Yovo, yovo, bonsoir!

May 20, 2011


That is the adorable song all the Togolese and Beninese kids sang as we passed by. It goes “Yovo, yovo, bon soi. Sa va bien? Merci!” It’s nice because that’s about the level of my French, so I was actually able to understand what they were saying to me, and it was also super cute.

Kayla and I started in Kpalime (Togo), where we met Anna, Hannah and Julie, who were finishing their weeklong trip. We popped off the tro-tro, got on our first motorcycle taxis, and landed at our hotel. I was convinced I’d never ride a motorcycle in the U.S., let alone in Africa where helmets are virtually unheard of and roads are pretty much dirt paths with mud puddles and divots every which way. Turns out I was wrong. I probably rode 12 over the course of the week… and I think I liked them. Strange.

My Beninese Husband.. you'll meet him later

After trying, and failing, to visit a Benedictine monastery the next morning, we settled for what we thought would be some nice hiking. In actuality, it was more like a village tour, but they showed us some cool plants that leave tattoos on your skin (well, actually, they
don’t really work on oboruni skin because it’s a white powder, but theoretically they leave cool tattoos) and dye things and things like that. We saw some coffee plants and cool views and such so after a chaotic morning, it was nice and relaxing.

From there Kayla and I went on to Benin. That was the intent, anyway. First change of plans. No cars to Benin that day. Of course.

After a brief episode that involved me nearly passing out at a practically abandoned tro-tro station, we re-routed to Lome, the capital of Togo. We got in a shared taxi for a comfortable ride, Kayla and me in the back, plus one passenger in the front and one driver. By
the time we got to Lome, our number had grown to eight: four in the back, two riding shotgun, two in the driver’s seat. Really safe, I promise.

In Lome we met Francis, a Cesar-esque guy who spoke English, so we adopted him as our guide. Anna and Hannah had told us about him, because they met him too, and after about five minutes of talking to him, I knew it must be him. He took us to the fetish market, where I’m pretty sure we insulted the gods because we refused to pay 8,000 CFA (26 cedis, about $20) for a piece of wood. Oops.

(Note: fetishes are objects that represent voodoo spirits, not fetishes as we non-voodoo believers might think.)

We headed back to our hotel, but before we arrived, Francis asked us a favor. Ten minutes later, we were in an internet café, sending business e-mails for him because he can’t read, but he’s trying to operate a business connection with the UK. If you’re interested in secondhand clothing in Togo, I gotcha covered: Francis is your guy.

That night we ran into Nick, Graham and Dan (other CIEEers) at our hotel, so we had dinner and exchanged stories, mostly about how we had both encountered Francis. Then Nick asked for a toothpick and the waiter came back with a plate full of peanuts. Gotta love that
language trick.

Onward to Benin, we stopped at an art museum in Cotonou on our way to Abomey, the seat of the Dahomey Empire in its heyday. It was another seven-person cab ride on our three hour journey. The Beninese we were with couldn’t understand a word I said, nor could I understand them, but they certainly laughed every time I jumped because the two chickens in the back started clucking away.

In Abomey we tried to tour on our own, but after an hour of wandering, we realized there was no way we would find what we were looking for and despite our attempts at French, there was no way anyone would understand our questions. So we called Marc, who was an English-speaking guide we had met the night before at our hotel.

We saw lots of bloody sites, as head-chopping and sacrifices of 41 slaves were regular practices of the Dahomey kings, and then we headed to the twin fetish. Twins are sacred in Benin/voodoo culture (okay, the actual word used was “lucky,” but I like to think that with
translation issues and such, he totally meant sacred), so I obnoxiously pointed out I’m a twin wherever it was mentioned.

The twin shrine

The visit with Marc ended when we were back at the hotel, where he stations himself, and he was dismissing Kayla to go take a shower so he and I could make love. This came just after he told us the long saga of the son he abandoned. Needless to say, at that point, we said
au revoir.

