Less than 30 days to go...

For the last week or so, I have been attempting to document my big Easter weekend trip to the North to see elephants and hippos. Fate has been conspiring to not allow me to type either due to logistical challenges or emotional. I like to write all of my posts in the right frame of mind. When I am sweaty and irritated, I would imagine the posts would come across much more negative than when I am freshly bucket-showered and sitting in front of a fan. Over the last few days while reflecting on the fact that I have less than a month to go, I am finding myself following various experiences with either “ready to go home” or “wish I could stay longer.” Tonight, just as I was about to sit down and get some typing done detailing my 25 hour long drive to see the elephants and sleeping outside on a tree platform, I was about to eat some Wheat Thins when I discovered thousands of ants inside the box. OK, ready to go home. This was also after watching an episode of CSI, so I was particularly bug sensitive. Soon after I discovered two small piles of what looks like dirt on the floor outside of my bureau. I was never able to open the bottom drawer to this bureau and as I see some mysterious substance emerging from the cracks, I am quite fearful of what it inside or what will soon emerge from the drawer. OK, ready to go home.

One other challenge of my living situation is that I have no weapons with which to attack these bugs. In Boston, I would quickly whip out the Windex and paper towels. Here I have the choice between dish soap and Raid. I tried the dish soap and it seems to have had little effect. I really can’t stomach the idea of spraying Raid next to the chair I am sitting on. The fan sits between me and the ant chair, so essentially I would be downwind of the Raid. Although I have succumbed to spraying 30% DEET on my body in order to protect myself from malaria, I can’t justify breathing in the toxic fumes of Raid just so that I don’t have to sit next to some ants. If it is not already obvious, I did remove the box of Wheat Thins to the outside garbage, but quite a few who didn’t make it into the box yet remain. So, as I am typing, ants are hanging out on the arm rest of the chair next to me. They seem quite busy. Perhaps they are still looking for some wheaty morsels left behind.

One reason that the ants congregated in such high numbers in my Wheat Thins is that I have been away all weekend. It was planned trip to Cape Coast, but the timing worked out perfectly because the power went out at the hostel the night before I left. This was supposed to be my big night of typing, but Mother Nature or the power company had other plans. When the power goes off here, it gets very dark and very hot. It has been in the low 90s most days and only cools down a few degrees at night. My room is typically 86 degrees, so the fan is pretty essential for sleeping. OK, ready to go home. The good news though is that the hostel provided me with a flashlight and my mini DVD player lasts six hours, so I was able to entertain myself enough in the dark until I was tired enough to sleep in the heat soaked room.

My weekend in Cape Coast was great. It had a mix of OK ready to go home moments as well as plenty of I wish I could stay longer moments. Cape Coast lies about 2 hours west of Accra. It is the usual first trip out of Accra that most people take, but I guess I never got around to it and the times that I planned to go got postponed for one reason or another. I got on the 4pm bus to Cape Coast around 6pm – OK, ready to go home – and arrived in the midst of a bunch of taxis awaiting my arrival at about 8:45. One graciously offered to drive me to my motel and only ripped me off by about twice what a local would pay. I get to the hotel and, even though I called that day and spoke with the manager to reserve a room, I am told that there was no information left by anyone about my reservation. I repeat that I spoke to the manager and he reserved a room for me for two nights. For some reason, the hotel employee seemed to take everything personally and started raising his voice at me saying that what did I want him to do, no one left any information about a reservation in my name and all of the rooms for $11 a night were full. At this point, I had really had it after sitting at a bus station for two hours and then sitting in traffic on a bus next to a smelly baby, then getting overcharged for a 5 minute cab ride; I didn’t need this clown yelling at me for no reason. Normally, I have really tried to be sensitive, but I am starting to see a strange pattern that these hotels employ. Actually there are two patterns 1) they all overbook and 2) they often say they are full even when they are not and are magically able to find rooms if you are willing to wait an hour or so. #1 I understand because credit cards are not used here so there is no way to guarantee that anyone will show up for the room that is reserved. However, this happens so often that there must be a better system or perhaps they should start measuring the attrition rate and then overbooking only by the average attrition rate just like airlines. #2 though is completely baffling to me. I asked another foreigner who had seen this before and she said that the hotels like to have the appearance of being full to customers. I guess it is like the trendy club theory in Los Angeles with the long lines out the door when in reality the bar is pretty empty. This seems like a strange business model for a crummy youth hostel though. All of this went through my head as this joker is yelling at me about his problems as a hotel employee. I held up my hand in a “talk to the hand” kind of fashion to get him to quiet down and calmly stated that I did not understand why he was yelling at me and that he should stop this instant and figure out what he is going to do for me since I had already spoken to his boss earlier in the day. He said that the manager went home a short time ago and how could he know for sure that I really spoke to the manager (what a bizarre thing to say to a customer, as if this was the Four Seasons I was trying to sneak into). I said that we should call him then and that I knew he would remember me… because we had to whole conversation about my last name being Wind or enframa in Twi. At some point in this crazy exchange, and really I was just fighting because I desperately needed a room, he again states that all of the $11 rooms are taken. I said well what other rooms do have then. He said I have a $14 room that has its own bathroom (the $11 one I reserved only had a shared bathroom). Immediately I responded with, “I’ll take it.” $3 more and I get my own bathroom, the choice was obvious. It was also in the “new wing” of the hotel. The room was totally fine, especially for $14. The toilet was unusually high because it was on some sort of concrete platform and when I leaned on the sink briefly it pulled away from the wall. It was pretty clean though and seemed safe, my two priorities at that point in the evening. I had not eaten yet, so when I asked about the hotel’s restaurant, the hotel man told me that I better rush up there because they stop serving some time between 9 and 10.

I dropped my things and ran up the five flight of steep stairs to find the waitstaff with theirs heads resting on a table and watching TV. I walked over to them and asked if there were still serving dinner and they nodded yes. I then asked for a menu and one of the staff slowly produced one from under her head. I walked myself over to one of the open tables and looked through the menu. I had heard that Cape Coast is known for its shrimp so I anticipatorily decided on the shrimp and fried yam and walked myself back to the TV watching servers and narrated my order. It was met with a shake of the head and the words “no yams, no shrimp.” Hmmm, fantastic. I begrudgingly settled on the French fries and fried fish. Despite the various frustrations of the day, when I sat down to read my book (Guns, Germs and Steel which, by the way. is a fabulous read and quite timely considering my current living situation) in the breezy, warm air of the coast a lot of those negative experiences kind of melted away or at least felt less bothersome. It was a little bothersome though to watch this waitress slowly saunter back and forth. I don’t think I have ever seen anyone move as slowly as this waitress. I ordered a straw just to make her apathetic body have to make the trip to the kitchen and back one extra time. My food would be cold by the time she picked it up off of the oven and brought it to my table. The food was fine though. Despite ketchup from China and fish with bones in it, everything tasted fine for 10 o’clock at night.

On Saturday, I woke up fresh and excited for the busy day ahead. I ate a Luna bar instead of going to the restaurant for breakfast in an attempt not let a lazy waitress delay the start of my day. Off I went to Kakum National Park. I was told that the best time to see animals at the park is first thing in the morning, although most of the guidebooks warn you not to get too excited about seeing animals because they no longer linger around areas where people tend to go. It didn’t really matter to me because the big attraction of the park is the canopy walk. Kakum has Africa’s only canopy walk and it hangs 40 meters above ground. It was constructed in 1995 by a Canadian and several Ghanaians and was clearly an attempt to protect the park and its inhabitants using an economic strategy. The canopy walk is a huge draw of both tourists and locals and has succeeded in reducing deforestation and poaching. It’s considered an economic success and has provided considerable financial resources to the surrounding communities. Since I was traveling alone, just getting to the canopy walk was a bit of an adventure. I took a cab to the tro-tro station and even though he charged me $1.50 when he would only have charged and Ghanaian $.30, he helped me find the right tro-tro to take to the park. I hopped aboard and crammed in with the locals and off we went in the rickety bus. People hopped on and off the bus and somehow the door operator was always able to remember who paid and how far each person had ridden. At a few points there were so many people in the bus that his rear end was sticking out the door and he clung to the front passenger seat to stay in the bus. They dropped me off in front of the park entrance and I paid my $.20 entrance fee to walk in on foot. I walked up a steep hill to finally get to the reception area of the park. It was quite stunning. They really did a great job with the design and construction of the building. There was a small museum to the left of the reception area and a Rainforest Café, sans animatronic animals like the restaurant chain, to the right. A tour was about to start so I quickly paid my student rate and walked over to the sign that said “Wait here for your guide.” I waited there. A few minutes later a group of Ghanaians arrived and a smaller group of Germans who were attacked by the large ants they were standing above.

