colorblind

I feel as though my eyes aren’t working correctly. I feel like I’m seeing in black and white. I went from spectacular sunsets, breathtaking ocean views, reddish-brown soils, vibrant markets, and the most colorful fabrics on earth to grey-scale landscapes—dead trees, stark-white snow, and endless grey roads.

Home, Sweet(bitter) Home

I’ve been home for a week now. I guess you could say I had a bit of reverse culture shock. Surprisingly, I did jump back into the routine more easily than I had imagined. Sometimes I even feel like the last four months in Ghana were a dream—some distant fantasy in the back of slowly wakening mind.
It’s cliché but I was very much feeling bitter-sweet about my return home. Incredibly sad to be leaving the life that I had built in Ghana but excited to get home to the life I had put on pause. The night I left Ghana there was an intense downpour of rain. Friends who were all packed were relaxing watching the angry sky throw magnificent bolts of lightening. I, however, had no time to relax and reminisce. I spent most my last day getting my hair twisted and then rushing home to finish packing.
Sitting in the salon chair in the middle of the market as my hair was getting pulled every-which-way, I felt so incredibly odd. Odd because I could feel my valuable last moments in Ghana ticking away. Odd because I had a hundred things I needed to be doing but could only sit. Odd because I was forced to sit and think about leaving Ghana. Knowing that it might be my last day in Ghana for the rest of my life is immensely sad. But mark my words--whether it be in 5, 10, or 30 years—I will return.
My roommate Edna, Sharon, and Queenstar all helped me pack and with last minute things. I will really miss the three of them.
After goodbyes, Meagan and I shared a cab to the airport. Our driver’s car broke down after one block so he arranged another cab for us. He was a very nice guy and we know he told the cab driver to take us for the same price we agreed to pay him. However, after arriving at the airport the driver asked for more money then we had agreed on. ((By the way, the airport is an extremely intense place for foreigners; people are always trying to take advantage of the naïve traveler.)) Meagan and I refused to give him his extra money and then things got VERY HEATED. He grabbed Meagan’s arm and demanded we give him more money. We started yelling at him to never touch her. Then he took her bag as some sort of bargaining tool. We were both outraged! There were literally over 5 airport guards within 10 feet of us and none of them were doing anything! I grabbed the bag from him and told Meagan to go into the airport. I told the man to leave us alone, drive away and search for his remaining decency. We had lived in Ghana and we were not about to be taken advantage of.
We rubbed off the incident, though slightly traumatic. Our terminals were at different ends of the airport so we parted ways.
My flight route was from Accra, Ghana, to Frankfurt, Germany to Chicago to Milwaukee. My total travel time took over 30 hours. There was a delay in Frankfurt, which made me miss my connecting flight to Milwaukee from Chicago. I had a three hour layover which I passed sitting at the airport bar. Bad decision considering I missed that the terminal had changed and ultimately missed my second flight. They wait-listed me for another flight that left in a couple more hours. Thankfully, there was room and I was finally able to leave the damn O’hare airport.
During all the long hours at the airport I remember thinking how weird it was to be surrounded by people the same color as me. To put it frankly, I missed black people. I missed looking at their hair, their bright clothes, the way they moved so gracefully. I remember at the airport bar the CNN news was on the T.V. and they were talking about snowstorms sweeping across the states and recent bombings and murders. As I was watching the anchorwomen and all the bad news she was spilling out of her mouth, I remember I had a gut instinct to jump on the nearest plane that would bring me closer to Ghana.

nearing the end

People ask me all the time why I chose to come to Ghana; why I chose Africa. Any question that is asked over and over again is bound to get slightly annoying, at least to me, but it is more than redundancy that makes me uncomfortable with the question. I feel as though, if I would have chosen to go somewhere, say a European country, the tone of that question would be different, if asked at all. But who can blame them for wanting to know why—why I, a white American, choose to study in a black developing country. The truth of the matter is that I am not exactly sure why I came here; what drew me to a country so different than my own. Ever since I was young, something about the vast continent of Africa intrigued me. Of course my images of Africa were skewed, shaped solely by the media, but perhaps that’s just it—I wanted to see Ghana for myself. This wonder, inspired by my ignorance, may have motivated me to travel to Ghana. After all, aren’t humans driven by curiosity? But I know this is not the full explanation.
I am conflicted by this sense of guilt, as a middle-class American with a world of opportunities available to me, living in a world where people are suffering. I want to help people, to better the world in some small but heroic way (if only for selfish motives). But there is poverty, natural disasters, and discrimination inflicting my own homeland. Plus, I would have come here as volunteer worker if I truly had been driven by a desire to “develop” Africa. But I didn’t, I came to Ghana as a student, a student attempting to learn more about a culture; a culture that led Africa in the movement for independence. Ghana is a dynamic country with a rich history where a sort of dualism (if not pluralism) exists. This dualism is found in the haunting past of colonialism paired with the redefined sense of freedom and a conflicting search for identity. It is found in the mixing of traditions with modernization. It is in this fragile balance of ideologies that I find myself, as a foreigner, in a challenging position. It is impossible for me to see Ghana as it truly exists because I am seeing Ghana through the perspective of a Westerner. I cannot simply take my tinted shades off because to do so would mean to rewrite my past. But to truly attempt to understand Ghana, I must try to do it exactly that. As I near the end of my stay here in Ghana, reflecting on my experience, I wonder how I could have made better use of my time. Perhaps I should have better plunged myself into Ghana’s culture. Maybe I should have better avoided my instinct to homogenize. But the very fact that I am critically asking myself these questions reveals to me that my world view has been expanded. I now truly feel comfortably with saying I have cultural relativism.
Living abroad has challenged me to step outside my boundaries. There have been times that I felt home sick, times that I felt annoyed with “Ghanaian hospitality,” times when I thought I would pass out from the heat, times when I craved hot showers—but I survived it all. In fact, I did more then survive it, I embraced it and the uncomfortable stages have only made me more humble. I have found a whole new appreciation for diversity—not just in Ghana but in the unique experience of living in an international hostel. The other day, as I was sitting around a dinner table, I realized how blessed it was to be given this unique opportunity. I was sitting at a table with friends from all over the world—China, France, Sudan, Pakistan, Norway, Japan.
With globalization and assimilation (combined with imperialism) our identity—who am I?—is the question that conflicts many of us. As an American who’s parents and grandparents were born in America my search for self is not displaced in some Diaspora but in my industrialized, capitalistic, individualistic homeland I search for my identity nonetheless. Without a doubt these experiences has shaped me and help me understand more about myself.
One can never step into the same river twice because the water that flows through its streams is never the same. People are like rivers in this sense. Time changes everyone; we are constantly evolving. When I return home I will see through new shades. There are things from Ghanaian culture that I hope to adopt in my life back home, like being less individualized and friendlier with strangers, taking the time to help someone on the streets and really getting to know people whom I may have previously never have gotten a chance to speak with.
If I could sum up what I learned having lived abroad, it would be that the world is vastly more complex than anyone can imagine and it is filled with unique individuals but at the core of it all we are all people with universal emotions and our similarities outnumber our differences. Our differences should be embraced but in universal harmony. So while I may never know why exactly I came to Ghana, I do know that I do not regret the decision to come whatsoever. Studying abroad has helped me see myself and the world through clearer lenses.