The next day we headed to Ouidah, which is the voodoo equivalent of the Vatican, and the site of a Portuguese slave fort. We did all that history stuff, got in a fight with some zem (motorcycle taxi) drivers and called our trip a success!

So here I am, back at ISH, my last African adventure complete. I guess it’s time to study… weird.

New Roommates

May 10, 2011


I think I’m living in a room full of lizard poop, which makes things quite interesting. I’ve found little clumps of some sticky brown substance in places too impractical to be dirt. There are a couple stuck to my walls, some on my desk, the crack on the window screens… ick.

I’ve also caught the little critters scampering in my room a couple times, but they’re too quick to catch, and I’m really not sure how to track them. So I guess I’ve acquired a new roommate. Flora has essentially moved out, so I guess the plus is at least I’ve got company at night.

Exams are underway and I am 40% complete with my University of Ghana education! I took my dance final last week, which was hilariously disastrous, as I was in a group entirely of oborunis. Out of 26 groups, only three were 100% foreign students, and just my luck, I was in one of them. It was a sight, that’s for sure.

On Sunday, mefaa me nhyere Twi. Mesuaa mpoano so. Eye fi. Yehyiaa nnamfo na wonkyeree adee. Eye papa.

(On Sunday, I took my Twi exam. I studied on the beach. It was beautiful. We made friends and they taught us things. It was nice.)
…I’m practically fluent.

The weekend before, Anna and I went to the Volta Region for one last Ghanaian adventure. We went to Amedzofe, which is a mountain village where there are some waterfalls and hiking and such. Volta is definitely my favorite part of Ghana, so we were excited to finish our travels there.

We got a tro-tro to Ho, and once again everyone on the ride told us they would take us to their homes as soon as we got to Volta. The woman next to me got quite a kick out of me, I’m not sure why, but at one point she leaned over to show me the pictures she had snapped of me without me noticing. I was doing absolutely nothing interesting,just reading a book, but she thought it was just the funniest thing.

When we got to Ho, we got another car to take us up the mountain, where we were met by Wisdom, the local tourist operator. I can’t say he imparted us with too much knowledge, but maybe some day.

He set us up in the guest house and arranged for his wife to cook us dinner, so when it came time for dinner we walked down the hill and met him at his house. It wasn’t quite ready, so he sat us down and explained to us how God will always protect us, especially when a
storm comes. Since there had been no mention of God all afternoon or evening, it was a little unexpected, especially when he followed with “do you drink alcohol?” and then proceeded to explain that we had to take gin with him to honor his brother, who had been killed some ambiguous time in the recent past. Later his friend told him it was 40 days, so he used that as justification for the necessity of the gin (custom, you see), although he didn’t know that when he first introduced the idea. It was all just a little strange.

We slept fine and got up early to climb “Mt. Gemi.” For those Andover readers, it was about half the distance of Ward Hill. Why it warrants the title of a mountain, I’m not sure, but the cross at the top was very fitting of the area and you could see the hills all around and Lake Volta in the distance, so it was very picturesque.

Mt. Gemi: A Gruesome Hike

we're lucky we survived

Then we went and climbed the waterfalls, which were thankfully significantly less difficult than Wli. We felt a lot like Tarzan and Jane because it was steep enough that we were actually swinging from rope to rope and sliding all about. We were the only ones on the path so it was nice and peaceful.

When we got back to the village we met a Peace Corps volunteer and ended up talking to him for a while about what he was doing and how he found everything, so that was a cool perspective we hadn’t encountered yet.

When it came time to go home, it was of course a bit of a process, since the village is on the mountain so cars don’t come and go very frequently. Eventually a tro-tro did come, and we squeezed so many people in there actually wasn’t enough room for my head—everyone had either a child or a mountain of stuff on their lap. My solution was to stick my head out the window, so there I was, flying down the mountain half in, half out, quite content. I’m pretty sure the people along the way and at the base were a little confused as to why this oboruni head was popping out at them, but I rode right along just fine.

a woman carrying water on the path home

Now I’m in the midst of studying for one more exam on Friday, then a week in Togo and Benin and back to Accra for a week more of exams and final good-byes! 19 days til it’s go-time!

