought in from the previous haul and weren’t guaranteed to be bug or bruise free. Processed meats like deli ham and sausage could be found in some tiendas, but the more expensive, fresh meats were usually only available during an open market one day a week. And I wanted to be healthy-ish. My struggles with food insecurity in the past probably deserves its own essay, but while I’m traveling for an indefinite period of time, it was important to me to keep up nutrition and not blow my whole budget on meals in what was only the first stop in my travels.

While navigating what became an adventure of feeding myself, I got to learn more about two major problems that affect low income Guatemalans, especially those around the lake: malnutrition and diarrhea. It turns out that many residents around Atitlan still rely on the untreated water of the lake which is heavily contaminated by tourism and pollution. And what was once a lake abundant with fish that the surrounding towns were able to base their livelihoods off of, is now sparse of natural fauna. Fishing had largely been reduced to aqua-farming and day trips for tourists. What is particularly unfortunate about the smaller towns around the lake is that, according to a museum I went to in Santa Catarina and a conversation with one of its residents, a lot of the farm land that was used for both livestock and produce was lost to foreign entities that bought up the land for commercial use. And it was very evident while staying around the lake and seeing the beautiful hotels and resorts with the best lake views. As wonderful of an experience it is to be in these at times lovingly and artistically curated stays, the truth is also that is has likely contributed to the limited availability of quality animal protein sources and their prices around the lake.

However, this is not necessarily a resignation to what can be seen as the monotonous combination of eggs, rice, tortillas and beans that western travelers complain about (although, I find the combo delicious). If anything, it is an observation of living in a particular part of Guatemala with certain restrictions and one girls journey to shake things up while attempting to be semi-nutritious.

By the way, I truly loved my time in Guatemala for its culture, hospitality, beauty and adventure. It also happened to coincide with a time of healing for me and I’m very grateful for the environment it provided to do so.

The lack of convenience forced me out of a comfort zone I was wasting away in. No refrigerator, meant no way to preserve food long term. It meant having to cook many meals fresh (no meal prepping), more frequent shopping trips, and strategic selection of ingredients that would hold up in the heat. This was therapeutic in a way because it actually forced me to go on a grocery run every two to three days, get fresh air, and see the towns (I was located closer to Tzununa, but San Marcos was a doable walk I made every so often).

The limitations in cooking amenities and the inconvenience of certain ingredients led me to trying new ways to make things work which I found stimulating. I learned that there are a lot of things that can be done with eggs, rice and beans. I had also created a game out of seeing what I could do with whatever produce was at the shops that day. As a result, I feel like I have more economical recipe ideas to take with me for the future.

Other than the fun of experimenting with healthy-ish super budget meals, the challenge also had me revisit the not-so-fun conversations surrounding sustainability, poverty, health, and food deserts. This isn’t my first rodeo living in a food desert nor on a restricted budget. It actually reminded me a lot of my time in a suburb outside of Baltimore where the only grocery store within walking distance was a Family Dollar which, like the tiendas, had mostly processed foods and limited fresh, whole foods.

And just like Baltimore, the greatest problem I ran into was getting quality protein and not giving into the much cheaper snacks that filled the stores. Don’t get me wrong… I love “junk food” and do/will partake, but this month was all about the health conscious budget meals and limiting ultra-processed foods (UPF’s). My protein for these 30 days mostly came from eggs, beans, canned fish (sardines and tuna), and nuts. There was a granola cereal with peanuts that contained a good source of protein and eventually, I was able to find a protein shake with a whopping 15 grams, but I relied more on the aforementioned sources. I felt like my protein intake was lacking even without an added goal of muscle gain (I tried to stay active, but quickly gave up on any ideas of growth). So for the average resident, I can imagine how difficult and expensive it can be to maintain a balanced diet let alone major fitness goals. But that’s exactly what I wanted to highlight, the privilege of time and food access and how routines of eggs, rice, beans, and tortillas come out of necessity.

See, we can look at these food deserts as the culprit for bad diet, but the truth is pockets of poverty magnify the overall problems of society. For one, we as a whole have a problem with (UPFs), it’s just harder to avoid in food deserts. Two, eating a balanced and varied diet isn’t as simple as knowing what’s good for us.