3 exams down, one more to go

Today I had my first real exam that wasn’t USAC (my study-abroad program) designed.I find it odd that they run exams on Sunday's, especially when a lot of shops are closed on Sundays and with church and all. It was trickier than I had imagined. It was all essay questions and one of the questions, the one that weighed the most, was worded very oddly. It was down-pouring and lightening during the final and the room we were in, like most of the classrooms here, was very open to the outside which made it awesome.

During the exam I got a huge craving for Italian food so I convinced Queen Star to go with me to Mama Mia’s, a restaurant downtown. There, we had a very snobby waitress and Queen Star was getting annoyed. I found it interesting because the server was Ghanaian and every time I talked she looked only at Queen Star, who is also Ghanaian. Even with giving me the soda I ordered, she’d put it in front of Queen Star. We all have prejudices i guess.

Snakes, stealing monkeys, and phantoms—Oh my!

Last weekend Meagan, Corbett, Ric and I went to the country of Benin. Benin is a francophone country and in many ways similar to Togo. Most everyone if Benin practices some form of Voodoo or juju. In a period of 12 hours we traveled by trotro through 3 African countries. We stayed the first night in Benin in the city of Ouidah. Our hotel was nothing great but it was in the center of the village and had this quaint little rooftop seating where we spent the first night talking and enjoying the view of the village and the sky.

The next morning we walked to the “temple of Pythons” where we found a zillion (well probably like a hundred or two) pythons. I think at one point I had like 6 snakes all up on me. I wasn’t afraid at all, I’m pretty use to Ball Pythons, but I can’t say the same for the rest of the group. Eventually everyone felt comfortable embracing the snakes. The temple we were at was built largely for tourism, but we were told that the villagers believe the snakes to be sacred and thus they are protected.

Walking around we happened to find ourselves caught in the middle of a voodoo parade with hundreds of people marching through the streets. There were a few people in elaborate customs dressed as Phantoms. The phantoms go around chasing people and the people literally look like they are running for their lives to escape the phantoms touch. One Phantom was very close to Ric and I, and all of a sudden started running our way. Luckily, there was a tree between us and just as fast as he appeared he vanished back into the mass of people. Parades like this happen often on the weekends.

That same day we traveled to Grand Popo and stayed at a hotel on the beach. When Ric and I were sitting by the ocean we noticed an SUV driving along the shore. As the vehicle passed us, a group of 4 men waved to us. After they passed, about 40 seconds and 30 feet later, they got stuck in the sand for quite some time. One of the passengers, as the driver tried to maneuver his way through the sand, came over and talked to us. We did the usual casual chitchat and then he told us we should stop by their hotel later for dinner. About an hour or two later they came back with their car and told us we should come now. We all said what the hell and went with them. Their hotel was about 10 times nicer then ours. The four men were from Lebanon and did business in Benin. They were all a lot older but very nice. As it turned out, the dinner was more of an elaborate home-made picnic and they made traditional Lebanese food. There was fish that was caught fresh that day, salad, this pita thingy, and fresh pineapple juice. We sat by the fire outside eating and smoking hookah. I would have liked to stay longer but Meagan wasn’t feeling well so we headed back to our hotel.
I love the fact that I can sit by the shore and my night can turn into something unexpected like that. I like befriending strangers and being guided by open possibilities. I felt, and I’m sure the other girls did too, a lot safer having Ric with us. But really, people in this part of the world are just friendlier and most have good intentions. People are so interesting and if you take chances, you’ll understand what I mean.

The next morning we went on a two hour canoe ride through a stilt village. This community revolved around fishing and it was so interesting to see the fishermen (and women) and their nets. As we passed some of the homes we saw little children playing a game with phantoms. It’s something you don’t think about everyday, but it was neat to see how children from different cultures “play.”

Because our visas only allowed us two days in Benin we spent the third night in Togo. We were told about this small hotel close to the border that was nice. It turned out to be a pretty awesome find. The lobby of the hotel was decorated in some of the most beautiful African art I have seen. There were also pet monkeys! There was this little monkey (I think she was a mono monkey) named Suzy. At times she could be super sweet and at other times she was a bitch but all the while she was cute. She stole Meagan’s sunglasses and put them on and she try stealing whatever she could get her hands on. She’d sometimes bite us pretty hard too. Other times she’d lie on my lap and cuddle with me. She slept with a blanky, adorable!
Not visible to guests, but since we befriended a guy who lived there, we were able to see the baboon pet. She was female and had a great dislike for other females. She was not in the lobby because she’d throw rocks at the guests. I tired to get closer to her and in return I got a face full of sand. She did however like males, and Ric was able to shake her hand. The guy told us that she has gotten lose a few times and when she does she goes about the village stealing babies from mothers and when the mothers try to get their children back she hits them. She’s very gentle with the babies and I guess the act stems from her great desire to be a mother. It’s very sad in a way.

On the way back home we opted to take the big bus instead of a trotro. Bad idea! The bus made so many long stops and then we got a flat tired and had to wait around for a new one. Also, during a checkpoint in Ghana, a police guard asked for our passports on the buss (clearly our skin color shouts foreigner!) and made us get off the bus so he could record our information down in his log book. To make matters worse, ric and I had about the worse seat on the bus. The windows were set up so out of a three rows, the middle row’s window couldn’t slide open. We sat in the middle, which wouldn’t have been that bad if the person in front of behind us wanted their windows open! I tried several times to get the window opened but they kept sliding it back. I sweating more then I’ve sweated in a sauna. Eventually, as the bus picked up speed I could feel the faint air from distant windows. It was a long trip back but I’ve grown to appreciate the self-reflection that occurs on long trips.

Thanks

Time is a strange thing here. Thanksgiving has just past and Christmas is on its way. Shopping malls have Christmas decorations, downtown buildings have Christmas lights, and Christmas songs dominate the radio stations but the weather has stayed consistently hot, if not increasing in temperature. What I use to measure time has failed me; the weather is unchanging yet time keeps moving.

Our program joined forces with two other study abroad programs to put together an American (with a twist of Ghanaian) Thanksgiving feast. There was turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, cranberry jam, and even pie. There were also traditional Ghanaian dishes and between dinner and desert there was traditional African dancing. It was a good night—truly a Thanksgiving that sticks out among the rest. Being away puts things into a perceptive that I cannot easily see when I’m close; the distance actually clears my understanding. I’m more thankful for my blessings than I have probably ever been.

I must be off to bed; tomorrow we are leaving before the sun rises to go to Benin (my 3rd Africa country).

Volta Region

There are some moments in life that one knows they will never forget. Moments where a feeling is so strong that it becomes ingrained in the mind like a scar on skin. This weekend was filled with those moments. I could feel the passing time accumulating to build a larger meaning—one worth never loosing.
April, myself, and our Rasta friend named Afro traveled northeast to the Volta Region this weekend. After traveling in a trotro we arrived near Afro’s family village. There we took a motorbike to his uncle’s house. The house was an average…middle class house for Ghana and by that I mean it had several cement rooms with no running water but a well and electricity. There was a small yard with chickens and goats and the bedroom that we were offered had a bed. Not long after we had arrived we decided to check out Afro’s family farm/village which was a 15 minute motorbike ride away. On the farm was cassava plants, beans, corn, and others that I have already forgotten. About a mile into the land we arrived at Afro’s family village section. The land was basically a big circle with huts, most made of dirt, enclosing the center. It was so amazing there. Having had a semester of learning Twi I was excited to put my language skills into action but frustrated when I learned that Afro’s family spoke another tribal language. We met the head of the village and the eldest women, who was Afro’s Grandfather’s second wife. When first saw her she was peeling some sort of nut, sitting topless. When I shook her hand I couldn’t help but notice her thumbs—they were unusually flat. April and I found the place so beautiful and the people so nice we decided we would prefer to stay the night here and have a bonfire. We bought two bottles of alcohols while wood was being fetched for a fire. When the sun vanished, the fire was lit, and the night began. The head of the village did a long toast to the ancestors and then the drinking began. One bottle probably only made it around the circle twice. The fire was huge and there was music being played and the elderly women were dancing and singing. This was an authentic traditional Ghanaian experience, one that no tourist attraction could offer. The celebration lasted well into the night and eventually April and I got tired, especially after hours of traveling, so we were given a bamboo mat and there we lied, right next to the fire on a crystal clear African night. The sky was filled with stars and I remember having this surreal sense of the universe and thinking about ancestors up in the sky as stars and how deeply faith rules the lives of these people. I'm not religious in any sense but that night I felt like something up there was staring back at me, even if I thought it was only a massive ball of gas or alien life from some distant galaxy—I know I was not alone. I fell asleep to the sounds of drums and the slowly dying fire.


