Sorry these are getting posted so late, I seem to be falling further behind instead of catching up! This post covers from where the last left off to my first day in Tamale! Hope you enjoy it!
Down the street from James’ house there is a swarm of young children in uniforms shouting and laughing; school must have just let out. James heads that direction and as we approach, the children start waving and shouting “howareyou” as usual. We reach them (or maybe more accurately they reach us) and all of a sudden there are little hands trying to touch my arms and shake my hand. The kids are extremely cute and I smile, laugh, and shake as many hands as I possibly can.
About half way to the end of the street, I get separated form the rest of the group, as I am last. Suddenly I’m surrounded by children and completely overwhelmed. What have I done to deserve this welcome? Why am I, as a white person, treated like this? White people colonized this country, took slaves away from the very fort I just came from, and now are not even contributing enough to undo the damages caused by past policy mistakes that were meant to pull Africa out of poverty. I myself have yet to do anything for the Ghanaian people, so it is not any of my personal accomplishments they are excited about. Where is the hero’s parade for people like James who has stayed in his country and continues to teach here, despite being educated and surely having the opportunity to live a much more comfortable life elsewhere.
Where has this image come from? Surely if a blue or green person showed up on the streets of Toronto tomorrow, children wouldn’t mob her looking to touch her skin and shake her hand. I wonder how the children of Jamestown would react to a blue woman walking down the street.
I am relieved when we finally turn off the street and woman chases the last few children away so I can finally breathe again. James fins us a tro-tro headed for Circle and we say our goodbyes. Parker told me before I left that he would be surprised if I could fall asleep on a tro-tro, but sleeping with my head against a pane of glass in the back of a can is not such an unfamiliar thing for me given the many cross-prairies trips of my childhood, and I do so promptly.
Back at the hotel we experience our first power outage in Accra. By the time we leave for dinner however, the power is back, so Luke suggests we head to a restaur0ant just on the other side of Circle. A few of us are up for it, and the rest grab snacks at a nearby store and then retire early.
The streets are not nearly as foreign or scary as the night before; I know that everyone out there is the same friendly person they are in the day - I just can’t really see them. We’re nearly there when the electricity fails again. Luke says that the restaurant will be dark, so we should probably just eat at a street vendor. Everyone else agrees and we stop at the next place that has a couple of large bowls containing something - it’s difficult to see in the dark exactly what - to eat. Rice balls and Banku are ordered and we congregate around a picnic table.
When eating Ghanaian food there seems to be a fairly simple rule of thumb. Take a chunk of whatever the starchy part of the meal is, roll it into a ball with your fingers and then dip it into the sauce you’ve been given. The rice balls are pretty good in my opinion, but Banku is definitely pretty different than what I’m used to. It is made of fermented maize (corn) that has been turned into a gelatinous sort of concoction that reminds me of homemade play-doh that has come out a little too watery. I eat a bit, but go back to the rice balls - I guess it’s a taste I will have to acquire.
We finish up and pay (6 of us ate for less that $1.40) and make the trek back to the hotel. The power returned during our meal, and just as the air conditioning is about to be witched on and as I am about to crawl into bed with the 3 guys I am sharing a room with, it dies again. Ah, the comforts of traveling in Africa.
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It’s Wednesday morning and we have tickets for the 8 o’clock bus to Tamale, the capital of the Northern Region. It is about 6:00am, and I am up to have a shower. The showerhead tickles cool water and feels great after the heat of the night. We pack up, say thank you to the people at the hotel and start hiking to the bus station.
We arrive early, weigh our bags, pay the luggage fees and find a place to wait. There is no shade in the yard and we sit on our bags, impatiently waiting for the bus to arrive. Luke goes to find breakfast and returns with a couple of bags of Koko, which looks like porridge. HE bits a corner off of the first bag and passes it to me. I suck out some of the liquid and swallow it down. It is very hot, and has the same sour taste as the Banku from the night before, but also has some sort of spice added to it. I’m not sure how much of it I can stomach, so I pass it on around the circle.
The bus finally arrives a little before 9 (apparently this is pretty common, and only an hour late is not so bad) and we begin to load up. A man helps me get my bags on board and then I show the driver my ticket. He tells me to wait, and after a few minutes he calls my seat number. I learn that I am one of the lucky ones and I have a middle seat. Similar to the tro-tros, there are seats that fold out to fill the middle aisle of the bus so that no space is wasted. I settle in and get ready for the 12-hour trip to Tamale.