We started our ascent up to the canopies. I usually like to be near the front of guided hikes to hear the information from the tour guide. My experiences at Mole National Park the previous weekend made me realize that local guides tend to be soft-spoken and don’t always wait for the entire group to arrive before talking. Somehow I was relegated to the back of the Ghanaian group, however, but it allowed for interesting observations. One thing I noticed was that while I was in my sporty American clothing, several of the women were wearing their traditional African dresses on the tour. The ascent was steep and rocky and must have been incredibly difficult for them to navigate in their tight long skirts. Some of them had heels on too. I was impressed with their dedication to fashion, but assumed I was much more comfortable in shorts and sneakers. Another cultural divide became apparent at our first stop. Ghanaians seem to like soundtracks to accompany their lives. As I have mentioned before, radios or TVs are often on during meetings and often at volumes that strain normal conversation levels. One hiker decided to play the BBC radio on his cell phone as we were walking through the forest. At some point he must have noticed the snide glances from me or the Germans or the sign that stated “Do not make unnecessary noise in the forest” which was posted at our first stop because the BBC was at last turned off. Although, I think he may have switched to just listening to it over headphones. Who needs the news that badly? We were only out there for an hour. Regardless, it was a small initial annoyance in what was otherwise a truly incredible experience. The forest smelled wonderful and had lots of interesting plant life. The guidebooks were right in that we didn’t see any animals, but there were many interesting butterfly species and a huge millipede. The butterfly species that I saw included one that looked like it was flying with thin, white feathers and another landed on my hand that had eye-like dots on the tips of its wings. The dots are used to confuse predators into thinking that side is the head of the butterfly. The millipede was probably about 6 inches long and had a dramatic red stripe across its head. I guess one of the patterns of the Ashanti kente cloth was inspired by this marking.

The canopies are tethered from one very tall tree to the next using just ropes and cables. There is a narrow wooden platform that you walk on as you cross from one tree to the next. The guide had us go 4 at a time across the platform and again somehow I got stuck at the back. This time though the guide was also back with me so I could ask him questions about the canopy and the forest. Apparently, night is the best time to see animals such as the forest elephant and, while at first not all local tribes were in favor of the canopy walk, all of them wholeheartedly support it now and work collectively to ensure its success. I walked across the first canopy and as I do with any situation where I am quite fearful, smiled the whole way. The rope handles are at about eye level and the walk area gets pretty narrow as you step into it, so it makes for more of an awkward walking experience than a scary one. It does sway and bob up and down as people get on and off the canopy. The ropes seemed so secure though that at no point could I even imagine them breaking or slipping. The view from the bridge, if you could stomach it, was spectacular. It is a pretty odd sensation to be above the tree tops and looking down at a forest. There were so many different greens and you could see mist hanging over one part of the forest. Little platforms existed at the end of each canopy that about 6 people could rest on. Looking at the cables connected to the trees and the ropes hanging from the cables, I was thinking that the canopy architect may have used to same physics that go into suspension bridges. Regardless it was still high enough to be scary, but secure enough to make me exited to get on the next canopy. It took about 20 minutes to walk through all of the canopies and then we were all back safe and sound at the museum. The museum was a nice little museum that included information about the park as well as biodiversity and the importance of protecting the rain forests. It also housed the skull of a forest elephant, which is considerably smaller than the elephants I had seen at Mole. I guess they are quite rare to see in the park and only a few photographs exist of these small elephants.

Outside the park, I attempted to be quite travel savvy and wave a tro-tro down to take me back to Cape Coast. After 15 minutes of waiting and swatting away flies, a local girl and a few local guys said that I should walk with them to try to find a tro-tro because none were stopping there. After the usual questions of where am I from and am I married, (actually, this was the first time that, after I responded “yes,” a guy said to me “your husband let you come all the way to Ghana?” I said “well, I don’t need his permission and he didn’t have a choice.” I don’t think they quite understood though.) then we got into what has now become a tedious conversation to have with complete strangers and that is about my name. Heather is just not a common name here and even when I say that it is like “weather” but without the w, it takes people multiple tries and they keep trying even though I say, “sure, that’s pretty close.” Since they were helping me to get a tro-tro, I thought I would throw them a bone so that they could stop trying to pronounce my name correctly and tell them that my last name is Wind like enframa in the local language. This caused outbursts of delight from everyone. It was nice to find some common ground for a bit. At that point, conversation topics had pretty much been exhausted so we continued on in silence until they waved down a tro-tro that let me on board. So, it seems that being travel savvy is really a matter of finding nice locals to help you out. While the marriage and name conversations are kind of annoying, for the most part everything is very innocent and in the end they are just as likely to help you get to where you are going even if it is clear there is no chance of a future between the two of you. They all waved me on and wished me safe travels.

I had planned on going back to the hotel to shower, but, again in attempt to be travel savvy and find my way around the small city, got lost and ended up at Cape Coast Castle. It is one of the main sites of the city, so I figured that since I was already there I might as well just go in for a tour. The castle is a former slave prison, although it had first been used as a storage site for goods other than people at one point. It seems that trade in humans became more lucrative than trade in pepper and tea and so slaves from all over Africa, as far as the Congo, were brought to this site and held for three months before being shipped to the Americas. Looking at the castle, one has the dual feelings of awe and horror. The building itself is quite beautiful, especially since it is a stark white color and overlooks a Caribbean blue ocean. The rooms that held the slaves were quite horrifying. There were small and dank and only had a few small windows that let in air and oxygen. Right above the dungeon for the men was the castle church. Women were held in another section of the castle and apparently rape was quite common at the castle. The guide said that this is why there are Van Dycks, Johnsons and Jacksons now living in Cape Coast. Because so many children were born at the castle, the British officers opened a small classroom which actually became Ghana’s first classroom. We also got to see the spacious accommodations of the general in charge of the castle. His rooms were quite large and airy compared to the tight, airless quarters of his prisoners. The castle also contains a nice museum with the history of the area from ancient times to modern traditions and gives some explanation to cultural traditions of Ghana, with a particular focus on the Ashanti traditions.

I was joined on the tour by a young fellow that Bernard knew. He had been concerned about my traveling alone and wanted to connect me with a friend to help take me around to all of the sites. He was a darling 19 year old kid who was a definite low-talker. When you combine his low audibility with his accent and typical teen inarticulateness, it was pretty much impossible for me to understand anything he was saying. I had to tell him several times that I simply could not hear or understand what he was saying. I also asked him to try saying things a different way if possible in an attempt to understand him. Finally, I would occasionally end our conversations with, “I’m sorry, but I just cannot understand what you are saying.” This was the beginning and it did seem to get easier to converse as the day went on, but I never quite understood why he was so terribly soft-spoken. I am not sure if he dressed up because he always wears formal clothes or if he wanted to look nice for meeting me, but the two of us were quite the odd pair. 30-year old me with my sweaty tank top and adidas shorts and 19-year old him with his black dress pants, black shoes and button down shirt. We were quite the odd couple, but luckily he seemed pretty up for doing anything I wanted to do. I didn’t make him walk to the top of a nearby hill to see Fort St. Jago, but it was quite steep and with the heat I felt a little bad for him in his nice clothes. The views of the ocean and city were great though. The water is a gorgeous tropical green and gondola-like fishing boats dot the coastline. Larger fishing boats fill a small canal that bisects the city. We couldn’t do anything more at the Fort since it isn’t open to the public, so little Bernard (his name was also Bernard) suggest we head to Elmina while it was still light out.