We awoke the next morning slightly sore and said our thanks gave our farewells and continued on of journey to Hohoe where the supposed tallest waterfall in West Africa lies. It was about a miles hike to Wli Falls. The water was very cold but felt extremely nice after a hike in the heat. Looking up, I could see tons of bats on the side of the fall. If we had had more time I would have loved to go inside on the caves; friends have bragged how cool it was. Next we traveled to the Tafi Atome Monkey Sanctuary. We arrived at night and all the guest houses were full so we opted to do the “local stay.” We stayed in the room of a local blind man’s house.



The next morning I awoke at 5:30 am to see mono monkeys. It was explained that the local people migrated from the Brong Ahafo area 200 years ago and with them they brought fetishes for monkeys. There it was a taboo to harm the sacred monkeys which protected them when other populations died because of hunters. The sanctuary has over 300 mono monkeys. I saw about 30. I got to hand-feed them bananas. They are adorable creatures and watching them so close up…even touching them, was such an awesome experience. Their hands, the way they eat, the faces they make…are so freakishly like ours.
We made out way back home. The trotro ride was around 5 hours. You’d be surprised how much of Ghana I’ve seen through the windows of trotros. The ride was scenic, with beautiful mountains and lushes greens.

Millie's Big Backyard

I was able to break away from the busy city life of Accra this weekend. I spent the weekend with my three girlfriends at a beach resort. Kokrobite beach is only about 30km from where I live but it feels much farther. We stayed at a place called Millie’s Big Backyard (check out there website for pics and info: http://www.bigmilly.com).
Millie’s backyard is like a little community of travelers and locals and the atmosphere is very relaxed and welcoming. Friday’s dinner was served buffet-style (adding to the communal feel) followed by a night of “culture.” Culture night consisted of traditional dancing, fire breathers, and all sorts of excitement. Saturday night featured a reggae band and we danced the night away, all the while drinking the local island rum. During the days we spent most of the time soaking up the sun and swimming in the ocean. I remember sitting along the shore being amazed by all the life taking place around me. There was a game of soccer being played on the sand, men were taking fishing boats out, women were walking along the shore selling fresh fruits and jewelry, friendly dogs were roaming about, swimmers were catching waves, and I even saw people pass by on horses. It was a very good weekend. Now I’m back home and it’s time to start cracking down. Final exams are quickly approaching and to say I’m behind on my studies is an understatement; it’s just so easy here to get caught up in other things besides school, in my defense.

Halloween wasnt so hollow

Halloween has come and gone. Halloween is one of my favorite holidays, if not my most favorite. This year there was no pumpkin carving, haunted houses, or trick o’ treaters. I did manage though to celebrate Halloween as any college student in America does: by dressing up and going to the bars. Ghana does not recognize Halloween except for some parts of campus and downtown European-inspired clubs and bars. My friends and I decided we would put on costumes and make the most of it. Two of my friends went dressed up as an Indian and a Cowgirl. I decided I would go as Amy Winehouse. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. My ipod was on shuffle and a song of hers played and I remembered that several people have said I resemble her (whether that’s a negative or a positive is besides the point). So that was that, I would be Amy. It worked out well as everything I needed to complete my costume I had already owned. We had seen advertisements for a Halloween party at this one club we go to (Bella Roma) so we decided to check it out. I wasn’t expecting much. I thought we would be among the few who dressed up but to my surprise the place was decked out in Halloween decorations and everyone was in costumes (and there was candy!). The whole night I was wondering where people got their costumes. There were legitimate costumes, like the kind you can only buy from Halloween stores, and there were tons of very cool (and very creepy mask). I had searched Accra for a place to buy a costume and failed miserably. Most everyone got that I was Winehouse and a remix of her rehab song came on which pretty much made my night.

Massaging consciousness

I received my first legitimate body massage this weekend (and by legit I mean I paid for it and it happened in a spa). I would have never imagined that my first spa experience would happen in Ghana. I went in the sauna for a half hour and then got a Swedish full body massage for an hour. I really only went because my friends were going. It was very relaxing. However, I was slightly (and at times overwhelmingly) uneased. At the same time as I was listening to a CD playing sounds of the ocean in a candle lit room as a women rubbed my non-exerted, non-aching muscles, 1/3 of the population of Accra was (and is) living in slums. How can I so easily bury that fact from my conscious? How can any person, with any knowledge of the conditions of the poverty stricken sleep at night? I ask the question not to arouse guilt, or to even motivate. I ask it because I am perplexed by my own mind’s ability to see the face of poverty and feel an engulfing desire to help and yet still walk away from it and largely fool myself into forgetting the face as I go about my daily affairs. Perhaps its one of my survival mechanism, for if the face of the underprivileged haunted my every thought I don’t think I could survive. Perhaps its pessimism at work; perhaps I see no way of fixing it all and am immobilized by my lack of faith.

The game of who's screwed the worse

The strike ended shortly after my last post. The government agreed to pay the professors or something like that. It’s been frustrating here with the lack of communication and I can’t help but get the feeling no one knows what will happen next and the selected few who might are not willing to share. There’s been talk that the semester will be extended and therefore exam dates altered. This puts a bit of anxiety on us international students that have home-bound planes to catch. If this was a game of who’s getting screwed the most, I’d say international students are now winning. In several of my classes we are going over material that the Ghanaian students missed during the strike. One of my professors basically said international students shouldn’t bother coming to class for next two weeks. Plus, the old exam schedule, the one which I planed my travels around, has been rendered useless and replaced with a looming question mark which makes it impossible to make any travel plans. Meanwhile there’s been talk about cramming exams into one week for international students (usually exams span about a month).
While this little rant may make me appear quite bitter am not actually as salty as it would seem.