However, tackling the problem where it’s hardest can benefit everyone. We already saw what it was like to have healthcare systems across the world at their brink. With the worsening of health trends that could further stress an already stressed system, I see us taking better care of ourselves, even relatively, as vital for society. A great place to start is with our food since UPFs are associated with obesity, increased risk of cancer, preventative non-communicable diseases, and cognitive decline.

But anyway, here are some of the dishes I was able to come up with ¡Provecho!

Not pictured: I had also made soups, burritos, and fancier tacos but didn’t take pictures. Whatever I had for lunch was usually what I had for dinner. Leftovers were not kept overnight, not just because of the risk of spoil, but because the shack was not enclosed and I definitely had some animal visitors at night.

Also later on some guys from Brazil showed me the magic of putting noodles on top of rice paired with eggs and beans. It was so good, I might try it again for myself. Another guy taught me how easy it can be to make carbonara. Just saying…the possibilities are many.

But as I mentioned earlier, these 30 days brought up recurring themes of sustainability, poverty, health, and food deserts.

Sustainability:

I was living on a cliff with inconsistent resources. It pretty much had me facing my own trash for an entire month and doing so would turn anyone into a philosopher. Packaging was actually a huge incentive for me to stick to the challenge and shop whole and local ingredients. Because you know what takes up a lot of space, especially over the course of a month on a cliff? The packaging from processed foods. Furthermore, I concluded: convenience is a regular foe to sustainability. While the fruits and veggies I received in Tzununa weren’t always perfect looking and not always available, they were Guatemalan grown, not shipped from overseas with the increased packaging and carbon costs that can come with it. Also, unlike the larger stores, eggs were not sold in a carton, they were sold individually and either put in bolsitas (little bags) or one can bring their own reusable cartons resulting in less packaging overall. And it really put into perspective what it actually takes to move towards more sustainable consumerism on a large scale. Inconvenience.

I look at America and how the majority of food comes in a package, but most of us don’t have to deal with looking at the accumulation of our ish for very long so we don’t get to see even a fraction of our impact.

Tangent: Of course there have been some amazing discoveries that can help with our non biodegradable consumption. I had met someone who was working with mushrooms that can digest plastics and there has been years of research surrounding wax worms which have enzymes that can degrade common plastics. Plus there has been a growing movement towards sustainable packaging that can also help transition to a greener world. One exciting project I learned of has been this plastic created by a company called Timeplast that can dissolve in water after a programmable amount of time.

And when it comes to food waste, there are businesses that purposefully sell the produce that would normally be thrown out for not looking perfect enough for the grocery stores. Additionally, there are organizations that collect surplus produce at risk of being thrown out from places like farmer’s markets.m to give to those who need it. But these types of innovations have yet to be widespread.

Poverty, health, and food deserts:

There is plenty of evidence out that links poverty, food deserts, and health disparities. But how does one reverse that? I look at the Guatemalan town in which I stayed and the various towns and cities where I lived and it is an oversimplification to say the answer is to provide these areas with more whole foods. Because diet is just as much a product of habit and convenience as it is access. Not just in this particular case, but I’ve watched fruits and vegetables get overlooked for the more readily available, nutrient deficient foods and have done so myself for the sake of time and convenience. There is also a matter of price and satiety. To convince people to pay more for what is perceived to be less is a hard sell and that is if we even have it in our budget.

Time skip: After Tzununa , I arrived in Panajachel, which has a plethora of restaurants and well stocked stores. I later got access to a kitchenette where I stayed, but honestly, the mental fatigue of making things work in Tzununa, although fun, left me needing a break from that type of creativity (allowing me to put more brain power towards art). I hate describing my approach to health and diet because there seems to be two camps that I find myself between. As health conscious as I try to be, I am still a foodie who indulges intuitively. It’s made it hard for me to fully embrace health promotion, as passionate I am about it, because I don’t believe in perfection and intuitive health is difficult without a level of detachment from unhealthy habits. My hope is to promote balance, self awareness (because we’re all different) and decrease anxieties around individual foods and meals by looking at lifestyle choices wholistically. Anyway, here is some food porn from Pana where I had limited access to a kitchen and food storage so I ate out more . .

Dia de los Muertos

Kafui Gana — Thu, 26 Dec 2024 13:55:55 +0000

People typically think of Mexico when it comes to Dia de los Muertos, but the holiday is also widely celebrated in Guatemala, where I so happened to find myself during the spooky season.