Flying Oborunis

April 24, 2011

Here it is. The cliché “I went abroad and did some extreme activity that involves jumping off some tall structure” post. My method of choice was paragliding and my structure was Kwahu Plateau.

We left for the Eastern Region mid-morning on Friday because we were told the festival was only an hour away, so we figured that was plenty of time. Eight hours, a bus, and two tro-tros later, we made it. Ghana loves Easter, let me tell you, because the whole weekend was the liveliest I’ve seen anyone in Ghana since I arrived.

We wandered around Obo for a while looking for hotels, which were all booked, as we had been forewarned, but I’m not entirely sure how that works, considering every time we tried to make arrangements, we failed miserably, but I guess it’s the oboruni factor or something. I wasn’t worried, and I was actually quite content staying with one of the 80 billion random people who had offered their homes, but some of my fellow travelers were not quite as amused by that option.

When we were in Accra looking for the correct bus to Nkawkaw, we met a woman who led us all through the city to get us to the right starting point. She had given us the name of her sister (biological? Who knows. Everyone is everyone’s sister, so it could have been some random lady she had gone to pre-school with 40 years earlier, but we accepted it nonetheless) and her phone number, because she lives in Obo, so when we were stuck with no options, I gave Auntie Acos a call. I started talking, and before I could even explain the whole situation she asked me “where are you? Where are you? You want to stay at my house? I will come pick you up.” Quite a welcoming little lady, if you ask me!

It turns out we were able to grab a hotel room, so unfortunately we did not get the pleasure of staying with Auntie Acos, and boy was she upset. She called three more times that night (“You don’t want to stay with me? Why? I want to be your friend” and “I am making dinner for you. Where are you? I want to show you the sites”) and once the next day, but we never had the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Acos. Next time, I suppose.

That night we went to join in on some of the festivities at Ohenenana, where there was music and dancing and kebabs galore. For some reason we were basically the only oborunis we saw all night, which surprised us given the nature of the festival, but in any case we attracted more attention than usual. The best comparison I can come up with for the whole affair is that it felt like a Ghanaian Fourth of July, minus the independence and the fireworks. Granted, those two things are a large part of the Fourth of July, but all the same kind of celebration and excitement was there.

Saturday was paragliding day, so after a fun night that ended in with our taxi driver momentarily abandoning us for a quick little fight, we woke up and headed up the mountain. We got there around 8:30 or 9:00 and weren’t scheduled to fly for a while, so we hung out and watched the others before us. It was literally a cliff cleared for this event, so there was basically a hill about 50 yards long leading down to the face of the cliff, so you run down it and once you hit the end, you better hope your parachute has taken off. Luckily, mine did, so Alan, my Norwegian pilot, and I had a lovely little ride. Immediately off the cliff we saw all the jungley trees, so that was really cool, and as we got out a little further, we rode over Nkawkaw, where we had come into town the day before. My pilot and Hannah’s were good friends, so we got to play around with them a bit, and at the end, we did some twisting and turning and things I don’t actually know how to describe, because I don’t actually know what my physical orientation was at any point, but it was quite cool. Quite nausea-inducing, as well, but I ignored that part.

At the highest point I was 1200 meters above sea level, and at the lowest point, I was, well, on the ground. All in all, a successful adventure. Happy Easter!

Well Hello There

April 21, 2011


Remember Cesar? The self-appointed “you must be racist because you are
hesitant to have me lead you down an unlit alley in an unknown African
city” tour guide from Tamale? (See “Elefun”). Well, we met again. In
the chaos of late night beach activities at Kokrobite last weekend,
Julie pops out from behind a hut, Cesar not far behind.

