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.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Friday, April 11, 2008
Funerals, Libations and High Priestessess
I have just recently rediscovered this past week that school work cannot be put off forever. Thus, this week I have been exploring very unfamiliar territory, the library! Yes, believe it or not, my adventures each week are now being interrupted by actual research, for my deadline for my research project is quickly approaching, and like usual, I am putting it off. However, my past weekend must be discussed.
Have I mentioned my drumming instructor? Well, if not, here I go. I adore the man. He is a musical genius, according to me, who didn't even know I was capable of liking, much less ever playing any sort of instrument. Now, don't misinterpret me, I am no Ringo when it comes to the drums and I have no rhythm, but hey, I love hearing the drums, playing them and watching others play them. And Johnson, my teacher, is both an amazing drummer and an amazing teacher. Tim, if you were not so convinced that you will die of malaria when visiting Africa, the music here would be worth the trip! Well, anyways, Johnson organized a trip for the students in his drumming class to go with him to his village, Dzodze, in the Volta region for the weekend to attend a funeral. Yes, a funeral. Of course, all I thought when funerals come to mind, was lots of black, awkward small talk with distant relatives and basically an all around somber affair. Well, I was very mistaken.
We left Friday morning for Dzodze, and the drive was amazing. I had never been to this region of Ghana, the Eastern region. We passed over the Volta River, right along the coast, near a popular destination of Ada, where I am heading this upcoming weekend. Then, later we drove through Keta, which is this small coastal town that has the Atlantic ocean on one side, and this MASSIVE lagoon on the other side. It was literally a strip of land, that according to my guidebook, is slowly eroding away, considering it's below sea level. The book mentioned that one day, that strip of land may no longer be there. I guess you could call it the Venice of Africa? The views were amazing. However, not so amazing was the road. It was an "I hope I can walk after this" moment, as the roads were unpaved and scattered with pot-holes the size of Utah. We survived of course and arrived in Dzodze, which was only about 20 minutes from the boarder of Togo.
After getting out of the car and stretching, I heard giggles from above. Looking up, there were a couple of kids hanging out of a tree watching me. That's how I was greeted. No one yelling "oburoni," just people happy to see us there, a trend that I felt lasted the whole weekend. I didn't feel like a tourist or an outsider, just a welcomed guest. Johnson had made arrangements for us to stay with his junior sister (his youngest sister). However, before we settled in, he had us lined up on some benches, so he could properly welcome us...with libations. Libations. according to Johnson, is giving thanks to God for, well, anything, like for a safe journey. Thus, he passed around a shot glass and we all took a swig of a local liquor, dumping some on the ground for praise. What a way to start off the day, with gin shots.
After a lunch/dinner of banku and very chemically flavored water, we headed off to the first rounds of celebration. We walked up to the main road where people dressed in red and black were parading through the streets. Some of them were wailing and others were rejoicing, an ever present antithesis. We followed behind the procession, behind the last taxi. I noticed that the person sitting between two younger men was all cloaked in traditional fabrics. I asked Johnson who that person was, and he simply replied "that's the dead body, that why we are here." SO, yeah, dead body, wrapped in the back of a taxi. Needless to say, ever the anthropologist, I was very curious how the rest of the weekend would pan out.
The precession ended where the music began. Dozens upon dozens were crowded into a courtyard in the town. I was instantly overwhelmed because this was unlike any funeral I have ever been to. When I think of funerals in the US, instantly I imagine a crowded rooms, with people all dressed in black, somber and forced to make painful small talk with long lost relatives and friends. In Dzodze, the funeral was a community affair. Appropriately, the family was sitting of to the side, mourning, and when I say mourning I mean wailing. I thought I would not be able to sleep after seeing and hearing the cries of one woman in particular, you would have thought she was being brutally murdered. On the other hand, those outside the family were congregated in the center and having a good old fashioned dance party. We were standing on the outside, trying to take everything in and understand our purpose at the funeral, because obviously we were totally out of place. And then, one older, somewhat crazy, woman grabbed each one of us and dragged us into the crowd to join in on the dancing. So it my function became apparent, I was to celebrate, and celebrate I did. After a bit of dancing, and watching them carry the body into it's temporary resting place, we returned to Johnson's sisters compound to rest up. Of course, considering that we are a drumming class, Johnson gathered drums from all around, and we sat in the pitch black and began a drumming circle.
Later, way past my bed time and after many went to sleep, Johnson energetically retrieved us all and informed us that we must return to the celebration. Although exhausted, we were not going to miss out on a single cultural experience. It was around 10 pm, and when we arrived, they were having a religious service for the deceased. We all sat politely in silence, listening to a Christian sermon that was in a language totally foreign to us. We continued to sit politely as people surrounding us began to pray in tongues. But, then out of no where, the music began and we were on our feet again, dragged out into the dancing circle, where we danced until it was time for bed. Oh, bed. 20 of us slept on the concrete floor of what appeared to be a living room with furniture pushed to the side. It made for one HOT and sleepless night, but that is perfectly okay, it gave me reflection time. One thing I have noticed about myself and most of the people I have traveled with is that we go with the flow and we are totally up for any sort of arraignments. I mean, I have slept under a mosquito net on the beach or in a bus station, so a concrete floor next to twenty other bodies was a piece of cake and I would do it all over again. I am beginning to believe that I can handle most any form of travel at this point, and look forward to challenging myself even more.
Okay, so day two. After waking up, eating some bread, and getting into our red and black get-up (the actual day of the funeral required you to ware such colors), we were of to visit Johnson's senior sister. Brace yourself, don't get to jealous, Johnson's senior sister is a high priestess. Yes, a high priestess. So, now my life is content. I have been to Africa and I have met a high priestess. The whole visit was fascinating and I wish I had listened better and asked more question, but there was just such a big group of us for Anthro Ali. We entered from the side, because otherwise we would have to remove our shoes passing through the front by the compounds resident Deity. We sat in a half circle facing the high priestess and what I assume were lower priestesses. We watched her eagerly as she began to pray and pour libations to the earth. My favorite moment of the visit was when someones phone began to ring during her prayers, all of us looking around wondering who was not considerate enough to turn their phone on silent for the occasion, only to realize that it was the high priestess's phone. I feel like I could write a book about the moment in time. This high priestess in a small town in Ghana had a cell phone, and thus a reason for ownership of such a phone.Talk about globalization. After she finished on the phone, she passed around shots of gin for us to give libations. Of course I could not refuse, it would be culturally offensive. This time, it hit me pretty strongly and when Johnson announced that it was time to head off to the funeral, I was paranoid that I would be stumbling around drunk at a funeral, in Ghana! Don't worry, with this kind of heat, I sweat it out just in time for the funeral. I loved the contradiction I experienced within the same hour. We went from witnessing a "traditional" religious practice to a Christian ceremony. It is so fascinating that the two coexist like they do within Dzodze. Also, traditional considerations never seem to be abandoned at the Christian celebrations, considering everyone was still dressed in traditional Ghanaian attire. It was just so fascinating bouncing form one form of celebration to the next. AT this particular ceremony, the preacher turned to us and thanked his "white brothers and sisters" for being there to celebrate with the community. I really appreciated that moment, feeling so welcomed yet again. After the preaching and prayers concluded, we followed the precession from the courtyard, to the compound of the family of the deceased, on to the burial site. I hope you don't get the wrong impression of my description, it was not all enjoyment for me, this was a legitimate funeral, and that really hit home as I watched them pushing dirt over the casket. I was sad, but it made sense. Those who needed to weep, wept. And those who needed to celebrate, celebrated. I felt very fortunate that I could be along for the ride and included for a weekend in this towns life.
