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!

All’s Quiet on the Non-Western Front

March 8, 2011


Greetings! It’s been a while. Haven’t been up to much since the great
expedition to Mole. It’s been a quiet few weeks, but maybe that’s
just because I’m such a natural around here they don’t even notice me
anymore.

Or maybe not.

Went to Kumasi, the second biggest city and the former center of the
Asante Kingdom, this past weekend. We visited the palace, the central
market, a traditional home where Yaa Asantewaa (basically the African
equivalent of Joan of Arc) lived and two Kente-weaving villages. Kente
is the traditional cloth that you stamp with Adinka ink to incorporate
different symbols. After you stamp, you lay it out in the sun to dry.
There are about a zillion people running around laying out their
strips/trying to sell you jewelry and paintings and keychains and lots
of other stuff you don’t need, so sadly, as I watched everyone
trying-to-be-cautious-but-really-just-stepping-wherever-they-felt-like-it,
I was reminded of my crafting woes and puffy paint explosions at the
beginning of last semester. I didn’t want to admit it to myself, and
now I’ve just admitted it to the world. Good decisions.

Monday morning we were on our way to another market when we decided to
switch plans because we spontaneously got invited to a naming
ceremony. Didn’t know the husband, wife, or the baby, but why not?
It’s a traditional rite that all Ghanaian kids go through after
they’ve been alive for eight days. At that point, they have survived
a full week, so they are considered a healthy addition to the
community. The only problem is, it started at 9:00. When ten of us
oborunis rolled in at 9:30, we were the first guests. Momentarily, we
must have forgotten we were in Ghana. We helped set up and waited for
an hour and a half, but then we had to leave because we were supposed
to meet for lunch before heading back to Accra. I’m really not sure
why everyone was so worried about lunch, but I guess when you’re part
of a big group you gotta go with the flow. I protested, but nobody was
really with me. Oh well. I’m sure there will be ample opportunities
in my life to go to Ghana for a semester and randomly get invited to a
cultural ceremony by someone I’ve never met. I’ll do it then.

The bus ride back was beaaautiful. So many hills and huge trees and
leafy magnificence. I ruined that a little for one Ghanaian family,
but I swear it was an accident. Here in Ghana, gas stations and rest
stops aren’t quite as plentiful as they might be in the U.S., so we
“do nature” fairly regularly. That’s all fine and dandy, but probably
not if you’re in someone’s front yard. Oops. Definitely didn’t know,
until I saw the lady walking towards me just as I was turning around
to meet my friend. I then proceeded to run away and accidentally buy
a dozen bananas when I only wanted two. Miscommunication is a
frequent occurrence over here. Shocking, I know.

My name is also quite boggling to a lot of Ghanaians. Whenever I
speak in class, they ask my name, I say it and then ask my question or
state my comment. Without fail, they ask me to repeat and slow down
every time. After four or five tries of me saying “Dev-in, Dev-in,”
usually one Ghanaian picks it up and repeats it for the 300 others in
the lecture hall. It must be weird, because after I introduced myself
to someone on Friday night, I actually got a disgusted “Devin? Ewwww”
and a squinty, contorted face. I guess I sort of assumed that no
matter what the culture, it would probably not be the most polite
thing to actively express disgust at someone else’s name, but you know
what they say about assuming. I laughed.

Off to the airport tomorrow morning to fetch the second Geary to
arrive in Africa, then major adventures to Tanzania on the horizon!
See you all there.

Elefun

February 21, 2011

Several people requested elephant spotting while I’m over here, so I’m happy to report back my success. Seven of us ventured up to Mole National Park, which is in the north and takes roughly 18 hours to reach. Adventures galore in an 18-hour Ghanaian trek, let me tell you.

We left last Thursday, but because this is Ghana, you can’t plan anything in advance; everything is a step-by-step process. The buses sell out if you don’t buy your tickets ahead of time, but you can only do so in person 24 hours in advance. We had friends who tried to go the weekend before and got to the station at 10 AM to find the next day’s bus sold out, so we left our dorm at 4:30 AM and there the chaos began. Although there were lots of people bustling, we were especially out of place because it was all people buying their day’s supplies in bulk to take back to their shops and sell individually; it wasn’t yet oboruni o’clock, so people were particularly surprised to see us and even more inclined to “befriend” us. We shuffled back and forth between all the stations in Accra and successfully bought tickets on our third attempt.