Elmina is a small fishing village just a bit west of Cape Coast. It houses the country’s largest slave castle and has a thriving fishing economy. Somehow the city has maintained a lot of charm compared with its busier neighbor. We went straight to the Elmina castle. This slave dungeon was built by the Dutch, but in many ways was quite similar to Cape Coast castle. It did have a moat and a drawbridge and a large chapel in the middle of the castle. Oddly enough, although I can’t recall ever being at a slave prison, I felt like I had seen one before. Perhaps all the years of learning about what happened during those horrendous centuries of the slave trade created a rather vivid picture of what it might have been like, although it would be difficult to imagine the actual size of the space that would fit 200 men for three months. The tour included a look at two prison cells, one that would hold misbehaving Dutch soldiers and one for resistant slaves who were termed “Freedom Fighters.” The cell for the Dutch had a nice large window, while the cell for the slaves was nothing but a small dark closet. Gifts have been sent to the castle from African Americans and a plaque was issued that promises that Africans around the world are committed to ensuring that this type of injustice perpetrated on so many will never happen again. One thing that was quite puzzling for me is how the local leaders agreed to participate or facilitate the slave trade. It is not clear whether they were duped or were complicit in the trade, but the local leaders were involved in allowing it all to happen. Local resistance against the British especially happened after the Ashanti king, Prempeh I, was captured and imprisoned at Cape Coast Castle. The uprising against the British became so great that they eventually exiled Prempeh I to the Seychelles along with the Queen Mother of the Ashanti kingdom. After the tour of this impressive structure, Bernard and I walked over a bridge to get a little lunch at a place that Lonely Planet described as “the best place in Elmina to watch the activities of the fishing boats.” I was all excited to have some seafood, but was again heartbroken by the statement that they had no calamari and no shrimp. I was starting to wonder if the local shrimp were suffering the same fate as salmon in California. I decided on the Red Red with fish and fresh pineapple juice. The pineapple juice is heavenly here and will be sorely missed when I have to leave. Bernard ordered a Smirnoff Ice and fried rice with chicken. The food was excellent and it was fun to watch the boats sail back and forth through the canal. After a delicious lunch, we walked over to look at the boats a little more closely but dried fish stench shortened that walk considerably. We walked a bit through town as well and I noticed a lot of old buildings with big windows and antique black shutters. The details on the buildings were striking but were just slightly dilapidated looking. There is a great opportunity to preserve these buildings and I am sure little Elmina would attract even more tourists.

Little Bernard and I took a tro-tro to his university where we caught a shared taxi to Cape Coast. Traveling by taxi is dramatically cheaper when you are with a local. The University of Cape Coast looks really beautiful with palm tree lined roads and lots of green open spaces. Forty thousand students attend the university and most of the classes are taught in English. One unusual aspect of the education here though is that students are tested on how well they know the professor’s opinion about a subject. Students are required to purchase the professor’s book(s) for each class and are instructed to memorize his opinions. Students are not tested on how their opinions, but on how well they can regurgitate the professor’s opinions. Little Bernard assured me that while they must know what the lecturer thinks because he has been studying the field much longer, the lecturers do encourage the expression of individual opinions.

At night, after a long overdue shower, I went up to the restaurant again and watched the same waitress slowly walk back and forth to get me an orange Fanta. No dinner was necessary after the big lunch. I read a bit more of Guns and then went back down to wrap myself in the sheet that I had brought. The next morning I went back up to the restaurant for a little Sunday brunch and had eggs, toast and Milo. The eggs were great but the toast tasted like bland croutons. It was so over toasted that it was pretty inedible. The Milo was nice and they gave me two packets of Milo so I had two cups! I walked over to Cape Coast castle hoping to buy a few knick knacks, but after some unsuccessful bargaining, left empty-handed. The stores were mostly closed anyways. I sat for a bit at the entrance waiting for little Bernard to meet me again. I closed my eyes and listened to the waves lapping against the rocky shore. It was so nice with the breeze blowing through and drying off my sweaty limbs. I wish I didn’t have to go home so soon.

After waiting for quite some time, I called Bernard to find out what was keeping him. With the language challenges, I finally said, “How many minutes?” He replied, “18.” Although unusual, I figured 18 minutes would give me enough time to walk back to my hotel and check out. The hotel seemed pretty adamant about the 12pm check out time and even posted a sign that said that room needed to be inspected before check out was possible. I thought that I ought to get the inspection over as soon as possible and get my things. No one needed to check the room and since I had already paid, I just gave my key to a cleaning woman. It seemed a little sketchy, but I didn’t want to wait around just to turn my key over.

Little Bernard was very excited to see an ostrich farm that was located just outside of Cape Coast and near the Hans Cottage Botel. I had asked a few people if they had been and none had, so I was a little leery about where we were headed. We took a tro-tro to a small town and Bernard asked around for the ostrich farm. There seemed to be a lot of debate about the exact location and finally a taxi driver told us that we had passed it but that he could take us there. I agreed to $2 and off we went to see the big birds. We turned off the road and wound around a small dirty road that was very muddy in parts. I had two fears. The first was that the cab driver was taking me into the middle of nowhere to rob me and then leave me there and the second was that if he didn’t end up robbing, then we would surely get stuck in the mud en route to see the ostriches. Miraculously, the car made it though and we arrived at the edge of the ostrich farm where about eight birds were standing around doing ostrich-like things. They really are quite big. The wings are basically the size of a large human arm with lots of feathers coming off of them. One sat down while we were there, but other than that there wasn’t a lot of movement or activity. I guess ostrich meat is rare here as in the US, but this farmer has done well enough to have expanded his farm in the last few years.

The taxi driver then took us to the Hans Cottage Botel, a place I had considered staying for its unique set-up but ultimately decided against it because of it distance from the city center. Hans has built a little hotel over several man-made lakes, hence the botel distinction. The lakes contain quite a few crocodiles. Apparently, monkeys and other wildlife live around the botel. While Bernard and I drank our cokes, a crocodiles wandered near a few of the other tourists who were sitting in the garden area of the restaurant. They quickly rushed out and the hotel staff gated off the area around the crocodile. He wandered all around and was about 8 feet away from me at one point. It was easy to see the interesting patterns on his back and his sharp teeth. He eventually grew tired of us all staring at him and taking photographs so he plunged back into the water and swam under the restaurant. That was about all the excitement I could handle, so I told Bernard that we should get going to try to find a tro-tro for me to take back to Accra. All of the STC buses were full, so I had to brave the bush bus. A shared taxi brought me to a tro-tro station. I unfortunately got the fold-out seat over the wheel. Luckily another young woman offered to hold one of my bags. Despite the bumpiness and swerving to pass slower vehicles, most of the passengers slept. I spent much of the trip trying to keep my toes and legs from falling asleep. A short taxi ride to Bonjour to get a pizza, and I was feeling back home again pretty quickly. Sitting by the A/C was quite soothing and I walked the 25 minutes to the office. Sadly the electricity was out there as I guess the power companies have been doing rolling blackouts recently. Fortunately for me, when I returned to the hostel with bated breath I was ecstatic to see that the power was back on. The manager told me that the power had just come on yesterday afternoon, so it seems that it was a perfect weekend to make the short trip to Cape Coast.

Two Trips to Lake Volta

Lake Volta, the world’s largest manmade lake lies in the eastern half of Ghana in a region aptly named the Volta Region. I am not sure what came first, the region or the lake. Since I was spending the weekend in Koforidua and our attempts to meet with the Red Cross staff over the weekend had failed, I proposed that Bernard, Augustine, Mary and I check it out and see the Akosombo dam that is responsible for creating the lake. I proposed this on Saturday after our hike to the Umbrella Rock and Bernard looked a little nonplussed. When we returned to Mary’s after the hike, Bernard was still suggesting that we spend the day on Sunday resting instead of sightseeing. I maturely said that if we did not go to the lake “I would be very angry.” My obstinance or perseverance, whichever perspective you choose, prevailed and we agreed to meet at 10am the next day to venture off to the new region.

The drive out to the lake was quite interesting. It included steep ascents over lush mountains and speedy straight-aways through mudbrick villages with palm frond roofs. Despite the few community buildings in these villages, every one had a church. Several of the homes were perfectly circular structures with conical roofs. I was told that this is a very common in the northern part of the country and these structures stay very cool. The homeowners don’t even need a fan to keep cool in the 40oC temperatures. One town on top of the largest mountain we went over had very large homes and seemed to be where the wealthy individuals congregated. There were mansion-style homes built overlooking the valleys below. I have now spent quite a few hours looking out of the windows of World Ed’s Ford Explorer and I have to say that I never grow tired of the landscape here. Between the villages, the roadside vendors, the trees, the massive ant colonies, the people carrying various items atop their heads; it is all captivating.