Striking out

Things are quite heated here, and I’m not talking about the weather. The professors are on strike at the university and have been for three weeks and counting. I was first informed of the strike 4 weeks ago today, when I was sitting in my Monday lecture waiting for class to begin. “Do you think he’ll show up,” a classmate asked. “I bet he wont; he seems like a union-man,” another added. It was then I learned that the professors had gone on strike. We continued to talk about this alleged strike as rumors flied. Some were saying that the teachers had not been paid for the year, others were saying that they strike every year for pay increases and it only last a couple days. One girl said the professors have nothing to complain about because they are the highest paid in west Africa and compared to other professions their pay is relatively high. Countering this, one girl said they hardly make anything. The professor never did show up, and the strike was officially underway.
It took a couple days before any of us were legitimately told what was going on. It turns out that the teachers made an agreement with the government in 2008 that stated a salary goal in 5 years time which equated to ~$1,500 a month for first-entry University of Ghana professors and that every year salaries would be reviewed and increased to gradually meet that goal. However, salaries have not been reviewed and increased in over two years so the professors have gone on strike. They simply have decided not to teach until the government honors their signed contract. On a personal level the strike only affects three of my five classes because two of my classes are provided by USAC (the study abroad program I came here through). Those classes—an Ashanti Twi language class and a Society, Government, and Politics of Ghana course—are both organized through USAC and USAC pays the professors so the strike does not apply in any way to those courses. However, for my other courses and for the majority of international students, the strike very much effects our education. And here is where things get complicated and controversial. Ghanaian students don’t pay tuition, they pay something like a couple hundred cedis which goes towards the upkeep of the classroom (chalkboards, fans, etc.). So the government pays the professors’ salaries, the students’ tuition does not, which means that during the strike Ghanaian students are helplessly in the middle of the dispute. I feel, as do many of my professors, that the Ghanaian students are the true unfortunate victims. Why do I say “Ghanaian students” and not just “students?” There is something in the school’s constitution/professors’ contracts that states during a strike special arrangements will be made for special admission students (AKA international students) so they will get the credits they need when they return home. What this means is that certain professors have decided to teach only international students while the strike commences. This puts us international students in an extremely awkward position. Some international students are refusing to get special treatment and some Ghanaians think that allowing some students to go to class is not fair and use words like “segregation.” Emotions are high. Outside one of my classes last week a woman from a news station briefly interviewed me regarding my take as international student on the strike. I said something along the lines of …it’s very awkward being separated from more than half the students because as international students most of us choose to come here not just to be schooled but to integrate into Ghanaian society. I never looked to see if my brilliant commentary made it to air but that would be spiffy if they did.
Today, after having not had my Literature of African Diaspora course in three weeks we finally met, just us international students, for a lecture. We are currently reading a book called Cambridge which is about a late 18th century plantation in the West Indies and deals with issues of slavery through the perspective of different characters. The major theme of the work is identity. Anyway, here we are in the classroom, all of us white and most from America trying to analyze this brilliant book, attempting to talk about African Diaspora identity when A Ghanaian male student opens the door, wanting to come to class. The professor says jokingly to him “you can enter if you pay me,” and the guy laughed and then said no thanks and walked away. I think if the Ghanaian would have really wanted to join the class the professor would have let him. After he left, class discussion commenced until 10 minutes later a black girl comes in late to class and sits down. That's when this American girl got up to leave and said she could not be in a class that's like this. Our professor was trying to tell her to wait and we could discuss what just happened but she said the debate had been exhausted and left. During this time I didn’t know exactly what was happening but we spent the remainder of the class talking about the strike against the backdrop of identity, which appropriately fitting. I guess the American student left because the boy was not allowed to come into class but the girl was, however, what she failed to realize was that the girl was from Gabon, West Africa and not from Ghana. So bottom line, it was an extremely tension-filled class where emotions were high.
It’s extremely interesting to take a step back and watch people’s reaction to the strike. Personally, I feel like as much as I don’t like the strike or the special treatment international students are getting, I support the professors aims and understand the need to separate international students from Ghanaians during a strike. One girl brought up the point that France has the same policy for international students during a strike (which went into practice a few years ago when there was a big strike). It’s just here, because of racial lines, the separation brings about much more tension And also, i mean what are they suppose to do, not make an exception for us and then have us go back to our home university with no credits? Our schools wouldn’t allow the program to continue in Ghana if it was like that and that would be a true shame.

~4 degrees from the equator

My body and my subconscious are excepting the weather to have cooled off by now. It’s strange coming from a place with such distinct four seasons to one that is constantly hot. I regret missing the fall season, a time of year where nature’s beauty seems so precious, so delicate. A season when time’s passing moments seem most dramatic; where leaves change their shades with each day until they fall…and then disappear when the harsh winter takes over and out-stays it’s welcome.

I've been taking a break from traveling on the weekends and have spent the past few weekends enjoying the night life of Osu. Sometimes ill be at the bars and for a moment i'll forget where I am and I'll have to remind myself this is actually Ghana, not some bar in America or Europe. The night life in Osu (~20 minutes from where i live) is quite hoppin and i usually dont come home until well into the morning (5am usually). Now all i have to do is find the perfect balence between school, volunteering, traveling and partying.

Togo: where the journey’s motto was “life goes on”