We left at 6 the next morning for our 8 o’clock bus, tried helplessly to get tro-tros for seven at peak rush hour, then struggled even to get cabs, and ended up stressed that we weren’t going to make the bus. In retrospect, that stress was silly, because it’s Ghanaian time we were working with, which meant there was no way we’d be leaving Accra any time near the scheduled departure. We ran into the station at 7:30 expecting a line of people ready to board. Silly oborunis. We pulled out of the parking lot at quarter of 10.

Apart from the blaring Nigerian movies about orphans adopted by abusive parents who treat them as slaves (quite uplifting), the 12 or 13-hour ride to Tamale (“Ta-muh-lay”) was really quite comfortable. We met another American who lives in Tamale so he was giving us all sorts of tips, including a little information our guidebook forgot: the hostel where we had planned to stay is apparently a brothel. Hm. Questionable decision, but we decided to go for it anyway.

When we got off the bus, we were met by the lovely Cesar. Who is Cesar? We didn’t know. Still don’t know. But he was a random Ghanaian who led us all through Tamale to find our hotel and got insulted when we were wary to let him lead us down a dark road to this hostel at 10:30 PM in a foreign city when we had just met him and really had no idea who he was. He was particularly angry at me and accused me of being racist. That really makes perfect sense, because I would voluntarily choose to come to Africa if I didn’t like black people. Logically.

Eventually we got to the hotel, but alas, it was all booked. What kind of brothel doesn’t have room for seven 20 year-old girls is beyond me, but I suppose it was probably for the best. I had tried to call earlier in the week and book a room, but the number I had wasn’t working, and when I looked it up online it gave the same contact info. Luckily, it also listed a business address: “Near Ecobank.” Mind you, the tagline for Ecobank is “The Pan African Bank,” so there are a trillion all over Ghana. Helpful.

Then Cesar led us to our next destination, the Christian Council Guesthouse. Still no room at the inn. Two hours in, we finally found room at some unknown hotel in some unknown corner of this unknown city, so we handed over some cash and went to bed. Really it was more of a nap, because we had to be leaving for the bus station at 3:30 and it was already 12:30, but by this point we were happy to be behind closed doors and away from our pal Cesar.

…Or so we thought. About ten minutes after we got to the bus station, I turned around to the same glowing face we had left three hours prior. He had gone to our hotel to make sure we knew how to get to the bus station, but when he arrived, we had already left. So he followed us. Kind, yes, friendly, maybe, creepy, definitely.

But I suppose that’s the Ghanaian way. Once he saw we had tickets in hand, he was off and we heard nothing from him again.

Then it was a three hour ride to Larabanga, the village just outside Mole, and a 90 minute walk into the park. Victory!

We got in around 10 or 11, decided to do the afternoon walking safari, and lounged for a bit. Ate some lunch, squealed at the monkey who stole Hannah’s mango, spotted an elephant at the watering hole. An hour into our stay and already we labeled it a success.

We went on the walk and trekked all through the savanna. It’s so much different than around Accra- much drier, for one, also more spread out and less green vegetation. We saw three kinds of monkeys, some crocodiles, a thousand different antelopes, some baboons, some warthogs, then lots of cool trees and streams and such. I probably should have watched The Lion King in preparation, but it was quite cool. We didn’t see any elephants up close, but I was happy with the guy we saw taking his drink earlier in the morning. Can’t be greedy now!

In the morning we did the driving safari so we loaded the jeep, four in the back and four on top, and off we went. Within about twenty minutes we stumbled across an elephant so we shrieked, stopped the car, and got as close as we could. He was a big guy and had lost one of his tusks in battle. Tough guy. He was eating, so we saw him wrapping his trunk around the trees and shaking the leaves and such. Cool!

We got back in the car and kept going for a while, then came across a whole group of them. With babies! Just walking along, you know, how elephants do.

After the drive, we split and some of us went to the mosque at Larabanga, which, despite awful reviews, was really quite wonderful. We also walked through the village and on top of one of the buildings, saw a house and some women making shea butter, as well as how they dry out the yams for banku (my favorite). Definitely wicked touristy, but enjoyable nonetheless.