Before we departed, Johnson had us stop by his senior brothers compound, where we had to offer his brother gifts, of beer and more gin. So, we had more, in the name of culture of course, before we hit the road. As I was leaving, Johnson's brother, who had to be in his 60s at least asked if we could be pen pals. So, now my life is really really complete, I can be pen pals with an sweet old man from Dzodze.
Have I mentioned my drumming instructor? Well, if not, here I go. I adore the man. He is a musical genius, according to me, who didn't even know I was capable of liking, much less ever playing any sort of instrument. Now, don't misinterpret me, I am no Ringo when it comes to the drums and I have no rhythm, but hey, I love hearing the drums, playing them and watching others play them. And Johnson, my teacher, is both an amazing drummer and an amazing teacher. Tim, if you were not so convinced that you will die of malaria when visiting Africa, the music here would be worth the trip! Well, anyways, Johnson organized a trip for the students in his drumming class to go with him to his village, Dzodze, in the Volta region for the weekend to attend a funeral. Yes, a funeral. Of course, all I thought when funerals come to mind, was lots of black, awkward small talk with distant relatives and basically an all around somber affair. Well, I was very mistaken.
We left Friday morning for Dzodze, and the drive was amazing. I had never been to this region of Ghana, the Eastern region. We passed over the Volta River, right along the coast, near a popular destination of Ada, where I am heading this upcoming weekend. Then, later we drove through Keta, which is this small coastal town that has the Atlantic ocean on one side, and this MASSIVE lagoon on the other side. It was literally a strip of land, that according to my guidebook, is slowly eroding away, considering it's below sea level. The book mentioned that one day, that strip of land may no longer be there. I guess you could call it the Venice of Africa? The views were amazing. However, not so amazing was the road. It was an "I hope I can walk after this" moment, as the roads were unpaved and scattered with pot-holes the size of Utah. We survived of course and arrived in Dzodze, which was only about 20 minutes from the boarder of Togo.
After getting out of the car and stretching, I heard giggles from above. Looking up, there were a couple of kids hanging out of a tree watching me. That's how I was greeted. No one yelling "oburoni," just people happy to see us there, a trend that I felt lasted the whole weekend. I didn't feel like a tourist or an outsider, just a welcomed guest. Johnson had made arrangements for us to stay with his junior sister (his youngest sister). However, before we settled in, he had us lined up on some benches, so he could properly welcome us...with libations. Libations. according to Johnson, is giving thanks to God for, well, anything, like for a safe journey. Thus, he passed around a shot glass and we all took a swig of a local liquor, dumping some on the ground for praise. What a way to start off the day, with gin shots.
After a lunch/dinner of banku and very chemically flavored water, we headed off to the first rounds of celebration. We walked up to the main road where people dressed in red and black were parading through the streets. Some of them were wailing and others were rejoicing, an ever present antithesis. We followed behind the procession, behind the last taxi. I noticed that the person sitting between two younger men was all cloaked in traditional fabrics. I asked Johnson who that person was, and he simply replied "that's the dead body, that why we are here." SO, yeah, dead body, wrapped in the back of a taxi. Needless to say, ever the anthropologist, I was very curious how the rest of the weekend would pan out.
The precession ended where the music began. Dozens upon dozens were crowded into a courtyard in the town. I was instantly overwhelmed because this was unlike any funeral I have ever been to. When I think of funerals in the US, instantly I imagine a crowded rooms, with people all dressed in black, somber and forced to make painful small talk with long lost relatives and friends. In Dzodze, the funeral was a community affair. Appropriately, the family was sitting of to the side, mourning, and when I say mourning I mean wailing. I thought I would not be able to sleep after seeing and hearing the cries of one woman in particular, you would have thought she was being brutally murdered. On the other hand, those outside the family were congregated in the center and having a good old fashioned dance party. We were standing on the outside, trying to take everything in and understand our purpose at the funeral, because obviously we were totally out of place. And then, one older, somewhat crazy, woman grabbed each one of us and dragged us into the crowd to join in on the dancing. So it my function became apparent, I was to celebrate, and celebrate I did. After a bit of dancing, and watching them carry the body into it's temporary resting place, we returned to Johnson's sisters compound to rest up. Of course, considering that we are a drumming class, Johnson gathered drums from all around, and we sat in the pitch black and began a drumming circle.
Later, way past my bed time and after many went to sleep, Johnson energetically retrieved us all and informed us that we must return to the celebration. Although exhausted, we were not going to miss out on a single cultural experience. It was around 10 pm, and when we arrived, they were having a religious service for the deceased. We all sat politely in silence, listening to a Christian sermon that was in a language totally foreign to us. We continued to sit politely as people surrounding us began to pray in tongues. But, then out of no where, the music began and we were on our feet again, dragged out into the dancing circle, where we danced until it was time for bed. Oh, bed. 20 of us slept on the concrete floor of what appeared to be a living room with furniture pushed to the side. It made for one HOT and sleepless night, but that is perfectly okay, it gave me reflection time. One thing I have noticed about myself and most of the people I have traveled with is that we go with the flow and we are totally up for any sort of arraignments. I mean, I have slept under a mosquito net on the beach or in a bus station, so a concrete floor next to twenty other bodies was a piece of cake and I would do it all over again. I am beginning to believe that I can handle most any form of travel at this point, and look forward to challenging myself even more.
Okay, so day two. After waking up, eating some bread, and getting into our red and black get-up (the actual day of the funeral required you to ware such colors), we were of to visit Johnson's senior sister. Brace yourself, don't get to jealous, Johnson's senior sister is a high priestess. Yes, a high priestess. So, now my life is content. I have been to Africa and I have met a high priestess. The whole visit was fascinating and I wish I had listened better and asked more question, but there was just such a big group of us for Anthro Ali. We entered from the side, because otherwise we would have to remove our shoes passing through the front by the compounds resident Deity. We sat in a half circle facing the high priestess and what I assume were lower priestesses. We watched her eagerly as she began to pray and pour libations to the earth. My favorite moment of the visit was when someones phone began to ring during her prayers, all of us looking around wondering who was not considerate enough to turn their phone on silent for the occasion, only to realize that it was the high priestess's phone. I feel like I could write a book about the moment in time. This high priestess in a small town in Ghana had a cell phone, and thus a reason for ownership of such a phone.Talk about globalization. After she finished on the phone, she passed around shots of gin for us to give libations. Of course I could not refuse, it would be culturally offensive. This time, it hit me pretty strongly and when Johnson announced that it was time to head off to the funeral, I was paranoid that I would be stumbling around drunk at a funeral, in Ghana! Don't worry, with this kind of heat, I sweat it out just in time for the funeral. I loved the contradiction I experienced within the same hour. We went from witnessing a "traditional" religious practice to a Christian ceremony. It is so fascinating that the two coexist like they do within Dzodze. Also, traditional considerations never seem to be abandoned at the Christian celebrations, considering everyone was still dressed in traditional Ghanaian attire. It was just so fascinating bouncing form one form of celebration to the next. AT this particular ceremony, the preacher turned to us and thanked his "white brothers and sisters" for being there to celebrate with the community. I really appreciated that moment, feeling so welcomed yet again. After the preaching and prayers concluded, we followed the precession from the courtyard, to the compound of the family of the deceased, on to the burial site. I hope you don't get the wrong impression of my description, it was not all enjoyment for me, this was a legitimate funeral, and that really hit home as I watched them pushing dirt over the casket. I was sad, but it made sense. Those who needed to weep, wept. And those who needed to celebrate, celebrated. I felt very fortunate that I could be along for the ride and included for a weekend in this towns life.
