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.