Time for a Nice Walk...

The past few weeks, with the exception of my traveling out of town, going to class, going to volunteer, or going to the grocery store, I haven't really left the house. That really hasn't been much of a problem for me. In fact, it's been great. I've been reading a lot, singing a lot, writing a lot, stretching, and doing whatever else comes to mind. However, everyone goes through phases, and I am now coming into a new one. First of all, let me stress that I've never been in a foreign country for so long. However, I'm not unfamiliar with being thrown into a completely new environment. Therefore, though I haven't had much difficulty adjusting to my life here, the past few weeks have been sort of an attempt to leave Accra and come back to myself for a while. Of course traveling was an exception because everything was new again - the Volta Region as well as Kumasi are very different from Accra, as different as Douglas, GA and New York City; or as different as Portland, OR and New York. Same country, different world. My temporary withdrawal from life here in Accra has been much needed. I didn't consciously decide to withdraw as I did. It was simply a natural reaction. No matter what we do, where we go, we always need to come back to where we were before, or else we might be swept away by forces beyond our control. So that's what I did. I made sure not to get swept away.

But as I said, I'm entering a new phase. My trip to Kumasi reminded me that, although it's less convenient in Accra than in Kumasi, sometimes just walking around a busy city and taking it all when while being a part of it all can be quite amazing. One of my favorite things to do anywhere is just walk around, even in Douglas where there's not a whole lot to see. So I've decided to go back out exploring and just see what happens. Well, after class yesterday, I had about four hours free, so I decided I would go out for a little exploration. Even if exploration just means weaving in and out of random streets, it's still something new.

Of course, I quickly came face to face with one of the reasons I don't go out as much anymore. Not even two minutes into my walk, I walked by this guy who was selling mirrors and we exchanged greetings. Then he wants to ask me what I'm doing in Ghana and where I'm going. This is fine. I don't mind telling him, nor anyone else, but then let's just part our ways and be content with brightening up each others' day. But then he said to me, "You seem like a really cool guy. I have a lot of friends, but I want some white friends, you know what I mean? Do you have a contact so maybe we could meet later?" I've talked to a few Ghanains about this strange phenomenon of people wanting my phone number the second they meet me, and they assured me that yes, it is only because I'm a foreigner. That's another thing that I realized kind of gets me down about Accra. In Kumasi, I felt like a random person. Sure, people would look at me and know I'm obruni, but they didn't more of it than that. In Accra, too often do people call to me, "Bra! Bra!" (Come! Come!). Too often do I meet people who want my phone number right when I meet them. Too often do cab drivers slow down and stare at me with a face that says, "You must need a ride." I just want to be anonymous. I made a resolve, though. Once I realized that this was one of the things that bothered me about Accra, I decided to make a plan for how to act towards it. From now on... "No, I don't own a phone. You can just write your number down, and if I decide to call you, I will. Now have a nice day." Ok, more polite than that, but I'm no longer worried about being culturally offensive to strangers who want my phone number. I won't be rude either, but I've decided to be a bit more assertive about making people realize I don't have an obligation to them just because I passed them on the street one day.

Luckily, for the next three hours of my walk, almost no one called me out. Alright, so things aren't so bad. I wasn't really sure where to walk, so I decided to go the familiar route to Osu and wander from there. Osu isn't downtown Accra, but it's sort of like that other spot where lots of businesses, restaurants, night clubs, and stores carrying imported goods are. And banks, of course. This wasn't really what I was looking for; I just needed a starting point. I went down the side streets, not on Oxford Street, the main road that runs through Osu. Going on Oxford Street means walking amidst stalled traffic and an overabundance of street vendors wanting to sell me something. Not fun. So I went down the side streets, and they were more or less whatever. Nothing special, just shops, hotels, restaurants. All around Osu (and Accra, I suppose), there's lot of construction taking place. It's filthy, trash everywhere. And the exhaust from all the cars combined with the heat and the smell of trash and open sewage can be quite a bit to handle.

Osu is definitely not going to be any sort of regular route for me. I'm going to explore more to see if there are any nice walking routes in the city. One thing that really bothers me about Accra is the fact that there are pretty much no sidewalks. At first, I just thought to myself, "Aww, bummer, so sidewalks." It's not so unfamiliar - lots of places in American cities don't have sidewalks either. Well, more pedestrian-friendly cities and pretty good about it, but many places are not. The more I think about it, though, it's completely ridiculous not to have sidewalks. It's a hassle and a danger for both the pedestrian and the driver. Pedestrians always have to be on the lookout for cars, and drivers have to be on the lookout for pedestrians. It's not always possible to get off the road when cars are coming. It's impossible for me to just forget about the cars; if I ignore one, it could hit me. It really makes me upset. In addition, having no sidewalks is almost a way of saying, "Travel in cars or don't travel at all." It just doesn't make sense.

There were a few good things about going to Osu. One, I had some coconut water (although I could get it pretty much anywhere). I also saw a store called "Hilarious Services - Communication/Instant Passport Pictures." I can just imagine the advertisements... "Come to Hilarious Services. Our services are so funny, you won't know what to do with yourself! After receiving our services, you won't be able to stop laughing! And then we'll take your passport pictures. Ha." After having walked through Osu for a good hour and a half (I pretty much covered it all), I suddenly saw the ocean in the distance. I had no idea that the ocean was so close to where I lived, but it is. It was still a good ways away, but I decided to go there. It's always great to see some place in the distance and know that you soon will be there.

I finally reached a dirt path that led to a small sand hill which blocked my view of the ocean. The ocean, however, was right on the other side of that hill. There was a little community between the main road and the ocean. As I got closer, I noticed how filthy everything was. Trash was all over the beach and in that little community. I was very disturbed to see six young school children playing in sewage water. Looking back on it, I wish I had said something to them about playing in sewage water, but I just didn't think to say anything at the time. I kept walking and came past a large church. The church was very pretty, but the surrounding beach was filthy as I said. I got to the sand hill, excited to be away from the filth, excited to see the water, and the first thing I saw was a kid taking a dump on the beach. And so I turned around and got the hell out of there. Please, I'm not judging, I'm merely stating my preference not to be on beaches where people poop.

I hit the streets again, but this time not in Osu. I walked west on a road parallel to the ocean. I came across more shops, more cars, more heat, and more sweat. I also saw one public trashcan (one on my whole walk). Before long, I realized I had no idea where I was anymore. Right after that realization, though, I saw the Indepence Arch and Independence Square in the distance. I had only driven by them in cabs before, so I thought seeing them on foot might be a good end to my walk. It took quite a ways to get there, but they were both very pretty. I can't wait to see what they look like on March 6, Ghana's 50th year of independence. After seeing the two, some guys asked me if they could have some peanuts I was eating. So I gave them some. After that, I took a cab home, sweaty and hungry, but satisfied. Sometimes I just need a good walk.

Pictures of Kumasi (from the internet)

Kumasi

So Saturday pretty much sucked in every way possible. I got up at 5:45, too tired to be excited for Kumasi. The bus was supposed to show up at 6:00 AM, but instead it arrived at 6:45. This wouldn't have been so bad, but considering everything else that happened Saturday, the bus tardiness could have been the sole reason for the misery.

I stepped on to the bus, truly a zombie this time, and I was suddenly met with the coldest air I have felt since being in Ghana. Every single air conditioner front to back was on full blast, and that bus was freezing! Soon people discovered that they could eliminate the AC turning off the vents above them. My vent, however, was broken and would not close, meaning it was for some time impossible for me to fall asleep. So I decided to eat and read in an attempt to alleviate the pain of my icy hell (I really thought I would never be able to call anything in Ghana an icy hell, but then again, every day's a new adventure...). I had packed a breakfast of bread, cheese, peanuts, raisins, and cranapple juice which I devoured wholeheartedly (coldness speeds up the metabolism, so...). I finished reading Sweetness in the Belly, a book about an English girl who is raised in Morrocco by her English hippie parents. The parents die when Lily (the English girl) is 8 years old. She's then raised by someone else in Morocco, and then makes a pilgrimage when she's 16 to Harar, Ethiopia, and begins a new life there. However, once Ethiopia falls apart, she flees to London, her homeland that's not really her homeland. The book follows her life in Ethiopia and London. I recommend it.