I am exhausted and try to get some sleep, but my seat stops somewhere below my shoulders and my head bounces between the plastic handles that are on the seats beside me. It is going to be a long ride.
The landscape as we leave Accra is lush and green, with some fairly large hills in the distance. The driver is a little crazy and it is clearly his job to get us to Tamale as fast as possible. We pass cars whenever there is an opportunity, and sometimes when there isn’t (we ran an oncoming car off the road during one mistimed pass). The back of the bus is filled with our nervous laughter, but Luke does not seem to be phased one bit.
We slow down whenever we pass through a town and people come up beside the bus to sell things through the bus windows. This is often an interesting exchange to watch as people scramble to give change/pay as the bus starts to speed up. During one such episode, most of the bus started shouting quite loudly, and one of the ladies throws the bag of whatever she had received back out of the window. She must have not been able to pay in time.
After a roller coaster ride through the eventual dark and rain, we finally reach Tamale. It appears to be much quieter than Accra on the streets at least. We make our way to the Maacos hotel, our place of residence until we find families to live with. After grabbing some water and a Fanta from the Shell station, we all get some rest. Despite doing nothing but sit on a bus all day, sleep comes easily.
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The next day we spend getting used to life in Tamale. The goats and children from the school that is about 30 m from my room wake me up sometime mid-morning. That is one of the funny things about Ghana that is difficult to get used to. There are goats and sheep (not fluffy sheep though, they look rather like goats and it takes some time to be able to distinguish between the two) that wander freely everywhere you go. No matter where you are the sound of bleating can be heard. I finally haul myself out of bed and have my first real Ghanaian shower; a bucket of cold water and some soap. Surprisingly, I like it a lot. The cool(ish) water feels good after waking up hot and sticky, and I feel refreshed for about 10 minutes before I am stuck to my shirt once again.
The market in Tamale is crowded due to the almost non-existent space between opposing stalls. There is a lot to see, fabrics, fruits, vegetables, raw meat and sweets to name a few. The variety of colours and goods keep me captivated, even more so than the bright, flashy streets of Toronto. Bryn and I wander aimlessly looking lost and unsure. We stop a couple of places to ask about fabric for shirts or pants. I come to realize that I’m just not good at having conversations with people here. There is a bit of a language barrier but thee is something clearly wrong with the way I carry the conversation, and long pauses leave the air heavy and uncomfortable.
The experience is both frustrating and exhausting. Bryn and I head back to the hotel feeling completely incompetent at something that is so natural at home.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Alright, finally recovered my old posts, so get ready for a lot! Here's something I write a long long time ago, there should be a third full post and I'm working on a fourth at work that's almost done. This is basically picking up where I left off in the first post. Enjoy!
We finish up and start walking. As we head into the center of the tro-tro yard, people constantly call us and ask us where we are going. A few are excited when we say we are from Canada and talk so fast and with such an accent that I have no clue what they are saying. I feel the most uncomfortable here, as I don’t know how to react to the people. I was definitely relieved when we found our way out back onto the street.
We go for a walk, looking at vendors and also stopping at the bank. I make my first withdrawal, and the 800 000 cedis I take out feels like too much money to be carrying around, when in reality it is less than $100.
After wandering some more, we meet a man who says he has been to Ottawa when we mention we are Canadian. Apparently he is a member of the Pan-African orchestra and has traveled to a lot of places. He is extremely friendly and is elated when I tell him that I play a little jazz. He shakes my hand and we snap each others’ fingers as we release (Ghanaian style handshake) and he asks my name. I tell him, and he responds with Kwabena, which means ‘Tuesday born’. I am also Tuesday born and thus my Twi name is the same as his. This makes him even happier and he says he will call me Kwabi. There is another bought of laughter and he starts to talk enthusiastically about the music scene in Accra. He mentions where he is going tonight, but I tell him that I am leaving for Tamale the next day and must be heading home soon. He is a little disappointed, but still friendly as we split ways.
On the way back we stop for some melted ice cream type stuff that is great. The cold liquid is exactly what I needed in the hot, humid night. We return to the air conditioned hotel for the night, and I am exhausted, but it is tough to sleep. I’m just now finishing writing this at 2am, as I’m not sure if I could stay awake another moment.
May 9, 2006
I just woke up from my first night in Africa! Just met tom Owen who came up with the concept of the Niger river trip. Pretty cool to chat with all of these people I hear about back at home.
When I woke up the room was freezing! The AC was blasting all night and we can only turn it on or off. I flick it off and open the window. The humidity instantly brings the almost stale smell of the city into my room. Cars honk and people shout as taxis, motorbikes, and bicyclists whip around the corner in front of our hotel.