I’ve officially been to TWO African countries. Togo is less than half the size of Ghana and to drive all the way through Togo from Ghana to Benin takes only about three hours. The official language of Togo is French and the currency is franks.
Six of us left bright and early Friday morning to the trotro station where we waited several hours for the trotro from circle, Accra to Afloa (the Ghanaian city that borders Togo) to fill up. When we were finally on the road, about an hour outside of Accra I realized that I had forgotten my passport. I felt quite stupid. I knew I needed a passport and I knew that I don’t carry it around in my purse, so it should have been one of the first things I packed but it completely slipped my mind. I only realized that I didn’t have it when I was looking outside the trotro’s window wondering about what kind of stamp I would get on my passport. When I told my mates their first response was to think that I was joking and then their next question was what am I going to do now? It’s not like I can just ask the trotro to turn around while I pick up my passport and its about a 4 hour drive to Afloa. I really didn’t want to miss out on Togo; I had been looking forward to French pastries for days. I sat in trotro debating what to do when I finally came up with a plan. I decided I was going to ask the driver to be let out at the next safest point and hitch another trotro back to Legon (where I live) and then pay a taxi to drive me straight to Afloa to save time. I knew taxi travel would be much more expensive but it was the price I was willing to pay for stupidity. Corbett, to my relief, decided to join me on are the backtrack. We planed to meet up with the other group at the border, after all we were only about an hour behind them (despite our taxi driver being pulled over and almost arrested because of something about the fire extinguishers in his car being faulty). This plan of reuniting failed as our telephones don’t work in Togo and we had no way of getting a hold of them.
From Afloa it’s only a couple steps through the border and you’re in Lomé, the capital of Togo. In our guide book we were warned that Afloa is particularly known for its chaotic mass of people trying to take advantage of foreigners. My book writes, “readers have passed on stories about ‘unofficial officials’ hanging around, and shifty ‘guides’ getting in the middle of things—but if you’re reasonably alert, refuse any advances made by prospective guides or money-changers, and walk straight from the lorry park to the border post, then you shouldn’t have any problems.” And sure enough as soon as we stepped out of our taxi, there was a rush of Ghanaians trying to get our attention, either wanting us to get our money exchanged with them, buy a bottle of coke, or top up on minutes. So Corbett and I had our “take no shit” faces on when two guys approached us wanting to get to know us. Not knowing exactly where to go we allowed them to help us a little but made it very clear that we were not going to pay them anything in exchange. The border process was fairly simple and efficient and in less then a half hour we found ourselves in Togo. Not being able to contact our friends (no signal), we decided it best to at least find a place to stay for the night and drop off our bags. Our two followers offered to help us and we reluctantly allowed them. They ended up finding us a fairly nice hotel for a fair price right by the ocean. Since they already knew where we were staying and were pretty helpful we told them they could stop by tomorrow if we weren’t busy.
The next morning we awoke early to try to find an internet café to email our friends where we were staying on the off chance that they would check it. The internet was down in all the cafes (big surprise) so we went roaming the streets for some good bakery.
We were keeping a running total of the white people we saw because there weren’t that many (and people watching is fun). I said to Corbett "Oh, there's another white person" and Corbett paused with a puzzled expression and then said “...wait I think i know her”. I thought she was full of total b.s. but it turned out to be her old high school teacher. Imagine that! She had no idea she'd been teaching/living in Togo for two years now. Between the two of us, we had no clue what we were doing prior to meeting her because the two people with guide books that included Togo were both in the other group so she told us all the cool places to go.
Back at the hotel our two friends, Holly and Tagoe were waiting for us. We ended up going to this voodoo market, which we had been wanteding to see, where there were all sorts of dead animals used by people to make potions for medicines. Snakes, monkey heads, lizards, birds, rats, cheetahs, alligators, even a puffer fish. Ooo and I saw a gorilla’s foot. I asked how they collected the animals and the guy showing us around said they all died of natural causes but Corbett and I both find that hard to believe. We also met the chief of the Voodoo village and he showed us a bunch of different artifacts that meant different things. I got this voodoo travel telephone that he personally blessed. It’s supposed to keep me safe during my travels. We were going to go back to Afloa after that because the two guys wanted us to see their home village and meet their parents but as we were crossing the border again Corbett realized she didn’t have her wallet (she had her debit card and what equated to about 100 dollars in it). This caused a huge riot when the news broke out. Other Ghanaians were accusing the two guys we had been with all day and searched them. Corbett and I had no idea what do/think. We didn’t really think the guys had taken her money but we didn’t know. Corbett wanted to go back to Togo to go to our hotel to see if it was there and the two guys went back with us. The last place Corbett got out her wallet was at our hotels lobby to pay for another night. Having retraced our steps, we realized that Corbett must have left her wallet at the lobby after we had paid for our room. We had been sitting at this table next to these two priests, whom had been sitting there the whole time. They recalled seeing this guy come in, bend down to pick up something and then walk away. Corbett was in good spirits about losing it, she kept saying ‘it’s just money’. But the two guys, especially Holly, were very distressed. Holly kept saying what we thought was “I feel pennies” and it took us forever to figure out that he was saying “I feel penitence.” This is where things took a 180 turn. It went from them chasing/following us around to us trying to get them to follow us. They felt so bad that her wallet had been stolen and that others thought they had done it and kept sulking around, totally being buzz kills. So we were like “come on guys, cheer up, let’s get some ice-cream. So with effort we went to this really nice icecream/food place. It was so weird because Corbett’s teacher said these exact words “if you want to find your friends go to the Fountain of Ice ream, they’ll be there” and sure enough our other friends (not the ones we originally traveled with but from our program) were there. From them we learned where the other group was staying and that Ric and Megan had been searching the city for us on motor bikes. By the time we went to their hotel we learned that they had already checked out to go further north into Togo. We spent the rest of the day walking along the ocean and Corbett and I ate at this nice restaurant. The menus are all in French but Corbett is pretty fluent in the language so she did all the ordering. I told her that I wanted a salad (good salads a rare in Ghana) so she pointed at one, “get this one, it’s your typical garden salad.” Not that I’m blaming her, but something got lost in translation because the salad I received had a fish staring me in the eye, followed by a layer of tuna and beneath that was loads of pepper; all foods I can’t stand. At the bottom was some lettuce and tomatoes but they had already been ruined by the other aromas. The pizza however, was delicious.
On the last day our journey we meet up with our two friends to attempt again to go to their home village in Afloa. They took us to the local spots along the ocean where we drank this island alcoholic drink made from corn. It was so yummy! They introduced us to all their friends or ‘brothers’ and we sat and drank and talked for quite awhile. As we were enjoying of drinks, we heard this distant chanting that we found out was the people pulling in the fishing nets. All the local villages help pull the long nets to the shore and sing for good luck. It was neat to watch. We then went back to their home were they climbed a coconut tree to get us coconuts. Haha who does that? Thirsty? Let me just climb this tree and get you some. Back at their house they made us a local dish of banku for dinner with this pepper sauce filled with many small boneless fish. I of course could not eat any of it but truly I was full off the freakin coconuts I had eaten anyway. Ooo and they had a cat named Culture that I went gaagaa over. It was my first time petting a cat since I’ve been here!
That day was one of the most authentic experiences I had here yet. We would have never got to experience it all had we listened to the guide book. A local village like that is not something a foreigner can see unless being invited. As we were drinking, an older women walked past us with this huge smile on her face and she finally said to us, “I like this, I like the mixing.” At the house, all the little girls were peering the heads at us from behind the trees as we were enjoying our coconuts and we tried to motion to them to come and sit by us but Tagoe said they were to shy because it was the first time they were seeing whites.
Also, while drinking we were listening to reggae music talking about the meaning behind the songs and life in general. One of the guys said in a poetic fashion “life goes on, man” which I really think should be the motto of the whole journey. I forgot my passport, we got pulled over, (my camera broke by the way), phones didn’t work, Corbett lost her wallet but we had such a surprisingly awesome time.

Lome and Accra are quite different and I made a few observations that are unique to my experience. First, there are TONS of motor bikes in Togo. We counted about 20 bikes to every car. You can pretty much hitch a ride to anywhere on the back of a motorbike; which was our main source of transportation. I didn’t have a helmet or anything (shoot me) and on dirt roads with pot holes it was slightly scary but mostly fun. I saw so many children on the motor bikes. I looked over and this man was driving with a woman on the back, not holding on, and in between them was a small child just relaxing to the max. Also, professional hospitality has been fully embraced by the Togolese compared to in Ghana. The service we received at restaurants was amazing. Venders/traders were less aggressive and more chill. The buildings of Lome have a much more distinct European design and are generally taller. Also, Lome appears to be cleaner but that is mostly because they have closed gutters. From my limited knowledge on African history, I would venture to say the more European feel of Togo has something to do with the ideology difference between France and the British on colonization. The French believed that Africans could aspire to become French and ‘civilized’ and thus strived to integrate them into their society. As where, the British ruled as if Africans could never achieve such a status. After befriending this older Togolese gentelman (who actually helped corbett and I out money-wise because we became broke on my sole budget) who is cheif of his local villiage, he learned that the Togo goverment controlls practivally every sector and that the people of Togo are not as free as the people of Ghana.

Updates

Last Saturday I went to the hospital for my bites. I wouldn’t have gone except that it was the perfect day to go considering I had no plans and it was raining cats and dogs. In total the hospital ordeal took up about 5 hours, which is not that bad considering some of the horror stories I’ve heard. Corbett and Meagan were awesome enough to accompany me. As I was filling out the new patient form, I was struck by a question that asked my religion. In Ghana, there is no concept of separation between church and state. So for convenience purposes I wrote Christian, because any answer besides Christian, whether written or verbal, sets one up for a lengthy preaching to convert the sinner on the righteous path to God. The hospital set up basically consists of many rooms and the patients are more or less herded like sheep through each room. The first room was blood pressure and temperature room. Taking my temperature was done the old fashion way with a thermometer shoved up my armpit. The next room was a quick visit with the doctor, whom looked much sicker than me. She spent most her time with me either coughing or blowing into her handkerchief. The next room I went to was the payment room where I paid the money to get some blood work done, which leaves me to the 4th room which was surely the most awkward room for me. As the lab doctor was shoving a needle into my arm he had the audacity to try and flit with me. Now after living in Ghana for two months now, I have become accustoms to getting hit on daily, but from a doctor, who was well into his 50s reached a new level. “I like you, next time you come to Ghana, I will pay for the flight and you will stay with me.” Phsss. In the finally room, I saw a new doctor which looked at the lab results and concluded that the infection had not reached my blood and she prescribed me some antibiotics and some ointment. I am happy to say that the bites are much better now.