Dia de los Muertos is celebrated the first two days in November to honor dead loved ones. The first day is for the children that have passed on and the second day for the adults. Similar to Mexico, how the holiday is celebrated differs between towns/areas. I was in Antigua, where I got a good mix of modern and traditional. Our festivities actually started on Halloween where you’ll find lots of people dressed up in Halloween costumes either waiting in one of the many long lines to enter a bar or gathering in one of the parks. And although Catrina is known to be a Mexican character created for Dia de los Muertos, there were a decent number of people (outside of the group I celebrated with) dressed up in the costume while making their way to the next party.

The following day, we went to a nearby town for their giant kite festival, barilettas gigantes in Spanish. This particular festival was at a colorful cemetery made even more colorful with the flowers families had brought to decorate the tombs as well as the small, rainbow kites that peppered the sky.

It was like a cookout with lively music and plenty of food and drink vendors. The main attraction, however, were the giant kites. I can’t tell you their actual height. I’m not good at estimating distances, though, I’m sure those details are searchable somewhere. But what I can tell you is that the kites sure looked gigantic. They are each painted with a unique design and adorned with flags. Each one is hoisted upright by the help of many hands. One was so big that even after unloading some of the flags, they needed the help of extra pulleys.

The best view was found from climbing one of the several concrete blocks around the graves. A family was super kind to let us go up one to take it all in.

I find it so beautiful how participants of the holiday celebrate their past loved ones. Although, it is a part of many African traditions to celebrate the dead in similar ways, I grew up with a disconnect from my ancestors. My parents did not talk much to us about past relatives. The passing of my paternal grandparents these past couple years felt like my first experience of lost blood.

If the addage is true, that you are alive as long as you are remembered, then Dia de los Muertos is a dedication of families in being that life support. Lucky, for my grandparents they have a huge family to remember them, but this experience was definitely a reminder that it is an intentional act.

The Farm in New Mexico

Kafui Gana — Fri, 12 Apr 2024 18:12:40 +0000

At dawn you could see the town in the distance. Right beneath the rising sun, the lights twinkled as if the Milky Way itself had come to kiss the earth. The roosters wrestled with the morning silence to awaken the day from its slumber, and of course the roosters won. So, through the gentle coax of nature I slinked out of bed to let the ducks and chickens out of their coops. Flanked to my left was my feline companion, escorting me through boxes, tools, and debris to reach the sliding doors leading to the early chill. This Southwest Spring morning was actually not too bad– pleasant, almost, with a light jacket and hood guarding my head from the steady breeze. What brought me to this little farm in the middle of a place that many might mistake for nowhere? Well, I had a visceral need for something and a feeling that this was the spot to find it. I was not disappointed.

If you’re like me, with very little knowledge about New Mexico, the public relations that greeted me at the door let me know very quickly that New Mexico is drugs, aliens, and desert. And where I stayed was certainly the desert. Cacti and thorned bushes grew freely around the yard, something that the animals were used to navigating. I, on the otherhand, was glad for the thick jeans and close-toed shoes I had brought despite still getting the occasional prick and snag. Dust seemed to easily coat everything I owned with a vintage Western filter. However, the earth itself was striated in warm, lively hues ranging from the dark yellow of a coffee stain to a Martian red. And although I didn’t get to venture the sand dunes that I was told can be found in the state, I’m sure they,too, would’ve been sights to see. I think I like the desert.

Despite it being Spring and South, many of the days were similar to what I was beginning to experience before I had left Northern Virginia. It seemed as if the new season was struggling to push Winter out. Days peaked in the low 60s, often ranging in the 50s, and even dipping to rainy 40s, with the rare, but welcomed 70 degree day. The dry air made many of the cooler days more tolerable, however, nights brought a cold so outside of my expectation that I found myself turning to handy space heaters to be held in their warmth until the sun returned.

But the nights weren’t all bad. On some nights, I donned enough layers and went outside just to take in the sky. Looking up at so many stars felt like gazing into eternity. Coming from the suburbs, I was used to seeing flickering dots speckled sparsely across the black backdrop. Out in nowhere, however, more of the celestial beauties that typically shied away from the bright lights revealed themselves with brilliance. I hadn’t seen so many in one place since I had visited my father’s village in Ghana years ago. I think I like dark skies.