After about an hour or so, I was finally feeling tired enough to sleep, despite the cold. I woke up about three hours later, disoriented and sweating profusely. Apparently the air conditioner broke sometime during my slumber, and so I woke up with the sun beating down on me through the window and my shirt clinging to my sweaty body. About thirty minutes later, we stopped moving. There was a traffic jam because of an accident some unknown distance up the road. After being in the traffic jam for about 30 minutes without moving an inch (literally), some of us (such as myself) were about to lose it on the bus. I was seriously going to cry or hurt someone, possibly both. So I stepped off the bus with a few friends, and that was very nice. It was still hot, but at least we were in air instead of just sweat. We bought some oranges and hung out next to the bus for about 30 minutes or so. Finally, vehicles started moving, so we hopped back on. Of course, we were soon stuck again, waiting longer and longer. After some time (it's hard to say how long, because we were all a bit delirious) we started going at good speed down the road. Suddenly, we pulled over in front of another bus on the side of the road.

"Alright, everybody, we're getting on a new bus," Christa, associate director of the NYU in Ghana program, told us all. So we all gathered up our stuff and moved over to another bus. The switching of buses might seem silly, but the air conditioning and larger seats were a major improvement in everyone's lives. At this point, it was about 1:30, and the administrators told us it would be about another two hours. I made a huge mistake. I had to pee when we switched buses, and I did not. I had had about 3 liters of water (I sweat most of it out on the first bus), and over the next two hours, those three liters took a toll on my bladder. I've seriously never hurt this bad before from having to pee. It was excrutiating. I was in sort of a panic, not knowing what to do, unable to focus. At one moment I almost started crying. The physical pain was so intense that it had become an emotional issue. It had been two hours, and we still weren't there, so I went to ask Esi (one of the admin's) how far we were from Kumasi. "About 45 minutes," she said. !!!!! "Can we stop somewhere to use the bathroom before that?" I asked. "Yes, we'll look for a place." Well, we found that place after about 45 minutes, and I had one of the best moments of my life.

Soon after, we were at a restaurant eating a Ghanain buffet "lunch" (it was about 4:30, but none of us had had lunch... so lunch is fair). We had to cancel all the activies we had planned for the day (except for the eating) because we showed up so late (we were supposed to get there somewhere between 10-11). And after 10 hours on the bus, that buffet was super necessary to ease the pain. (Soon I'll write about Ghanain cuisine and Ghanain buffets). Afterwards, we walked around the cultural center for about 45 minutes, looking at shops and whatnot. It was kind of stupid because coming in, we saw a lively, bustling city in action (I'll write about Kumasi as a city later... it'll be good), and we were in this isolated cultural center which was almost entirely under construction. Silly, no? But anyway, we looked at a few shops. I got a little doll for my niece Breanna. I named her Esi and later wrote a little story for the doll (it's nice to give things stories... dolls, squirrels, cats, and other cute small things). There were a few other cool things at the cultural center, but I'm not really a person who buys stuff, so it was just a browse.

We went to the hotel and arrived just as it was getting dark. The rooms were pretty nice, but I didn't care. Our day had been taken from us. I was, however, looking forward to going out for the night, maybe walk around the city some, go to a cool place to eat, just hang around. At first it seemed like other people were interested in that too. We'd make plans for "like an hour." Or, "well, yeah, let's do that, but let's see what so-and-so wants to do." And then find out so-and-so doesn't want to do anything. We were at least going to go somewhere to eat, but it was one of my friend's birthdays, and she wanted to get free dinner at the hotel, even though some of expressed disinterest with that. So it took everyone about 30 minutes to order. Then it took about an hour for the food to come out. Then we ate (which it was really good, I got chicken jambalaya, mmmmm.... but that's not the point). After all that, no one felt like going out anymore. I was pretty angry, I won't deny. I was super frustrated. Not a single person wanted to go out and do anything the whole night, after we'd spent an entire day of waiting to see the city. I would have gone out by myself, but going out into a foreign city for the first time at night by myself... no thanks.

You see, here's the thing about me and traveling. I don't mind spending a few weeks just hanging around the house, but when I travel, I want to do stuff. I think I get it from my dad who, when we were anywhere on vacation out of town, would always be up at the crack of dawn trying to get everybody up and running for a day full of activity, whatever that activity may be. Of course, I always enjoyed sleeping in (as did everyone else), but now I'm much more like my dad was. If I travel somewhere, I want to be on the go, doing things, seeing places, meeting people. That doesn't mean I can't relax while I do it, but I just want something new and different. That's the reason we travel, right? It's silly to be angry at anyone (I'm not angry), but I still can't believe that no one wanted to go out the whole night. I kept trying to get someone to go out, but there was always something preventing it from happening. It made for a pretty miserable evening. I even had my first cigarette in over 3 months. (Don't worry, though, I have no plans to continue smoking... it was just pretty necessary with my level of frustration). Sometime around midnight, I finally calmed down a bit and just hung around and had a decent time chatting and swimming in the pool. The whole day was pretty bad, but that doesn't mean it has to end bad. Plus, during this short time before bed, I made my plan for the morning. My plan excited me. Basically, the plan was, get up super early, go out into the city by myself, and just spend the day wandering about. I knew we only had until noon to explore (pathetic, right?), so I figured I would need to shoot for an early time to go out.

Of course, I didn't go to bed until 1:00, so I didn't want to get up too early. So I got up at 6:45, 15 minutes before the hotel was supposed to start serving breakfast (notice I wrote "supposed to"). I went out to the restaurant by the pool at 7. There was one other man there, and we were the only ones so far. They told us breakfast wasn't ready. Grrr... ok, be patient. Breakfast is worth waiting for. Well, I ended up having to wait for about 30 minutes for breakfast to come out. The whole while I chatted with Professor Singler (he's a visiting professor from NYU whose class I actually took last semester... strange), Lila, Deborah, and Jen. Conversation was nice, almost as nice as breakfast coming out. They brought out the buffet trays that restaurants use and took the lid off the first one to reveal... corn flakes! Ta da! There were also omelettes, vegetables, beans, and juice though, so I was alright. I went to city at about eight and began my exploration.

So Kumasi... I don't know the history that well, so I'll just give you this little bit from my guidebook, Ghana: The Brandt Travel Guide by Philip Briggs:

"Ghana's second city, with a population exceeding one million, Kumasi is not only the modern capital of Ashanti Region, but has also for three centuries served as a royal capital of the Ashanti state. Tradition has it that the city was founded by the first Asantehene, Nana Osei Tutu, who reolcatied there from his former capital at Kwaman in 1695. Kumasi rapidly acquired the status of largest and most important city the Ghanain interior, and was the inland terminus of most of the 18th-century slave trading routes to the coast."

Alright, so that doesn't say a whole bunch, but it's what I've got. So here's my take on Kumasi. Kumasi is awesome! For one, the city is much more concentrated and city-like than the strange, disorganized, huge city of Accra which is more like a small town that exploded all over the place. Most of the buidings are two, three, four, possibly even five stories, very unlike Accra which has very few multi-storied buildings. Kumasi has more stores and less street sellers than Accra, which is kind of nice. And yet, Kumasi is much more alive. Even though it was Sunday morning, people were out and about, doing this and that, some going to church, some working, some just hanging around, me just wandering about taking it all in. Suprisingly, hardly anyone talked to me as I walked around, mostly just a few children. It was nice just being in the city and able to move about as someone there, as opposed to Accra where I'm obruni, so somehow I'm obliged to speak to every random person that calls me out. Nonetheless, a few people did ask where I was going or why I was there, and that was acceptable. No one kept me for too long. I met a variety of people, a few girls at a salon, a man from Accra just hanging out on the sidewalk, a man who really wanted to know where I was going (I tried to explain, "Me ne nam"..."Just walking around"), a man who told me about his hope to visit his friend in Virginia, and of course a wonderfully drunk man (at 10:00 AM, no less). The architecture of the city is like that of 19th century Portuguese Brazilian/Carribean islands architecture. I'll put up a few pictures so you can just see.