In the afternoon we did a canoe safari (who knew there were so many kinds of safaris?) where we saw lots of birds and big windy trees and all sorts of buggy bug bugs. On the way back I ate the fruit of a cashew tree and it was the most scrumptious thing ever. Then my mouth swelled and I couldn’t exactly feel my lips, but we can just ignore that part. I don’t know why they don’t sell them everywhere, but I’m certainly going to propose it to the Ghanaian Department of Agriculture. I think they’ll take my insight quite seriously.

We weren’t so lucky with Sunday’s transportation, so we ended up spending about 11 hours on a bus slightly less crowded than the Green Line at rush hour, and then another 7 on a [somewhat] more bearable shuttle, but eventually we reached Accra, and that’s what matters! So here I am, safe and sound, and happy to have spent the weekend with Pumba, Rafiki, and Dumbo.

travels commence

February 15

Spontaneously decided to sleep on the rainforest floor Sunday night.  Pretty cool.

CIEE took us to Cape Coast on Saturday morning and then Sunday we went to Kakum National Park.  Cape Coast was the center of the British Slave Trade so we saw the “castle” where they held the slaves until sending them over on the ships.  I think it goes without saying that being there made it all very real. 

There were five dungeons for men and three for women, and they were probably 15’ x 15’ and had three 1’ x 2’ windows for light and air circulation.  There would be 200 men and 150 women in the dungeons for three months at a time and there was one chute where the slavemasters would throw down food and water.  No bathrooms, no sinks, just slaves. 

Cannons facing out towards loading dock

Directly above the male dungeons was a church.  Right outside the church was the door to the food chute.  So, for the sake of convenience, the morally upstanding slavemasters could finish their church service and immediately throw food to the captives below.  They could also hear the cries throughout the services.  But, because they were praising God, apparently it was all okay. It’s also the most beautiful coastline and the ocean is so powerful and loud that the scene is all the more eerie.

We saw the Door of No Return, which is  the final gate the slaves passed through before boarding the ships.  It has since been made into the Door of Return, and every two years there is a big festival where ancestors can come and walk through the other side to symbolize that they have taken back Africa, which was refreshing and just about the only positive part of the tour.

After a questionable night in the hotel, we switched gears and headed to Kakum to do one of the three canopy walks in Africa. This whole experience is dedicated to civil engineer/bridge aficionado Daina Allison, who insisted I couldn’t leave Ghana without crossing it.  So across I went.  I’m not afraid of heights so I was loving it and trying to swing it back and forth as much as possible, but everyone wasn’t exactly on the same page as me. It’s a series of seven or eight canopies that cross above the top of the rainforest, so you’re basically wandering along above the monkeys and the leopards… except they don’t come out during the day. Problem, you say? Certainly not.

This one's for you, Daina

The guide explained that the wildlife is mostly nocturnal so we would have to enjoy the canopy just for the canopy, but four of us decided we couldn’t pass up the opportunity for some monkey hootin’ and hollerin’.  So after lunch with some crocodiles, we abandoned CIEE and decided we were staying in Kakum for the night.

We had some time to kill so we asked around for things to do in the area, and after our helpful consultants racked their brains for a while, they remembered there is an ostrich farm right nearby.  But of course! “Visit an ostrich farm” is most definitely on everyone’s bucket list.  How could our guidebook have missed such an important attraction?

There was some discrepancy on how far it actually was, but really that was just a ploy to get us into a taxi so they could charge us a ridiculously large amount to travel less than a mile.  But they didn’t fool us! We’re such pros.

We walked and followed several signs for this ostrich farm, but after fifteen minutes, lots of strange turns, empty fields, dusty hills and zero ostriches, I began to question our sources.

Since we had nothing to do and nowhere to be, we continued wandering and lo and behold came to a “reception” area: a hut with one lonely-looking man inside.  We asked if we could go to the ostrich farm and he eagerly took our money, showed us an egg (as confirmation that it did indeed exist? I’m not sure) and led us on our way.  He was walking about a million miles a minute, which is completely un-Ghanaian (everyone walks  v e r y  s l o w l y ) so we hustled along down another dirt path that seemed to be going nowhere, and after a few minutes we came to a clearing. There were two 20’ x 20’ pens with four starving ostriches in each and one other load of Ghanaian tourists.  I asked if we could ride the ostriches, and initially he said yes, but as it turns out, when the other Ghanians translated, he had no idea what I was actually saying. We tried to convince him, but no such luck.