I’m feeling ready for the day; the outside world is now full of colour and vibrancy compared with the darkness of last night. I’m off to explore! More later.
We leave the hotel in search of breakfast and an internet café. We head one direction for awhile but find nothing suitable. It is not even 10 yet but the sun is high in the sky and very hot. Dust from the red soil is kicked up by traffic and the wind swirls it around us. The contrast between the red soil, blue sky and green grass defines the landscape. We head back towards Circle for some street vendor food. We find something called cake, which is a sweet corn bread that everyone enjoys. Luke says he shouldn’t have introduced us to cake so early; we should keep trying different Ghanaian foods.
The bank steps are hot, and feel like I am baking as others take out money. Luke buys some cooked plantains which we eat with a bean sauce. Another new food to add to the list!
After hitting up the internet café (which is nice and cold) we head towards the tro-tro yard to catch a ride to the market. Unfortunately its less like a real tro-tro and more like a bus, but its only a short ride.
The market is busy with food, things, and smiling faces. We get a lot of waves and “How are you?”s, and I’m slowly starting to pick up on the Twig retting “Ete sen?” to which I reply “Eh yeh!” I use it a couple of times myself when shy children manage a wave and I get a few responses.
We eventually make it to the other side of the market where we stop to buy some oranges. The lady selling them is very friendly and talk s a lot, throwing in jokes left, right and centre. Luke parries them easily, but I feel lost in the conversation and awkwardly laugh at what I think are the right times.
She peels the oranges for us, but eating Ghanaian oranges isn’t like eating the oranges we have in Canada. The flesh is fairly tough, so instead of eating the slices, you squeeze them and suck the juices out of them. Very tasty.
After some more wandering, we find a lady selling fried yams, which Luke promises will be good. They are a lot like French fries, but even thicker and starchier. We eat them standing in a small unoccupied spot in the market. A woman selling something calls us over. She finds us benches to sit on while we eat. This display of white privilege makes me a little uncomfortable, but we sit down anyways.
As we eat, a small (and incredibly cute) girl gets enough courage to come up to us. I say hello and ask her what her name is in Twi (“Ya fre we sen?”) and she whispers something inaudible. I try again but she is too shy to speak any louder. Samina waves at her, inadvertently making the “come here” gesture, and the girl takes a few steps forward. One of the women sitting at the counter makes to shoo the girl away, and we protest, but the girl hirries off anyways.
We finish eating, say thank you to the women (“Madasi”) and begin wandering again. We bump into people selling soy kabobs, which are good despite being a little tough.
Now for the top floor of the market, where clothes and fabric are being sold. We stop and see a finished pinkish traditional shirt that is priced at 60 000 cedis. Bryn tries to get her to bring it down, but doesn’t succeed so we continue on.
Even in the bad light the colour jump out at us as we walk. The sound of old sewing machines clicking endlessly fills the entire level. We wander for a bit, but can’t find anything better, so Bryn goes back for the first shirt. The lady still won’t budge on the price and brings out another shirt like it, but in blue, thinking that Bryn doesn’t like the colour of the pink one. Bryn gives in and buys the shirt, and goes to change into it.
Meanwhile, I chat with a couple of young girls with Luke. They are both 13 and in school, but are finished for the day, and are now selling rubber bags (small, black plastic bags). The first (I have no affinity for remembering Ghanaian names yet) says that she likes everything about school, but that math is better than English. She shows us a book she is reading for school.
Bryn returns triumphantly and gets giggles from the girls, but say that he is looking fine. After a moment’s though, I decided to buy the blue shirt. Bryn and I have already been mistaken for twins or brothers on a couple of occasions, so why not. After I change, we get lots of giggles from the girls, and a woman shouts “Obrunei, you are looking beautiful” from across the way.
Bryn and I are all smiles and as we leave, the girl gives me on of the bags that she was selling to put my other shirt in. I ask her how much, but she won’t let me pay for it. I say madasi and head back downstairs, as it’s time to meet the rest of the group.
On the way out we get a lot of enthusiastic greetings from people, but I wonder what the others think of us. Are we just trying to fit in without really understanding the Ghanaian culture, and who these people really are? 60 000 cedis is nothing for me, but for some, if not most here, it is a lot. Does it look like I am trying to buy my way into their culture? Does it look like I’m mocking them by thinking I am any closer to belonging by just purchasing a shirt? These thoughts make me a little uneasy, but most people seem to enjoy our attempt.