One thing I really loved was that Kumasi is a pedestrian-friendly city. After all, cities are supposed to be where people live, not where cars live. I've seen many cities of varying degrees of person-friendly/car-friendly, and from my experience, person-friendly cities are far superior. Why do you think I chose New York City for college? Well, pedestrians owning the streets was only one of the reasons, but seriously, I hate cities that are only accessible by vehicle. Kumasi is not one of those cities. The city was also cleaner than Accra (I'm not trying to trash Accra here, I'm just pointing out how cool Kumasi is), although it's still got many problems with sanitation (I'm going to write a blog soon about sanitation and sewage in Ghana). There were actually a few trashcans in Kumasi which all said, "Donated by Simple Man. Keep the City Clean!" Whoever Simple Man is, he must be a great man. There are virtually no trash cans in Accra, which is depressing, but like I said, I'll write more on that later...
Kumasi is a much more local city than Accra. Accra, though once belonging to the Ga people (they still have a little bit of land left, Jamestown), doesn't really belong to any one group of Ghanains (and in some ways it is international), but Kumasi belongs to the Ashantis, who once had an empire in West Africa that was larger than Ghana is today. I didn't see a single obruni all day (not even someone from my group, although I know some of them went out), though like I said, I was not called out as much as in Accra. I strolled around, getting lost in an urban maze of life (one of my favorite pasttimes), going down paved and dirt roads alike (most of the roads I went on were paved, though).

After wandering for several hours, I came across the Kumasi Zoo. I wasn't sure what it was at first, but I saw lots of bats flying around as I got closer to the zoo, so I knew something was up. I payed 10,000 cedis to get in, and what I discovered was a total nightmare. This place made me so depressed. It should not exist. They put all their animals - monkeys, baboons, lions, goats, ostriches - in the smallest cages possible, and they even put a monkey in a cage by itself! How cruel is that? To make matters worse, what little plant life there was in the zoo looked like it was just making a come-back after centuries of suffering from nuclear warfare. To make matters even worse (and actually quite disturbing) was the fact that a baboon and a monkey both had these strange tumors on them. Well, I really don't know what they were, but those were not normal parts of any animal. To top it all off, there was also a large stream of sewage flowing right through the middle of the zoo. Sick, right? The only cool thing about the zoo was the fact that literally thousands of bats were flying around overhead the whole time. Bats are so cool. Seriously.

So after almost breaking down in tears at the sheer inhumanity that created that animal hell, I left the zoo and decided to spend what little time I had left in Kumasi at the market. I hadn't seen all of the city (one million inhabitants in about three hours... kind of difficult), but I had seen enough to get a really good picture of the city. The central market in Kumasi, called Kejetia Market, is the largest market in all of west Africa. It was pretty big. From certain parts in the city, you can get really nice views of the skyline, and admist all the multi-storied buildings, right in the middle of the city is a huge block of market life. You can get pretty much anything and everything there from agricultural chemicals to food to ammunition to fabric to random little things that one sees and can't help but wonder how someone could've dreamed up such weirdness (and sometimes awesomeness). Nonetheless, it was still just a market, and I'm not much of a consumer of random goods. It was still fun, though, and fascinating to see, although perhaps a bit overwhelming. All I got at the market was some apples and water, and so from there I left to go back to the hotel for checkout.

After checking out of the hotel, we all loaded up on the bus and went to Manhyia Palace, which was palace of the Ashanti King from 1926-1995, when it was turned into a museum. Now, when picturing the palace, imagine a pretty big house instead of a palace. It was alright. I wasn't really in the mood to tour a piece of Ashanti history (I was running on little sleep, and I had had a pretty active morning), but it was still interesting. We learned a bit about Ashanti royals and society and such and such. There were creepy lifelike figures of Kings and Queen Mothers placed in a few chairs in different rooms in the palace. One thing I found interesting was that Ashantis always have two rulers - a King and a Queen Mother, that way neither man nor woman could dominate politics. Also, they couldn't be husband and wife.

After leaving the palace, we ate at the omnipresent Pizza Inn/Chicken Inn/Creamy Inn food court combo scattered throughout Ghana's cities (essentially road stop fast food). I had a chicken burger that was pretty awesome. After getting on the bus to go back to Accra, the staff thanked all of us students for being so patient despite a somewhat failed trip. We really do deserve a pat on the back for our patience, because we had to deal with a lot of waiting and a lot of unpleasantness. I almost lost it several times - during the traffic jam-sauna combo, during my near bladder explosion, and during my failed attempt to go out into Kumasi at night - but through it all, I was alive and well and I had done something at least. I do wish I could have spent more time in the city, especially since it definitely seems like my kind of city. Maybe I'll go back and visit another weekend, and I'll leave Friday instead of Saturday. So that's my Kumasi trip. Hope you enjoyed it more than I did (it wasn't that bad, though).

The Volta Region (Part 4 - Pictures)

"When I grow up, I want to be just like Tania del Rio!"

Monkey.

"Ladies and gentleman, may I present... Miss Jackie España!"

"Rachel, watch out for that bridge!"

"Hello, everyone. My name is and Drew and I'm a pineapple addict."

"Hello, Drew."

I forgot to mention in the blog that we man and his daughter crossing the river in a conoe.

Here they are.

"Nice weather, eh?"

"I'll say."

"Does it seem like we're not going anywhere?"
"What?"

"Does it seem like we're not going anywhere?"

"What?"

"Hey, didn't he just ask that?"

"You see those crazy obrunis going down the river?"
"About every day now you can just see them peddlin' their way down the river."

"That's a good observation, Kofi. I too have noticed them peddling."

The nice farmers we met on our hike (we're there, too, though).

The Volta Region (Part 3)

Sunday morning, Tania, Jackie, Rachel, and I awoke a little before dawn to a cool, dim, dewy forest. Morningtime in the mountains, especially forested ones, is probably one of the most spectacular atmospheres one could ever hope to be in. It's the sign of a new day. Everything is just awakening - the birds, the animals, the humans, the sun. The trees haven't changed a bit, but they seem all the more majestic for it, their unwavering, timeless beauty. You take a deep breath of air and it seems as though air has never been so fresh, so crisp, so full of life. Everything around you is full of new energy and endless potential. You yourself are revitalized, and you can't help but take a moment to really savor the moment and understand what life is really about - cycles, awakening, regeneration - a new day.

Nonetheless, I was twice the zombie and half the explorer I was upon wakening the day before. The night before, we had planned to leave as soon as we got up and head straight for a cruise that was supposed to leave from Akomsombo, a fair distance from where we were. But as we all climbed out of our stuffy tents, bodies aching from a night of sleeping half on a sleeping pad, half on the hard ground (well, actually, I awoke to nothing but the ground, so somewhere in middle of the night, Tania must have taken over the pad all for herself), we all agreed that breakfast was more important than plans, especially considering how good the breakfast at the lodge was the day before. So we placed our order, same as the day before - coffee, omelettes, oatmeal, bread, and then later more coffee - and had a nice easy morning at the lodge. I did some stretches, as I always do in the morning, and then I began reading Bill Bryson's African Diary. For anyone out there who hasn't read a Bill Bryson book, go right now and get one, any one, and reserve a nice block of time for you and the book. If you're enjoying reading my blog, then you'll fall in love with Bryson's witty commentary on his travels. He paints such splendid pictures of the places he visits, along with lots of humor, and potentially a fictional travel buddy as well (his name is Katz). He even wrote a book about hiking the Appalachain Trail, which ironically I read the day after I got off the trail, and I must say he really hits the nail on the head.