Before we departed, Johnson had us stop by his senior brothers compound, where we had to offer his brother gifts, of beer and more gin. So, we had more, in the name of culture of course, before we hit the road. As I was leaving, Johnson's brother, who had to be in his 60s at least asked if we could be pen pals. So, now my life is really really complete, I can be pen pals with an sweet old man from Dzodze.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Auntie Alexandra
See Auntie Alexandra. See Auntie Alexandra dance. Dance Auntie Alexandra. See Auntie Alexandra play the drum. Play the drum Auntie Alexandra. Hear Auntie Alexandra speak Twi. Speak Twi Auntie Alexandra. See Auntie Alexandra dance. Dance Auntie Alexandra. See Auntie Alexandra play the drum. Play the drum Auntie Alexandra. Hear Auntie Alexandra speak Twi. Speak Twi Auntie Alexandra. See Auntie Alexandra dance. Dance Auntie Alexandra. See Auntie Alexandra play the drum. Play the drum Auntie Alexandra. Hear Auntie Alexandra speak Twi. Speak Twi Auntie Alexandra.
I began to realize that I really only fill in the blanks after I have returned from some adventure from outside Accra. Yes, I have now been to lush beaches and crazy safaris, but the adventure I am having right here at home, well Accra, is just as deserving of a blog post.
I have just come from my second Wednesday volunteering at the University Primary school, in class 1U, with about 45 little first graders. Does it show? According to these 45 little faces, on Wednesdays I am known as Auntie Alexandra. That was how I was introduced by Ruby, the 1st grade teacher who graciously took me under her wing and refuses to tell me her last name. Thus, from now until I return, I will be referred to as Auntie Alexandra, thank you very much. I cannot wait until next Wednesday. I did not realize how accustomed I have become to having children around me. I always have a long list of babysitting clientele or I am filling in at my Mom's daycare. I have been feeling some sort of hole in my experience here since I have not had much interaction with children. Well, I have filled that hole now. I only have a few hours to spend with them, unfortunately, but they are precious. The first day I showed up, all nervous like I was on a job interview, Ruby thrusted me into the spot light. She wanted me to simply take over the class and teach a lesson. Obviously, I had no idea what was going on and chickened out completely. Rather, I circled the classroom, meeting the children, helping them with their English assignments,and slyly ignoring the giggles that surfaced when my accent was not clear. During their lunch break, I was surrounded by a mob of children. You would have thought I was Santa Clause! The children were giving me lessons in Twi, and well making fun of me, a common theme for me around children in Ghana for some reason. Unfortunately, my experience at the primary school is not a perfect one, and I have been losing much sleep fretting over the way some of the children are treated. I was lucky in elementary school, when I got out of my seat unannounced or was caught talking in class, I surly was not beaten. Ruby explained to me that she does not like using the switch, but it is necessarily. She was nothing compared to the visiting Twi teacher, he would beat the crap out of a student after shouting out threatening warnings, unlike anything I would ever imagine would be remotely acceptable in front of any child. I want to let all that are reading this entry know that I am not sharing this for you to judge. That is a fear that has caused me to hold back so many of my daily experiences. Life is different here, and because all I can expose you to is through my words, I feel like there is a lot left to misinterpretation. The way children are mistreated here is a reality. It sucks. And I have no idea what I could possibly do to alter that. The children at the primary school are receiving a very valuable education, but I feel for them as they are being exposed to violence in the classroom. I understand there are various forms of discipline, and maybe certain methods work differently from place to place, but I cannot become accustomed to that which is used at the primary school. Regardless, I will not stop showing up, because I have so much to learn from these children. Just today, I had to give a "lesson," and of course having nothing prepared, I just asked and answered a million questions. Where are you from? What's your favorite food? What's your favorite hobby? Then I had the children draw pictures to answer this question. So now I have 45 drawings of kids playing football, or jump roping, or eating fufu. I feel very fortunate to have the time to get to know some of the children of Ghana, they may be one of my best windows into the country that is still vastly unfamiliar to me.
I began to realize that I really only fill in the blanks after I have returned from some adventure from outside Accra. Yes, I have now been to lush beaches and crazy safaris, but the adventure I am having right here at home, well Accra, is just as deserving of a blog post.
I have just come from my second Wednesday volunteering at the University Primary school, in class 1U, with about 45 little first graders. Does it show? According to these 45 little faces, on Wednesdays I am known as Auntie Alexandra. That was how I was introduced by Ruby, the 1st grade teacher who graciously took me under her wing and refuses to tell me her last name. Thus, from now until I return, I will be referred to as Auntie Alexandra, thank you very much. I cannot wait until next Wednesday. I did not realize how accustomed I have become to having children around me. I always have a long list of babysitting clientele or I am filling in at my Mom's daycare. I have been feeling some sort of hole in my experience here since I have not had much interaction with children. Well, I have filled that hole now. I only have a few hours to spend with them, unfortunately, but they are precious. The first day I showed up, all nervous like I was on a job interview, Ruby thrusted me into the spot light. She wanted me to simply take over the class and teach a lesson. Obviously, I had no idea what was going on and chickened out completely. Rather, I circled the classroom, meeting the children, helping them with their English assignments,and slyly ignoring the giggles that surfaced when my accent was not clear. During their lunch break, I was surrounded by a mob of children. You would have thought I was Santa Clause! The children were giving me lessons in Twi, and well making fun of me, a common theme for me around children in Ghana for some reason. Unfortunately, my experience at the primary school is not a perfect one, and I have been losing much sleep fretting over the way some of the children are treated. I was lucky in elementary school, when I got out of my seat unannounced or was caught talking in class, I surly was not beaten. Ruby explained to me that she does not like using the switch, but it is necessarily. She was nothing compared to the visiting Twi teacher, he would beat the crap out of a student after shouting out threatening warnings, unlike anything I would ever imagine would be remotely acceptable in front of any child. I want to let all that are reading this entry know that I am not sharing this for you to judge. That is a fear that has caused me to hold back so many of my daily experiences. Life is different here, and because all I can expose you to is through my words, I feel like there is a lot left to misinterpretation. The way children are mistreated here is a reality. It sucks. And I have no idea what I could possibly do to alter that. The children at the primary school are receiving a very valuable education, but I feel for them as they are being exposed to violence in the classroom. I understand there are various forms of discipline, and maybe certain methods work differently from place to place, but I cannot become accustomed to that which is used at the primary school. Regardless, I will not stop showing up, because I have so much to learn from these children. Just today, I had to give a "lesson," and of course having nothing prepared, I just asked and answered a million questions. Where are you from? What's your favorite food? What's your favorite hobby? Then I had the children draw pictures to answer this question. So now I have 45 drawings of kids playing football, or jump roping, or eating fufu. I feel very fortunate to have the time to get to know some of the children of Ghana, they may be one of my best windows into the country that is still vastly unfamiliar to me.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Easter with Elephants
I remember when I was little, and when I say little I mean all the way up to last year, I would rise at dawn to survey the house in attempt to find the Easter eggs my parents hid before my brothers. Of course once we found them, we would gorge ourselves on chocolate, fight over who had the biggest chocolate bunny, and then be dragged off to church for more celebration followed by a grand Easter brunch. This was the Easter that is familiar to me, the Easter that gives me the fuzzy feelings inside of home. This Easter was one for the record books, and adventure to say the least. To give you a short snap shot, for comparison of course, this Easter I spent my nights in a Muslim village in Northern Ghana, sleeping on the roof under the stars, going on safari's during the day, and hanging out with ELEPHANTS!
So, I believe I should accept the fact, whether it is here or back home in the US, no matter what trip I may take, it always HAS TO get off to a rocky start. I don't know what it is about traveling, but there is no such thing as a smooth start. Oh well, every experience here has turned out to be amazing, so I guess I should not complain. BUT, is it to much to ask for everything to just work out??