After staring at the ostriches for 15 minutes—that’s about the extent of activity at this ostrich farm—this crazy fast Ghanaian ostrich-owner led us to a “road” that was apparently a shortcut back to the crocodile place.  It was actually just a completely overgrown footpath leading entirely in the opposite direction of where we came from, but blind faith has become my motivating force here, so off we went.  And here I am, so clearly it wasn’t too bad.

Eventually we made it back to Kakum and met our guide.  He led us into the campsite and then we sat for a few hours until optimal hiking time, so over our nutritious dinner of oatmeal cookies and chocolate chip cookies, a very well-balanced diet, we played some games and chatted and such.  Then he told us some traditional African myths about the origins of things like rain and sun and it was all very stereotypically wonderful. 

Around 9:30 we ventured out and headed on our hike. So cool! We didn’t see much in the way of big animals, but we did see a bush baby (its eyes were peering down from the tree, so cute!), a green mamba snake, a gigantic snail (who knew snails lived in the forest? Not me), a blue lizard, and lots of millipedes that looked like they were straight out of A Bug’s Life.  We were climbing through lots of vines and huge trees that all curled around each other exactly as you’d imagine, so it was super cool even without the monkeys.  Very adventurous, very African, very fun.

It took five attempts at different kinds of transportation and multiple switches/broken tro-tros, etc., to get back to Accra, but it was certainly well worth it.

And now it’s back to class, where I learn by dictation and supplies are often lacking, but that’s fine by me!  I think I can handle it in the name of canopies, night walks, and of course, ostriches.

so cultured

February 6

Well, that didn’t take long.  Two weeks in the country and somebody wants to marry me.  It would probably be a pretty problematic marriage, considering he couldn’t understand me enough to ask me himself- he had the woman sitting next to him on the tro-tro translate for him- but maybe Emmanuel and I would make a cute couple. 

We were on our way to another beach when the big question came, and really he’s quite clever because he knew I was stuck on his tro-tro for some time before I could escape.  Generally claims that we have no access to any form of modern communication whatsoever (“Phone? No. Facebook? No. E-mail? No.”) don’t really work, especially when they then tell you they just saw you making a phone call, but after some persistence, they’ll stop asking... and move on to the friend you’re standing with.  It’s really a quite personal process of courtship.

Transportation is also quite a catch.  By now I’m used to tro-tros, but what I’m not used to is the fact that sometimes, without any warning or indication, pedestrian walkways suddenly become just the opposite, and pedestrians are supposed to start using the street as the sidewalk.  It’s really quite abrupt, and you just go with it.  You just acknowledge that your pathway is more of a drivable surface than the road itself, because potholes and street conditions make travel pretty impossible, so you accept the drivers’ decision that they will be taking over your path.  Then you continue on your merry way and all is well, albeit inversed.

When we got to the beach it was, of course, beautiful.  One girl we were with put it well when a boat of passerbys came by.  We were all playing volleyball and they started rowing very slowly, taking us all in.  It felt like we were at the zoo… inside the cages.  Horror aside, it felt like the inverse of Heart of Darkness.  Sometimes I just can’t hold back the English major in me.

Last night the International Programs Office hosted a welcome Durbar for us and I repped CIEE with my killer dance moves. It must have been all my experience with those Bancroft Elementary variety shows that really helped my performance. Four Ghanaian women also danced with pots of fire on their heads, but they were just our warm-up.  We were the real show, for sure.

Classes did start this past week and I finally got a roommate! Her name is Flora and she’s really nice, though she keeps to herself quite a bit, so maybe we won’t be bffls. Too bad, but at least I’ll kind of get a taste of a true Ghanaian.

She moved in Tuesday, and when I asked if she came then because she didn’t have class until Wednesday, she said “No, I did have class Monday and Tuesday, but I didn’t move in until later, so I couldn’t go to class.”  Obviously.  It’s not like you would change your schedule to accommodate the university’s.  That tends to be the general consensus among Ghanaians, and I quite like it.

I only had one professor who didn’t show up, but some people went to five classes and only had one actually come.  The attitude really is so different.  On the first day, I still wasn’t registered for my history class, so I got up early to scramble to the department and check the time table in case it happened to meet Monday mornings, but the department decided not to open until halfway through the day.  Another department listed a time for my class but no building, and another decided class just wouldn’t start until this coming week.  So I went swimming instead. Bucknell could totally learn from this kind of schedule. I think I’ll propose a change.