Mind you, Tamale is a good day’s journey north, and Kokrobite is
practically next to Accra, on the coast, i.e. not towards Tamale, at
all, so it's not as if we ran into him in his hometown.

It’s a weird world.

Stay Alive, By Order.

April 13, 2011


Seven weeks from now and I’ll be home sweet home. Since I’ve become so Ghanaian recently, that’s hard to believe.

How so, you ask? Well, I weave baskets, I bargain in Twi and I perform impromptu in productions of African plays. I also still entertain the entire tro-tro when I try to say where I’m going, overpay for most of my purchases, and depend entirely on hawkers and tro-tro mates to get me where I need to go when I’m traveling, but hey, these are baby steps.

Last weekend four of us ventured to Nzulezo to visit a stilt village. It’s in the Western Region, very close to Cote D’Ivoire, about seven or eight hours from Accra, and when it was first brought up to me, I thought all the people would be on stilts. In retrospect, I wholeheartedly admit that was a pretty dumb thought.

We left Friday and somehow scored a limo (school bus with air conditioning) to Takoradi, which is maybe fiveish hours away, then got on a regular tro-tro for the rest of the journey. As usual, we had no clue where we were going but at a certain point we noticed a lot of people were slowly dropping off the tro-tro, so we decided it was probably time for us to give it a go, too. We asked if we could go to the stilt village that night and everyone around laughed at us, and offered essentially no other information, so that was inspiring. The driver assured us he would take care of us, so after literally every other passenger had alighted (see, I’m so integrated I even use Ghanaian terms these days) he drove for about 10 or 15 minutes into darkness. He could have done anything with us and we wouldn’t have known the difference, but luckily he drove us down a road (well, a clearing about the width of a car surrounded by trees, bushes, rocks, etc.) and walked us right to reception at a wonderful little thatch hut hotel. Once again, the general good-heartedness of Ghana pulled through for us.

The next morning we got up and took a canoe to this stilt village. It was 45 minutes on a fresh water lagoon through two jungle sections and some bogs, and it was quite refreshing. The village was really small—you could walk the main pathway in five minutes—but it was really cool to see. Everything was built up above the water, and nobody was really able to explain why the people had built like that, besides that “they wanted to build on water,” so information was somewhat difficult, but the exploration was certainly swell.

In our hotel we had seen advertisements for all the wonderful tourist attractions in the area, one of which was fishing with the local fishermen. We talked to them and they said it would take an hour to get out, we’d spend an hour on the high seas, and then an hour to get back. It sounded cool, so we decided to give it a go.

We should have known that’s not what we would have been doing.

We found ourselves inside one of the traditional fishing boats with four Ghanaian men who really didn’t speak too much English; because we were so close to Cote D’Ivoire, most people spoke French. Since my knowledge of French extends to the three-month workshop I took in sixth grade, I was virtually useless. It turns out that by fishing really they meant a ten minute voyage out, five of which they were yelling at me and Hannah to “HOLD ON!” because both of our hands were not clasped to the benches at all times, and the other five of which were Kate and Elena trying to find the best position to perch in the tiny compartment in which they had been stuffed. Why we were seated differently I don’t know, but I didn’t question it.

After we battled the waves, the commotion settled a little bit, and then they asked in French if we knew how to swim. Now, they had asked us before we left if we wanted life jackets, and we said no, so off we went, without the jackets, but you’d think maybe that would have been a proper time to ask if we could swim. Nope. Anyway, we assumed the question was small talk, since we were at a beach and all. Wrong again. Two minutes later, we were all overboard, clothes and all. We swam about in these “high seas” that were ten minutes from shore and it was all great fun. Eventually it was time to climb back in, so I hoisted myself up in an oh-so-graceful manner, especially considering the dress I was wearing. It was a shining moment for my femininity.

Then we tried to get them to paddle us to Cote D’Ivoire, but they would have none of it. Something about civil war or something. Lame, if you ask me.