The seven of us who were to make the trek up to Mole National Park, which is some 16 to 20 hours from Accra, agreed to depart at 5:45 am. I set three alarms, my phone, my watch and my travel alarm and somehow I still managed to sleep through them. I got a knock on the door at 6:20 from Katie telling my that my group was waiting for me at the bottom of campus (like a mile away). So I jump up, have a panic attack, throw on some clothes, grab my stuff, and RUN out the door. I literally sprinted all the way down to the bottom of campus! As I was running, I had concerned Ghanaians shouting at me "Slow down," "Relax!" One thing to remember, is that Ghanaians are slow, they take there time wherever they are going! In fact, I have been told that the way they can tell we are American, is because we walk so fast wherever we go. Anyways, so I made it down in record time, met my very patient friends, made our way via taxi to the STC bus station, and of course waited for our DELAYED bus. All that rushing for nothing. AND on top of everything, (deep breath, let me write this without tears) my camera broke on my run down! Of course my camera would break before my trip to the North, where I would be going on safaris and seeing all kinds of animals! Eh, life goes on, but pictures from the weekend may take a while to reach you because I have to collect them from all the people I bugged to take pictures of me all weekend.
The bus ride from Accra to Tamale was LONG, but the relentless picture taking of people sleeping kept us entertained for some parts, as well as my I-pod (thanks again Mom and Dad for not listening to me when I said I didn't want one.) We departed at around 9 am and did not arrive until after 10pm. Because we would have to catch the bus to Larabunga (again can't spell without the guide book!) at 4am, we decided it was pointless to get a hotel for just a few hours. Now, Julie, I know I am going to get a scary email from you lecturing me on how to be safe because I am in Africa and doing something stupid is just going to get me killed. I'll save you the trouble because yes, sleeping in a bus station in Africa is probably on that list, but I survived, and will kick my own butt for doing it. So yeah, we slept on benches in the open air bus station. I remember thinking I would not fall asleep considering the blasting music and people drinking in the station, but somehow I dosed off, clenching my purse and back pack. I woke up once in the night to a man just standing in front of me watching me sleep, and others laughing at us because we were sleeping in a freaking bus station like the homeless. Needless to say, we did not get much sleep, but were up looking for the other bus station by 4am. Our next bus was to take us to Larabunga, about four hours aways from Tamale. This bus was much less "luxurious," and my butt is still recovering from that bumpy ride. While scrambling in the morning, looking for tickets to Larabunga and getting totally conflicting information, we ran into a fellow traveler, Dylan, who helped lead us in the right direction. Another theme I have recognized traveling in Ghana, is somehow, magically, you figure your way around, or find someone to do it for you. We got to Larabunga around 10 am, where we were greeted by Al Hassan, from the Salia's Brothers Guest House, whom I had called about 10 times the previous few days. I feel like I could write a book about Larabunga and the Salia Brothers, because the village and the twin brothers were fascinating.The village, which is only 6km from Mole National Park, has the oldest mosque in Ghana. I found it quite ironic that I was spending Easter weekend in one of the most Muslim villages in Ghana. Larabunga was just full of life. From the second we got off the bus, we were surrounded by tuns of children. Al Hassan personally came and got us from the bus stop and lead us back to his house, a little compound with extra rooms for travelers. He took the time to welcome us, introduce us to the town, and make arrangements from transportation to Mole, which was a bit of a rip off, but we quickly forgave him once we realized how much he and his brother help their community. We dropped our stuff off in a room, however, we had no intention of sleeping in this room. Our aim was to sleep on the roofs, because the heat would have been suffocating with the seven of us in one room with one bed. Let me remind you, that we had been up since 3:30 am and had slept in a bus station, so needless to say we were a little tired. But we pushed through it and spent the day at Mole, just a car ride away. I was so taken back by the vastness of Mole. I guess I am used to the crowded streets of Accra, so when I saw trees for miles and miles I was thrown off. Not to mention real, live animals! The greatest surprise that greeted us that morning were waiting for us at the base of the Mole Motel. Elephants! They were bathing in the watering hole that is conveniently beneath the Motel, escaping the hot sun. Similarly we went to our watering hole, spending time in the pool, waiting for three in the afternoon to role around so that we could take our first safari. I opted not for the pool, because I still have no bathing suit, but spent my time watching the elephants splash about and stuffing myself with omo tuo (totally spelled that wrong), which is rice balls in ground-nut soup. When we were ready to depart for our afternoon safari, the man who was "helping" us arrange the trip showed his true colors, and attempted to royally rip is off, trying to charge our group that morphed into nine, with the addition of the fellow traveler Allison and Dylan we met along the way, a ridiculous rate. However, such practices have become common in such tourist locations, and there was no chance we were going to miss out on our safari. So after long arguments, we were off, and guess where I was sitting. Yeah, the roof! And not just on the roof of the car, but on the wheel on top of the roof of the car, making every little bump we passed over, a possibly life-ending possibility. Because I was so elevated, every time the driver turned or went over a bump, I would be launched forward, over the edge, if it were not for my death grip on the side of the car. Although I had many moments of doubt questioning whether or not I was to die, I quickly realized there is just no other way to do it, I saw everything. I had the best views, and the wind rushing in my face was so liberating. I had one of those moments up there, where it just randomly dawned on me that I was in Africa. You would think I would recognize that more often, but those little moments bring such waves of emotions, joy in particular that a dream was coming true. So we're driving along, seeing baboons and antelope roaming about, and then the car comes to a halt (almost launching me of course). ELEPHANT! It was right next to the car, feeding from the tree tops, paying no real attention to us. We all scrambled down to the bottom, with the guide with a gun of course, and inched our way closer to have a little photo shoot (minus me, broken camera). I literally remember squealing I was so excited, and so in aww. They are such massive, majestic animals, they seem otherworldly almost. In case you have not already realized, I love elephants, they are by far my favorite animal, and among my friends (llama, Emu, Camel, Vulture, Baboon, Koala) it is my animal name. So yes, I was pretty much on cloud nine, getting to see elephants in their natural environment, especially because most people at Mole only spot them in the morning near the watering hole, so we were extremely fortunate. And our luck didn't end there, we spotted three other elephants, warthogs (yes Pumba), many kinds of antelope, crocodile and BABOONS! They were crazy and not to happy to see us. At one point we ran into a family of baboons, and I was half-expecting the car to be charged and torn to shreds judging by the way they greeted us. So yes, car safari, major plus. Of course following, we were exhausted and hungry, and excited for our second safari scheduled the next morning for 7:30 am, this one on foot.
We returned in the evening to Larabunga and the Salia's Brother's Guest House. We spent time in the court yard of the house with Al Hassan and his crazy children, who were running around us, screaming and playing. All the while we were watching the sky, because the most spectacular lightning storm had engulfed us all. The sky seemed alive, and massive purple bolts danced all around us. Of course, we were still determined to sleep on the roof. We laid there for a few hours, under the crazy sky. Al came up to check on us, he was so worried that our time would be ruined because of the rain that may come. He sat next to me and proclaimed, "This just is to remind us that no man can control nature." Of course in reply is stated "neither can woman." He then proceeded to laugh uncontrollably, slap me on the back shouting "I like you," and then very seriously came to the conclusion that "Okay, no HUMAN can control nature." I recount this little convo for you, because just that moment, sitting on the roof, under the violent sky, in a Muslim village in the north with AL was so special, and I will truly cherish our little understanding forever. Just for a moment we seemed deeply connected, and the differences of our lives faded away as we came to a common understanding and appreciation of the world around us. Wow, I am getting a little carried away, but that's just me, so deal. Needless to say, right after I dosed off, I was awoken by something wet covering my body, and in a split second, I realized that the sky was falling! No, just rain, pouring rain. We rushed down with our mattresses, down to the little room, where we huddled together, four on this little bed, the rest in another room. The rain was so loud under the tin roof, but luckily we did not have the leak that the other room of sleepers got to enjoy.
