Akaaba!

The good thing is, I've arrived.  The bad thing is, I haven't had internet, so I had to write entries in word and now copy them over, because I don't have a flash drive.  I know you all have a life, so you're less likely to read now, but here goes.


January 22, 2011

I stepped off the plane to a sign that read "Welcome to Ghana: the Gateway to Africa," followed by one that explained "We don't accept pedophiles or sexual deviants." Luckily, I passed the bar.

It was cooler than expected- and when I say cool, I mean it was probably only 88, but less overwhelming than for what I had prepared myself.  The winds come down from the Sahara this time of year, bringing along dust and sand, which clouds the air with teh harmattan winds.  I went through customs, easier than any other country, ever, exchanged money, and claimed luggage.  I looked around and found another girl who also looked somewhat helpless, and we simultaneously (and silently) agreed we both must be CIEE kids, and decided to hunt for the exit together.

When we all gathered- there were about thirty or forty total- we were shuffled into two buses to be taken tot he hotel for orientation.  The first day we had an introductory dinner and hopelessly tried to befriend one another, pretty much exactly like freshman orientation all over again.  We all know that was a thrilling time in my life.  Luckily, this time \, the fact that I am in Africa has ruled out wahtever angst I had during Bucknell orientation.

The second day they told us lots of things we need to know: smoking weed in Ghana can score you ten years in prison, 88 degrees and sticky is particularly chilly for the locals, and not taking malaria pills can lead to discomfort, sickness, oh, and death.  Those sorts of things.

At lunch, I accidentally requested octopi.  Backing myself out of that situation was interesting.  I'm not sure fear of octopi is something that crosses cultural boundaries.

I'm also afraid of my left hand.  I feel like an amputee.  Ghanaians don't use it because it's the "personal" hand, which means you only use it for wiping, and it's insulting to wave, motion, or give anything to another person or pay with the left hand.  I assumed this meant no left-handed perople.  Wrong.  Writing with the left is perfectly accetable.  I crossed that one off as cultural incomprehension, and didn't ask any further questions.

After dinner we all went swimming at the hotel pool and then some of us went out to a bar/club in Accra.  By some of us, I mean a group of 20 white kids all trying helplessly to find our way.  Luckily, we had our trusty U-pals (CIEE studeent volunteers who go to UGhana and basically lead us around and teach us things about the university, since we know nothing and nobody) to help us out.  They pretty much herded ust o and from the club, but it was all quite fun.  We bounced in to Ke$ha, so at least I'm not missing out on the boppin' tunes at home.  On the way back, the cab driver offered us weed.  Looks like that whole 10-year thing is pretty serious.

Now we're moved into the university dorms.  I don't have a roommate yet.  I know nothing about her besides that she could be either Ghanaian or international.  That covers a lot of ground.  Quite literally.  I suppose I'll see.  And let you all know.  I know you must be on the edge of your seats.

Until then!