“Pure water!” is a call you hear a lot riding around Accra. Sitting in traffic in a crowded tro-tro, girls selling packets of water approach your car, balancing a basket full of pouches on their heads. The tap water in Ghana isn’t safe to drink, so we rely on these water pouches. I have yet to learn how to drink these gracefully; you have to bite a hole in the corner and slurp out the water. I should get Nana’s little nephews to teach me; they’re pros.
A lot of places here don’t have running water, including our office. There is a big trash can full of water next to the toilet, and you take a bucket of water from the bucket and pour it into the back of the toilet. I’m still figuring out the technique, so my bathroom breaks at work are embarrassingly long.