So another adventurous, yet sleepless night. First a bus station, then a rainy rooftop. But I was awoken around 4:30am by the call to prayer from the mosque just a hop-skip and a jump down the road and departed by 6:30.....on BIKE! I was so excited to be on a bike again, it reminded me of Davis and the favored mode of transportation. I was totally in my element, free as a bird on my bike, and then %#$%@&! My peddle came flying off, and the next thing I know, bitter and angry me was walking the 6km to Mole. Well, my friends had to deal with "bad mood" Ali for a while, but I snapped out of it, ready for our foot safari at 7:30am. BUT, once again, as predictable as predictable can be, the guides had not been arranged, and we were stuck safari-less until 10am. It would not be such a big deal, however, we feared that the elephants may have already evacuated the watering hole, which they often do. Well, thing ended well for we convinced our guide to take us straight to the watering hole, skipping the two hour walk to it, where we may have seen some other wildlife. Now this experience was just as mind blowing! We were just feet away from about six elephants, relaxing in the water, splashing about. Again, they are just such beautiful animals, and seeing them in their natural environment rather than behind the walls at the San Diego Zoo was just spectacular. So we spent time there, taking pictures and exchanging little squeals of joy every time they would even move. AND then as we circled to the other side, our favorite elephant, whom I named Frank Sinatra, departed from the watering hole to the shore, within like 20 feet of us. He proceeded to shower himself with mud, only noticing us once, causing the guide to clench his gun in anticipation of a charge. I got some amazing photos, well I mean Jessica got some amazing photos. The elephant almost looks fake in the pictures because he is so close to us in the background. So, eventually we had to be dragged away, and I left with such a content feeling. See the thing is, before I left here to Ghana, I found this list I must have written when I was like ten. It was a list of things I wanted to do in my life time, yes the original bucket list thank you very much Jack Nicholson. What is so crazy is that so many things from that list have been accomplished on this trip, like "go to Africa, touch a crocodile, go on a safari and see elephants." So, walking away, I was content, content that another goal has been accomplished, only a couple thousand to go, no biggy.
We spent more time in the pool, where I gave in and just went in in my undergarments, how lady like, right? Well don't judge, it was probably one of the hottest days of my life, so I would have gone in naked if it had come to that. Before dusk, we all returned to Larabunga, me with Al Hassan, and the others on bike, or foot because more bikes broke down. In Larabunga, we walked around the town and were swarmed by people, curious what we were doing, where we were from and if we would be their friends. As I lay on the roof this night, in dreadful anticipation of being up at 3 in the morning again to catch the bus home, it set in that it was Easter Sunday, and I had spent it in Ghana, on a safari and now under the star in this lovely little village. What a trip!
Well, that's pretty much it, minus the insane morning we had. Al Hassan insisted that he help us get transportation the next day, so that we could be saved the trip all the way back to Tamale, and go straight to Kumasi. He ended up having to brawl with the bus driver because it was full, leaving us stranded in Larabunga. I felt very guilty because he basically got us on, cutting dozens other Ghanaians that were waiting for a ticket. The trip was amazing, and then I had to depart with such a feeling of shame. However, when I voiced this to Al Hassan, he simply reassured me that if they had the opportunity, they would have done the same to me. This didn't really make me feel better, but at least it was something. We ended up taking a tro-tro to Kumasi, which was a whole experience in and of itself, leaving Alicia with horrible bruises because we were being so tossed about. From Kumasi we caught a STC bus, where none of us slept, all alert and talkative after our whirlwind weekend. It was hard coming back from such an experience, and jumping back into school the next day at 8am, but hey, that's life.
So, I believe I should accept the fact, whether it is here or back home in the US, no matter what trip I may take, it always HAS TO get off to a rocky start. I don't know what it is about traveling, but there is no such thing as a smooth start. Oh well, every experience here has turned out to be amazing, so I guess I should not complain. BUT, is it to much to ask for everything to just work out??
The seven of us who were to make the trek up to Mole National Park, which is some 16 to 20 hours from Accra, agreed to depart at 5:45 am. I set three alarms, my phone, my watch and my travel alarm and somehow I still managed to sleep through them. I got a knock on the door at 6:20 from Katie telling my that my group was waiting for me at the bottom of campus (like a mile away). So I jump up, have a panic attack, throw on some clothes, grab my stuff, and RUN out the door. I literally sprinted all the way down to the bottom of campus! As I was running, I had concerned Ghanaians shouting at me "Slow down," "Relax!" One thing to remember, is that Ghanaians are slow, they take there time wherever they are going! In fact, I have been told that the way they can tell we are American, is because we walk so fast wherever we go. Anyways, so I made it down in record time, met my very patient friends, made our way via taxi to the STC bus station, and of course waited for our DELAYED bus. All that rushing for nothing. AND on top of everything, (deep breath, let me write this without tears) my camera broke on my run down! Of course my camera would break before my trip to the North, where I would be going on safaris and seeing all kinds of animals! Eh, life goes on, but pictures from the weekend may take a while to reach you because I have to collect them from all the people I bugged to take pictures of me all weekend.
The bus ride from Accra to Tamale was LONG, but the relentless picture taking of people sleeping kept us entertained for some parts, as well as my I-pod (thanks again Mom and Dad for not listening to me when I said I didn't want one.) We departed at around 9 am and did not arrive until after 10pm. Because we would have to catch the bus to Larabunga (again can't spell without the guide book!) at 4am, we decided it was pointless to get a hotel for just a few hours. Now, Julie, I know I am going to get a scary email from you lecturing me on how to be safe because I am in Africa and doing something stupid is just going to get me killed. I'll save you the trouble because yes, sleeping in a bus station in Africa is probably on that list, but I survived, and will kick my own butt for doing it. So yeah, we slept on benches in the open air bus station. I remember thinking I would not fall asleep considering the blasting music and people drinking in the station, but somehow I dosed off, clenching my purse and back pack. I woke up once in the night to a man just standing in front of me watching me sleep, and others laughing at us because we were sleeping in a freaking bus station like the homeless. Needless to say, we did not get much sleep, but were up looking for the other bus station by 4am. Our next bus was to take us to Larabunga, about four hours aways from Tamale. This bus was much less "luxurious," and my butt is still recovering from that bumpy ride. While scrambling in the morning, looking for tickets to Larabunga and getting totally conflicting information, we ran into a fellow traveler, Dylan, who helped lead us in the right direction. Another theme I have recognized traveling in Ghana, is somehow, magically, you figure your way around, or find someone to do it for you. We got to Larabunga around 10 am, where we were greeted by Al Hassan, from the Salia's Brothers Guest House, whom I had called about 10 times the previous few days. I feel like I could write a book about Larabunga and the Salia Brothers, because the village and the twin brothers were fascinating.The village, which is only 6km from Mole National Park, has the oldest mosque in Ghana. I found it quite ironic that I was spending Easter weekend in one of the most Muslim villages in Ghana. Larabunga was just full of life. From the second we got off the bus, we were surrounded by tuns of children. Al Hassan personally came and got us from the bus stop and lead us back to his house, a little compound with extra rooms for travelers. He took the time to welcome us, introduce us to the town, and make arrangements from transportation to Mole, which was a bit of a rip off, but we quickly forgave him once we realized how much he and his brother help their community. We dropped our stuff off in a room, however, we had no intention of sleeping in this room. Our aim was to sleep on the roofs, because the heat would have been suffocating with the seven of us in one room with one bed. Let me remind you, that we had been up since 3:30 am and had slept in a bus station, so needless to say we were a little tired. But we pushed through it and spent the day at Mole, just a car ride away. I was so taken back by the vastness of Mole. I guess I am used to the crowded streets of Accra, so when I saw trees for miles and miles I was thrown off. Not to mention real, live animals! The greatest surprise that greeted us that morning were waiting for us at the base of the Mole Motel. Elephants! They were bathing in the watering hole that is conveniently beneath the Motel, escaping the hot sun. Similarly we went