As we barreled at 80mph down the one lane road which was described as “very good” to me, I definitely had the sensation of being on a ride at Six Flags. Over a few bumps we definitely caught air. I wasn’t sure what the rush was, but several rickety tro-tros passed us, so I guess everyone drives that way. By the way, in this part of the country, the tro-tros are chock full of people and produce. I am pretty sure they spend several hours in the car and I saw one woman with her lap full of cassavas. Her arms were over her head holding onto the vegetables and she was resting her head on them. I couldn’t imagine sitting like that for any amount of time. I noticed that the rest of the vehicle was similarly filled and it was difficult to tell where people were sitting and where produce sat because it looked like every available space was filled with one or the other.

Ghana is in its dry season right now. I have seen no rain in Accra since I arrived, which may explain the lack of running, which by the way I have had for the last 24 hours. Very exciting! Anyways, the dry season is great for sightseeing in Mole National Park and the Wechiau Hippo Sanctuary because the animals head to the watering holes. The dry season is bad for sightseeing at waterfalls and dams. Water doesn’t seem to be moving much in those areas. We finally arrived at a point where we could see the dam in the distance. The damming of this lake provides much of the country with its power and water supply. I asked to stop and take a picture and then tried to imagine what it would look like with water flowing through it.

We arrived at the dock of a boat that takes passengers on a four hour journey around the lake. There were several vendors there, but the boat looked long departed. The sign said that the boat departs at 11 and it was not 12:30. Mary turned to me and said, “Yes, we need to leave much earlier if we want to catch the boat.” I hadn’t really been aware that the boat was an option and I certainly would have been willing to leave earlier. I think this goes with the other issues with timing that I have encountered here. There is little planning ahead to ensure that things happen the way you want them to happen. In Koforidua we drove around at 9 o’clock at night trying to find a vacant hotel for a trip that was planned well in advance. Bernard laughed dismissively when I asked whether we could have called ahead to make a reservation. After the hotel debacle, our arriving an hour and a half late for a boat wasn’t all that surprising. We spent the next 30 minutes shopping at the tables of the vendors there.

Women here wear earrings everyday. It seems that many have their ears pierced when they are babies and from then on never stop wearing earrings. This may also be reinforced by the fact that girls must keep their heads shaved throughout high school. The earrings serve as a permissible way to hold onto their femininity throughout those aesthetically masculine years. I rarely wear earrings. I have sensitive lobes that seem to react to cheap earrings. It is one of those things that make me high maintenance even though I don’t mean to be. My lack of earring wearing or any jewelry of that matter seems to be rather puzzling to several of the Ghanaians I have met. When we started looking at the jewelry for sale at one table, Mary got very excited to adorn me with Ghanaian jewelry. She has three sons, so she doesn’t get to shop like this very often. I was very grateful and humored her for a bit as she added more and more accessories. The funniest part was when I put on a pair of very large dangly earrings there were gasps and cheers of approval from everyone. I felt a bit clownish with the anklet, the bracelet, the necklace and the earrings all on, but everyone said how nice it looked. It was also very nice to Mary to want me to look pretty. She was cute too and bought the same anklet and bracelet so we could match.

From the dock we drove to see the country’s tallest bridge. It is a traditional suspension bridge that crosses Lake Volta. Each car pays 20 cents to cross. Before seeing it, I had asked if we could walk across it and was told “no, no, no, it is way too far.” It was at best a quarter of a mile. Augustine and Bernard waited on one side, while Mary and I walked across. It is an impressive structure, especially considering how primitive much of the surrounding structures are in comparison. The bridge shakes quite a bit when large vehicles cross it. A group of school kids walked around us totally unconcerned by the shaking. The view from the bridge was quite beautiful. The water of the lake is a deep blue and the intense equatorial sun sparkles brightly on it. Small islands dot the middle of the lake. Other than a few small villages, one created from the bridge and the others possibly fishing villages, the land surrounding the lake was covered in trees. The air is so clean in this part of the country. I wanted to take enough deep breaths to clear out my lungs from the months of Accra air. Despite it being Sunday, a few fishermen were out looking for the daily catch. They fish in canoes that look like they were carved out of a single tree trunk and are incredible unstable.

Augustine and Bernard met us at the other side of the bridge and transported us to a restaurant that sits at the very edge of the lake. Our chairs were literally on the side of the lake. Mine hit the chain link fence that separated me from the water. My polarized sunglasses helped us to see all of the fish swimming around. There was a branch looking thing stuck to the table cloth and rubbing against my leg. It didn’t bother me until I saw it moving. At which point I jumped up and screamed. I think I nearly gave the waiter a heart attack. The bug fell to the ground still moving and had to be one of the strangest things I have ever seen alive. Mary is great. She’s fun and so kind, but she’s a little into the peer pressure in drinking alcohol. In this heat, I rarely feel the need to booze. I feel like I can never get enough water in me, so a heavy bitter Guinness is not really what I crave. Plus, it is usually 10 in the morning when she first asks me if I want a beer. I acquiesced this time. It was also a tolerable 2 or so in the afternoon. No Guinness though, I chose the light beer made here. It was pretty paradise like just sitting there listening to little waves lap against the land, relaxing with no one around and putting my feet up on the chair. We could look across the water at an island that had a boat pulled up on shore. A fisherman passed back and forth several times. It was one of those perfect moments that you want to bottle up and take home with you.

We ordered some banku for lunch and I was sweating through the spicy food the entire time I was eating of course. It never ceases to surprise me how extreme in spiciness the food is here. The banku dough is incredibly bland and difficult to eat alone, but when you dip it in a little of the pepper sauce it is like there is a small explosion in your mouth. My lips look like I am forever using Lip Venom here and they feel like it too. Despite my physical reaction to the food, it is really delicious and I am sad that I am going to have to say goodbye to all of these new dishes. While we were sitting and eating, one fisherman came over to chat with us. I asked him if he caught anything that day and he whipped out what looked like a gigantic shrimp or a very small lobster. I am guessing it is more the former since it didn’t have lobster-like claws, but they call it lobster here, so perhaps it is some hybrid of the two. He hung out for a bit and then took some Night Train in a water bottle to go and headed off in search of more fish. I was a little nervous with him drinking in the wobbly vessel, but no one else seemed concerned. One other interesting thing about the boat is that the paddles have circular paddles at the end instead of the rectangular ones we are used to. We headed back to Koforidua after our late lunch to rest up for the big week ahead.

Upon leaving Koforidua after the week of peer educator training, Bernard suggested that we another section of the lake and head through Tema on our way back so that I could see more of the country. I was so excited! Of course, I had a touch a food poisoning that morning from an egg salad sandwich I had eaten the night before. It was the third one I had eaten at one of the local restaurants, but there was something about this one that was different. You know you love a country though when you are nauseated and still looking forward to spending hours in the car looking out the window. We first returned to Boti falls to show Mordecai, who had arrived in the middle of the week to teach the girls about basic business skills, the waterfall. I was so hoping that there would be water coming down this time since it had rained over the course of the week. Even though I wasn’t feeling great, I figured I could leisurely descend the 250 steps and then return at a similar pace. The way down wasn’t bad at all and we saw more butterflies which I took as a good omen for the journey. Sure enough, as we got closer we could hear that water was coming down! The beach area was pretty strewn with plant debris. It looked like perhaps the rain did quite a number at the base of the water. The old-fashioned fishing net had been crushed and washed ashore. There were tadpoles all along the border of the water too. The Twi word for tadpole literally translates to “frog in the making” but I can’t really remember what the word is anymore. The waterfall was so beautiful. Things like waterfalls and butterflies seem so magical in a world that is full of logical things like evolution and globalization. In fourth grade, my science teacher tricked me one of those faucets that is not attached to anything but is miraculously pouring out water into a bucket. He said to me, “we don’t know where it is coming from but we need to stop it.” My eagerness to help withstood the confused awe I felt for the faucet. I eventually figured out the trick, but looking at waterfalls brings me back to that moment before you know the trick and can just stand in awe at something that seems to make so little sense. After about 10 minutes of awing and photo snapping, I felt ill again and decided that it would be better for me to get sick in the parking lot rather than on the side of the falls. It might take some of the magic out of for Mordecai and Augustine and the couple near us who seemed to be having a romantic moment.