We ventured back to Accra and became celebrities that week. We went out Wednesday night to see a band and when the show was over suddenly we became famous. Every member of the band, including back-up and stage crew, wanted individual pictures with all of us separately. You could attribute it to the oboruni girl factor, but Johnny was just as popular, so I think it’s just that we live in an inverted world.

Now Joe calls me five times a day to invite me to church. Maybe I shouldn’t have come up with such an elaborate story about my vocal talents. Oops.

On Friday I learned how to weave baskets. I’ve got quite the talent, let me tell you. I came up with a design never-before-seen by Beatrice and Joyce, our teachers, and I couldn’t tell you how I did it. There’s a perfect divide where I switch patterns halfway through, completely unintentionally, and I don’t know what happened, but I attribute it to my artistic genius. We were there for five hours, and when we asked Beatrice and Joyce how long it would take them to make the same baskets we did, they said fifteen or twenty minutes. Like I said, I’m a natural.

On the way back my Twi bargaining came into play. Trying to get a cab, our potential driver was not taking our price. We were having fun with him, joking back and forth, but he still wasn’t budging. After failing to convince him that since I’m Afia, born on a Friday, and it was Friday, we deserved the lower price, I whipped out my skills. “Me ka Twi. To so, mepaakew” (“I’m speaking Twi. Reduce the price, please”) was all it took. His eyes lit up and he beckoned us into the car, and off we were. Victory!

Over the weekend we went on our last CIEE trip to the Eastern Region. We toured some botanical gardens, a cocoa farm (Ghana is the leading cocoa producer in the world) and Boti Falls. All were lovely, especially the falls. We hopped on in and splashed around, despite multiple signs that said “Do not swim. Stay Alive. By Order.” I guess we’ll see what kind of parasites I discover four months from now.

Monday we convinced the only Asian I’ve seen in Africa that he should open his clearly closed bowling alley for five of us and bowled away. I’m not sure why it seemed so necessary to bowl in Ghana, but at the time, it was vital.

I briefly mentioned my dramatic debut, so I know you’re probably on the edge of your seats for further explanation. I went to see “Cinderama: The African Cinderella,” which was the same story except that Cinderama’s waist beads broke as she was running away at the strike of midnight, and lo and behold, at the end, they needed an audience member to dance away. Of course I didn’t volunteer, but they picked me anyway, and I was quite a star, if I do say so myself.

So that’s my life, as of late. Yebehyia!

How to Cut a Pineapple

March 28, 2011

For those who are wondering, yes, I did celebrate my birthday Ghanaian style and it was all good fun. It began with some delicious hummus indulgence and ended with a peanut butter fight, with lots of festivity and cheer squeezed in between, so I was quite satisfied.

Friday five of us ventured to the Volta Region, where we planned to visit some monkeys, splash in some waterfalls, and climb a mountain or two. All great activities, if you ask me.

We got a tro-tro from Accra, rode in good cheer with a bunch of Ghanaian women, including Gladys, who invited us to her home approximately every five minutes, and were having all sorts of fun when one of our fellow passengers tells us we’ve gone too far. Oops. That was madness. We’re all coming up with all kinds of solutions, one of which is to yell “Can we get off?!” Mind you, we have no clue where we are nor where we can get to the nearest station, nor will any passing tro-tros have room for five girls and luggage. Hm.

We get the whole tro-tro involved and it turns out this guy was wrong to begin with, that the monkeys were actually up ahead, and we had caused all this commotion for no reason. Well, that seems to be a trend. Oh well.