We leave the market, stopping briefly to look at some live snails and crabs that are on sale before looking for a tro-tro to take us to the coast. We cross the road on a crowded overpass, people lined on either side selling goods, and find the right tro-tro. We barely fit, but manage thanks to additional seats that fold out into the space between the seat benches and the right side of the van. Finally a real tro-tro!
We start out onto the busy street, but the ride is not as crazy as I was expecting. Don’t look for a seatbelt, and I you might not want to watch the traffic and the close calls that happen constantly, but I’m not being bounced out of my seat. The music is loud, but Luke tells me that we’re lucky – it’s usually blasting almost to the point of pain.
The tro-tro arrives at our spot in Jamestown near the coast, and we all pile out. A well dressed man offers to take us to the coast. We follow him through the street and people wave and smile at us as usual, while the children stop whatever they are doing (including bathing) to shout “howareyou!” over and over at us. We laugh and respond “I am fine. How are you?” Every place is made simply of brick or concrete, but the people outside of them seem to be happy. There are a lot of them though, and I wonder how so many people can live in such a small place. The six of us in my family sometimes have trouble enough and here, houses look to be about the size of our kitchen, with at least six sitting out side of each one.
The man who is leading us is (coincidentally) named James. He teaches senior school in the city, but lives in Jamestown. We turn a corner and get the first glimpse of the ocean. It is a much lighter blue than the ocean at home, and it stretches forever; there are no islands between us and the horizon. We pass a building that used to be a slave fort and is now used as a prison. Its walls are lined with barbed wire and broken glass. As we walk around it down towards the sand, we hear the sounds and shouts of people from inside the prison. A boy smiles and kicks a football to our right.
There is a dusty path amid the hundreds of long skinny wooden boats that litter the shore. Some people are working on repairing some of the larger ones, but most sit empty. Men are sitting around shacks that seem to be barely standing, and a couple of kids kick a football while goats and chickens run about.
Here I feel like I am taking a tour of these people’s poverty, fully guided and everything. I wonder how they cannot resent a group of Westerners being led around as if their lives and livelihoods are a spectacle to see. Instead they greet us, wave and are friendly. I still can’t help but feel like an intruder.
There are no boats in the water, and James explains that there is no fishing on Tuesdays because in Creationism the waters were created on Tuesday, so the people respect the waters on this day by not fishing. We walk out onto a long pier where people are repairing nets and kids are jumping into the ocean. They talk to us a little before launching themselves overboard again.
The ocean breeze is cool, and we enjoy it for awhile before making our way back up to the road. On our way up, I see a toddler following a man dragging a rusty saw nearly as big as he is. Again I feel like I’m sight-seeing poverty, and not just in a book or movie, but real life, with real people.
When we reach the road, Luke asks James if we can grab a drink somewhere. We find a spot and sit down in the shade, but the ocean breeze is gone and I can feel myself heating up quickly. The server brings us Fantas and Cokes and we sip them while Luke and James talk. The rest of us are exhausted and don’t say much. I think I may have dozed off for a moment or two.
We are finished and Luke asks directions to find a tro-tro to take us to Circle. He says that will be no problem, but first asks if we would like to go by his home and meet his wife and son. Of course we agree and start walking down the street.
People greet us from outside their homes, which line the street. I think to myself that this well dressed educated man cannot live in a place like this, and wonder when we will reach a nicer part of town. We make a few turns and to my surprise, we stop at one of the openings. James goes inside and we wit. There are many children and an old woman sitting outside and we try chatting with the old woman, but she is difficult to understand.
James comes out carrying his son, and his wife comes with him. He is all smiles, clearly proud to be able to show us his family. He puts the boy down and urges him to say hi. He manages a timid wave, and hangs around for a moment before disappearing back into the house. We all laugh and James tells us he will help find us a tro-tro. We wave our goodbyes to the people outside of the house and start down the street again.
We finish up and start walking. As we head into the center of the tro-tro yard, people constantly call us and ask us where we are going. A few are excited when we say we are from Canada and talk so fast and with such an accent that I have no clue what they are saying. I feel the most uncomfortable here, as I don’t know how to react to the people. I was definitely relieved when we found our way out back onto the street.
We go for a walk, looking at vendors and also stopping at the bank. I make my first withdrawal, and the 800 000 cedis I take out feels like too much money to be carrying around, when in reality it is less than $100.