At the top, I was fine and just needed to catch my breath. The nausea seemed to dissipate and I sat next to Bernard who was chatting with a few girls who seem to be potential candidates should our program be able to expand into the rural areas near Koforidua. They start having children in these areas at 15 and have very little economic opportunities. Mary had given one girl $10 the Saturday before and amazingly enough, the girl had managed to start a business selling banku. She now sells out everyday and is able to live off of the money that she makes. Most of us think of microfinance as $1,000 or even $100, but these girls can make something happen with considerably less. Mary hadn’t specified what the girl should do with the money. She came up with the business on her own and invested it in that instead of using it for other things that may seem necessary at the time.

We headed off to Akuse dam which is the portion of the dam project that generates all of the electricity for the region. I had a breakfast drink called koko, which is a ginger infused ground millet concoction. It is sweetened with sugar and is really good and I figured the ginger would be nice on my stomach. I still struggle with eating and drinking things from a plastic bag, however, and managed to pour a bit of it down the front of my black shirt which was an unfortunate way to have to spend the rest of the day. Luckily, I was in the back seat and no one seemed to care. As we entered into small villages, I got exuberant waves and shouts of “obruni” from smiling children. They are so cute and it makes them so happy when I wave back. It is probably the least amount of effort I have ever had to put into entertaining children before.

Once we arrived at the imposing dam structure, we entered the small reception area. There were large signs everywhere stating that due to security concerns, individuals cannot walk around the premises unattended. I assumed that that did not bode well for our seeing much of the dam. We were told though that while there is someone who takes groups on tours of the dam and he is supposed to be working today, he had to leave town to attend a funeral. When we asked if someone else could take us around, we were told that taking groups around is the other man’s job and we would need to come back another day. While Mordecai and Bernard were appeased by the response, I seethed inside. I realized that my frustration at their unwillingness to show us around and flippant attitude toward our returning to this remote area of Ghana is really just my innate Western sense of entitlement. Bernard and Mordecai were not bothered in the same way that I was because they did not feel that the dam was obligated to show us around. I on the other hand, from a culture where the customer is always right was annoyed because I expected to be catered to in the same way that parks, restaurants and stores cater to customers in the US. Of course, my mini inner turmoil quickly dissipated when I stood by the side of the lake and looked out at the scenery. It was very peaceful, with birds flying from little islands in the center of the lake back to the mainland. A few fishermen were out on the lake. The other thing that eased my mind was that you could pretty much see everything you needed to see for the dam and Bernard had recently been there, so he was able to explain some of the mechanisms behind the energy generating system. I can’t really recall it very well, but it has something to do with water pushing a large paddle around.

One final stop on the way home was at Bernard’s mother’s house. She is a youthful 62 years old and lives on her own in a small community pretty far from any major city. She is looking to move to the US to be with Bernard’s youngest brother who just had twins. She didn’t speak any English, but was incredibly warm and welcoming. She also deals with limited electricity, phone connections and internet. She did have a burgeoning garden outside her front door with well protected palm and orange saplings. There was considerable traffic getting into the city and across to the NAFTI Hostel. I arrived home to find no water again. Although it seems to keep happening when I go away, I don’t know if I will ever quite get used to being without water for a night.

The Chosen 40

This past week 40 lucky girls from Ghana participated in the peer educator training as part of the Girls 1^st Programme. These 40 were selected amongst the 250 total that will be a part of the HIV prevention and basic business skills education. These 40 are unique in that they will receive vocational skills training as well to help them start individual businesses in their communities. The research conducted in the last week long trip showed that these girls want to learn hair braiding, cooking, and floral decoration. However, before they start their vocation training they need to learn to be peer educators so that they can teach other girls the basics of HIV prevention and transmission.

Monday, the very first day of the big training week, we started two hours late. We were supposed to start everything at 8 and by 10 girls were finally getting signed in. I don’t quite understand what happened, but apparently some girls arrived right at 8 and then left since no one was there. I know it is a best practice to work with local organizations, but sometimes it can be incredibly difficult. Luckily, this was only a brief snag in an otherwise very successful week. After this, everyone, especially the staff, showed up on time. One other interesting part of the day included the girls electing people to fill certain leadership positions. Two girls, who had been nominated by their friends, ran against each other for group leader. Abigail ended up winning, but what was so heartening about this was that the girl who didn’t prevail wasn’t that upset. She was thrilled to be the assistant leader. I love seeing people who have the exact opposite, but much healthier reaction to things than I would have in the same situation. Other girls were elected as first aid officer and finance officer. They didn’t have much to do this week, so I didn’t really get to know them.

Monday and Tuesday was spent mostly on HIV and STI related topics. One thing that was clear from the research is that the girls can write on paper all of the modes of transmission, but when pressed about how they would feel about a someone with HIV in their homes, many have significant fears of catching the disease as if it were similar to a common cold. Luckily many of those unnecessary fears were alleviated and the girls felt generally empowered to protect themselves. There is definitely a significant shyness though even amongst these 18 to 22 year olds about condoms and saying the proper names of “private parts.” They would all break into hysterics whenever anyone said the Twi version of penis. It happened again and again and I was starting to think that maybe we need to play the penis game several times so they could get over the issues with saying the word. The other disheartening thing related to this is their intense shyness with buying condoms. Teen pregnancy seems more socially acceptable than teen sex, which is sort of odd. The girls said that they would be judged by the pharmacist if they bought condoms. I was thinking of the luxury of anonymity that Americans enjoy with many of their purchases. In these little towns, everyone knows everyone is there is no enforcement of the code of confidentiality for pharmacists. We asked the girls how many would feel confident enough to buy a condom and about 5 of the forty raised their hands. I think this is something that should be seriously worked on since these girls are now the role models for other girls in their communities.

One powerful activity for the girls was a female speaker who came in to talk to the girls about HIV. She is a PLWHA (person living with HIV/AIDS) and was very open about how she contracted the disease, through a blood transfusion in the late 1990s, and the precautions she took to protect her last baby from getting HIV. Many of the girls had assumed that you would always be able to tell when someone is HIV+ so this was an eye opening experience for them. This woman was youthful looking and energetic. It was encouraging to see many of the girls go up to her after the talk to ask more questions. It also helped to have someone speak to the girls directly rather than seeing hypothetical situations in videos or from illustrated storybooks.

Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday focused on the more practical aspects of the program including saving money, basic business marketing strategies and leadership skills. One thing we noticed during our time of working in Koforidua in patronizing various retailers there, the customer service is horrendous. One example is that we would walk into one of two nice restaurants in the city and find the wait staff with the heads resting on the tables. There would be little effort to get up. One chop bar we were at yelled at some customers in front of us and told them that if they, the food preparers weren’t working fast enough, then the customers could just leave. It was pretty shocking. So, with that said, when the girls were told about being nice to customers and telling every customer to ‘please come back’ their response was that they had never thought of that before. Being nice to customers was something they had never considered. It should be pretty easy for these girls to succeed!

So, I really can’t say enough about what a magical group of girls these forty are. I was able to meet personally with five of them and also went to two of their homes to talk to their parents about the impact of the program on their households. The group consists of a mix of single teen parents, school drop outs, and illiterates. It would be nice to point to one reason that these girls fell out of the system or became parents at a very young age, but most of the reasons all relate to issues of poverty. School is compulsory until Junior High School and free in Ghana, at least on paper it is so. However, no one enforces school attendance and school uniforms and other accessories are not free but are mandatory. Many of the girls were single-parent orphans and had been moved from one family member to another until one finally told them that they couldn’t pay for them to go to school anymore. Others got pregnant and pregnant students are not permitted to attend school and were rejected when they attempted to return to school. It feels like the barriers are pretty great. Despite the challenges they faced in attending school, they are absolutely determined to succeed in their future businesses. One girl told me that she felt like she had no hope other than this program. It is pretty amazing what an impact a program like this can have on a group of people. While many girls credited the program with giving them a vocation so they can earn money, the confidence developed amongst the girls over the week was striking. Many had been quite shy and hesitant the first day. By Friday, they all wanted to participate and stand in front of the group. Several told me that they would like to stand in front of their church and educate the congregation on HIV. Another said that she was already presenting her new knowledge to a group of girls who were not selected to be peer educators. Five long days of sitting in a dusty unfinished classroom on hard wooden benches, changed them into confident role models for their community. Having met five of them, I saw so much potential in them. While I respect their vocational choice, Ghana would benefit so much more from them if they could expand their reach.