A little bit later, it starts drizzling just a wee bit. Never a good sign, but for all we knew, we had hours to go. Nope. As we’re stepping off, the skies open and it starts pouring. Lovely. Luckily, out of nowhere, a hand reaches out of a shed and pulls one of us in, so one by one we all file in to this carpentry shed thanks to a lovely Ghanaian man and take cover until it [kind of] stops raining. About 15 minutes later, Elena peeks out the window to watch the rain, and out of nowhere, we hear a beep, and there’s a taxi waiting for us. We ask how he knew we were in there, and he tells us he saw us get out of the tro-tro in the rain, but thought it’d be funny to have us wait a little. Anyway, he knew where we were going without even asking (what Ghanaians are actually going to pay to go see these monkeys that live naturally in their backyards? And what else are a bunch of oboruni girls going to be doing in this random town besides paying to see these very monkeys? It adds up quite nicely). So we piled in and he drove us through the storm along a rough road through huuuuge leaves and grasses and all-around lushness while playing cool African music. Fun!

We got to the monkey sanctuary and had some lovely storytelling, drumming and dancing for the evening. The skit included an elephant represented by a pink flip-flop. Gotta love the improv.

In the morning we went to see the monkeys and they came swinging on down, eager to munch on the bananas we so cleverly brought/our guide intentionally gave us. They were mona monkeys and they were wonderfully social and adorable.

Then we headed to Wli Falls, the highest waterfall in West Africa and the most magnificent body of water ever. We showed up in Hohoe, the junction town to get to Wli, and essentially hijacked a tro-tro to take us to the base. (Okay, actually we chartered it, but it sounds a lot cooler if we hijacked it.) We got there, paid to enter the park, found a room, etc.

After we were settled, it was off to the falls. We decided to do the Upper Falls, which are harder, because we’re super hardcore and adventurous, of course. The guidebook claims it is “more difficult to reach,” but that didn’t sound so menacing, and, plus, nothing stops us.

Maybe we should have reconsidered. Probably every third step, no exaggeration, was an incline that required a knee to chin step. It was beautiful, but my goodness it was hard. Also, the thing about Ghanaian tour guides, I’ve noticed, is that they don’t quite consider the fact that maybe we don’t climb mountains for a living. For a people that walks so damn slowly, you’d think they might take their time ascending a mountain. Nope. It felt like we were sprinting up a vertical rock face.

Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a little, but not too much.

Anyway, we made it to the top in record time—we decided there’s no conceivable way any group ever did it faster than us—and it was the most beautiful water ever. The fish in me could not contain excitement, and all of the work was rewarded.

Running down the mountain was just as fast. We timed it via camera stamp times and covered the two-hour trail in less than one hour. Matias (our guide) was done with us, ready to take his afternoon off, but only after he demanded we pay him what we had already paid at the office, in addition to his 67 percent tip. That was fun.

That night, some woman prepared us dinner, which was wonderful, though it arrived an hour late (shocking) and was spicy to the point that my sinuses started running (also shocking), but I suppose that’s pretty much what we should have expected, even though she asked what we wanted and we said rice with a non-spicy sauce. Oh well! Much more preferable to the ginger snap dinner that was our alternative option.

In the interim, while waiting for our food, the entire village shut down, it got dark, everyone disappeared, and rain clouds formed. Great. That’s when we made our friends for the evening, when we hired a schoolboy to go buy us pineapple. Where he went to fetch it, I have no idea, but he emerged from the darkness 10 minutes later with the most delicious pineapple I’ve ever tasted. (Sidenote: I realize I’m making a lot of “the best I ever had, the hardest I’ve ever done,” claims, but they’re all true!)

The problem, which led to the title of this post, was that we had no knife, nor pineapple-cutting expertise. Our solution was to ask a 50+ year-old Ghanaian woman if she knew how to cut a pineapple. It’s a staple of the country, but she probably wouldn’t know how to do it. That’s logical.

They helped us out, then the boys sat and waited for our food with us and tried to teach us Ghanaian card games by dealing out the deck and saying “now play!” without any other instruction. We tried to interpret the game as Uno, but that was a helpless attempt at forging understanding. We were clueless, and that whole cultural-bridging thing never fell quite into place.