My days consistently held two chores, letting the birds out at sunrise and feeding the variety of critters at night. During these chores I learned through the tickling of my palms as they munched from my outstretched hand that llamas grab pellets with their lips. I learned that donkeys, or maybe just this particular one, are like over-sized dogs in demeanor, cuddly and playful. However, they are as stubborn as they say, or, again, maybe just this particular one. Her name was Nymeria and she doesn’t like harnesses nor when you run out of treats. I learned of goats who like Cinnamon Toast Crunch. There were three of them who’d rush to me whenever they saw a bowl in my hand. And when passing out the cereal, I made sure to give the smallest one, Ebony, hers separately while the other two locked horns.

I learned of the most affectionate cats. 4 of them. It took a couple days, a little longer for the biggest one, for them to feel comfortable to approach me, either keeping me company during my daily chores or demanding head scratches and belly rubs. Once the ice was broken, they’d even sleep alongside me in bed, nestling flush against my side or within the curve of my bent legs– an added bonus to the space heater. And lucky for me that I had them to help me write by sitting on top of my keyboard while I’m typing. I have never owned cats myself and so I sincerely ask: Is this a thing? Are cats drawn to laptops? Because I know it’s not just these particular ones.

The middle of the day varied. On most days we worked on the ongoing project of renovating the kitchen. My host instructed me in how to put a sink together which I was able to do TWICE with the help of tools I’ve never used before. Scratched up knuckles provided souveniers and evidence of the hard work. I learned how to use a caulk gun and was able to hear variations of the phrase “caulk it good” while keeping a straight face. We painted walls, stained cabinets and drawers, and I measured, cut, and glued wood for the trim of a tile counter. Handyman is officially on my resume and a miter box is on my wish list. For those who don’t know what a miter box is, it is a tool of sorcery.

In my free-time, I explored the wealth of reading material available. Music books, encyclopedias, magazines spanning decades filled the many bookshelves making this hideaway just as much a library as it was a farm. Although, I was able to finish some magazines, with more time, I would have loved to take a look at the science fiction and fantasy books which took up the greater part of the south facade of the house. According to my host, it is a collection she has been growing since childhood. And although a couple of days were also set aside to see caverns, aliens, and some of the natural landscape, she wondered why I wasn’t itching to go out even more. Part of it was my determination to finish this kitchen project and part was because I felt her library was the cooler option.

After spending weeks getting to know my host and her animals, leaving was tough. I’m not good at goodbyes. But like any adventure, I left with what felt like new incite and definitely some new skills to show off. No promises, because I haven’t asked her yet, but my hope is to record some of the life stories of my host, because she has lived some lives. As for me, the next part of my journey was a train trip across the country.

I Bought a Bike

Kafui Gana — Wed, 03 Jan 2024 01:10:37 +0000

I don’t think my parents know how to ride a bike. And if they do, I have never seen it. My sister and I had sorta taught each other how to ride. I remember my mom had brought home a bike for no reason at all which means it must have been either cheap or free. But there was never any intention to teach us how to use it so one summer, my sister and I had decided upon ourselves to learn. It was, we believed, a necessary skill for survival in case we were ever caught in a zombie apocalypse. We took the bike to the creek in our neighborhood. At one part of the creek, there was a large cemented area and there, we took turns riding around in circles until we were both able to do so without falling over. By the time we both felt we had nailed it, the sky was a pink and orange haze. Twas a victory well earned. Unfortunately this never really led to the biking adventures we had hoped for. We only had the one, usable bike. Others were brought home, but the tires would be flat or a part would be broken and “eventually” was a time that never came. We got used to adventures on foot, which ended up not being that bad. I think that was the early conditioning for my fondness of walking because we surely walked a LOT in our childhood.

However, I recently bought a bike– almost 20 years after the last time I rode one. And not just any bike, an electric one designed for cargo. The assembly was the first challenge. It came 90% assembled…but still. At a whopping 77lbs, the bike weighed more than half of me. Couple that with the fact that I didn’t consider myself a very “handy” person, made its completion so satisfying that I now consider myself a “handy” person. The next challenge was actually riding it. The old adage goes that you never forget how to ride a bike. Well, I put that to the test. I walked my bike to a field by my house which had a gravel track. It brought about a feeling reminiscent of my sister and I all those years ago. Except, this time, it was just me, by myself– a grown adult who has fallen enough times, both literally and figuratively, that I had structured a life with safeguards to minimize the chances of it happening again. Yet, here I was.