During the course of the week, I met with a Queen Mother, an Assemblyman and the staff of the Liberty Vocational Skills Training Program. The Liberty School staff showed us around the school and talked about their partnership with Girls 1^st. For a significant discount, they are going to train the girls in all of the major food preparation techniques that are popular in the community plus train them in catering and basic restaurant skills. The girls will need two uniforms and one notebook. Fortunately, the Red Cross budgeted enough money so that each girl will be provided with these free of charge. Upon hearing this, the girls jumped out of their chairs and cheered. Because uniforms are mandatory in schools, the symbol of the uniform made them all realize that they really were returning to school. The Liberty School is so excited for the program that they said we should send 10 more who aren’t the peer educators to them just so more people get training. It would be nice to give them all this opportunity, but there is probably something to be said for starting small and making sure these 40 succeed.

The regional director of the Red Cross invited several community leaders to the graduation ceremony. They, along with me, were asked to say a few words of encouragement to the girls. For some reason, my role as interned was drastically skewed into presenting me as a representative of MAC. Everyone turned to thank me for bringing the program to this region. There was a lot of clapping at me too, which I tried to humbly and graciously accept all while feeling a little guilty about accepting all of this gratitude. I figured that I better just go with it. I hoped my speech was inspiring. I had actually been asked the day before by one of the girls why I came all this way to help them when I am not their mother or their sister. It totally caught me off guard and how do explain something like that simply enough so that someone else can interpret it for you. I tried to incorporate this into my speech saying something like “everyone’s life includes both challenges and blessings, but it is what we do with both the challenges and the blessings that is a testament to our character.”

One part of this program that the girls educated me about was about the program slogan, “be a lady, no matter what.” There is a whole song they learned that starts with “I have decided to be a lady, no matter what.” I was a little worried that this slogan was vapid and potentially pandering. The idea of a “lady” is not especially empowering to my Western ideology and I was worried it focused too heavily on the abstinence themes emphasized in the HIV portion of the training. I decided to ask a few girls what it meant to them. It is really amazing the depths of meaning a few words can have to a person. The girls were emotional talking about how it means that despite someone’s circumstances they can make a better life for themselves. One girl said that it means that it is never too late to start over, while another told me that it means you don’t need to rely on anyone else, especially a guy, to solve your problems. Well, I was clearly wrong.

Umbrella Rock, Cactus Palm Tree, and Boti Falls

The World Ed team, which included me, Bernard and Augustine, arrived in Koforidua on Friday evening. We had little success meeting up with the Red Cross team that day or the subsequent days, so there was talk of going sightseeing. I relished the opportunity to see more things, especially in the region that is known for waterfalls. On Saturday, we awoke early to embark on our journey to the “far far away” Boti Falls, I am finding that most people describe places in Ghana as being “very far away, very far” even when it is just an hour’s drive. The reaction I got when I ask how long it takes to get from Accra to Techiman was a collective gasp and an exclamation that it is “way, way up north” when in actuality it is in the center of the country and only a few hours drive from the capital. The roads do make the travel more difficult, but it is definitely not the extreme distance that people seem to make it seem. Of course, traveling is all relative. In Connecticut, no one would dream of going the 40 minutes from Old Lyme to New Haven for dinner, but in LA 40 minutes was pretty much how long it took you to get anywhere in the city.

We spent about just under an hour winding through the backroads of Koforidua, passing villages with homes made out of mud bricks and roofs of palm leaves. There were also tall trees with smooth white bark and mud created ant stalagmite-like homes that were taller than I am. I thought it was interesting that both the ants and people were using the same resources from the land to provide shelter. There were some crumbling houses missing sections of a wall or slowly sinking back into the ground. While it is not easy to see people living in these conditions, their houses have much less of an environmental impact than wooden Western-style homes whose treated wood and copper pipes will last long after the home has been torn down. It creates a bit of an ethical dilemma in the effort to develop the “developing countries.”

We arrived at the lush grounds of Boti Falls and were told that there is no water. The Hemattan winds from the Sahara had evaporated so much of the country’s water that the waterfall was nonexistent. There was some debate about whether to walk down the 250 steps to see where the waterfall would be, and after I stated that I was going to go with them or without them that the team decided to descend. Really it was only Bernard’s concerns about being too out of shape to make the journey that comprised the anti-journey contingent. The steps were stone cut-outs, some narrow to the point of just being able to put your toes down and others requiring two steps. One of the best things about Ghana is the diversity of butterflies. Quite a few fluttered by, with black and white polka-dotted wings and others with turquoise and tan wings.

We arrived at the bottom of the steps and I realized how difficult the climb back up might be. It was akin to the Santa Monica steps only steeper, longer and more dangerous. The other park goers were right, indeed there was no water coming down. There was a pretty little lake where the water would be falling. The cliff creating the waterfall was also nice to look at and had long vines hanging down. There were weathered tree trunks at the edge of the lake and an abandoned fishing net made from dried palm fronds. The signs strongly discouraged swimming, which made sense since the water was a muddy brown. I’m sure during a rainier season the water is probably much clearer and full of plant and animal life. After taking a few photographs and preparing mentally for the ascent (really just Bernard), we began the walk back up. Mary decided to sprint up 10 steps at a time and then rest, Bernard paced himself by counting each step and the rest of us just went at our own pace. At the top, I was invigorated by the exercise. My heart had not been so challenged since the one and only time I attempted to go jogging around Accra a month ago. When Mary finally finished, she asked me if I was ready to have a beer. She was asking seriously even though it was only 10:30am. I said that perhaps I would start with some juice and then see how I’m feeling.

After resting for a bit in a large gazebo and eating some crackers, another debate ensued about whether we should walk to the umbrella rock. Not surprisingly I was in favor, while Bernard thought it would be too far. We were told it was a 40 minute hike there, which sounded like the perfect distance to me. The travel theory of relativity apparently applies to hikes as well. I again said that I was willing to walk it alone if no one else would go, two of Mary’s friends who were fit young guys wanted to go and Augustine was up for it too. The majority won out and we began our walk to the rock formation that provides shade and a great view for villagers in that area. I was excited by the signs early in the walk that said “do not litter on the path,” but was a bit disheartened for the disregard to the signs. Although it wasn’t a large amount, there were water bags and ice cream bags scattered on the path. I was told later on in the day that there is often talk about improving the parks so that there are paid guides and maintenance crews, but that nothing seems to ever get implemented. It seems like a void in a region that could use more jobs. One other thing that was striking was the amount of land that had bee consumed in a recent fire. It wasn’t clear if it had been started by humans or was of a natural cause, my guess was that people were to blame since the vast majority of fires in the country are set deliberately either for disposing of garbage or hunting or clearing land for agricultural purposes. Lions were hunted to extinction in Ghana in the early part of the 20^th century and I worry that other animals may follow the same path. Although, to be fair, if you look at Google Earth, the vast majority of this country is covered by forests and that is what I have seen on many of my car rides. Grass was peaking above the blackened earth and several of the taller trees survived the fire that consumed nearly an acre around the path.

While the first five minutes of the hike were nice and flat, the terrain quickly changed and we found ourselves stepping carefully down rocks and using our hands to help propel us up others. Mary was doing this all in clogs which I couldn’t imagine and others had jeans and long pants on. I looked like a typical American hiker with khaki shorts on, gray sneakers and a tank top. The first rock formation we encountered was a cliff that hung over the path. There was enough room for about 30 people to stand under it and a bench was created by the rock for a convenient rest area. It reminded me of the weeping rock of Zion National Park minus the weeping part. All along the path there were little lizards running away from us and bright red beetles. Upon our arrival at the rest area, several children were sitting ready to greet us and show us the enormous snail they found on the path. Luckily for me, the snail was hiding away, so I could only see his fist-size shell. The path winded around a forested ravine and looking across from the path we could see more rock cliffs, but with long vines hanging down from them.