Luckily I also got to be that kid who sits in the wrong room before realizing she’s in the wrong class.  Trying to be friendly, I started chatting with the boy next to me, and a few minutes into the conversation he kindly escorted the stupid white girl to the right location. 

It’s a give and take, I suppose, because there are certainly times when we obrunis (apparently I’ve been spelling it wrong this whole time) aren’t entirely helpless because we do offer some sort of something, like when I put my Camp Christopher little minnow skills into effect by teaching a Togolese guy named Daro how to swim, or when Hannah and I showed Agnes, the little girl from the market, how to use our cameras.  I guess that whole exchange thing is the main point of this, right?

me and agnes

So that’s my week! Ta ta.

Back to Reality... Kind of

January 30, 2011

Classes are supposed to begin tomorrow, so I guess it’s back to real life.  But all the adventuring we’ve been doing has been great, so I have a funny suspicion I’ll find ways to continue doing so, even though I do have class.

On Friday we went to the beach for the first time and it was great.  Of course, that’s not saying much, since I’m happy on any beach at any time, but regardless, it was fantastic.  It was kind of an episode getting there and back, but that’s all part of the fun.  We had a big group all trying to get tro-tros, and that wasn’t working, so we ended up taking cabs to the next tro-tro station and then getting a tro-tro there, but the station we were at, called 37, is one of the main hubs, so basically there are 8 hundred tro-tros and 12 hundred people all pointing in different directions to direct you where to go. Even though it was chaotic, it was fun trying to hunt one down and make sure both that the driver understood where we wanted to go and that we understood where he was taking us. You can never really be sure, but it’s nice to feel like you kind of know what you’re doing.

The water was beautiful and waves were great, so of course I was happy.  It’s really interesting, though, because tons of people here don’t know how to swim.  I noticed at the beach we were out further into the ocean, while everyone else was staying pretty shallow, and then yesterday I went to the pool and when we went into the deep end, everyone was really impressed and asked us to teach them how to swim.   It’s surprising given we’re right at the water, but I guess it’s just not something everyone does here.  I also met a Ghanaian named Salasi at the pool, and he told me he wanted to follow me home and then join the U.S. Army, but I don't think that's quite correlated to his swimming abilities. 

There were also big traditional-looking canoes at the beach with rows of people fishing and people drumming and singing and performing all along the beach.  Then there were guys trying to get you to ride their horses, claiming it’s free and later charging you 10 cedis, but considering I’m not exactly horse-friendly at home, I wasn’t about to hop on one here.

Yesterday we took a trip to another market called Madina.  It’s a 20ish minute tro-tro ride from campus but it was so different than what we had seen so far.  I guess the difference was probably that it’s an actual Ghanaian market, for Ghanaians, whereas the art market we’ve been to and the ones on campus are used to and/or sometimes catered towards tourists.  Madina was clearly not, which was cool, because we got to see more of daily life.

We could tell we were particularly out of place based on the way the kids reacted to us.  At one point, we were walking in the outskirts of the market closer to neighborhoods just as a school on the corner let out.  Literally every pair of eyes was staring at us.  Some were all smiles and waves, but some were actually afraid.  We stopped to talk to a couple groups, and most were happy to say hello and tell us their names, but at one point, the girls actually stepped back because they were scared and didn’t know how to react to us.  We had been talking to their friends earlier, so we had already proven we weren’t harmful creatures, but to them, we seemed like aliens.  Quite fascinating. 

Our mishap with the coconut didn’t help our case, either.  We bought one because we wanted to try the milk, but we didn’t know we were supposed to drink it right there and then they would cut it so we could eat the meat. Instead, they chopped off the top, we took it, and walked about 50 feet trying to each take sips from it.  It was rather messy, and none of us actually knew how to do it, so we looked back and literally eight people from the stand were laughing at us.  We went back and asked them what to do, but they just said keep going, so we did. Down the road, X-pidon, a “famous Ghanaian musician who we should look up on Facebook” told us we were doing it wrong.  After chatting for a bit he asked each of us if we had boyfriends and we left both X-pidon and the coconut behind.

Today CIEE took us on a tour of the city so we got to see more of the different neighborhoods and then we went to Atsu’s house for a wood-carving and drumming demonstration.  