to our watering hole, spending time in the pool, waiting for three in the afternoon to role around so that we could take our first safari. I opted not for the pool, because I still have no bathing suit, but spent my time watching the elephants splash about and stuffing myself with omo tuo (totally spelled that wrong), which is rice balls in ground-nut soup. When we were ready to depart for our afternoon safari, the man who was "helping" us arrange the trip showed his true colors, and attempted to royally rip is off, trying to charge our group that morphed into nine, with the addition of the fellow traveler Allison and Dylan we met along the way, a ridiculous rate. However, such practices have become common in such tourist locations, and there was no chance we were going to miss out on our safari. So after long arguments, we were off, and guess where I was sitting. Yeah, the roof! And not just on the roof of the car, but on the wheel on top of the roof of the car, making every little bump we passed over, a possibly life-ending possibility. Because I was so elevated, every time the driver turned or went over a bump, I would be launched forward, over the edge, if it were not for my death grip on the side of the car. Although I had many moments of doubt questioning whether or not I was to die, I quickly realized there is just no other way to do it, I saw everything. I had the best views, and the wind rushing in my face was so liberating. I had one of those moments up there, where it just randomly dawned on me that I was in Africa. You would think I would recognize that more often, but those little moments bring such waves of emotions, joy in particular that a dream was coming true. So we're driving along, seeing baboons and antelope roaming about, and then the car comes to a halt (almost launching me of course). ELEPHANT! It was right next to the car, feeding from the tree tops, paying no real attention to us. We all scrambled down to the bottom, with the guide with a gun of course, and inched our way closer to have a little photo shoot (minus me, broken camera). I literally remember squealing I was so excited, and so in aww. They are such massive, majestic animals, they seem otherworldly almost. In case you have not already realized, I love elephants, they are by far my favorite animal, and among my friends (llama, Emu, Camel, Vulture, Baboon, Koala) it is my animal name. So yes, I was pretty much on cloud nine, getting to see elephants in their natural environment, especially because most people at Mole only spot them in the morning near the watering hole, so we were extremely fortunate. And our luck didn't end there, we spotted three other elephants, warthogs (yes Pumba), many kinds of antelope, crocodile and BABOONS! They were crazy and not to happy to see us. At one point we ran into a family of baboons, and I was half-expecting the car to be charged and torn to shreds judging by the way they greeted us. So yes, car safari, major plus. Of course following, we were exhausted and hungry, and excited for our second safari scheduled the next morning for 7:30 am, this one on foot.
We returned in the evening to Larabunga and the Salia's Brother's Guest House. We spent time in the court yard of the house with Al Hassan and his crazy children, who were running around us, screaming and playing. All the while we were watching the sky, because the most spectacular lightning storm had engulfed us all. The sky seemed alive, and massive purple bolts danced all around us. Of course, we were still determined to sleep on the roof. We laid there for a few hours, under the crazy sky. Al came up to check on us, he was so worried that our time would be ruined because of the rain that may come. He sat next to me and proclaimed, "This just is to remind us that no man can control nature." Of course in reply is stated "neither can woman." He then proceeded to laugh uncontrollably, slap me on the back shouting "I like you," and then very seriously came to the conclusion that "Okay, no HUMAN can control nature." I recount this little convo for you, because just that moment, sitting on the roof, under the violent sky, in a Muslim village in the north with AL was so special, and I will truly cherish our little understanding forever. Just for a moment we seemed deeply connected, and the differences of our lives faded away as we came to a common understanding and appreciation of the world around us. Wow, I am getting a little carried away, but that's just me, so deal. Needless to say, right after I dosed off, I was awoken by something wet covering my body, and in a split second, I realized that the sky was falling! No, just rain, pouring rain. We rushed down with our mattresses, down to the little room, where we huddled together, four on this little bed, the rest in another room. The rain was so loud under the tin roof, but luckily we did not have the leak that the other room of sleepers got to enjoy.
So another adventurous, yet sleepless night. First a bus station, then a rainy rooftop. But I was awoken around 4:30am by the call to prayer from the mosque just a hop-skip and a jump down the road and departed by 6:30.....on BIKE! I was so excited to be on a bike again, it reminded me of Davis and the favored mode of transportation. I was totally in my element, free as a bird on my bike, and then %#$%@&! My peddle came flying off, and the next thing I know, bitter and angry me was walking the 6km to Mole. Well, my friends had to deal with "bad mood" Ali for a while, but I snapped out of it, ready for our foot safari at 7:30am. BUT, once again, as predictable as predictable can be, the guides had not been arranged, and we were stuck safari-less until 10am. It would not be such a big deal, however, we feared that the elephants may have already evacuated the watering hole, which they often do. Well, thing ended well for we convinced our guide to take us straight to the watering hole, skipping the two hour walk to it, where we may have seen some other wildlife. Now this experience was just as mind blowing! We were just feet away from about six elephants, relaxing in the water, splashing about. Again, they are just such beautiful animals, and seeing them in their natural environment rather than behind the walls at the San Diego Zoo was just spectacular. So we spent time there, taking pictures and exchanging little squeals of joy every time they would even move. AND then as we circled to the other side, our favorite elephant, whom I named Frank Sinatra, departed from the watering hole to the shore, within like 20 feet of us. He proceeded to shower himself with mud, only noticing us once, causing the guide to clench his gun in anticipation of a charge. I got some amazing photos, well I mean Jessica got some amazing photos. The elephant almost looks fake in the pictures because he is so close to us in the background. So, eventually we had to be dragged away, and I left with such a content feeling. See the thing is, before I left here to Ghana, I found this list I must have written when I was like ten. It was a list of things I wanted to do in my life time, yes the original bucket list thank you very much Jack Nicholson. What is so crazy is that so many things from that list have been accomplished on this trip, like "go to Africa, touch a crocodile, go on a safari and see elephants." So, walking away, I was content, content that another goal has been accomplished, only a couple thousand to go, no biggy.
We spent more time in the pool, where I gave in and just went in in my undergarments, how lady like, right? Well don't judge, it was probably one of the hottest days of my life, so I would have gone in naked if it had come to that. Before dusk, we all returned to Larabunga, me with Al Hassan, and the others on bike, or foot because more bikes broke down. In Larabunga, we walked around the town and were swarmed by people, curious what we were doing, where we were from and if we would be their friends. As I lay on the roof this night, in dreadful anticipation of being up at 3 in the morning again to catch the bus home, it set in that it was Easter Sunday, and I had spent it in Ghana, on a safari and now under the star in this lovely little village. What a trip!
Well, that's pretty much it, minus the insane morning we had. Al Hassan insisted that he help us get transportation the next day, so that we could be saved the trip all the way back to Tamale, and go straight to Kumasi. He ended up having to brawl with the bus driver because it was full, leaving us stranded in Larabunga. I felt very guilty because he basically got us on, cutting dozens other Ghanaians that were waiting for a ticket. The trip was amazing, and then I had to depart with such a feeling of shame. However, when I voiced this to Al Hassan, he simply reassured me that if they had the opportunity, they would have done the same to me. This didn't really make me feel better, but at least it was something. We ended up taking a tro-tro to Kumasi, which was a whole experience in and of itself, leaving Alicia with horrible bruises because we were being so tossed about. From Kumasi we caught a STC bus, where none of us slept, all alert and talkative after our whirlwind weekend. It was hard coming back from such an experience, and jumping back into school the next day at 8am, but hey, that's life.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Green Turtles
I have been scolded more than once by many of you now for not being religiously devoted to my blog, uploading photos and recording ever detail. Forgive me! I'm trying I promise, I just spent about 30 minutes and got a total of two photo's up on my blog. Go Ali. I am now trying to upload them to photobucket.com, and then hopefully attach the link, so hey, at least you have something to look forward to...