The next morning, we woke up to find our driver (who knew we had one?) sitting on our ledge at 6:45 AM, asking if we were going to have him take us to the mountain. He was going for the convenience factor, I guess, but the stalker factor sort of hurt his chances and we let him go on to the next group.

Eventually we got to Mt. Afadjato, the highest mountain in Ghana, found our guide, and requested we go up slowly, then explained our experience the day before. “Yes, yes, yes, we’ll go slowly,” he assured us. Nope. We booked it up once again, but this time it was only an hour’s hike condensed into 40 minutes, so it was slightly less rigorous.

We got to the top and looked all around, excited we had climbed the tallest mountain in the country (ignore the fact that Ghana is not a particularly mountainous area…), and asked if we could see Togo. Nope. It was hiding behind the mountain next to us. The conversation went something like this:

Us: Is this the tallest mountain in Ghana?
Guide: Yes.
Us: Isn’t that one taller?
Guide: Yes
Us, thinking it must be Togo, since we’re at the highest point in Ghana: Can we see Togo?
Guide: No. It’s behind those mountains.

Right.

So that was a lost cause. I guess the explanation is there’s another peak below this taller mountain, so it’s not technically one mountain, and thus not the highest one, though for all intents and purposes, it totally is.

We ventured back to Accra, pretty smooth-sailing, with the minor exception of some security issues crossing between Eastern and Volta regions. For whatever reason, our tro-tro had to stop and we had to walk over the border ourselves, then it picked us up 20 feet down the road, but only after the security guard stopped me and only me, asking what I was doing in the country and demanding my passport. Stop the white girl: straight out of Arizona, I’m tellin’ ya. Luckily I waved my U of Ghana ID at him and he let me along, but it was momentarily pretty nerve-wracking.

Unfortunately my camera card reader is being stubborn, so I can’t show much evidence of these adventures, but I know you can all use your imaginations to picture these falls and mountains and pineapples and all the rest. I promise they’re wonderful!

Two Hundred Cattle

March 21, 2011

That’s how much I’m worth over here. Learned that the other day. If I marry a Masai warrior, my dad will get 200 cows. Of course, I’m five years older than prime marriage age, but they’d still take me.

Luckily, Dad held onto me. He showed up in Ghana a week and a half ago and we bounced around here for a few days, then headed east to Tanzania. We had a connecting flight in Ethiopia, or rather we thought we did, but when we arrived at 10 PM and headed to our gate, they told us the flight was cancelled. We probably should have questioned the long line of people standing behind the “Hotel Voucher” desk, or the fact that nobody else was at the gate when we arrived, but silly Americans, we didn’t. Oh well. Now I’ve been to Ethiopia! Doesn’t matter that we got to the hotel at 11 PM and left at 7 AM; I was there.

From Arusha, we went to Ngorongoro Crater, the Serengeti, and Lake Manyara.. Ngorongoro Crater is a collapsed volcano and it’s so cool I’m pretty sure it’s actually another planet.

The first morning, on our way down into the crater from the lodge, after we had been driving for 45 minutes or an hour, our guide just casually pointed out “There’s a cheetah over there.” That’s when it all began.

There are so many habitats within the one ecosystem so there’s tons of variety of animals, trees, landscapes, sounds, everything. It’s also basically paradise for the animals that live there because it’s protected by the crater walls, which means the only predators are the ones within the area. The lions make bank on this deal, because there’s plenty of snack food all the time, and any other lions that try to come from outside can’t compete because they’re not as strong, since they’re not as well-fed. So the Ngorongoro guys are the biggest in the world and just own the place like nothing else matters.

We also found two black rhinos, which are apparently really rare, so our guide was really excited about that. I think it was because he had the best and the brightest of all safari-goers, which is why we saw all of the Big Five in two days, but I let him think it was his own expertise that led us there.

What are the Big Five? The elephant, buffalo, lion, leopard, and rhino. They’re the ones all them hunters want. And we got ‘em all! Except we let them live. I guess that’s the major difference between us and the poachers.