Anyway, I didn't get very far into the book, but I was intrigued, so I'll have to find it some other day. We ate breakfast, paid for our stay (if you can believe it, I only had to bay about $14 for camping, three meals, several bottles of water, and the guide for the trail (CK), not to mention the warm hospitality (I didn't have to pay CK, but he was really nice, and he helped us out a lot, especially Rachel with her fear of heights)), and made our way down the mountain. We had a very relaxing hour-long walk down to Biakpa, just chatting and enjoying the morning. When we got to the town, we caught a tro-tro going towards Akosombo. We weren't sure if we'd be able to make it to the cruise on time, so Rachel called to find out if we needed to arrive early to make the boat. It turns out that the travel guide we have is a little outdated, so instead of the cruise costing $6 per person, it was $20 per person. Scratch that idea. So we weren't going to go to Akosombo, but it just seemed to early to go ahead and go back home. So, as we were driving along, we crossed over the Volta River in a town called Atimpoku. We figured there must be something cool to do in a river town, so we decided to get off there.

Atimpoku is a very small town, but nevertheless, we saw a sign for a hotel that offered boating down the river. So we followed the sign to the this hotel (which I can't remember the name of). On the way there, we saw a man selling a dead beaver to a couple driving down the road. (There really is a first time for everything). We got to the hotel, inquired about the boats, and we were directed towards the river where a few men sat around waiting for four eager obrunis such as us to come by and ask for a peddle boat. That's right, a peddle boat. Two actually, Jackie and I in one, Tania and Rachel in the other. We changed into our swimwear, hopped into the peddle boats, and took off down the river.

Alright, here's the thing about paddle boats. You can't really go fast in them. You can't really go anywhere at all unless you've got a lot of time on your hands (and everywhere else, for that matter). But going somewhere isn't the point of peddle boats. It's the peddling motion that feels so effortless for the first minutes, but still so fun. The novelty of it almost. We started going downstream. It didn't take long for someone on the shore to yell, "Hey, Obruni, tsss, tsss..." We'd wave and smile at many people by the river, people who seemed so amused at us just peddlin' along on the ole Volta. (I have to admit, it would be a sight to see). We soon passed under the same bridge that we drove over when coming to Atimpoku. It was actually a very beautiful white bridge that arched way up into the air. We were heading for this little island in the river that was nearby. After about 20 minutes of peddling, we got close enough to the island to read a sign that said "Private Property." Bummer. That's ok, though, it was all marsh anyway.

After peddling for about another ten minutes, we decided to turnaround and go back. (We needed to make it back so we didn't get charged more). There's one thing I did not anticipate about going back. Going back was going upstream, and I did not at all anticipate the fact that after 30 minutes, peddling kind of sucks. The novelty wears off fast, and you just kind of want to get somewhere. It was still fun, and by the end, I was actually kind of exhausted (perhaps a little dehydrated as well... I chugged a pineapple juice and a liter of water afterwards though, so no worries). After getting out of the boats, we hung around the hotel and chatted, met some people from China, saw some monkeys... you know, the usual. After waiting around long enough to rehydrate (my chugging action... although I actually never chug, so it's really more like sipping quickly), we all decided to go for a dip in the river. Once again, we were assured it was safe to swim it. Many of the dangers of swimming in (and drinking, for that matter) still water are not so in flowing water, and this river didn't look dirty. For some reason, Jackie and Rachel decided not to swim, but Tania and I did and let me tell you, it was marvelous. I'm not sure It's not often that I get to swim in such a large body of water. (The ocean doesn't count here because I don't really swim in the ocean, I stand in it and let waves hit me). The water was cold, very cold, but then again swimming in cold water can be so amazing on a hot day. Everyday in Ghana is a hot day, whether you're in the mountains or not. So we swam and swam and I felt so free, so amazing, just doing the backstroke as long as I wanted without ever coming close to a single thing, land or person. Of course, Tania decided to take her own personage to the other side of the river. I only went about halfway and just hung out there. I wasn't sure I would want to swim all the way back if I crossed the river. Of course, Tania's an excellent swimmer, so it's no sweat off her back.

After about an hour, I got out of the river feeling refreshed, alive, avant-garde (what?), and hungry enough to kill a chicken and eat it, gizzard and all. But I chose the more civilized way by eating some chicken that someone else had already killed. It was good too, fried, southern style. I also had a huge mound of fried rice (as good as any fried rice I've ever had), and then I topped it all off with a banana (because I'm that cool). After we had all eaten, we decided to hit the road. Before we could even cross the street, a tro-tro came by and a guy stuck about half of his body out of the window (as they all do) and said, "Accra! Accra!"

"Yes, Accra, Accra!" we all said with bellies full of Ghanain delight.

We crossed the street and hopped on the tro-tro, me in the back again, but infinitely more comfortable than I was leaving Accra. I sat next to a guy named... oh, that's right, I'm really bad with names... anyway, this guy, he showed us some pictures of his carpentry work with windows. The guy on my other side just had his head resting on his arm resting on the back of the seat in front of him. I soon found myself in the same position as that man. We got back to Accra around 4:30, taxied our way home, and I was pooped. So I showered (which I hadn't done all weekend) and took a little nap until dinner.

The End.

Trip to the Volta Region (Part 2)

The next morning, I awoke around 8am, somewhat as a zombie and somewhat as a traveler - the zombie implying I felt dead, the traveler implying that I felt ready to get the hell out of there - and I got Jackie up so that we could head out. We didn't really know how to get to Mountain Paradise Lodge, and we were ready to reunite with our friends, so we didn't want to find out where that 4km uphill walk was that would take us to the lodge. We thought a taxi seemed much more appropriate for our current mental states. We couldn't find the nice man who had helped us the night before who told us he was a taxi driver, but of course, being white, we had no problem finding a taxi. In fact, we didn't even half to look. We were just asked (happens all the time). The driver wanted 150,000 cedis for a ride to the lodge. Jackie and I weren't completely sure how far the lodge was, but we knew that 150,000 was way too much.

"How far is the lodge?"
"Oh, far, far..."
"But how long do you think it would take to get there?"
"Oh, long time, long time..."
"Can we walk there?"
"Oh, you could walk, but it would take you a long time."

(People have a habit of repeating things here for emphasis. So instead of saying, "He is very small," someone might say "He is small small.")

Jackie and I just sort of stood there thinking and looking at each other. In Accra, if a taxi driver tries to overcharge me, I know that he's trying to overcharge me and so I call him out for it and demand a lower price. Plus, in Accra, there are so many taxi drivers that if one driver won't take me for a certain price, another probably will. Here, though, we had no reference for how far the lodge, how much a ride from a rural area should cost, or if there were any other taxi drivers around to create some competetion. Finally, Jackie and I agreed to ask for a lower price. Usually it's best to aim really low, otherwise you might still get gypped.

"We don't have very much money. Could you take us for 60,000?"
"Oh, no! I will take you for 100,000."
"That's still a lot. How about 80,000?"
"Please, it is far. 100,000."
"90,000?"
"100,000."
Thinking.... "Fine." (We later found out that 60,000 would have been an appropriate price for the journey, but oh well, at least we got there).

The taxi driver was very amusing. Everytime we would pass someone on the way up the mountain he would stick his upper body out the window, honk at them, and yell things with a humungous smile on his face. Everyone else we passed would do the same. we could tell the whole town must have been like a big, happy, silly family. Or something like that.
Anyway, we got to the lodge around 9 and were very happy to see that it was right at the top of a mountain, very secluded. The owners had a nice large house with a spectacular porch that had a long dining table, an areas of couches for sitting, lots of littles plants and porch ornaments, a little library, and a chair specifically reserved for the some of the cutest little kittens in the world (the chair actually had a sign that said, "Reserved for cats"). Then there was a separate building where guests stayed with a few bedrooms and bathrooms, a clothesline, a water spicket... all the things one could possibly need in life. The place reminded me a lot of the hostels and bed and breakfasts I stayed at in the Appalachain Mountains - very homey, cute, secluded, and so friendly. The owner was a friendly man named Tony who really cared about his guests feeling at home. Tania and Tony had an ongoing little banter where they would put each other down a lot. But then again, that seems to happen a lot with Tania. It's always amusing.

