I remember our first day in Ghana. Still a bundle of emotions, trying to remember names for orientation, fighting dehydration- we headed off on our campus walk. As we left our hostel and walked towards the academic buildings, we crossed a large dirt field. Slightly more orange than the color of rust, the Ghana dirt stretched out before me.
It didn’t take us long to realize that despite all efforts, this dirt stubbornly attaches to everything. Pant hems are stained and shoes leave trails everywhere. Since the dry season was upon us, the dirt blew everywhere, becoming the dust that left a thin reddish tinge over all surfaces.
Sweeping was mostly fruitless, as more would blow in after a few hours. Showers allowed for only a temporary removal of the dirt film covering your skin.
Regrettably, sometimes a little extra grit in your bowl of jollof could probably be attributed to the environment.
It just seeps in. Everywhere.
Transferred from Kissehman children as they learned, played and were held
Blown everywhere in the wake of the 4x4 on our safari
Covering the documents lying in the repository at the archives
Preventing our white shirt dance uniforms from ever staying the correct color
Yellowing the pages of lecture notes
Stamped beneath the feet of Rusty the elephant
Eroded by the spectacular might of waterfalls
Collected in the corners of slave dungeons
Serving as impromptu football fields
Woven into the beautiful Kente
Coating the tires of tro-tros as mates cry out destinations
Vastly changing our standards of dirty and realizing the beauty of how you will never quite be clean
And as I am taking down my suitcases to pack, I must use the broom to sweep off all that has collected on them these months here in Ghana. And I realize that I too have collected Ghana but that it can never been shaken out of my being. Like the dirt, it has seeped in, changing my perception of beauty and shaping the woman that I am supposed to be.
Since I have now been in Ghana for just over three months, I have found myself partially speaking like a Ghanaian. Though we speak the same language (well, whenever they don't slip into Twi/Ewe/Ga/who knows what), there are some distinctly Ghanaian ways of saying some things. I was definitely confused the first time Patience or one of the vendors at the night market first said some of these, so I will break them down. What I love about a lot of them is how they are indicative to overall life in Ghana. So let me invite you to a short lesson in Ghanaian.
You're Invited I still remember the first time I was in the room when Patience cooked her lunch, and turned to me and said "You're invited." My first inclination was to ask "to what?" and she pointed to the food. I said I wasn't hungry and she looked a little upset, especially since I had turned down her invitation. In Ghana, whenever you have food and someone in the room does not, to be polite you are to invite them to also partake. This still holds even when you know they don't really want the food. Ghanaians share food all the time. At the night market, you can see four guys surrounding one bowl of jollof with no problem. When you order food at a restaurant, it is not ordering for yourself, but with an understanding that everyone will have some. A complete stranger invited me to his yam chips just because I was curious what he was eating. Sometimes now, Patience doesn't even invite me but just hands me a plate of food, despite my protest that she doesn't have to do that. This simple gesture of offering food relates to the overall friendliness and hospitality innate in Ghanaians. Eating with others is always the best way to connect with them. But recognizing that food should be freely given, not just hoarded for yourself, is an even deeper connection.
What will you take? This definitely relates to you're invited, because it also deals with food. A Ghanaian doesn't ask what you want to eat, but instead what you want to take. You also describe your preference of foods by if you take it or not. Trust me- I definitely got confused the first time someone asked me this. I think we weren't even having a conversation about food at the time! I mean, you take pills, so it makes sense. But it reminds me of something Kofi, my Twi professor, told us. The word "believe" in Twi literally breaks down into "taking in what you are saying and making it a part of me" You are eating what they are saying. Ghanaians take their food seriously- literally and figuratively.
It's coming Whenever you order something or ask a question they aren't sure about, a Ghanaian will politely tell you that "it's coming." An American would say "just a minute" but Ghana time means that it will be longer than a minute. A bus does not have a certain time of arrival, it is just coming. When you are running behind, you tell someone you are coming. Slightly a delaying technique, it is also a reminder to slow down. Things definitely operate at a slower pace here and impatience will not serve you well. Whatever is coming will eventually arrive and you can think about things while you wait.
Don't you have one cedi? Making change in Ghana is normally quite the ordeal. All vendors would love if you had the exact amount and sometimes get really annoyed if they have to break a bill. Once, I could see the lady had plenty of peswas (cents) and singles, but she refused to take my ten. Sometimes even you have to hold your ground when handing them a five. You just always insist that no, you do not have a one. Then this can lead to "it's coming" as they go get change from a different vendor. At first, it was frustrating to try and get rid of high bills, but now everyone knows who will break them with little complaint and to hoard your singles for when you really need them.
It's finished So, imagine that you are craving some red-red (bean stew and fried plantains) and get to the stand all excited. You order red-red, and the vendor says "it's finished." NOOOOOO. Disappointment! Because, "it's finished" means that you will not be getting any red-red. There is no further explanation as to why there is no longer red-red. Either they made a very small batch of bean stew for the day, or they are in the process of frying more plantains, or they just don't want to make any more for you. It is not said when they will have some again, just that there is none now. You can also say that any activity is finished and this indicates that it will no longer happen, like lectures or carrying a child. This definitive statement expresses the lack of details most Ghanaians offer and the uncertainty you sometimes have when you order anything.
