Message In a Bottle

I'm sick again today, but have sought refuge in the computer lab, because there is FANS! Don't worry, I don't have malaria, well, I think I don't have malaria. Did you know that after you get malaria once you can no longer donate blood? Yes, finally an excuse other than I am afraid of needles... This week I have been pushing myself to be productive, and let me tell you it is a fight. Everything seems here always takes three times as long as it would back home. If I could have my way and rewind, I would have done all of my theoretical research back home, you know the place where you have Internet at your finger-tips and you are actually allowed to check out books, and then only have field research to do here. In case any one's wondering, I am doing my research project on microfinance and women in Ghana. Tuesday I headed out in downtown Accra to the Ministry of Women and Children and was given the royal run around. I went from office to office, getting yelled at for wasting people's time, one woman repeating over and over again, "this is the government, you think you can just walk in here!" Well, I guess I did. Eventually though, that same woman sat down for an interview, became my greatest bud, told me what I needed to know and asked for my phone number. So you see, it's possible to be successful and productive, just takes forever. Oh, and yesterday, I had a meeting with my advisor for my research project, and apparently he wants me write a dissertation....so yeah. But don't fret, I still have travel stories!!!
This past weekend, I took off to Ada Foah, about two hours East of Accra. Finding the station in Accra was a trip in itself. We got lost in a market looking for the Tudu station. I was ready to pass out from the smell of fish and pigs feet, when this shriveled old woman instructed us to follow. So, desperate to escape the smells, we blindly followed, weaving in and out of little alleys of the market, sandwiched in between women selling cassava roots and dried out fish heads. Magically we arrived at a crowded station, thanking the old woman as if she had just found the cure for cancer. We sat in that crowded station for an hour, although I could of sworn it was five, waiting it to fill up in the drastic heat and humidity.
About two hours latter we arrived in Ada Foah. Along the drive there was stand after stand with mangoes for sale, I though I was in heaven. Well, then I saw the Volta river and knew I was. I believe I described some of this region to you before, but I am sure I did not do it any justice. Ada Foah is where the river meets the ocean, and it is possible one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. There is so much green on the shores of the river to contrast the deep blue of the water. The river banks were covered with palm trees to the point you could not even see dry land in most spots. Natalie and I sat there for a while, just taking it in. That's not all we were sitting there motionless for, also leading me to the conclusion I was in heaven was the breeze. It was cool, really cool. So we ate and we waited for a boat to pick us up to take us down toward the estuary where we would be staying. I was so anxious to get there so I could throw my stuff down, wiggle into my bathing suit and hit the water. (Not to mention I would have my choice if I wanted to frolic in the Atlantic Ocean or the Volta River, considering where we were staying was sandwiched in between). Thus, when a boat pulled up and I asked if he was the guy we had just talked to on the phone and he energetically ensured he was, we hopped in and were off....only to realize we had been kidnapped. Okay, exaggeration, we were not really kidnapped, but while in the boat I got a call from Winfred, better known as Rasta man, who was from the place we were going to stay wondering where we were. Apparently Theo, the man who had picked us up owns his own little place on the Volta river for guest to stay at and jumped at the chance of visitors. Well, we had to go where we planned, even to Theo's disappointment. And then, he pulled the boat over, stopping in front of a village, got out and proceeded to fight with some of the locals. Natalie and I were clueless to what the hell was going on. We got in a boat and now had fifty woman and children watching us like we were ghosts and Theo was screaming at the fisherman. I asked one of the women what was going on and she informed me that Theo's engine had cut the lines of the fisherman's nets, and they want him to pay for them. Also, apparently the argument was intensified because Theo was a Ga and they were Ewe. Natalie and I just sat there helpless with not a clue in the world what to do, just watching this event unfold, meanwhile receiving several calls from Rasta man wondering if we had capsized or something. Eventually Theo settled back into the boat and apologized, exclaiming that it took so long because they had expected him to pay two cedi to repair the net. Two cedi, meaning two American dollar would have solved this conflict. It broke my heart a little, realizing how insignificant two cedi's is to most of us international students here, and to them it was cause for world war three. Just another reminder of how fortunate I am, and that it should be continually recognized here that people are obviously not as well of. I wish I could have just given him the two cedi to avoid such intense conflict, but it's not my place to interfere, right? AHHH!
Well, eventually we made it to the Maranata, where we were staying, in simple reed huts with sand floors and a mosquito net. We wanted to take a walk down to where the river meets the ocean, for we have heared from so many that it is like a religious experience. In fact, every August there is a huge festival when people come from all around to wash their feed in the middle of the river. Well, half way there the Apocalypse came, clouds the size of cruise liners and the deepest color of grey rolled in and opened up, soaking us. Although we weren't prepared yet for a swim, the storm was very welcomed because along with a beautiful lightning show over the ocean, it cooled the Earth. I was cold. I was cold and could not recall the last time I had ever felt that sensation. We sat outside all night, just happy to be cold. I went to bed and slept through the night because I was cold. Cold is a beautiful thing.
The next day we were able to make the hour hike down to the estuary, and no description had done any justice. The violent waves from the Atlantic were crashing with the flow of the Volta river. It reminded me of some epic battle, the River pushing and trying to break past the ocean and the ocean trying to push the river back where it belongs. On our walk back, after passing fishermen out at work, we swam in the River, hoping it will not give us any diseases like, um, River blindness. The whole time I thought how fascinating that to me this is a paradise, and to all those living along the banks it is simply home, and the river, their sustenance. Interesting. Later that day, after already being burnt to a crisp, Winfred took us on a boat ride around the Volta River, stopping at a Rum making Island. Yes, this village on an Island on the River makes rum for a living. They took us around showing us how they make the rum, and "forcing" us to sample. Lucky for them, making us sample also made us happy to buy some...smart salesmen!
The rest of the weekend was spent in the water, collecting shells, contemplating the meaning of life, getting eaten alive by mosquitoes, drinking rum, enjoying bonfire and writing in my journal.
So you see, I guess I should not be allowed to complain about my hectic week of research, because I found paradise baby.