After wandering some more, we meet a man who says he has been to Ottawa when we mention we are Canadian. Apparently he is a member of the Pan-African orchestra and has traveled to a lot of places. He is extremely friendly and is elated when I tell him that I play a little jazz. He shakes my hand and we snap each others’ fingers as we release (Ghanaian style handshake) and he asks my name. I tell him, and he responds with Kwabena, which means ‘Tuesday born’. I am also Tuesday born and thus my Twi name is the same as his. This makes him even happier and he says he will call me Kwabi. There is another bought of laughter and he starts to talk enthusiastically about the music scene in Accra. He mentions where he is going tonight, but I tell him that I am leaving for Tamale the next day and must be heading home soon. He is a little disappointed, but still friendly as we split ways.
On the way back we stop for some melted ice cream type stuff that is great. The cold liquid is exactly what I needed in the hot, humid night. We return to the air conditioned hotel for the night, and I am exhausted, but it is tough to sleep. I’m just now finishing writing this at 2am, as I’m not sure if I could stay awake another moment.
May 9, 2006
I just woke up from my first night in Africa! Just met tom Owen who came up with the concept of the Niger river trip. Pretty cool to chat with all of these people I hear about back at home.
When I woke up the room was freezing! The AC was blasting all night and we can only turn it on or off. I flick it off and open the window. The humidity instantly brings the almost stale smell of the city into my room. Cars honk and people shout as taxis, motorbikes, and bicyclists whip around the corner in front of our hotel.
I’m feeling ready for the day; the outside world is now full of colour and vibrancy compared with the darkness of last night. I’m off to explore! More later.
We leave the hotel in search of breakfast and an internet café. We head one direction for awhile but find nothing suitable. It is not even 10 yet but the sun is high in the sky and very hot. Dust from the red soil is kicked up by traffic and the wind swirls it around us. The contrast between the red soil, blue sky and green grass defines the landscape. We head back towards Circle for some street vendor food. We find something called cake, which is a sweet corn bread that everyone enjoys. Luke says he shouldn’t have introduced us to cake so early; we should keep trying different Ghanaian foods.
The bank steps are hot, and feel like I am baking as others take out money. Luke buys some cooked plantains which we eat with a bean sauce. Another new food to add to the list!
After hitting up the internet café (which is nice and cold) we head towards the tro-tro yard to catch a ride to the market. Unfortunately its less like a real tro-tro and more like a bus, but its only a short ride.
The market is busy with food, things, and smiling faces. We get a lot of waves and “How are you?”s, and I’m slowly starting to pick up on the Twig retting “Ete sen?” to which I reply “Eh yeh!” I use it a couple of times myself when shy children manage a wave and I get a few responses.
We eventually make it to the other side of the market where we stop to buy some oranges. The lady selling them is very friendly and talk s a lot, throwing in jokes left, right and centre. Luke parries them easily, but I feel lost in the conversation and awkwardly laugh at what I think are the right times.
She peels the oranges for us, but eating Ghanaian oranges isn’t like eating the oranges we have in Canada. The flesh is fairly tough, so instead of eating the slices, you squeeze them and suck the juices out of them. Very tasty.
After some more wandering, we find a lady selling fried yams, which Luke promises will be good. They are a lot like French fries, but even thicker and starchier. We eat them standing in a small unoccupied spot in the market. A woman selling something calls us over. She finds us benches to sit on while we eat. This display of white privilege makes me a little uncomfortable, but we sit down anyways.
As we eat, a small (and incredibly cute) girl gets enough courage to come up to us. I say hello and ask her what her name is in Twi (“Ya fre we sen?”) and she whispers something inaudible. I try again but she is too shy to speak any louder. Samina waves at her, inadvertently making the “come here” gesture, and the girl takes a few steps forward. One of the women sitting at the counter makes to shoo the girl away, and we protest, but the girl hirries off anyways.
We finish eating, say thank you to the women (“Madasi”) and begin wandering again. We bump into people selling soy kabobs, which are good despite being a little tough.
Now for the top floor of the market, where clothes and fabric are being sold. We stop and see a finished pinkish traditional shirt that is priced at 60 000 cedis. Bryn tries to get her to bring it down, but doesn’t succeed so we continue on.
Even in the bad light the colour jump out at us as we walk. The sound of old sewing machines clicking endlessly fills the entire level. We wander for a bit, but can’t find anything better, so Bryn goes back for the first shirt. The lady still won’t budge on the price and brings out another shirt like it, but in blue, thinking that Bryn doesn’t like the colour of the pink one. Bryn gives in and buys the shirt, and goes to change into it.