Drums

Atsu and twin sister Atsupi dancing

Uncle whose name I forget showing us how to carve

Atsu (sounds like “achoo,” as in sneezing) is a u-pal whose family lives in Accra and his uncle is the director for the National Arts Association (or something.. I don’t actually remember what) and some fancy drummer/drum-maker.  He showed us how they carve the drums, paint them, put the tops on, and then how they play them.  Pretty cool! It kind of took me back to my days with Mr. Buckridge at Doherty, but unfortunately I’m not sure my skills have improved too much since 7^th grade.  Shucks.

That’s it for now! Thanks for reading.

The Case of the Missing Roommate/ The Case of the Missing Classes

Trying to keep things short so they're actually readable!

January 28

My roommate was supposed to come today, but alas, I’m still alone.  By this point I know she is definitely Ghanaian, but now she can pop up any moment.  Hannah and I were walking back into our dorm tonight and got really excited because we thought the lights were on in both of our rooms, meaning each of our roommates had moved in, but after slowly knocking and preparing for the big moment, we were both let down. Womp.

I guess it’s because of Ghanaian timing.  Rumor has it the professors don’t show up the first week of classes, so a lot of the students don’t come back until the following week.  Registration itself is really chaotic: first you look through the course catalogue to pick out classes, then you walk to all the departments to write down the times of the classes that are being offered, if they’re listed (often they’re not actually posted), then you find that the majority you picked are not actually offered, so you pick new ones, or wander to other departments to find replacements, and eventually, if there is anyone around, you register individually at each department.  At some point, which hasn’t happened yet, you also register online. But you don’t actually know what’s going on at any point, because all of the departments do it differently and they don’t all post the times, so it’s quite possible you could sign up for two classes at the same time and not even know it.  Or, in the case of the Geography department, you could be registered, but because they don’t post the timetables until Monday, when classes start, it’s quite possible you could miss class simply because they didn’t choose to tell you that you had class until the scheduled time had already passed.  It’s certainly different…

But anyway, maybe that’s why my roommate’s not here! Who knows?

Abrunee Abrunee Abrunee

January 27

The heat has caused my feet to swell so much that they don’t exactly fit into my sandals anymore, but besides that minor inconvenience, life is dandy!

Orientation slowed a bit this week so we got to explore more.  Early in the week a group of 10 or so of us wandered to the art market that’s about 30 minutes from our dorm and there we got our bargain on.  It was nine white kids and one Nigerian, so I’m sure the bargains were actually huge rip-offs (Ghanaians and Nigerians have a bit of a rivalry, it seems), but I felt accomplished nonetheless.  There were 30 or so little booths full of wood carvings, paintings, bags, dresses, jewelry, and all sorts of other little trinkets and gifts you would probably describe as stereotypically African.  The shop owners were rather generous in that they all invited us to “come and look for free.”  Then they didn’t understand why we were still looking when we told them we were out of money. Hm.

Later that day when I was getting an egg sandwich for dinner (I think they’ll be a rather big staple of mine this semester… at least until I become more of a pro at banku and fufu) I met the most adorable little girl.  Her name is Agnes and when I came up to the stand she asked me my name and invited me to sit.  I sat while her mom made my eggs and she asked where I was from.  When I said the U.S., she asked if I was from Hollywood.  I had to disappoint her and tell her I lived on the opposite side of the country where the temperatures are in the negatives, but then she wondered if I lived near Jamaica.  I told her no, but she couldn’t grasp the cold I tried to explain.  She just told me she was cold in Ghana right now, where it’s 87.  She was working on her vocab homework so I asked about school and she told me she went to the one right across the street.  I told her I always see the kids walking there in the morning and she asked if I saw her and her friends, and then started telling me their names and a bit about them.  Precious.  We sat and chatted for 10 minutes or so after my sandwich was done just because she was the greatest little girl ever.

That night we decided to go to salsa night in the city.  Somehow I guess I’ve become a big dancer in my African ways.  Don’t really know how I’ve been convinced.  Despite my obvious lack of rhythm, it was actually really fun and I was pleasantly surprised that it was mostly Ghanaians and not all abrunees (pronunciation correction: ah-brew-knees) like I had expected.  I was clearly a rookie, but Leon the Ghanaian taught me, or tried to, anyway.

The most exciting part was probably the tro-tro ride there.  We thought we knew what we were doing but it turns out we had no idea.  Tro-tros are basically 12 or 15 passenger vans operated by two people: a driver, and an assistant who thrusts himself out the door while the car is moving and says “ACCRAACCRAACCRA!” or “CIRCLECIRCLECIRCLE!” and based on what he says, you know what direction they’re traveling.  About five passed us, none going the right way, until one stopped, backed up, and decided actually it was going where we wanted.  That’s the glory of the system: there’s actually no order, and it can change at any point.