Soon after arriving, I washed my hands and sat down to an amazing and much-needed breakfast. We had omelettes with peppers and onions, oatmeal, a banana, fresh toasted bread from the village down below (Biakpa), and locally grown coffee. I can't really say that any part of the breakfast was really the highlight, but I must say, it was about time I had some real coffee. Coffee isn't a very big thing here in Ghana (people here refuel by napping instead of getting wired on caffeine - it makes a lot more sense, really), so you can't get real coffee hardly anywhere. It's all instant coffee. Even at the Labone Coffee Shop (I'll remind you that Labone is one of the only rich neighborhoods in Accra), if you order coffee, you'll get instant coffee. So the locally grown coffee they served us with real cream (instead of powder) was welcomed enthusiastically by my whole body and essence.

After breakfast, we all got ready to go on the nearby hike through the mountains. I was extremely excited because it had been so long since I had had a real hiking adventure. Of course, this wasn't exactly going to be the Appalachains. The highest point in Ghana is Mount Afadjato which is only 885 meters (about 2600 feet), compared to the Appalachains which range from 125-6,600 (I think) feet. (Of course, the Appalachains definitely pale in comparison to many other mountain ranges). Anyway, I was excited. We packed along our lunch which was pretty good but sadly consisted of almost no protein and started our journey. We asked someone working at the lodge how to get to the trail and he said we would need a guide to find the trail. We asked how much a guide would cost and he told us 30,000 cedis per person (that's always how they get you). We told him that we would just try to find the trail on our own since we didn't have much money, but the guide came along with us anyway. We told the guide, whose name was CK (may be spelled differently, but that's how you say it), that we didn't mind if he came along with us, but that we weren't going to pay him. He said that was fine... he didn't have anything better to do.

We made our way down the road, not in a rush (the trail was only 4km), chatting away, and then we found the trail. There was a big tree on the left and a burned area on the right. Rachel claims that we couldn't have found it without CK, but I maintain that we could've found it. We just didn't bother looking for it since he was with us. We started on our journey, and the first thing that happened was that Rachel told us she was terribly afraid of heights and that sometimes she gets dizzy spells and is paralyzed on the spot if she notices a big drop off next to her. Comforting to know. I assured her that I had experience with those sorts of hikers (coughcoughdaddyandajayecoughcough... love you two), so she had no need to worry about going slow on the trail. The Overall, the trail didn't have too much variation in elevation, but when it did change elevation, it would be very drastic, so there were ropes tied to several trees to prevent you from falling on your way down (and to ensure that you could get back up). Rachel wasn't too excited about the idea of traveling by rope, but she did it, and she was very proud of herself. After I cartwheeled down the same steep rope journey (just kidding), we came to the second of three waterfalls, which would be our stop and have fun spot. We were informed that this waterfall would be safe to swim in (well, the watering hole below the waterfall, not the fall itself obviously). I say safe because there's a risk of getting schistosomiasis from swimming in still water, but apparently this water had been tested for safety.

The waterfall was absolutely gorgeous. It wasn't huge, just very majestic, cascading down the dark rocks and into a large pool of water, waist-deep by the fall and neck-deep closer to the spot where it streams further down the mountain. The water was so cold, but the air was so hot, so the water was very welcoming. CK didn't get in the water with us, but he hung out and watched us swim, which might sound a little weird, but it was fine. We had a great time splashing around in the water, being silly, taking pictures with Tania's underwater camera. We ended up exploring a little further down the stream to find more waterfalls and pools, although we only swam in the one. After a while, we all got pretty hungry, so it was time for lunch. We ate a loaf of bread, tomatoes, avacado (which was totally different and not as good as any avacado I have had previous to this experience), the Trader Joes trail mix (so magical), and apples. Then we all got dressed and continued on with our hike.

After hiking for a little longer, we began hiking through a farm. I got to see many fruit plants that I had never seen before such as banana trees, a pineapple plant, a cocoa tree, coffee plants, and palm nut trees. Sometimes its easy to forget where food comes from. ("But Drew, we all know food comes from the grocery store. Duh!") We also met the farmers, a nice old man and woman who also had a little child. We greeted them and admired their little stone hut that they lived it. They were strangely happy that we had hiked through their farm, but I guess we weren't the first to do so. We finished up our hike with a nice uphill trip back to the lodge. Oh, uphills. How I do love and yet despise thee.

The rest of the day was more or less chill. We got back to the lodge around 4, so we had plenty of time to kill. Tania and I climbed a really cool tree, and we also played on the tire swings tied to the tree. We did some art for a while, colored, met a girl from Slovenia (whose name was also Tania), I sang for a bit, and then we all had dinner. I had red red for dinner which is beans with fried plantains. Of course, we all shared, so I also had some fufu, jollof rice, and tofu. After dinner, we set up our tents outside (we could've stayed in the rooms, but the tents were so much cheaper and seemed a lot more exciting). We made a campfire for the occasion (it just seemed right) and then we all sat around the campfire - me, Jackie, Rachel, the two Tania's, two people from Holland, CK, and CK's young brother Adem. we mostly just sat around and talked, enjoying the fire, the breeze, the cool night air (the first time I've actually even considered that I might possibly be chilly since I've been in Ghana, although I wasn't actually chilly, I just felt great). CK told us a few African stories about a michevous man named Kokwoanaase. I would retell them for you here, but one, that would kill the fun of telling the story orally, and two, I really don't feel like typing all that right now. At about midnight, once we had exhausted the fire and ourselves, we climbed into our little bitty tents, uncomfortable, but tired enough to pass out anyway.

To be continued...

Trip to the Volta Region (AKA "The Return of the Blog!")

Life here in Accra has been becoming more and more routine the longer I am here, but this weekend I traveled out of Accra and had an amazing adventure. One thing that was so great about it was that I was invited by Tania Thursday night, the night before we left, and so what seemed liked another weekend of being blazing Accra turned into a weekend of being blazing hot in another part of Ghana. Oh, but it was so much fun!

Tania and Rachel left for Mountain Paradise Lodge around 1 in the afternoon. I would've left with them, but Jackie was also going and she had class until 4:30. So I did the usual... walked around, sang, got sweaty, ate, showered until Jackie arrived home from class, ready to go. So we took off around 4:45 and got to Tema Station at 5:15 to catch the tro-tro to Hohoe, the Volta Region. I've been wanting to go to the Volta Region ever since I heard there were mountains there. Flatness becomes so old after a while, and the mountains are cooler too. So we asked some people at the station where to go to get a tro-tro. A man told us we need to go down the street to the Novotel, and there we can get a tro-tro. We were a bit confused because the driver told us that we just needed to wait by the road where he dropped of us. So we walked down the street and we don't see the Novotel. So we asked an old man by the side of the road where we should go to get a tro-tro to Hohoe. "Oh, Hohoe! Just go over there, to Tema Station." The man had told us to go back to where we came from. So then we asked some more people on the other side of the street, and they also told us to go back to Tema Station. We gave them our thanks and headed back to Tema Station. So we asked another guy where to go to get a tro-tro to Hohoe. "Oh, you need to go over to the Novotel." It was some sort of sick joke. The joke didn't last long, though, because a nice guy named Samuel (I think) walked us over to the right place, which was in view of the Novotel.

So we walked into this tro-tro station/market, which means a large area of dirt where people try to give rides and sell stuff. We bought our tickets to Hohoe for 36,000 cedis and went to sit at the back of a tro-tro. By now, I've ridden a tro-tro maybe 7 or 8 times. I will tell in all honesty that there is no such thing as a comfortable tro-tro, but this one was probably the most uncomfortable one there is. Sitting down normally, my knees were jabbing into the back of the seat in front of me and I had absolutely no circulation in my butt for that whole ride. I would've just turned and sort of sat on my side, but by the time we got going there was Jackie on the left of me and a woman and her child on the right of me, whilst I have my backpack in my lap. (It reminded me a lot of a certain family trip to New York City in 1994...).

Anyway, we get on this tro-tro and it's about half-full. The two of us just sat and waited, chatting away, having an ok time. The whole while market people kept coming up to the windows and trying to sell us things: food, soap, flashlights, chewing gum, random things. Jackie and I bought some FanIce (so good!), two meat pies, Mentos, and a VitaMilk. I was already equipped with apples and cookies, while Jackie had brought along with her trail mix from Trader Joes (I love Jackie so much, almost as much as trail mix... just kidding). Over the course of the next 45 minutes we waited for the tro-tro to fill up or the driver to come. They tied a bunch of stuff to the back of it, so the back door wasn't shut the whole time. A woman in front of me decided to buy an gargantuan bowl from a vendor. ("Oh, I better get this large bowl before I get back to Hohoe. I've been needing one of them," she thought).