After a few minutes of rest, we continued and after going up and down several times encountered an American who said that it was still pretty far and the hike back was harder than the hike to the Umbrella Rock. He looked pretty fit, so I was a little nervous about what the group was heading into, but Mary and the two younger guys had completed this at least once before so I knew we could make it. We finally saw it in the distance on top of one of the larger hills in the area. It jutted out from its base and was easy to spot amongst the green trees surrounding it. After spotting our destination, we descended for some time down a step path. I definitely used my hands a lot and squatted down to ensure surer footing. My goal is to not have to go to the hospital during my time here. One thing I noticed on the path was how quiet it was compared with other hike I have been on in the US. We rarely encountered any other hikers and there was none of that white noise that is typically generated by nearby roads or commercial areas.

The journey up the mini-mountain to the Umbrella Rock seemed to be at about a 60 degree angle and required lots of hand over foot stepping. I made a conscious effort to not look down. Bernard and I ascended first while the others stayed back to help Mary make it to the top. The naturally formed rock was quite amazing, akin to one of the formations at Arches National Park. It was about 20 feet tall from its base and perhaps the wind and water created a narrow midsection that allowed for people to sit beneath it – for shelter from the rain. At the top around the rock sat a group of children and a few adults selling water and coconuts. I had carried my water, actually one of Mary’s friends helped carry it at times so I could have both hands free, but the businesses at the top were quite clever. Unfortunately, there were so many coconut shells around that it looked littered and they made the path a little less safe because we had to step on the unstable shells at times. The group of sellers constructed a bamboo ladder to climb on top of the rock. I felt like I was high enough as it was so neither I nor anyone in the group ventured up. The vendors had little fear of moving around the cliff and leaning over the edge. This group knew little about the history of the rock, but a little while later we encountered an elderly man who told that the rock was found in the early 20^th century by a hunter from the region. He returned to his village to tell everyone about the rock. Perhaps there is an opportunity here for a few villagers to talk about the rock for a donation in addition to or opposed to selling products. We could across several hills in the region and in the middle of one was a small village. The rest were covered in trees and other less interesting large rocks.

One of the school groups that passed by informed us that there was a palm tree in the next village that had a tree that was actually three trees in one – three trees growing out of a single trunk. Augustine, Kwame (one of Mary’s friends) and I wondered off to find the tree while the others stayed back to catch their breath and rest. We wound around a bit along a flat dirt path and came upon an elderly man sitting on a tombstone. The tombstones that I have seen in Ghana include more than the traditional headstone popular in the US. The stone extends down to the feet so that it looks sort of like a twin bed with a headboard and the mattress. There were two there and then three dirt mounds that looked large enough to be more recently buried bodies. It was a little creepy how fresh the dirt seemed to be placed there and, although I had seen similar things on TV or in movies, it is a little disconcerting seeing it in person. I was told that it was the village’s cemetery. He was also the one who told us about the history of the Umbrella Rock.

We continued on and came upon a wooden fence and several men looking for “donations” to go through to the tree. Augustine commented that the elderly man and the fence workers should collaborate on their business and the man could give tours which might generate more funds and then they could all share the money. We gave the men some change and then went through the fence toward the village. The three-in-one tree stands right at the center and is surrounded by a little fence. The village itself consisted of two or three mudbrick homes, a few lambs, several chickens, the tree and then one family (there may have been more but I only saw one family). I tried to speak Twi with the little ones, but was told that they speak a different local language called Korbo. Kwame could speak it, so he talked with them and then tried to teach me a few words. It seems to be a language that utilizes a lot of throat sounds which I am not especially good at deciphering or emulating. The family was excited to join us in our observation and interaction with the unusual tree. It looked a bit like a cartoon-rendered cactus tree. Three equally large branches emerged from the base creating three separate tree tops. The village built a bamboo ladder and this time I felt comfortable climbing up it to get a closer look and stand between the trees.

We returned to the rock to find the group well rested, one had dozed off, and well hydrated. The sky was starting to get dark and stormy-like so we got a move on. The descent went quickly, but as suggested by the other American on the hike, the ascent back up was pretty challenging. Throughout one man was helping to pull Mary up while another was pushing from behind. I thought it was fun though and despite Mary’s challenges I think she was enjoying herself too. We got back to the cliff and found the children excited to show me that the snail was now “walking.” I looked down and saw the huge slimy thing moving around with its antennae things, screamed and moved on quickly. The children seemed confused by my reaction. It started raining a bit which was nice but made me a little nervous that we were going to get stuck in a serious downpour like I had seen on my way to Kumasi. I started hustling a bit to get through the hike, figuring survival of the fittest. We made it back without anyone getting wet from rain – just sweat since it was a toasty 88 degrees out.

Mary was excited about finishing so that we could all start drinking. I opted for a fresh orange sold by one of the local women. They eat oranges here by peeling all of the rind off and much of the pith and then you sort of suck and squeeze out the fruit from the top part which has been cut off. I didn’t quite get it and made a mess so I gave up on the Ghanaian way and sectioned the orange and ate it that way. The woman selling the oranges was accompanied by several other girls. One of the girls was 16 and had a one year old son. She told us about how she got pregnant at a funeral and is no longer in contact with the father of the baby. Bernard told me that funerals are creating a lot of opportunity for teens to get pregnant because a lot of new men come into the town for the funeral and the girls hope or they do get money from the guys and there is often alcohol involved and then one thing leads to another… It also seems like a recipe for spreading STDs quite quickly throughout the country. It is unfortunate that the funeral culture is having so many negative side effects on the country. The other girl had a baby, but at twenty. Mary said that by twenty “it is ok to bring forth children” they say “bring forth” for having a baby here. I said to Mary that I thought that any age was too young if you don’t have the means to take care of the baby. The women collected 5 cents for every orange they sold and it was not a busy park and Saturday was likely the busiest day there. Mary also thought that the women could be working for someone else and would collect only a fraction of what they sold. Bernard asked the girls if they would use a condom the next time and they got very embarrassed and just laughed. It seems that talking about condoms and private parts is all very difficult for the girls but they are getting pregnant so they seem to not be embarrassed about certain things.

On our way home we were following a Volkswagen Beetle that was leaking fuel. The group flagged them down to pull over. The car was full of children, perhaps driven by their father. He pulled over and the minute he pulled over, a fire broke out beneath the car. Mary yelled, “Fire! Fire!” Augustine pulled over and everyone ran to try to put out the fire with handfuls of dirt and water. Images of exploding vehicles held me back and I just watched everyone scramble to put the fire out. Everyone was very courageous. I was impressed. I don’t think I would be prepared to put out a fire near a car. The collective effort was also nice to see. A few people started waving palm fronds to warn approaching cars. Others pulled over to help and a few came by to make sure that everyone was OK. One man came over to me to ask me to buy him some food, which was the first time since arriving in Ghana that I have encountered an adult asking for assistance. Although it was an odd moment to be asking for help, it definitely struck me that I have not encountered the kind of begging common in other parts of the world that I have traveled such as Jamaica and touristy areas of Europe. After everything, the car and the family were saved!

Happy Birthday, Ghana!

On March 6, 2008 Ghana turned a youthful 51. Last year was a bigger celebration, no doubt, but the country still feels encouraged by each year of peace and unity. This is especially important considering how many other African nations are struggling to stay together and maintain democracy at the moment. I watched the beginning of the ceremonies on TV as I was informed that people who want to sit in Independence Square had to arrive by 6am. An early morning was not on my agenda for the holiday. I did have plans with another NAFTI student to go to a beach near Accra, but told him that I would not be ready before 10am. On TV, Ghana’s President Kufuor gave his final Independence Day speech. He like President Bush is serving his eighth and final year at the moment. In addition to the President, several schools performed marches and dances and many military personnel greeted the crowds.

After meeting up with the student, Michael and his friend, Jabba, we grabbed a tro tro to the beach. Fortunately it took us by Independence Square and since it wasn’t too crowded we opted to jump out and take a look around. There were vendors lining the street selling everything from ice cream to singing bird figurines. There were also many armed military and police officers. I think an AK-47 bumped into me in the crowd. The square was quite full of tanks and marching students. They do a march that sees the arms swing close to the body but far apart from each other, almost to a 180 degree angle. All students in Ghana wear school uniforms and the uniforms are unique to each school. As a side note, school is free and compulsory here, but the mandatory uniforms are not free and end up being a barrier to attending school for many of Ghana’s poorest children. Scholarships exist, but there are not enough. Other than seeing the square occupied for the first time, little was happening. There was however a great enthusiasm in the air for the celebration and Ghana pride was exhibited throughout the crowd.