This past weekend I took off yet again. I swear I may never really "know" Accra because almost every time the weekend rolls around, I am to antsy to stay around. I guess I got the travel bug BAD. This past weekend Theo, Natalie and I headed out up the West Coast to an Eco-tourist lodge by Busua. (Disclaimer: I always forget to bring the guide book with me to write these little bits, thus, I forget how to spell the places I have been...so some editing may be necessary!) Our bus ride to Takoradi took what felt like forever, thus making our arrival a little later then expected. So...we were kind of stuck, and let me tell you, the taxi drivers new it. Walking up to the first taxi driver, I request a ride to the Green Turtle for three cedi. I have never pissed a taxi driver off so much as in this moment. He thought we were crazy. He demanded 30 cedi, so we figured that was it, we're stuck. Luckily we were able to catch a ride for something much more reasonable, which later made some sense, considering that the car broke down. AH! The drive should have been conducted in some crazy off roading vehicle, but no we were just in a Taxi, coasting across the most painful dirt road. Once we arrived at the Green Turtle, we were informed that the rooms Theo reserved had been given away. Again, theme, we were stranded, and trekking back up the road from hell was not an option. Luckily they had a few tents free for the first night. So safe for a night. The next two we spent on mattresses under mosquito nets, or at least Natalie and I had nets, Theo, being the gentleman, was left to the little buggers. Don't worry though, we made up for it our last night on the beach. We walked a bit up the beach to the swanky Safari Lodge. Does the name say enough? No, it was really fun there. I felt out of place though because it was a really nice hotel and I am studying abroad in Africa, not the kind of accommodations I was expecting. On the other hand, it is funny that I got myself so worked up over it, considering that this really nice hotel only put me back 10 cedi for a night. Well, that's a lie, considering the dinner and drinks we took part in..... Well, I didn't have a proper 21st Birthday, so forgive me.
So activities for the weekend consisted of me reading two books, eating yummy french toast, hiking up and down the beach (sooooo beautiful), collecting shells and getting one step closer to my dream of joining the fishermen out at sea. We walked to a neighboring village up the beach and took a canoe ride through the mangroves. I really enjoyed the experience, but my legs did not. They were as read as the tomatos in my tuna sandwich. Oh well, skin cancer, no biggy, right? Don't worry mother, I have been lathering on the sunscreen since.
The bus ride back was a breeze, other than the sand I found everywhere!
Well, I am off to Northern Ghana this weekend, making my way to Mole National Park, where I'll be seeing elephants and monkeys. Are you jealous?
Ta-Ta for now.
This past weekend I took off yet again. I swear I may never really "know" Accra because almost every time the weekend rolls around, I am to antsy to stay around. I guess I got the travel bug BAD. This past weekend Theo, Natalie and I headed out up the West Coast to an Eco-tourist lodge by Busua. (Disclaimer: I always forget to bring the guide book with me to write these little bits, thus, I forget how to spell the places I have been...so some editing may be necessary!) Our bus ride to Takoradi took what felt like forever, thus making our arrival a little later then expected. So...we were kind of stuck, and let me tell you, the taxi drivers new it. Walking up to the first taxi driver, I request a ride to the Green Turtle for three cedi. I have never pissed a taxi driver off so much as in this moment. He thought we were crazy. He demanded 30 cedi, so we figured that was it, we're stuck. Luckily we were able to catch a ride for something much more reasonable, which later made some sense, considering that the car broke down. AH! The drive should have been conducted in some crazy off roading vehicle, but no we were just in a Taxi, coasting across the most painful dirt road. Once we arrived at the Green Turtle, we were informed that the rooms Theo reserved had been given away. Again, theme, we were stranded, and trekking back up the road from hell was not an option. Luckily they had a few tents free for the first night. So safe for a night. The next two we spent on mattresses under mosquito nets, or at least Natalie and I had nets, Theo, being the gentleman, was left to the little buggers. Don't worry though, we made up for it our last night on the beach. We walked a bit up the beach to the swanky Safari Lodge. Does the name say enough? No, it was really fun there. I felt out of place though because it was a really nice hotel and I am studying abroad in Africa, not the kind of accommodations I was expecting. On the other hand, it is funny that I got myself so worked up over it, considering that this really nice hotel only put me back 10 cedi for a night. Well, that's a lie, considering the dinner and drinks we took part in..... Well, I didn't have a proper 21st Birthday, so forgive me.
So activities for the weekend consisted of me reading two books, eating yummy french toast, hiking up and down the beach (sooooo beautiful), collecting shells and getting one step closer to my dream of joining the fishermen out at sea. We walked to a neighboring village up the beach and took a canoe ride through the mangroves. I really enjoyed the experience, but my legs did not. They were as read as the tomatos in my tuna sandwich. Oh well, skin cancer, no biggy, right? Don't worry mother, I have been lathering on the sunscreen since.
The bus ride back was a breeze, other than the sand I found everywhere!
Well, I am off to Northern Ghana this weekend, making my way to Mole National Park, where I'll be seeing elephants and monkeys. Are you jealous?
Ta-Ta for now.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Waterless Waterfalls
Because of Ghana's Independence day last week, March 6th, I had a four day weekend. Although I assumed that such free time would send me packing, I decided to stick around Accra. For independence day I assumed it would be something akin to 4th of July for me, but a group of us retreated to watch movies rather than venture out into the huge crowed and blistering heat. Not to mention, people got up at 4am to see the celebration at Independence Square. Oh, and the RAIN CAME! I took my first shower in the rain. It was glorious, for the first time since I arrived January 31st, I felt cold. The lightening and thunder was beautiful. Of course the Ghanaian students were laughting at us, tell us that we are crazy. I guess we looked it, I mean I shampooed my hair outside in the rain, while dancing around and making plenty of references to Gene Kelly in "Singing in the Rain." I got yelled at by Uncle Lucas, our security guard, because he claimed he did not want to see me dead. Sorry Uncle, but I hope there are many more rain dances in the future.
The following day, in between eating and more movies, we ventured out to the International Trade Fair. It was crazy!!! There were goods from all over Africa, and I definently put a dent in my wallet. I guess the babysitting paid off. Rest assured, I got many of your gifts there, in fact I think that's all I got is your gifts! Well, that's a lie, I bought a pretty little painting and some beautiful bead for myself...
Saturday we felt more adventurous. We left, with peanut butter and jellie sandwiches, for Boti Falls, this supposed massive beautiful waterfall about two hours from Accra. Because ten of us went, we were able to convince a trotro driver to take us all the way to Boti Falls, instead of making the several transfers that would have been required. Because it had rained the days before, the drive was beautiful. We could actually see a view of Accra from a mountain passing through Aburi. Two hours later, all of us climbing out of the car in our swim gear, ready to make a mad dash to the falls, we discover that the falls were not falling. Talk about a mood kill. I was heart broken, imagining I was going to swim under the cool water. But wait, expectations can be decieving. Although there was no water, I had an opprotunity never presented to me before. We rocked climed up this waterfall, and sat towards the top in aww of the beautiful rainforest that surrounded us. Down at the bottom about a dozen local children had Natalie surrounded and were singing with her. It was one of those days, one of those unexpected experiences, when you expect one thing, get another, and are actually more then satisfied with the outcome. All I could think of 40 feet in the air in this waterless waterfall is how much my mom would love to be climbing this with me, it just seems right up her ally. When Katie and I were decending, we could not resist an attempt to swing like Tarzan from the vines that were hanging over the cliff. Another bad life decision to add to the list upon reflection, considering that it sent us off the edge. Luckly we held fast, and made it down in once piece, minus a few scrathes.