A little after 6, the driver got in the tro-tro, cranked it up, and took off for Hohoe. Of course, the first hour of the journey was spent in congested traffic trying to get out of Accra. Convenient how it got dark the second we started to pick up the pace a little bit. The ride at first was just unpleasant because I couldn't feel my butt and I couldn't fall asleep (for lack of a comfortable position). Then I started to get a little frightened because I decided to look out the front windshield and I couldn't see anything. If the driver had his headlights on, they weren't doing much for him. It really baffled me that he could see where he was going. We passed through several towns on our journey. The tro-tro pulled over in one of them for some reason and we were attacked by a mob of people trying to sell us stuff, mostly loaves of bread and water (the stuff, not the people). After a few minutes, another tro-tro pulled up in front of us and instantly a new mob of 20 or so people rushed to the tro-tro, desperate to make a sale. They were amused by the fact that there were obrunis riding the tro-tro to Hohoe at 8:30 in the evening.

Another time we stopped mysteriously in the middle of nowhere. Everyone started chattering away in local languages that I could not understand. It seems ridiculous, but from the tones of their voices and the pace of their speech it sounded like they were saying, "Oh, he's got a gun and they're going to shoot us all!" or "They are going to make us all get out here and give them our wallets and clothes!" Jackie said, "Excuse me... Excuse me..." No one pays her any attention. "Mepowcho." (Excuse me in Twi). Then they turned around. "What's going on?" Jackie asked. "Tire," a woman replied. "Ooooh, tire," we both sigh with relief. So everyone gets out of the tro-tro, although they shut the door before Jackie and I could get out, and then a few guys lift up the tro-tro to replace the tire. After about 15 minutes, the tire is fixed, everyone gets back on, and then off we go again.

It was getting late and Jackie and I hadn't been able to get a hold of Rachel or Tania since 7:00 when they called and told us that they got off in a town called Fume and we're at the time walking 4km uphill to the Mountain Paradise Lodge. we realized we hadn't asked the tro-tro driver to let us off in Fume, so we asked the ladies in front of us if we had passed Fume. "Oh, Fume," one said and pointed straight ahead. "So we haven't passed it yet?" we asked. "No," she said. Strangely, this tro-tro full of 16 people that hadn't said a word the whole time other than when we stopped for the tire started talking to one another after we mentioned Fume. (It's always interesting to know people are talking about you but not be able to understand them).
At about 10:30, the tro-tro stopped and a few people in front of us beckoned us to go. "Is this Fume?" we asked. "Yes, Fume." So we got out in Fume, a little bitty town on the way to Hohoe (a bigger town, I suppose). There were a few people outside, and this one man came up to his and said, "Hello, how are you? Do you need a place to stay?" We explained to him that we needed to get a taxi to Mountain Paradise Lodge, and he told us that taxis wouldn't run that late, that we would have to stay in Fume. Then we asked, "Well, can we walk?" "Walk? Oh, no. It's too far and too dark. You can stay here." He pointed to a place called Adzokor Hotel and then went inside to fetch the receptionist. We wanted to call Tania and Rachel to find out what had happened to them and to let them know where we were, but neither of our cell phones were getting reception. The helpful man and the receptionist came out of the hotel, and they insisted that we stay there. We told them, "Well, we don't mind staying here, but we need to call our friends before we make any decisions." They didn't seem to understand what we were saying, because they just kept saying that it was too late to go to Mountain Paradise Lodge, too dark, too far, no taxi would take us, but finally they understood and so a few more people came around and we tried to use their phones. It seemed hopeless. No one had any reception. After standing around, not sure of what to do, afraid of going to bed without contacting Rachel and Tania (I didn't want them to worry), we finally got through to the lodge and talked to Tania.
"Hey, Drew. Go to this place called 'The Hot Spot' and wait there under the big tree and Tony is going to come get you," Tania said. So I asked the men around us if they knew where The Hot Spot was. They didn't, so I told Tania, "They don't know where it is." "It's under the big tree," Tania said to me in a way that suggested, "Duh, Drew, the big tree, come on, that'll clear everything up." So I asked about the big tree and the men didn't know what I was talking about. So we told Tania that we were going to stay in Fume for the night and come up to the lodge early in the morning, to which she said, "Oh, ok, do that."

So we checked into our double-bed room at the Adzokor for 80,000 cedis and made our way down the hall to our room. This was probably the weirdest hotel room I have ever seen. The bed was in the very center of the room, and there was about 2 feet between the bed and the wall all the way around. A little couch sat in the corner. It was a yellow and brown-cushioned couch, the kind you would expect to find in someone's grandma's house. Jackie was so fascinated by it that she kept drawing it on and off for a few hours. We played cards, took pictures, were silly, and then around midnight decided to go to bed. We went down the hall to the bathroom, brushed our teeth, came back to the room, and got ready for bed. I flipped off the light and then... it was ridiculously bright. There was a window and two large ventilation holes in the wall against the hallway, and the hallway was really well lit. So I stuffed the couch cushions in the window (sorry, Grandma) and a science book and my shoes into the vent holes. That was a little better.

Jackie and I talked for a little while (we were both in a strange state because of our journey), laughed a bit, and then began to drift off into sleep. Then all of a sudden, Jackie started to scratch herself. A few minutes later, I noticed that I too was a bit itchy. I first I didn't think much of it, but after a while, the itching just started getting worse and in more different places. Jackie and I recognized the pain we were each in and concluded that there must have been bedbugs in the bed. I spray myself down with deet, scratch myself some more, and then fall asleep in possibly the strangest hotel room I'll ever be in.

To be continued...

Accra

I had an assignment for my Documenting the African City course to write a 3-5 page paper on Accra. Some of the things in it (most, actually) will be a bit repetitive if you've been keeping up with the blog, but if you haven't, or if you just really love reading about Accra, then here's the paper:

A few days ago I met a guy named Randy and he asked me if I was enjoying Ghana. "Well, I'm enjoying it a lot. The people are really friendly and they don't mind taking time out of their day to say, 'Hello.'"

To this Randy replied, "That is because you're white. No one stops to say, 'Hello,' to me." That's when it dawned on me that sometimes I do not truly see Accra in action because my interactions with people are so different than the interactions of most. Therefore, I believe I see a somewhat different side of Accra than most. However, though in my daily interactions I may not be a fair judge of Accra, I am also entering from an outsider's perspective, more able to notice some of the quirks of everyday life that many of us never realize are out of the ordinary. I question the people and the environment because they are new to me. Taking into account my disadvantages and advantages in analyzing Accra, my ability to see it but not to be it, this is my impression of the city.

With people and products from all over the world, the city is a very international one. Take a walk down Oxford Street in Osu or check out any one of the many tourist beaches and you are likely to find a mix of Ghanaians and foreigners. However, visit a place such a Jamestown where the Ga people live. These people will claim Accra as their land. They are not merely here for business or for the experience of living in a hustle and bustle capital city; this is their home. Furthermore, Accra is not like New York City, a place where so many international peoples come together to collectively own a city, a place where no one at first glance has any identity except perhaps “New Yorker.” Instead, Accra belongs to Ghanaians. Accra is Ghanaians. The rest of us are just foreigners, outsiders, obruni, unable as I mentioned earlier to truly be a part of the city. So, despite Accra’s status as a capital city and an international city, it is still in many ways a very local place, both within itself and within Ghana.

Even though Accra is the home of the Ga people, Accra is in many ways the only place in Ghana that can really be called “Ghanaian.” Everywhere else in the country is clearly dominated by an ethnic group, and thus, these places are better defined as “Ashanti,” “Fante,” or “Ewe” than as “Ghanaian.” Accra, on the other hand, is the one place in Ghana where people from all over the country and from any and every ethnic group come together to create a city in which all of Ghana’s hopes and aspirations mix, mingle, and come to life.