We scoped it out, noticed there were two other women in the tro-tro, so we decided it was probably safe and we hopped on in.  I told him the stop and he said 70 pesewas ($.55ish), which seemed a bit steep, but we weren’t sure how far we were going so we paid compliantly.  Red flag.  Fifteen minutes later, when all of the original passengers had gotten out and been replaced by a new round, who had also cycled through, they asked where we were going.  We repeated again, this time spelling out the stop because I had clearly mispronounced it, and they laughed, then told us we were lost.  Oops.

We tried to communicate again where we were going, and ask what we had done wrong, but they didn’t understand our English, and we certainly didn’t understand their Twi. Somehow, after a personal nighttime tour of Accra, we ended up roughly near our destination.  I was the only one who vaguely recognized the area, so when he asked where to stop, we kind of had to guess.  So he dropped us and off we went!

Turns out in my head I was turned around 180 degrees. Not helpful.  We walked a while and didn’t come across anything, so we asked a woman who was walking with children (strategic here) and she led us back where we had come from, across the street and 10 minutes away to where we wanted to go.  Very kind!  Her daughter, Peace, also followed along, which was fun, because the kids always get giddy when they see us.  It was nice because she went totally out of her way just to help us even though she easily could have pointed us in the right direction and we could have helplessly scrambled some more.  Friendliness is Ghana’s claim to fame, and I guess this is why!

Food, Fun, and Fear (I like alliteration)

January 24, 2011


Waking up under my mosquito net yesterday morning I wasn't quite surew what to do or think.  I was on my own because we didn't have anything with CIEE until 4 PM, and I woke up at 9ish.  So I wandered! And eventually the u-pals took us on a tour of campus, which was really helpful because a 30,000-person campus at home is unthinkable to me, let alone here in Ghana where I know no one, have no iea where I am, and am constantly dodging open gutters.  Quite different than the Bucknell brick.

I had y first major bits of culture, too.  I shopped at the market across the street from my dorm and bought some water, a bucket for laundry/showering when necessary and toilet paper.  The girl who sold it to me was named Vivian and she isa dorable.  She introduced herself and shook my hand and wants to be my friend.  Well, me, and every other international kid who will give her money.  But she was wearing an anchor shirt, so clearly she's my girl.  Go ahead, judge me.

For breakfast, I had the most delicious pineapple and mango ever, and for lunch I tried my first Ghanaian staple: Banku.  It's basically this hot but uncooked dough that you dip into a spicy groundnut sou and swallow without chewing.  You don't use utensils but you are expected to work around the bone of the meat in tehs oup, and bankuy is also the stickiest substance ever.  It's kind of like the dough they used to give little kid at Bertucci's, but they had to stop because kids wre eating it.  Except the Bertucci's dough tasted better.  Hm.  I was also sitting next to a Ghanaian eating fufu (same idea), which didn't help my ase.  He was nice and showed me how to eat it, but he finished three times as much in half the time, and was quite a pro.

Then we had a traditional dance workshop which was so fun! That doesn't mean I was good at it, but I didn't care.  I got placed next to the one Black CIEE girl who has been to Ghana before so her moves accentuated my whole "white girl can't dance" syndrome pretty entirely.  Music majors were playing the drums and dance majors were teaching us the moves.  We started with basics and then played a way cooler version of trust falls (you sing and clap and dance while throwing each other around in a circle) and then they taught us two traditional dances, the names of which I don't remember nor would I be able to spell if I could.

We tried to go to a bar last night to watch the Packers game (me? watch football? I know.  When in Ghana...) but they didn't have the channel, so there went that plan.

Today we started international orientation for all the study abroad kids, not just CIEE, so we met our fellow abranees (ah-bra-knees, that's what they call us).  I was standing in line for the bathroom and the girl next to me forgot to bring toilet paper with her, so I tore mine in half and gave her some, and it turns out she's from Brockton.  Bostonians unite, I suppose.

We had the afternoon free so a bunch of us wandered.  Rode our first tro-tro without the u-pals' help, bargained our way, ate some rice.  Those sorts of things.  I guess we're on our own!

Thanks for bearing with me.  Sorry for double-posting.  Thanks for reading!