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.