Now that I have examined the simultaneous international, national, and local identity of Accra, we must turn to the built environment of the city to begin drawing an accurate picture of the place. Only a very few buildings and areas in the city look remotely planned. The city looks as though it was made from a huge pile of spare pieces of wood, aluminum, and cement to which someone said, “Alright, start building.” No one anticipated, however, the vast numbers of people who would come in to build their own structures from seemingly spare construction parts. As a result, with the exception of a few modern-looking banks, Accra is a huge urban sprawl of buildings that straddle the line between proper structures and shanties. It is not uncommon to see half-built or half-falling-apart buildings throughout the city. Roadways vary between newly-paved asphalt and deteriorating, pot-hole-filled stubble or dirt roads. In some cases, these roads are squeezed between the structures that people built. In other cases, the roads paved the way for more and more buildings to expand the city further and further. However, there is no reason to believe this city with its buildings and roadways that at times seem to be carelessly thrown together is not a functional one. On the contrary, this urban landscape seems to suit the city quite well.

There are many consequences for this sort of built environment. For one, because of the sprawl of the city, it is not a very pedestrian-friendly city, many places only accessible by tro-tro or taxi. Despite this fact, Ghanaians will often turn Accra into a pedestrian city for a lack of choice. This mix of congested roadways, people moving and working around them, and a tropical climate that makes being indoors without an air conditioner unbearable results in a city that at first glance seems chaotic. However, unlike many other cities with similar environments of seemingly endless urban sprawl, Accra affords people constant interaction with other people. Because of this, space is not very clearly defined. I can wander around the city all day, and pretty much anywhere I go, I am not really invading on anyone’s space. To give a counterexample, in many American cities, there are clearly defined neighborhoods where certain people belong and certain people don’t. Not just anyone can wander into these neighborhoods without being an outsider. However, in Ghana, people can move freely about and never really invade on anyone else’s space. Space is a shared entity, something within which everyone lives and interacts.

Upon stepping into this environment, one’s senses are immediately assaulted with a combination of extraordinary and repulsive, familiar and unfamiliar. One of the most immediate sensations in the city is the mix of smells. One can walk down many streets and within minutes, one will smell fumes of fish released by the intense heat of the day. A multitude of body odors permeates the nostrils. The open sewage that runs through ditches alongside the roads greets a person to the most unwelcome of smells. At the same time, it is possible to catch a whiff of fresh pineapples, oranges, mangos, and bananas being sold on the street. A woman wearing exotic perfume passes by leaves a trail with her scent. The smell of smoke from a distant burning trash pile is both disturbing and comforting. These smells do not mix, but instead assault the nostrils one after another, a never-ending cycle of surprises.

The sights of the city can also be hard to make heads or tails of. On the one hand, many people are dressed in colorful, even flamboyant fabrics with all sorts of shapes and designs on the cloth. People create beautiful crafts that are a sight to look at – bracelets, drums, colorful fabrics, masks, little trinkets, you name it. Glorious tropical trees dominate the skyline of the city (for lack of multi-storied structures), a jubilant mix of greens that look more vibrant than one could imagine, even if it hasn’t rained in months. Yet at the same time, the city is filled with trash that people mindlessly throw into the gutter. Black streams of sewage flow down the cities ditches by the roads. Buildings are old and decrepit, the original covering peeling off in many places.

Similarly, sounds range from local or foreign music playing on the streets and delightful (though incomprehensible to me) conversation among city-goers to car horns honking on the roadways and women yelling for someone to buy something. Local cuisine is at its base very plain food – rice, chicken, plantains, yams – that is infused with a multitude of spices, stews, and soups to create a truly exciting experience for the taste buds.

Despite all this – the identity of the people, the built environment, the range of sensations – what really makes the city is the drive and the demeanor of the people. Throughout the city, people are very business-oriented. Roads are lined with little shop after little shop, all selling many of the same products. Vendors attack the streets, looking for customers on the side of the road and in their vehicles. Taxi drivers roam the city looking for people willing to pay for a ride. Ghanaian businessmen make their way to the main financial centers in Western business suits. All over, people are trying to make a living, develop the city, and improve the economy. The same people are outside every day, from sunup to sundown, always persisting, even when it seems as though everyone is selling and very few are buying.

Because everyone is selling, and because of the way people take over the streets despite a landscape that is not conducive to it, there is a strong feeling of sameness and commonality among people. People are not dying to get off of work as they would be in America. On the contrary, people’s lives are their work, but more than just work. Their lives are also the other people out there trying to make a living, working not so much for a brighter tomorrow or the chance to go abroad, but working to be alive and to be a part of the city. No man or woman is an island. Everyone is a part of a larger city of people, all working with common goals and aspirations, common values, and common lifestyles. This connectedness among the people is as much a result of a common presence in place as it is a common past of traditional life, colonial rule, and the functioning of an international, modern city. As I said in the beginning, I can see Accra, but I can never truly understand it because this connectedness of identity, landscape, and history is the driving force behind Accra.

Long Time, No Write

Sorry I haven't updated in a while. It's not that nothing's been happening. It's more that I've become a bit more introspective during the past week or so. I've been doing more personal writing, singing, playing with bells (I'll explain that sometime soon), and stuff like that. I also felt a little not myself this weekend, but I'm feeling better now. I'm also starting to contemplate more why I'm here and what I want to accomplish before I leave. I'm still not completely sure... but I'm working on it.

So anyway, keep checking the blog because I've still plenty to tell! And once again, sorry for the lack of reading material over the past week. I'm sure you can find something else interesting to read.

Thoughts on Development and Happiness

The other night, at the Coconut Grove Beach Resort, I was sitting with my friends in the sand right at the spot on the beach where the water would hit our bodies and recede, hit our bodies and recede, and so on. The moon was full, the water wasn't hot or cold, the salt was cleansing to the skin. The sky was so huge, as it always is in Africa, and the moment was just... well, perfect. Megan turned to me and asked me, "I wonder if this is what life is really all about." Then I told her something my brother Mark told me, truly one of the most profound things anyone has ever told me. He said (and I said to her), "What you think is the most important thing in the entire world." Therefore, if you think life is about sitting on the shore and letting the waves hit you on a perfect night, then that's what life is about. If you think you're happy, you're happy. If you think the world's an unfriendly place, then that's what it is.

So now we turn to development, a word that everyone seems to know. But what is development? Is it development towards a longer, safer life? Is it development for more air conditioning and water from the faucet? Is it development for more roadways, enabling us to get virtually anywhere on the planet with a vehicle? Those sorts of things seem to be the popular definition of development. But What about happiness, kindness, a fulfilling life? Are these things worth developing? Or did we just assume somewhere along the line that a life with modern medicines, air conditioning, and asphault equals a happy life?

You may be getting tired of the questions, but I have one more, which I asked Megan. "Do you think an American is any happier than a Ghanain?" In America, we have all the fruits of "development," so many that we use most of them in excess, throw away what we can't use, and then still want more. In Ghana, and throughout most of Africa, most people don't have electricity, plumbing, or a decent paycheck. Many people can't afford a night out on the town or a fantastic dress made by a foreign designer or even a cheap beer. In many places, Western medical facilities are not to be found. When we Westerners hear about this, we think, "How sad! Those poor Africans are just so completely lost. They have so little. It's a wonder they don't all die." Must we forget that only a few centuries ago, the entire world was this way? And didn't humanity thrive for millions of years this way?

When I walk around the streets of Accra, an abundance of smiling souls come out onto the streets to all be united as people. No one stays indoors because it's hot and stuffy and there's no air conditioning, and for God's sake, we're on the equator. People live their lives on the streets, having constant social interaction. In America, if I make eye contact with a random person, it's an awkward and almost frightening moment. Our eyes lock for a few seconds and we both can't stand the thought that we've somehow exposed our souls to a stranger. But here, in Ghana, I look someone in the eye, they look back at me and smile. I'm almost guaranteed to get an "Ete sen?" (How are you?), to which I will reply, "Me ho ye, na won su e?" (I'm fine, and how are you?). "Eye," (fine) they will reply with a huge smile, possibly even a big belly laugh. They are so happy that we've shared this moment, so happy that I know a few words in their local language, so happy to be alive. So happy to be alive. I don't want to say that Americans are unhappy people, but this sort of genuine kinds and gratification from contact with others just does not exist there.