Meanwhile, I chat with a couple of young girls with Luke. They are both 13 and in school, but are finished for the day, and are now selling rubber bags (small, black plastic bags). The first (I have no affinity for remembering Ghanaian names yet) says that she likes everything about school, but that math is better than English. She shows us a book she is reading for school.
Bryn returns triumphantly and gets giggles from the girls, but say that he is looking fine. After a moment’s though, I decided to buy the blue shirt. Bryn and I have already been mistaken for twins or brothers on a couple of occasions, so why not. After I change, we get lots of giggles from the girls, and a woman shouts “Obrunei, you are looking beautiful” from across the way.
Bryn and I are all smiles and as we leave, the girl gives me on of the bags that she was selling to put my other shirt in. I ask her how much, but she won’t let me pay for it. I say madasi and head back downstairs, as it’s time to meet the rest of the group.
On the way out we get a lot of enthusiastic greetings from people, but I wonder what the others think of us. Are we just trying to fit in without really understanding the Ghanaian culture, and who these people really are? 60 000 cedis is nothing for me, but for some, if not most here, it is a lot. Does it look like I am trying to buy my way into their culture? Does it look like I’m mocking them by thinking I am any closer to belonging by just purchasing a shirt? These thoughts make me a little uneasy, but most people seem to enjoy our attempt.
We leave the market, stopping briefly to look at some live snails and crabs that are on sale before looking for a tro-tro to take us to the coast. We cross the road on a crowded overpass, people lined on either side selling goods, and find the right tro-tro. We barely fit, but manage thanks to additional seats that fold out into the space between the seat benches and the right side of the van. Finally a real tro-tro!
We start out onto the busy street, but the ride is not as crazy as I was expecting. Don’t look for a seatbelt, and I you might not want to watch the traffic and the close calls that happen constantly, but I’m not being bounced out of my seat. The music is loud, but Luke tells me that we’re lucky – it’s usually blasting almost to the point of pain.
The tro-tro arrives at our spot in Jamestown near the coast, and we all pile out. A well dressed man offers to take us to the coast. We follow him through the street and people wave and smile at us as usual, while the children stop whatever they are doing (including bathing) to shout “howareyou!” over and over at us. We laugh and respond “I am fine. How are you?” Every place is made simply of brick or concrete, but the people outside of them seem to be happy. There are a lot of them though, and I wonder how so many people can live in such a small place. The six of us in my family sometimes have trouble enough and here, houses look to be about the size of our kitchen, with at least six sitting out side of each one.
The man who is leading us is (coincidentally) named James. He teaches senior school in the city, but lives in Jamestown. We turn a corner and get the first glimpse of the ocean. It is a much lighter blue than the ocean at home, and it stretches forever; there are no islands between us and the horizon. We pass a building that used to be a slave fort and is now used as a prison. Its walls are lined with barbed wire and broken glass. As we walk around it down towards the sand, we hear the sounds and shouts of people from inside the prison. A boy smiles and kicks a football to our right.
There is a dusty path amid the hundreds of long skinny wooden boats that litter the shore. Some people are working on repairing some of the larger ones, but most sit empty. Men are sitting around shacks that seem to be barely standing, and a couple of kids kick a football while goats and chickens run about.
Here I feel like I am taking a tour of these people’s poverty, fully guided and everything. I wonder how they cannot resent a group of Westerners being led around as if their lives and livelihoods are a spectacle to see. Instead they greet us, wave and are friendly. I still can’t help but feel like an intruder.
There are no boats in the water, and James explains that there is no fishing on Tuesdays because in Creationism the waters were created on Tuesday, so the people respect the waters on this day by not fishing. We walk out onto a long pier where people are repairing nets and kids are jumping into the ocean. They talk to us a little before launching themselves overboard again.
The ocean breeze is cool, and we enjoy it for awhile before making our way back up to the road. On our way up, I see a toddler following a man dragging a rusty saw nearly as big as he is. Again I feel like I’m sight-seeing poverty, and not just in a book or movie, but real life, with real people.
When we reach the road, Luke asks James if we can grab a drink somewhere. We find a spot and sit down in the shade, but the ocean breeze is gone and I can feel myself heating up quickly. The server brings us Fantas and Cokes and we sip them while Luke and James talk. The rest of us are exhausted and don’t say much. I think I may have dozed off for a moment or two.
We are finished and Luke asks directions to find a tro-tro to take us to Circle. He says that will be no problem, but first asks if we would like to go by his home and meet his wife and son. Of course we agree and start walking down the street.