Once dry season is truly over and wet season progressing, I will return and actually swim! Of course, we have no way of knowing if the falls are falling, so we'll see.
I have a request, any one that is willing, I would love some pictures. I miss all my family and my buds and would love to put some up on my walls. I believe that I already posted my address a ways back, but get those out here, and I promise in exchange I will post some more on my blog!
Until next time, Love you all.
The following day, in between eating and more movies, we ventured out to the International Trade Fair. It was crazy!!! There were goods from all over Africa, and I definently put a dent in my wallet. I guess the babysitting paid off. Rest assured, I got many of your gifts there, in fact I think that's all I got is your gifts! Well, that's a lie, I bought a pretty little painting and some beautiful bead for myself...
Saturday we felt more adventurous. We left, with peanut butter and jellie sandwiches, for Boti Falls, this supposed massive beautiful waterfall about two hours from Accra. Because ten of us went, we were able to convince a trotro driver to take us all the way to Boti Falls, instead of making the several transfers that would have been required. Because it had rained the days before, the drive was beautiful. We could actually see a view of Accra from a mountain passing through Aburi. Two hours later, all of us climbing out of the car in our swim gear, ready to make a mad dash to the falls, we discover that the falls were not falling. Talk about a mood kill. I was heart broken, imagining I was going to swim under the cool water. But wait, expectations can be decieving. Although there was no water, I had an opprotunity never presented to me before. We rocked climed up this waterfall, and sat towards the top in aww of the beautiful rainforest that surrounded us. Down at the bottom about a dozen local children had Natalie surrounded and were singing with her. It was one of those days, one of those unexpected experiences, when you expect one thing, get another, and are actually more then satisfied with the outcome. All I could think of 40 feet in the air in this waterless waterfall is how much my mom would love to be climbing this with me, it just seems right up her ally. When Katie and I were decending, we could not resist an attempt to swing like Tarzan from the vines that were hanging over the cliff. Another bad life decision to add to the list upon reflection, considering that it sent us off the edge. Luckly we held fast, and made it down in once piece, minus a few scrathes.
Once dry season is truly over and wet season progressing, I will return and actually swim! Of course, we have no way of knowing if the falls are falling, so we'll see.
I have a request, any one that is willing, I would love some pictures. I miss all my family and my buds and would love to put some up on my walls. I believe that I already posted my address a ways back, but get those out here, and I promise in exchange I will post some more on my blog!
Until next time, Love you all.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
She Sells Sea Shells By The Sea Shore
All week I have been telling myself to go check email and write in my blog. Well, that didn't happen, the same for everything else on my agenda, so I feel a bit behind...
I do not understand how a girl born in raised in San Diego, California can forget her swim suit. I'll make this the last time I complain because everyone here has certainly heard an earfull. But, seriously, seriously. Thanks to Julie though, hopefully I won't be suitless much longer.
Last weekend, ten of us headed off to the beach, a weekend escape. We ventured out about an hour and a half away to Kokobrite. Minus having a flat tire, the journey was a breeze. Once we arrived I knew it was going to be a total break from reality, well at least for the most part. I had to keep reminding myself the whole weekend, that soon it would end, and all the good food and waves would not follow me when I return to Accra. Don't get me wrong, I do love Accra, but Italian food, milk shakes and the beach??? The beach was beautiful, and I collected dozens of shells, the swirlly kind which are my favorite. I found that the best way to find shell was to recruit the ten kids that were following me yelling "obruni." Of course I ended up giving most of them away, for suddenly they had become such a hot ticket once I was after them. The water was perfect, nice and warm. Although I felt like a hick swimming in cut of jeans in the Mission Bay, I went in my shorts and tank top, and did not get out for hours, or at least what felt like hours. That night and the next we "slept" in tents inside Big Milly's Beach Resort. I distinctly remember dozing off to a Ghanaians passionate rant about Mr. Bush, only to be woken up by the screams coming from a neighboring tent. Rest assured, it was only the girls imaginations that provoked it. In between sleeping and froliking on the beach we were all at the Garden Italian resturante up the road. The food was amazing!!! Now my cousin who is in Italy and reading this may scoff, but hey, Italian food in Africa, I'm down. So, that's pretty much it. Beach, music, food and oh, domestic violence. One night some of us were chatting and listening to music, when we realized that behind us a couple was arguing. The next thing I saw sent chills down my spine, he hit his girlfriend, in public. After retrieving the bartender, we heard the him telling the man that this is bad for business, and that he didn't care what he did outside of his bar, so just take it outside. I could not believe how easily he dismissed such violence. Jane, the girlfriend ended up sitting with us for a while as we tried to comfort her. I can still not shake feelings of outrage and frustration. It breaks my heart that domestic violence is such an accepted part of the culture here, and I am interested in the research some of my friends here are conducting on the subject. I am not sharing this because I want to create some demonic image of Ghanaian men or anything, it just amazes me that women accross the world can still be treated as such second hand citizens. I don't know the point I am trying to make here, or even if there is a point...
Moving on....So minus the shake up, the weekend was marvoulous!
I do not understand how a girl born in raised in San Diego, California can forget her swim suit. I'll make this the last time I complain because everyone here has certainly heard an earfull. But, seriously, seriously. Thanks to Julie though, hopefully I won't be suitless much longer.
Last weekend, ten of us headed off to the beach, a weekend escape. We ventured out about an hour and a half away to Kokobrite. Minus having a flat tire, the journey was a breeze. Once we arrived I knew it was going to be a total break from reality, well at least for the most part. I had to keep reminding myself the whole weekend, that soon it would end, and all the good food and waves would not follow me when I return to Accra. Don't get me wrong, I do love Accra, but Italian food, milk shakes and the beach??? The beach was beautiful, and I collected dozens of shells, the swirlly kind which are my favorite. I found that the best way to find shell was to recruit the ten kids that were following me yelling "obruni." Of course I ended up giving most of them away, for suddenly they had become such a hot ticket once I was after them. The water was perfect, nice and warm. Although I felt like a hick swimming in cut of jeans in the Mission Bay, I went in my shorts and tank top, and did not get out for hours, or at least what felt like hours. That night and the next we "slept" in tents inside Big Milly's Beach Resort. I distinctly remember dozing off to a Ghanaians passionate rant about Mr. Bush, only to be woken up by the screams coming from a neighboring tent. Rest assured, it was only the girls imaginations that provoked it. In between sleeping and froliking on the beach we were all at the Garden Italian resturante up the road. The food was amazing!!! Now my cousin who is in Italy and reading this may scoff, but hey, Italian food in Africa, I'm down. So, that's pretty much it. Beach, music, food and oh, domestic violence. One night some of us were chatting and listening to music, when we realized that behind us a couple was arguing. The next thing I saw sent chills down my spine, he hit his girlfriend, in public. After retrieving the bartender, we heard the him telling the man that this is bad for business, and that he didn't care what he did outside of his bar, so just take it outside. I could not believe how easily he dismissed such violence. Jane, the girlfriend ended up sitting with us for a while as we tried to comfort her. I can still not shake feelings of outrage and frustration. It breaks my heart that domestic violence is such an accepted part of the culture here, and I am interested in the research some of my friends here are conducting on the subject. I am not sharing this because I want to create some demonic image of Ghanaian men or anything, it just amazes me that women accross the world can still be treated as such second hand citizens. I don't know the point I am trying to make here, or even if there is a point...
Moving on....So minus the shake up, the weekend was marvoulous!
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