We exited the square as the activities were wrapping up and headed to Osekan Resort. The large and winding restaurant, not really a resort at all from how I define one, was carved into the side of cliffs overlooking the Atlantic. A few people were there drinking Guiness. I am less and less surprised now to see Ghanaians drinking a beer at 10 in the morning. It was about 12:30, so it was better, but it still felt early for Guiness. The guys I was with ordered the local beer and I conservatively chose pineapple juice. Crabs walked around on the rocks in front of us and we could see fisherman out in the distance. Tuesday is the only forbidden day to fish, so most go out every other day of the week, even holidays. At one point we saw one jump overboard and swim around his boat, apparently too cool off from a long, hot day on the water. Michael struck a conversation with a girl sitting next to us and invited her over. Rita, my newest Ghanaian friend, ended up being a great addition to the group. She told us about her masters program in computer science and how much she loved working with computers. She is also one of the first athletes I have met here. She plays volleyball at the school, but likes to run to stay in shape. We went on a couple of walks around the restaurant and she showed me the cave the people used for shelter and explored the other side of the resort that had steps down to an abandoned pontoon. The guys stayed behind to spend more time chilling. Jabba told me how much he liked Benin because they know how to “chill” there, much more so than Ghana. I was impressed that anyone could relax better than Ghanaians and still get things done. As far as I could tell, Ghanaians are pretty good and enjoying the moment, enjoying the setting and not looking for or needing anything more.

A live band was to start playing at 4 and, although I was tired again – the heat really takes a lot out of you here – I wanted to persevere to watch live music for the first time here. I tried not looking at my watch to see the minutes tick by and tried to focus on looking out at the water and the interesting cliff shrubs. By 6:15 though, I started setting deadlines for when I wouldn’t wait any longer. It was one of those situations though where you feel like you have already waited so long you might as well keep waiting, so I just stayed. Finally a rasta guy ran out swinging his dreadlocks around. He was joined by another man, a young boy, one man who walked with his hands and dragged his legs behind him, and a muscular man walking with crutches. It seemed like an eclectic mix for a band, but I was just happy they were starting. Each man or boy took turns dancing and doing acrobatics. I realized that this is something I have seen before. Groups from other parts of Ghana travel around and do these performances for money. Their dance moves are Cirque du Soleil like with astounding demonstrations of flexibility – to the point where I cringe and turn away – and partner flips – where two men hold onto each other’s ankles and flip head over feet several times. This dance troupe was also very into pelvic thrusts which also made my prudish eyes want to look away. That was the signature move of the man who walked on his hands and he was able to draw loud applause from the audience whenever he made those motions.

As part of the finale, the dreadlocked dancer lit several torches, ran around with them and teased the audience with nearly putting them into his mouth. He went looking for a volunteer from the audience and, as luck would have it, stopped in front of me. It wasn’t really a volunteer situation since he didn’t seem to want to accept my refusal. There I was, up on stage with a Rastafarian holding lit torches. When I finally composed myself, I realized he was dancing with me, well really with my leg since he was quite low to the ground. I raised my arms up and sort of moved them around to simulate dancing. And, of course, he wanted to do more pelvic thrusts, so as we stood side by side he did his back and forth movements and I opted for the more Western side to side hip movements. He gave me two to hold while he put one on his tongue. He really wanted me to look close at his mouth to prove to the audience that he was really touching the fire to his tongue. He really picked the wrong person for this task. I watched him though and he definitely put it on his tongue and then he shoved it down his pants too, which I didn’t understand. I got to see his tighty-whities catch on fire momentarily. It was all pretty crazy, but everyone gave me a nice supportive round of applause afterwards. I even heard a few comments that I “can really dance for a white girl.”

The band we had all waited for finally appeared to be set up enough to do sound checks, but as the sound checks continued well past 8 o’clock, we decided to forget it and head home. It was a nice way to celebrate Ghana’s big day. I feel like I got to see the best of Ghana and perhaps Ghana got to see the best of me too.

Nobody puts baby in the corner

Salsa dancing has gained considerable popularity recently in Accra. Hotels in conjunction with radio stations are sponsoring salsa nights each week. Last Wednesday evening when I was attempting to get internet access at the hostel, a NAFTI student named Romeo invited me to join him and a few of his friends. I was so tired and hot from the day that I really debated whether to go, but figured that this might be my last chance to see what salsa dancing is like in this country. We left at about 7:15 and I was reassured that we would be back by 10:00 since everyone else was tired as well. I should have known better, but was optimistic that I would still get a good night sleep. Ten of us piled into two taxis, four across the back, and headed off. The girls were all decked out and looked so cute with their heels and trendy dresses. I had put on a fresh pair of khakis and my black flip-flops for the occasion, so I felt a little lacking in the fashion department.

We arrived at the hotel which was a two to three story brick building that surrounded a pool. Already, there had to be about 200 people dancing around the pool. I followed Romeo to the beginners section, somehow he must have guessed. They were just finishing up the lessons when Romeo turned to me and said, “Feel free to mingle” and took off. I am not much of a mingler especially in a situation where I don’t know anyone or their dance. I thought I would walk around a bit to check out the hotel and the pool area. I felt a bit like Baby carrying watermelons to the party. Fortunately, a lot of people were watching the dancers, so I didn’t feel too awkward sitting down and observing.

They announced that a salsa dance contest would be taking place that evening and were encouraging couples to sign up. There were definitely five or six couples dancing away from the group that really stood out. One man was able to dip his partner down low enough, hold onto her back and flip one leg and then the other over her. Another couple was able to do lifts and flips. It was sort of like watching a free dance show. I expected them all to compete in the contest since they were so comfortable standing out from the rest of the crowd. One other thing that was striking aside from the dancers’ talent was the amount of sweat being produced by everyone. It was HOT out that night and there was lightning in the distance. Wet shirts and dresses didn’t stop anyone from getting close or continuing to show off their skills. I was sweating just sitting there, so I couldn’t imagine what it was like for the people moving around.

Another portion of the night reaffirmed why it was best for me to watch while the others danced. In addition to salsa dancing, the group did “line-ups.” The group did do the Macarena later in the night, but this was by far the simplest of the line dances. I thought that perhaps I could attempt this, but the dances were so complex that I had difficulty identifying the dance pattern. Also, the steps weren’t just about putting your right foot in and your right foot out. There were twists and jumps that were done in conjunction with specific hand movements. Several of the dances recalled the moves highlighted in Dirty Dancing as well, just done in a line instead of with a partner. They really like pelvic thrusts and are not hesitant to use this move often. All in all though, two hundred people all looked amazing in unison and the music was really fun. They even had a line dance to Shakira’s My Hips Don’t Lie.

At 9:45 I noticed that the contest had not started yet and when someone announced that the salsa dancing was going to “go all night” I started plotting my plan of escape. I did one more loop around and saw a few other white people that I thought were unlikely to be Americans. Finally, the dance contest started, so I headed back to my appointed place. Only 4 couples signed up and only 2 were still willing and available to compete. They said they wouldn’t continue the contest if no one else signed up, so they called and again and again for another couple. A brave little man walked over with his ballerina-shaped obruni dance partner. They were quite the couple since she had at least 6 inches on him. As they started dancing though, the duo clearly connected well in salsa. Her long white limbs swung around and around, especially when the little man flipped her. In the end though, they came in third out of three. The judges actually couldn’t decide between the other two couples, so they had the audience pick by a show of applause. I was hoping for a dance off, but instead I got more line dancing from the group.

After the dance contest and well past 10, a NAFTI student recognized me and pulled me over to where all of the other students were dancing. I had no choice but to stand a dance a bit. Some poor but generous soul grabbed me to dance with him. The flip-flops did not help, but they really can’t be blamed completely for my difficulty with the salsa moves. Dancing is such a significant part of the culture, that I am not sure if he had ever been confronted with someone who struggled so much with stepping forward and stepping back to a beat. He would pause so I could catch up and we would begin again. I don’t think we made it to the end of the song when he wished me “good luck.” I saw Eunice, one of the girls I sang in the choir with, attempting to learn one of the line dancers. We chatted for a bit and danced a little. Around 11:30, the group was ready to leave and we headed to the taxis. Although I didn’t do a lot of dancing, being an observer of phenomenal dancing and listening to great music in a breezy courtyard was a really nice experience. It certainly beat an evening of Soduko puzzles and War and Peace.