People greet us from outside their homes, which line the street. I think to myself that this well dressed educated man cannot live in a place like this, and wonder when we will reach a nicer part of town. We make a few turns and to my surprise, we stop at one of the openings. James goes inside and we wit. There are many children and an old woman sitting outside and we try chatting with the old woman, but she is difficult to understand.
James comes out carrying his son, and his wife comes with him. He is all smiles, clearly proud to be able to show us his family. He puts the boy down and urges him to say hi. He manages a timid wave, and hangs around for a moment before disappearing back into the house. We all laugh and James tells us he will help find us a tro-tro. We wave our goodbyes to the people outside of the house and start down the street again.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Ahhh, finally, I can post!
But sorry... this is just a quick message to let you know that I haven't dropped off the face of the earth! I left an important post on a friends computer, and I must post that before the others I've got ready, so as soon as I get it (or retype it) get ready for an onslaught!
Thanks so much for the comments, it's great to know the entries are being heard and appreciated.
Miss all of you tons, and I'll talk to you soon!
Ben
PS I've got a phone now so drop me an e-mail if you'd like my number
But sorry... this is just a quick message to let you know that I haven't dropped off the face of the earth! I left an important post on a friends computer, and I must post that before the others I've got ready, so as soon as I get it (or retype it) get ready for an onslaught!
Thanks so much for the comments, it's great to know the entries are being heard and appreciated.
Miss all of you tons, and I'll talk to you soon!
Ben
PS I've got a phone now so drop me an e-mail if you'd like my number
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
So I've made it Accra. The last week of training and travel has been intense, and I've learned a ton, but there's way too much to write about, so I'll start things off when we landed in Accra.
The sun was just down as we landed and by the time we got onto the trmac the sky was darkening quickly. The air was hot and heavy, even without the sun, reminding me of the sticky feeling that is summer in Ontario.
We piled onto a bus, waiting a couple of minutes for it leave and embarked on the long journey to the terminal - about 30 seconds - a somewhat disappointing first bus ride in Ghana.
We made it through customs, picked up our bags and finally made it outside to meet up with the long term overseas volunteers (LTOVs), numbering ourselves off from 1 to 23 each step of the way. We met Eli, Luke, Robyn and Monica and they chatted with us quickly and arranged a taxi ride to our hotel.
The ride was an experience in itself. No seatbelts, crazy traffic, constant horns and our cab driver leaning out the window and yelling loudly on a couple of occasions. Deb, Elisa and I tried to take it all in from the back seat while Luke told stories of his trip down from Tamale which included a boat ride down Lake Volta in a skinny but 20m long boat also loaded with numerous cows, goats and other animals. Nothing but an average day in the life of an EWB LTOV.
We made it to our hotel (interestingly named "The House of Lords Hotel". Every business seems to have some sort of religious phrase in it, like the "God is So Good Market"). I got my first glimpse of the open sewers that line the Ghanaian streets as the cab drove up the curb, bottoming out on the metal grate covering the sewer in one spot. We unloaded our bags, eventually got our rooms sorted out and found our way to the deluxe suite we had been assigned.
The room is fairly large, and would probably not pass health and safety inspections in Canada, but the air conditioning feels great. There's a large bed with pink sheets and a bathroom with a sink, leaky shower, and toilet, which I wasn't expecting. Dave says the toilet is more set to 'stun' than 'kill', but I'm sure it'll be one of the better I see.
We sort of unpack, and then meet downstairs in the lobby to hit the street of Accra! Everyone is hungry and has been waiting for this moment for a long, long time.
Each LTOV takes a group and I end up in Eli's group, who has only been in Ghana for a week and will be leaving in a week to bike/boat the length of the Niger river. He has spent the last 9 months in Tanzania and Zambia.
We start out in search of some street meat. We are headed towards a tro tro yard (Ghanaian bus... more like a large van crammed with people) where there will be real Ghanaian food. I'm both excited and apprehensive about new foods and the aggressive people.
As we are walking I glance upwards and see the moon, not in its usual place, but directly above me, almost at the highest point in the sky. I can see stars too. It is amazing how little light pollution there is despite being right in the middle of a city of 3 millions. Street lights are dim, few and far between.
WE pass a large shining billboard advertising Guiness and setp onto the main strip. It is dark, and everyone (except for us) blends into the backdrop. I can see motion - and there is a lot of it, the city is busy - but people are hard to define and faces are nearly invisible. Traffic is loud and as we walk smells of the sewers and exhast from the road are overpowering at times.