It felt awkward at first. How does it go again? How do I stay upright? How do I turn? After a series of fumbles while trying to balance on my new steed , something clicked back into place. Thanks, muscle memory. Like a baby giraffe, my bike hobbled toward the first bend of the track. Steady yourself, girl. I continued to pedal at a cautious pace. The melanin in my hands did well in masking the bloodlessness of my knuckles from gripping the handlebars so tight. Easy, now. You’re too tense. Seeing as I hadn’t fallen over yet, I began to relax my grip. My pedalling increased in tempo. I gave myself space to enjoy the experience. It was a nice fall day. Cool, but not cold. The breeze, as I zipped around the track, still had a warmth to it. I had my phone mounted to the handlebars and it was playing a rap-heavy playlist (because I thought I needed all the confidence I could get). But until this point, it had only acted as ambient noise. I was finally relaxed enough to listen. I bobbed my head to the drums and sang what words I knew and mumbled the words I didn’t. Nothing mattered, I was zooming.

Eventually, I got confident enough to turn up the pedal assist and, therefore, the speed so I was really zooming– zooming a little too hard. And then I crashed. I had made too wide of a turn and lost my balance riding over a divet on a grassy part next to the graveled course. A nice cushy chain-link fence caught my fall. But you know what? I was ok. More than ok, I was having fun. I hopped back on the bike, played with the speed some more, and fell some more as well. Each collision taught me how to better prevent the same mistake in the future. Life has a way of sucking the vibrance out of you, if you aren’t intentional with protecting it. And it’s been a fight for me. However, I felt like I earned some xp points with this side quest. Relearning how to ride a bike had me feeling more comfortable making mistakes, more comfortable in my body, and more open to seeing what’s next. At some point enough was enough. It was time to go. The sun was still bright this time as I rode my bike home.

I wish I could say that was the beginning of my biking adventures, but fast forward a couple months and the bike has been seldom used. “It’s the cold”, I say. When I had gotten the bike, the air was already crisp, although comfortably so. However, the drop in temperature crept in like a frigid sigh. And cold is truly my kryptonite. It’s an internal battle making it outdoors, typically requiring an extensive pep talk. Maybe throw in some bribery, because to step into a freezer knowing my African blood is allergic deserves a prize. I solidify this argument by thinking back to something I remember a middle school teacher telling us. It was something along the lines of “spikes in violent crime occur during the extremes of climate temperature because it makes people more irritable”. I don’t know whether that’s fact, but it’s convincing enough. So when braving the cold, why would I, then, add the challenge of maneuvering a bike I’m not yet comfortable with?

“It’s the roads”, I say. We don’t have the infrastructure for bikes. Bike lanes are barely wide enough to safely accommodate bikers on the same road as cars. Regardless, my neighborhood doesn’t even have bike lanes. And sidewalks are not reliably large enough for bikers and walkers so bikers tend to have to yield to the street anyway. It’s terrifying. People drive aggressively and mindlessly and a nascent bike rider is no match for a 2 ton steel behemoth. Where is one supposed to go to learn and build confidence on the roads?–where a mistake isn’t fatal. Why would I risk it?

“I have too much to focus on”, I say. I had the wonderful idea to begin several projects simultaneously and make my livelihood immediately depend on them. I’m starting from scratch. I’m juggling so much. I’m tired. I’m defeated often. I’VE GOT BILLS TO PAY. Bike riding seems silly when my mind needs to stay on the grind. Forget the freedom for which I bought the bike in the first place. Why would I waste my time?

These were just excuses. All of them. Not wrong, but truth has a debatable impact on an excuse. It felt like what began as a story of discovery and triumph turned to one of regression and, honestly, frustration. It was quite an expensive promise that I felt like I wasn’t able to keep to myself. It’s now winter and I can tell you for a fact that I will not be getting on that bike. However introspection has allowed me the gift of a new perspective less rooted in stagnant shame. To frame it as a failure is a great oversimplification. Not when I actually assembled and rode the bike. Not when the seed has already been planted. I’ve known me my whole life and my progress has never been linear. And I have a good streak of keeping the promises I make to myself, even if it’s in my own time. This isn’t quitting, it’s a pause. We’ll resume in the Spring. Stay tuned. Oh, and I later found out that my dad can ride a bike. Well…supposedly. So he says. Still yet to be seen.

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