I’ve started volunteering at an orphanage. The orphanage is quite nice and run by good people, which makes all the difference in the world. The kids are between the ages of 0-16. There about 40 kids in total. The oldest kid, and the one that has been there the longest, is blind and has some sort of mental disability. I volunteer once and sometimes twice a week. One Tuesday, which is the main day I go there, the theme is “sport” so I spend most the morning letting the kids bounce on the trampoline or push them on the swings. The house is big and nice but the yard leaves something to be desired. There is no grass area, and to play a game of kick ball would prove challenging with the lack of space. The kids are all pretty well behaved but some try to take advantage of newbie volunteers, and hell I would too if I was their age watching volunteers come and go as often as they do. As a volunteer we’re basically there to give the kids added attention to alleviate the full time workers for a few hours. If I was a millionaire I’d give all the workers or “mothers” as the kids call them, lavished vacations because if anyone needs a break, I’d say they’d be on the top of the list. Cooking, feeding, cleaning, and caring for so many children 24/7 seems like such a daunting task. While most the kids are well behaved it is clear that some of them have emotional problems. For instance, this one boy has an issue with the swings and concept of sharing. He throws the hugest fits when his turn is over. Another girl constantly wants to be held. Most the children are either HIV positive or have AIDS so as volunteers we are not allowed to do any daiper changes or work that involves any other bodily fluids. A boy about 10 and his sister who is about 7 and their baby sibling are all getting adopted on October 5th by this couple in Ohio. The boy (for liability and security reasons I cannot use their names) always asks me how many days are left. Adoption is a very long process and when I talked to the children it was as if they understood that the date was approaching quickly but were unable to really comprehend exactly how close it really was. “They came to visit me last Monday,” said the boy, which turned out to be a Monday several months ago back in December. The boy asked me what Ohio was like and all I could think of was that they have one of the largest rollercoaster parks, which created a stir of excitement. It is such a message of hope to see all siblings getting adopted together. The adoption process no doubt takes a toll on the some of the children though, another girl that is in the middle stages of the process got so nervous her new parents were coming she peed her pants three time throughout the day.

This could very well be paradise

After hearing of bike trails not too far from Legon, Corbett, Meagan, Ric, and I decided to check it out. After two trotro rides we reached the bike rental place which was more of a house than anything. There was this room filled with mountain bikes and a huge map posted on the wall outlining all the trails, and there were tons. Bikes are 5 cedis an hour to rent or 70 cedis per day. Some of the trails require a guide which is a little more. We decided to take the trail that lead to a waterfall for a flat 20 cedis per person, guide included. After biking several miles we reached the point where we needed to travel on foot so we hiked a couple more miles through the forest and eventually made our way to this beautiful waterfall. We spent a couple hours there relaxing and enjoying the scene. I soaked my head in the waterfall to cool down. Our guide was awesome, picking up random crabs to show to us, and inadvertently challenging us to climb along the steep side of the waterfall. Also, he climbed this tree that overlooked the fall like a monkey on steroids, very impressive. In total we biked about 15 miles and hiked a couple more. We, well at least Corbett and I, plan to come back again to do a 3-5 day biking extravaganza, resting the night at local villages we pass through.
After biking we decided to venture in the botanical gardens, since it was near by. There we spent the rest of the day parading around like the survivors of the show Lost (which we have started the series over and have become quite addicted). Aiding in our plot, there was this random plane that looked quite out of place in the gardens.

The next day, at our last scheduled USAC outing, we went to Ada beach which I have decided is pretty much one of my favorite places in world. We took a boat ride on the river to a secluded island where the river meets the ocean, separated only by a small strip of beach. There I walked along the shore trying to take in all the beauty of the place as a collected what I deemed the coolest seashells from the masses that lined the shores. We left the island, too soon in my opinion, to yet other island; this one where the locals live and produce an alcoholic drink called palm wine. By its name, I had assumed it was a type of wine, and after taking a taste shot of it, I was quickly surprised at its potency; though good, quite stronger than wine. We ended our day of paradise at a lavished hotel, designed exclusively for the accommodations of wealthy foreigners, where we relaxed by the pool side.

This Bites

In my unprofessional opinion I’m some sort of allergic to the mosquitoes here. After going to the North, I’ve come back with tons of mosquito bites that have become infected. I have several bites that puss daily and one got so bad that my whole leg became sore for a few days. I will admit that I’ve caved to some itching but really I’ve tired very hard not to scratch. Plus, I don’t know anyone else who has such bad bites as I do. I know that I will surely get a scar from the big one on my left leg but I just hope they heal soon. I’ve been treating them daily with Neosporin.
I call the mosquitoes here ninja-squitoes because they are slightly smaller and much quieter than mosquitoes in the states. They sneaky and sly and I hate them.

On a more dramatic note, malaria has struck in our hostel. This German guy that lives a floor below me and Sean (my USAC friend) both have malaria. For reasons of their own, they were both not taking prophylactics and I have yet to hear of anyone taking the pills to get malaria but having friends get it makes the threat of malaria seem much more real.

Door of No Return

I finally made it to Cape Coast! We choose this particular weekend to go to Cape Coast because an annual independence festival was going on. The streets were crowded with people to the max. We saw the president of Ghana addressing the people from afar.

We made our way over to see Cape Coast’s slave castle. It was so horrific to hear about the conditions the slaves endured. As I was standing with my eyes closed in one of the cells listening to the guide speak, trying to imagine the unimaginable, a sense of revulsion besieged me. One woman finally asked what had entered everyone’s mind: why didn’t they just kill them? Imagine more than a thousand slaves stuffed in a small, windowless concrete block, going months and months without ever seeing sunlight or breathing fresh air, sitting in their own feces.
The last door we encountered was labeled the “door of no return” because when slaves past the door they were then traded and shipped out to places all over the world. Ironically, the door led to the most beautiful view of the Atlantic Ocean.

After the tour of the slave castle we went to eat at a more touristy restaurant right next door. It was hard to get over the eerie feeling of the mixing of modern life with the backdrop of the haunting slave trade centuries ago. At first I was guilt stricken by my present surrounding but then I remembered that I should take celebration in today, that that part of history is history, which seemed remarkably fitting on Cape Coast’s independence festival.

We went out later that night, all eight of us. We drank and danced and were merry (haha). We came home in the early a.m. and a couple of us snuck out of our motel rooms (past the guard) to enjoy the ocean. It was so incredible swimming in the ocean and running along the shore. It was my first time actually swimming in an ocean and I was immediately struck by how salty it was.

The next day we enjoyed a complimentary breakfast at the Coconut Grove motel which was probably one of the best dining experiences I have had here. I ate cereal, toast, an omelet, fruit, oats, loads of pastries and drank hot chocolate, pineapple juice, and tea. Oh how I loved that free meal.

