Ben in Ghana

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.