We reach the start of the shack and stalls and the lighting is defined by the flickers of fires, casting jittery shadows everywhere. People are talking louding, calling at us as we pass. I'm not sure how to respond. My Twi is horrible and I've forgteen all of the phrases we went over in training. Luckily Eli knows how to deal with anyone that is too eager to meet us.
We stop for food and I order 3000 cedis (~$.40) worth of rice and 2000 cedis of fish. The vendor we buy from even has plates and spoons, which I wasn't expecting. Other vendors seem to just dump your order into a plasticbag and then you are on your own.
The meal is good, really spicy, and early on Eli goes to purchase water sachels which are sealed bags fof water that hold about 500ml.
Ah, my computer just warned me that I am almost out of time, but I still have four more pages to write! I'll finish this entry as soon as I can, but will be travelling to Tamale tomorrow, so it might not be for a couple days, after I have many many more stories.
The sun was just down as we landed and by the time we got onto the trmac the sky was darkening quickly. The air was hot and heavy, even without the sun, reminding me of the sticky feeling that is summer in Ontario.
We piled onto a bus, waiting a couple of minutes for it leave and embarked on the long journey to the terminal - about 30 seconds - a somewhat disappointing first bus ride in Ghana.
We made it through customs, picked up our bags and finally made it outside to meet up with the long term overseas volunteers (LTOVs), numbering ourselves off from 1 to 23 each step of the way. We met Eli, Luke, Robyn and Monica and they chatted with us quickly and arranged a taxi ride to our hotel.
The ride was an experience in itself. No seatbelts, crazy traffic, constant horns and our cab driver leaning out the window and yelling loudly on a couple of occasions. Deb, Elisa and I tried to take it all in from the back seat while Luke told stories of his trip down from Tamale which included a boat ride down Lake Volta in a skinny but 20m long boat also loaded with numerous cows, goats and other animals. Nothing but an average day in the life of an EWB LTOV.
We made it to our hotel (interestingly named "The House of Lords Hotel". Every business seems to have some sort of religious phrase in it, like the "God is So Good Market"). I got my first glimpse of the open sewers that line the Ghanaian streets as the cab drove up the curb, bottoming out on the metal grate covering the sewer in one spot. We unloaded our bags, eventually got our rooms sorted out and found our way to the deluxe suite we had been assigned.
The room is fairly large, and would probably not pass health and safety inspections in Canada, but the air conditioning feels great. There's a large bed with pink sheets and a bathroom with a sink, leaky shower, and toilet, which I wasn't expecting. Dave says the toilet is more set to 'stun' than 'kill', but I'm sure it'll be one of the better I see.
We sort of unpack, and then meet downstairs in the lobby to hit the street of Accra! Everyone is hungry and has been waiting for this moment for a long, long time.
Each LTOV takes a group and I end up in Eli's group, who has only been in Ghana for a week and will be leaving in a week to bike/boat the length of the Niger river. He has spent the last 9 months in Tanzania and Zambia.
We start out in search of some street meat. We are headed towards a tro tro yard (Ghanaian bus... more like a large van crammed with people) where there will be real Ghanaian food. I'm both excited and apprehensive about new foods and the aggressive people.
As we are walking I glance upwards and see the moon, not in its usual place, but directly above me, almost at the highest point in the sky. I can see stars too. It is amazing how little light pollution there is despite being right in the middle of a city of 3 millions. Street lights are dim, few and far between.
WE pass a large shining billboard advertising Guiness and setp onto the main strip. It is dark, and everyone (except for us) blends into the backdrop. I can see motion - and there is a lot of it, the city is busy - but people are hard to define and faces are nearly invisible. Traffic is loud and as we walk smells of the sewers and exhast from the road are overpowering at times.
We reach the start of the shack and stalls and the lighting is defined by the flickers of fires, casting jittery shadows everywhere. People are talking louding, calling at us as we pass. I'm not sure how to respond. My Twi is horrible and I've forgteen all of the phrases we went over in training. Luckily Eli knows how to deal with anyone that is too eager to meet us.
We stop for food and I order 3000 cedis (~$.40) worth of rice and 2000 cedis of fish. The vendor we buy from even has plates and spoons, which I wasn't expecting. Other vendors seem to just dump your order into a plasticbag and then you are on your own.
The meal is good, really spicy, and early on Eli goes to purchase water sachels which are sealed bags fof water that hold about 500ml.
Ah, my computer just warned me that I am almost out of time, but I still have four more pages to write! I'll finish this entry as soon as I can, but will be travelling to Tamale tomorrow, so it might not be for a couple days, after I have many many more stories.
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