We ended our Cape Coast vacay with a stop at Kakum National Park to try and survive the canopy walkway. To get to the canopies was a decent hike and I after purchasing a bag of popcorn at the last minute beforehand I was in the back of the group. That’s when I saw two older woman, probably well into their 80’s, slowly but surely joining us in our brave walk. By the time we reached the canopies one of the older woman had decided she had her fair share of thrill but the other woman kept going. There were two walkway paths, one was a shortcut that had only three canopies and one a longer version with seven. I of course, chose the longer one. As for the scare factor, it gave me quite a rush but nothing really to say it was that scary (in my opinion). Sonya however, didn’t join us because last year she changed her mind in fear after the first section of the walkway and started to cry. The views of the forest were absolutely beautiful from that height! To see trees rights next to you, above you, AND below you was so cool. I gave the older woman a congratulatory hug after she came down from the canopies. I was so amazed by that woman. She told me afterwards that she would never do it again but she’s so happy to have done it.

Rebirth: Northern Ghana Tour

I just got back from a 5 day tour of Northern Ghana with my USAC buddies. I’ve come back from the journey a year older. We left the day of my birthday so most of it was spent in the van but the night prior a couple of us went out to this reggae concert by the beach. Around midnight we ran into the ocean, knee-high in celebration of my 22nd Birthday. Who’d a thunk I’d be spending the first moments being 22 on the coast of the Atlantic Ocean. On a metaphorical note, it’s almost as if the water cleansed me, a rebirth in a sense. In the 5 days that followed I experienced things I could only imagine prior. Looking back, trying to remember and express it all seems like such an overwhelming task. I will try my best but it will most likely come out disjointed.

In total we drove through five regions in Ghana. The journey to the North was a journey in itself. The roads were so incredibly bad that a significant amount of the ride I felt as if my seat was a saddle and the van was a horse and at times that horse was galloping. Imagine 10 people in a van for 6 plus hours a day bouncing on dirt roads. And because the roads were so bad, it took a major toll on the car. We had to make several stops to get the van fixed and for the last two days of the trip we went without air-conditioning. Since the van’s air was out we had the windows open which would be a lot nicer had there not been so much dust that consequently escaped into the van.
One of the times the van broke down in this small Northern village and a few of us got out to stretch. We started walking down a main trading road and everyone started looking our way. It felt like a scene straight out of a movie. Children's faces were filled with awe. It’s the strangest feeling being (potentially) the first white person a child has ever seen. Some children were frightened by our presence but most started following us around in excitement. One young girl wanted just to touch us. This unexpected pit-stop reminded me of all the hidden beauty there is to discover.

Our first day was spent in Kumasi, Ghana’s second largest city. A map of Kumasi brags that “all roads are paved” here. Indeed Kumasi is quite modern, maybe even more modern than Accra and also much busier than Accra. Before arriving in Kumasi we stopped at Greater Ashanti to visit the Ashanti historical museum. The Ashanti kingdom is the largest ethnic group in Ghana and the Ashanti is a familiar name to foreigners. There culture is very interesting and complex and because of the latter this is all I will say about them for now.



Day two:
On our way to Larabanga to go to Mole National Park we stopped at Kintampo to enjoy the breathtaking Kintampo Falls which lie on the Pumpum River. This was my first time actually standing underneath a waterfall and with effort I also made it inside the waterfall.



Day three:
We woke up at 6am to begin our safari through Mole National Park. In the early morning is when the animals are out most. Before we even started our hike we saw tons of baboons as we walked towards the camps meeting place. I’m talking like 20 plus baboons just sitting around.
Within the first 10 minutes of our ranger led hike we saw three wild elephants!!! You know how everyone has a life-long to do list (AKA bucket list)…well to see wild elephants was on my list. They were so spectacular. I was ~20 meters away from the huge creatures and it was one of the most exhilarating experiences. Our ranger would yell “everyone move back” as the elephants started to walk in our direction and we’d have to start running back. I learned that at their full speed elephants are the second fastest animal, crazy! They have super poor eye sight though and can really only see you if your closer than 20 meters. I also saw tons of warthogs (like Pumba from the Lion King) and antelope. If we would have gone in the dry season (when the vegetation is little) we would have seen more animals but that’s alright.
We took a 15 minute drive to see a famous Islamic mosque and a spiritual stone. When we arrived at the mosque, as soon as we opened the van’s door, children ran up to us—all wanting to hold our hands. As one of our guides started to talk about the history of the mosque it was hard to pay attention because one of the girls holding my hands had this plastic bag filled with brown liquid around her hand. My first reaction was to think the worst: was she missing a hand? Or, was this some sort of punishment? The older guy next to me explained that around her hand was juice from the baobao tree and it was their practice to dye the hand skin. The skin underneath the fingernails and cracks on the hands had a reddish tint. Before we left, I gave a few cedis to an older child who said he was fundraising for his school.

The Mole Motel we stayed at had an outdoor pool where we spent most of our free time. Megan and I (the two whitest girls in the group) decided to borrow Naima’s sunblock. About 10 minutes after generously applying the lotion to our face, neck, and shoulders we realized that the bottle said “sun intensifier.” Our faces were burning like hell and upon realization we both jumped at the same time into the pool to try to save our skin and stop the chemical reaction we were having to it. Luckily the burning sensation seized and I was able to avoid extreme sunburn.
It was also during our pool side relaxation that one brave baboon started to walk really close to where we were sitting. One of the waitresses then yelled at us to use a chair to shoo him away. The baboon was looking directly into Ric’s eyes like he was going to attack or do something of the nature.

Day Four:
We left Mole National Park early the next morning to go back to Kumasi. By this time the sight of the van was beginning to make me feel slightly nauseous in anticipation of the rough ride ahead. After several delays, we finally arrived at the Hotel that we stayed in Kumasi that first night. The difference between that hotel and the Mole motel were far and many. In the hotel in Kumasi i was able to take a hot shower for the first time since I arrived in Africa. Nothing can quite explain how wonderful that shower felt. To be able to step in the water without first holding your breath because the shock of the cold water makes it hard to breath, to be able to shower and actually feel like you're truly clean afterward and not just like you moved the dirt around, and the best part, to be able to shower not because you have to but because you want to...it was so amazing. At Mole Motel it wasn't just that I was not spoiled with hot water, we didnt have any running water! There were buckets of water in our bathroom because the running water goes out so often.
Another thing about Mole Motel is that the restaurant service was probably the strangest I have ever had. The waitresses always looked at us as if we were ruining their lives and the food orders were always mixed up or missing. But the biggest thing was that the food was always brought out at different times. One morning we all ordered breakfast at the same time. I simply ordered scrambled eggs and toast. The time between when everyone else got their food and when I got mine was well over a half hour. And what I don't get is, it's not like they couldn't understand us because Joe was arguing in Twi and it's not like they forgot about me because we told them several times and its not like they had to spend much time making it.

Anyway, enough ranting. Back at Kumasi we went to the largest market in Ghana where I got a few nifty things for cheap.

Day Five:
On our last day we got to see how Kente cloth is made. Ghana is perhaps best known for Kente cloth, which is hand-made interwoven fabric. Each cloth has either a pattern or a symbol that represents something. Symbols like 'back to your roots,' 'i'm not afraid,' 'strength in family,' etc. I bought a silk kente cloth which I think i did an impressive job bargaining for the price.

About 15 minutes from home we drove past a car accident. I didn't see it but others did and I guess there was a dead body lying on the ground. To be a pedestrian in Accra is quite scary. Here, there is no pedestrian's have the right away rule and car accidents are many.

An ongoing list of things to know about Ghana

Whether you plan to travel to Ghana or just want to know more, this list should answer some questions.

• There are no covers on the gutters. This may seem like a small difference but on my way to class i usually cross over ~20 open gutters. --> *Photo shows open gutters
  
• The left hand is consider unclean. You should not eat with your left hand.
  