On our way out, we stopped at a Masai village, where we (and our American dollars) were welcomed with open arms. I sort of messed up the whole tradition thing when I tried to join my dad in the welcoming ceremony, not realizing it was a gender-specific jump-a-thon, but I don’t think they minded too much. They just redirected me and there I went, jumping away.

The Serengeti was exactly as marvelous as you might expect. Excuse the cliché, but waking up to the sunrise over the acacia landscape was remarkable. We heard the hippos grunting right outside the hotel and went out on our way. Our trusty guide Edward found us a nice big leopard, which is tough because (A) they’re solitary, so they’re harder to find (B) they’re shy and (C) there aren’t many of them because they’re selfish- they don’t look out for each other the same way lions do. She had an antelope up in the tree with her, so we were there right for snack time. Yum.

Later we saw a lion hunt! We drove by a huuuuuge herd of zebras and wildebeests (they’re always pals, don’t know why, but they’re always with each other) and when they realized there were lionesses nearby they started freaking out. They were scampering all over the place and making all kinds of noises and it was really quite fascinating. Unfortunately one of the zebra bros didn’t make it, because two lionesses took him down, while his pals all scattered, but lucky for us, that meant we got to see the cubs! After the zebras and the wildebeests had disappeared, a pack of about 13 (maybe more, but we counted 13 for sure) cubs followed the lionesses. So cool!

Driving out from the Serengeti, we stopped at Oldupai Gorge, which is where they’ve done lots of excavation and found bones that track five steps of human evolution, starting right after Lucy. It brought me right back to my days as a geologist, that time I took geology without a lab. That was smart.

Anyway, then we moved onward to Lake Manyara, which used to be a flamingo haven but they all died because of global warming. At least that’s what Edward told us. He wasn’t shy to remind us of global warming at pretty much every opportunity. So there we saw tons of different bird species, lots of monkeys swinging around and jumping on top of each other, and a hippo run across the road. That was maybe the coolest of the least expected sightings. Hippos are huge (duh), and their legs are little stumps, but those guys can run! I don’t think he could outdo a cheetah, but I do think he could outdo me. Especially if he’s hungry…

All in all, it was a fantastic trip. For those faithful readers who aren’t sick of my gabbing yet, I’ll list all the sightings below:

· African Buffalo
· Cheetah
· Guinea Fowl
· White-Bearded Wildebeest
· Zebra
· Eagles
· Ostriches
· Serval Cat (looks like a small cheetah)
· Elephant
· Black Rhino
· Lions, including cubs and lionesses
· Flamingos
· Black-Faced Vervet Monkeys
· Warthogs (Pumba!)
· Single-hump Masai Camels
· Masai Giraffes
· Leopard
· Crowned Crane (bird)
· Agaemon Lizard
· Bats (in the lodge dining room and lounge!)
· Leopard Tortoise
· Banded Mongoose
· Dwarf Mongoose (Timon!)
· Jackals
· Rock Hyrax (rodent the size of a rabbit, curiously enough possibly closest living relative to the elephant)
· Hippos
· Crocodile
· Cattle Egret (little white bird)
· Gray Heron
· Parrot
· Black-Winged Stilt (bird)
· Superb Starling (bird)
· Blue Monkeys
· Glossy Ibis
· Egyptian Geese
· Trumpeter Hornbill
· Red-billed Hornbill
· Bushbuck (antelope)
· Ground Hornbill
· Crowned Plover (bird)
· Two-Banded Coarser (bird)
· Grants Gazelle
· Thomson’s Gazelle
· Elan Gazelle
· Topi Gazelle
· Dik Dik (tiny little antelope, cat-sized)
· Impala (antelope)
· Kori Bustard (bird)
· Marabou Stork
· White Stork
· African Pied Wagtail
· Tropical Boubou
· Lapped-faced vulture

So there you have it! An African safari wrapped up into 1115 words. Until next time!