So back to the questions I was asking. I suppose I came here with some intention of helping to "develop" Africa, as if such a huge task could be left to me and all those other Westerners who have at some point felt sympathy for people with no air conditioning. I felt sorry for Africa. I didn't know why the world had destroyed it so. But as I walk these streets and see these smiling people who truly understand that we are all one and the same and who understand that "what you think is the most important thing in tne entire world," I think of how developed the humanity is here in Ghana. I say Ghana and not Africa because, as we all know, Africa has its problems, and I'm not suggesting that we should all give up attempts to develop the continent in one way or another. I am suggesting, though, that we consider what it is we want to develop, not only in Africa, but everywhere. And I also want us to consider what we think (for it is the most important thing), in particular about what it is that makes ourselves and others happy, and maybe we'll discover things about the ways we live our lives, things that maybe aren't so important, things that are missing, things that we could put more effort into. Looking back on my life, I think of all the people I could have smiled at but didn't, all the people whose days I could've brightened up, but didn't. I'm not proposing we all devote our lives to making sure we smile and greet people, but... well, I think you get what I'm saying.

Elmina and Cape Coast

This weekend, all the NYU kids loaded up into buses and made our way to Cape Coast and Elmina. I woke up around 6AM, unaware of how awesome the day would end up being. We arived at our hotel, Coconut Grove Beach Resort, at around 9:30 in the morning for a buffet breakfast of omelettes (which were AMAZING), black eyed peas, crossiants, and pineapple. Now that's a breakfast. Then we headed off for St. George's Castle in Elmina (also known as Elmina Castle). Elmina is by no means a little village or a big city. It's primarily a fishing village, but the town also gets a considerable amount of its income from salt gathering. The castle is not what most would picture as a castle. It's really more like a fort. It was built in the 15th century by the Portuguese, who were the first colonial power to stake claim to Ghana. (Interesting fact: the castle is the oldest standing colonial structure in Sub-Saharan Africa). Their original intention (supposedly) was to use the castle as a fort and as a place where missionaries could enter the country. Instead, it was used as a slave dungeon on the ground floors and the governor's palace on the upper floors. There are also certain areas where soldiers stayed, and there's even a church (ironic, no? to worship the lord and torture slaves simultaneously).

The weight of this place did not settle on me immediately. At first I only saw stones, stairs, rooms, the ocean from the top. But then I stepped into one of the holding cells for slaves. The dungeons are dark and poorly ventilated, the floors and the walls hard stone. The smell of centuries of torture still remains in the cells, a musty, desperate smell, one that enters the nostrils and immediately lets one know this place is cursed. As I learned from the tour guide what went on in this castle, the history of a wronged people came alive to me. People were crammed into these tiny spaces with no sight of family or sunlight, no food to sustain themselves, and no place to relieve their waste. If I had been in these cells hundreds of years ago, there would be vomit, urine, feces, and menstral blood all over the floor. The people would be starving to death either from malnutrition or from refusal to eat. Women would be periodically taken from the cells, bathed, fed, raped by the soldiers, and then return to the cells to await more misery. The Europeans had the idea that Africans were stronger than other races, and therefore they didn't need to be taken care of. They also wanted to weed out the weak ones so only the strong ones would be left to work. That way they could sell the slaves for a better price. Because of these sadistic philosophies, people in these cells were not well.

Also, let's not forgot the hell these people had already gone through to get to the castle. Since there was no other form of transportation at the time, people walked on foot from all over West Africa to come to this castle or another like it, the long hot walk lasting many months. People were forced away from their clans, their nations, their land, and made to take this terrible journey to torture. And once they finally reached the ocean, they were placed in dungeons to wait. Once their time had come, the slaves had to go through the door of no return. Once they passed through this door, they had two options. They could either get on a ship, unaware of where they might be going, unaware of what they might suffer next, or they could jump into the ocean and become dinner for the sharks. Those who dove for the sharks got lucky, and those who got on the ship either died on the way over to the Americas or built the riches of the New World.

Being in this place made me sad and angry... sad for those who have suffered and who still suffer today... angry at... well, angry at no one in particular, I suppose, just angry that people can be so cruel. It's a history that affects us all. Who today is to blame? Well, no one I can think of. But who is to make up for the tragedy and for the discrimination that still lingers from it today? You? Me? No one? I'm really not sure. So many emotions run through my body at once because of all this, and I simply don't know what to do with them. I've gone into lots of deep contemplation about what life must be like for an African American, a person whose history has been stripped and replaced with slavery. The African American is a forced immigrant, someone who never chose to be where they are, and yet people are still bothered by their existence in American society. Growing up, society told me that white is beautiful and black is dangerous. The more I learn, the more I realize how ridiculous this all is. Coming to the castle sort of made it hit home for me, thinking back to the people who were once in this castle, and the hardships they and their offspring have suffered and still do suffer. May we all not take for granted "the way things are" and really think about the way things are and they perceptions we have of people and where those perceptions come from and how accurate those perceptions are, and if accurate in any way, how much those perceptions are the cause of the reality.

*****

I hope I didn't depress anyone too much. My goal was not to depress, but to evoke some hardcore contemplation about the past and the present. So now I will move on with the weekend. After the castle, our group went to Kakum National Park, a protected tropical rainforest comprising a little over 600 square kilometers. People are really only allowed into a very very small section of the park (thank God) where there's a campground, a little restaurant, and a gift shop. A few days hikes are available if arranged with a park ranger. The main attraction of the park, though, is the forest canopy walk, which is basically a wooden board with ropes coming up the sides to catch you if you fall. The walkway is a good 100 feet off the ground and goes from tree to tree. The walk was truly invigorating, being so high up in the air without really standing on much at all. I looked out and could see miles into the distance, just forest, just beauty. On the walk back, I had a moment with the forest, a rediscovery of my connection to the woods and the peace they offer me. I did not linger too long, though. We all got back on the bus and went back to the hotel.

After getting to the hotel, I immediately put on some trunks and headed out for the ocean since it was about to be dark. I must say, this beach was THE MOST AWESOME BEACH EVER! The waves were wonderfully violent, but they were also right on the beach, so I didn't have to worry about going far to get carried away by a monster wave. I completely let loose and let the waves control my body, tossing me this way and that, knocking me over, washing me up on shore, scratching my back against the sand. I love being possessed by nature. That night we had a nice dinner and I had some real bonding experiences with my fellow students. It was extremely pleasant.

*****

The next day we went into Cape Coast, although unfortunately we only stayed for a few hours. Cape Coast is the capital of the Central Region of Ghana (although actually in the south, right on the coast) and is the 6th largest city in the country. The city was the first capital of Britain's Gold Coast colony, and this shows in the city today. The architecture of the city is very European, unlike most of Accra. The buildings downtown are very colorful and very colonial, while huge majestic churches serve as the highest points in the city. It was Sunday morning when we arrived, so these churches were filled with Ghanains eager for more God in their lives (as if naming one's shop "The Blood of Jesus Hair Salon" or "The Lord's Prayer Grocery" isn't enough). The people were equally hospitable as they are in Accra, all smiling, many stopping us to ask where we were from and why we had come to their city. After walking around with Tania for a long while, we were hot and decided to get a drink and cool off. So we went to the "So Far As Spot" (I love the names of places here) for Coke and wine. We weren't sure how to get back to our bus meeting spot (the Cape Coast castle, another slave castle - I did not go inside because of our limited time), so we asked a man smoking a cigarette how to get back. He did more than just tell us. Daniel (we discovered was his name) walked us back and told us all about his children and impressed us with his knowledge of world geography. He named for us about 40 of the 55 African countries, which was certainly more than I could name. (By the way, take a glimpse at a map of Africa sometime - I guarantee you that you'll see many countries whose names you've never heard before). We said goodbye to Daniel and got on the bus to go back to the hotel and then back to Accra. The rest of the day was fairly uneventful, but sometimes that's just necessary after a long weekend of adventure.