• If you invite a Ghanaian man into your room it is expected that you have sex with him, in fact it is almost like a contract that guarantees sex. If you do not want to have relations with a man you must tell them firmly or otherwise they will keep trying. It is important to match your face with feelings. So if a Ghanaian male asks you to marry him (which is pretty common) it is easy for us to smile or laugh at the gesture but to save yourself some time, show a firm "No" face.
  
• There is no toilet paper or soap in any of the bathrooms so carry them around in a purse or bag.
  
• The showers are cold but with the warm weather it's not too bad.
  
• Since the International Hostel building is in the shape of a hollow square you can hear almost anything, anyone, anywhere.
  
• The color of dirt is a reddish orange. It's pretty but it dirties you up fast.
  
• The people here talk very softly, so even if they are speaking English its hard to understand. I started to feel like I was going deaf trying to understand people. Though the official language is English, most speak Twi (pronounced Chwee). It would be helpful to learn basic sayings before arriving here.
  
• Ghana is very homophobic. However, it is perfectly acceptable for two guy friends to walk around holding hands and dancing with each other.
  
• For the most part there are no street signs and they don't use North, South, East and West. Instead, landmarks are used for directions and locations.
• There are no laundry machines in the hostels. I hand wash my clothes 1-2 times a week. Drying time takes about 1-2 days depending on the material. However, Some of my clothes never feel completely dry. The air is so moist here, especially in the wet season, that papers on my desk will start to fold over from being damp.
  

Classes and slight confussion

Today was the third day of classes. Here, the first week of classes is kinda like a trail week. Class times and locations are still being altered and the professors only show up about half the time in the first week. Class sizes range from hundreds to less than 20 students. In total, there are more than 35,000 students at the University. International students represent about 3% of the total and their goal is to have about 10% of international students. The campus is pretty big and I can easily get lost. Class registration is a pretty complicated process compared to U.S. standards. Each student must go around to their department's building to see exactly which classes are offered and the time slots for each class. Students then must sign up in person for the classes they think they are going to take. For example, I am taking classes in Sociology, Political Science, and English. I had to walk around to each department to figure out my schedule. The process doesn't stop there. You must then register online as well. For the last few days the registration site has been down. I guess they're working on getting it fixed. Despite confusion, i am excited about my classes. I plan on taking International organizations, International conflict, conflict resolution and human rights, Sociology of gender, Literature of the African diaspora, and Society, government, and culture of Ghana. I am also planning on taking intro to Twi (the most common native language spoken here).

Braids and Babies

Today I got my hair braided at the Busch Market on campus. It's this place where there are rows and and rows of little trading posts where you can find household items, jewelry and sunglasses, fresh fruit and fish, and tons of hair dressers. I really like my new braids and with my frizzy, curly, hard to manage hair, this new hair style makes things a lot easy. It was really cheap too; 20 cedi (~$15). The woman's name was Olivia and she was nice. The whole process took about two hours but that's including the times Olivia took breaks to take care of her six month old child named Andeshia (sp?) which means independence. Many traders bring their children to work with them. You can find children strapped on backs of woman or playing in the market. As an American, where obsessive parenting is the norm, I find it a little hard to watch children walking in markets on dirt floors with no shoes and a busy parent almost out of sight. But this is how they do things here.

Markets vs. Malls

I just cant get over how amazing the markets are, so full of life and so very overwhelming. My USAC group took a tour of the city today and we stopped at the craft market and a large market called Medina market. The craft market is just filled with crafts...drums, dresses, purses, jewelry, painted canvases, wooden sculptures, etc. I don't think i've ever seen so many vibrant colors in one place.
As soon as we opened the door of the van we were attacked by traders trying to sell us something. Traders will do just about anything to get you to buy something, especially at places that are more touristy, like the craft market. If you make eye contact with them or their crafts for more than two seconds they typically take your hand and drag you inside to show you more crafts despite your no's. Ghanaians are very personable and very touchy-feeling. Something that is unusually to Americans, where individualism in the norm. At the markets, especially the craft market it is essential that you bargain. I'd say the rule of thumb is to start by asking for half the price they've stated.

*The picture above is from the Madina market on the outskirts of Accra.

About a 5 minute cab drive away from campus but what feels like worlds away is the Accra Mall. I've been told it was built a couple years ago. This mall looks like a small mall you would find in the states. It's filled with stores like the Apple computer store, a Puma shoe store and food places where you can buy pizza, french fries and ice cream. This drastic difference feels unsettling to me. Also, as I was walking into the mall there were young children begging for money. One grabbed my hand and made a gesture with the other that meant she wanted food. Situations like this are very awkward and heartbreaking. For the most part though, I've heard that Ghana has a low rate of beggars compared to other African countries. It is very easy to see that the people here work hard to make a living and while they may beg that you buy something most don't beg for free hand outs.

Redirected

I am safe and sound in Accra. Our travel went off course a little when our flight to Frankfurt was delayed. We spent four hours in the O’hare airport. The delay in Chicago made us miss our flight to Accra from Frankfurt so we were redirected. We had to rush through the German airport as soon as we landed to make our flight to London.
So all in all we traveled for more than 30 hours!!!! I got no more than an hour’s sleep at a time and between that and crapped seating and lugging around my bags from terminal to terminal I am sore and exhausted. After 5 airports it was of no surprise to me that my luggage had been lost. To make matters worse, since our flight did not arrive at the scheduled time, Ric and I had to fend for ourselves to get transpiration to University’s international hostel/dorm. We took a cab and our cab driver didn’t know where we needed to go and took us to these random hostels. To top it off, today we learned that the cab driver totally ripped us off, charging us 10 times the price of what the drive should cost.
So picture this: Ric and I siting outside this empty hostel, with half our luggage, at night, no idea where we are, in a strange land. I saw a woman walking in near us and tried asking her where we were and she said something i couldn't understand and then kept walking. I later learned that she was most likely a prostitute. After much waiting we finally found this nice Ghanaian couple who directed us to this hostel we could rent for the night. It was 10 cedi per person, no doubt up in price because we were Americans. The hostel keeper first showed us a room that was missing a bed and had a giant lizard crawling up the wall. The second door he opened revealed a room with two beds but an overflowing bathroom. Third time was a charm. There was no sheets on the mattresses. Luckily, I saved a blanket from the airport which I slept on, using my neck pillow for my head. The walls were paper thin and the halls were loud but even if it would have been silent i doubt i would have gotten more than an hours sleep at a time.
We took another cab early in the morning and this time we arrived at the right place.

Up In The Air

I am writing from somewhere over the Atlantic ocean. I have just shed one tear, it fell at 7:28 p.m. (central time). I'm making special note of it because Alex was making a bet that i would cry at the airport. I win because I didn't. Alex drove me to the airport, walking with up to the security check point. This morning I was in such a rush and stressed over packing that the final goodbye to my family didn't feel like a long-term goodbye and I don't think it has fully set in yet. Things feel surreal right now. West Africa has always been something I thought of in future terms and now I am Ghana bound! It is happening for real; no turning back.

Predeparture

I have about a week before i leave for Ghana for four months. Time has never felt like such an odd concept more than it does now. I want to fast forward time to the moment i step on African soil. I want to pause time and keep things the way they are right now. To keep savoring the moments i have with loved ones. To keep this giant mysterious question mark lurking in the dark longer. And then there are times when i want to skip time; skip time to the moment i return, with my great adventure under my belt, return a more enlightened person and return to the life and lives i left behind. But i cannot do any of those things. I must simply keep living; keep moving at time's steady pace.