No shakin' This indicates the attitude you should have when "it's coming" or "it's finished." If there is a problem, it is polite to respond no shakin', meaning that you don't mind waiting or that you will have to come back another day for the red-red. Ghanaians definitely have the mindset of no shakin' and living here has made me realize that in the grand scheme of things, this is not really a problem and to not worry about it.
Where will you get down? Tro-tro mates speak their own language. They yell while leaning out the window of the tro which station they are going to, with "Acc-cra-cra-cra-cra-craaaaaaaa" obviously being Tema station in Accra with corresponding pointing straight ahead, and "Circ-circ-circ" meaning Nkrumah circle in the heart of town while they are spinning their hand around with their fingers toward the ground. Those are the most popular, and clearest ones. Sometimes, even when I directly ask a mate where he is going, he can say something that I can not decipher at all. If you do find one that will confirm that they are going where you need to be heading, you climb in the over-sized van that has a dangerous amount of exposed metal, fold down the seat they have attached to add another row of people in the aisle, and hold on. To determine the rate of the fare, the mate asks "Where will you get down?", meaning how far are you going, when do i need to tell the driver to stop, and therefore how much should I charge you. Once you tell the mate, he quotes the price that is almost standardized and you pass your peswas forward, normally with the aid of other passengers. When you are approaching your destination, the mate hits the side of the tro, yells "last stop!" to communicate to the driver a passenger needs to disembark, and you climb out. Tro-tros are such a wonderful and peculiar thing that are definitively Ghana.
Purrrrre Wawta If you are in any vehicle, you will without a doubt pass a girl selling "pure water." Ghana has dreadful tap water- even most of the locals only use it for cooking- so they drink pure water instead. Pure water is literally a bag of water that is supposedly filtered that you bite off the corner of and drink. I am probably one of very few international students who still drinks only bottled water, but there are so many brands of pure water that there is no guarantee all of them are safe and you can't see what kind the vendor has on top of her head as you are buying it out the window of a moving vehicle. Sometimes when Heather has a sachet (the other name for these bags of water), I joke with her by saying "mmm...typhoid" Pure water is definitely the most popular item for sell, but you can also get practically anything through the car window. Vendors walk the white line between lanes, carrying their wares and coming to your window while you are at the stop light to convince you of a sell. There are the standards of the pure water, phone credit (this topic is coming), and plantain chips. But I have also seen maps, fans, football jerseys and balls, sunglasses, jewelry, patterns for dress making, super glue, exercise equipment?, movies both legit and not, towels, shirts, toilet paper, tissues, flags, hats, canes, radios, flashlights, air fresheners, yogurt though it concerns me as it is being sold in the hot sun, dry erase boards, toys, framed paintings, end tables, and who knows what else. It always makes traffic interesting to see what item is coming next but makes me wonder just how much business these people can actually get on the road.
Flash me when you get there Bwahaha. This is definitely not as bad as it sounds. So phone companies and cell phone culture is totally different here. Instead of signing a contract with one company and dealing with the consequences, you buy a phone from anywhere, get a SIM card that connects you to a specific network, and add credit that acts as a declining balance as you talk with a few peswas translating per minute. Everyone has a cell phone, and the companies basically run this country. Their advertisements are everywhere, including people's houses with the logo painted on the side. People normally have a few different numbers, based on the various SIM cards they have to call certain people on certain networks. Some phones even hold two or three SIM cards to accomodate for this. You can buy credit anywhere, especially from your window, which is a little card that has a code printed on it that you text on your phone which adds money to your balance. Well, since you are literally paying for every minute you are connected on the phone, you "flash" people. Which involves calling them, with the understanding that they won't pick up. That way you aren't wasting your credit. You also flash your number, which occurs once one person gives you their number and then you call them so they have your number. So if you are meeting someone, instead of calling them to say you have arrived, you dial their number but never connect. It makes economic sense, but the terminology catches you a bit off guard the first time. Change your style Maybe it is just Patience and our neighbor and friend Lucy, but from what I can see, Ghanaians LOVE to take pictures of themselves. If they look nice (which is basically everyday,) they will have a photoshoot in the room or around the hostel. Patience showed me a photo album of her relatives and friends, and almost all the photos were from studios. The photo store at the mall is always packed with people getting things printed or waiting for their chance in the photo booth. When you are taking someone's photo, to tell them to do something different or have a new pose, you tell them to "change your style." Ghanaians change their style all the time, by wearing their nice clothes only when they are going outside the hostel, going to the salon, ordering new dresses made from the beautiful traditional fabric from their seamstresses. Also. Instead of saying "cheese," which is an item practically non-existant in their society which I continue to lament, you say "cassava." Just the thought of it makes me smile.
It's nice This is the blanket way of saying "I approve" or "it's good." This could relate to food, clothing, how attractive someone is, the weather, how you are feeling, or basically anything. Vendors also use this line to convince you their products should meet your approval. Even if something is not the best, a Ghanaian will normally still say that it is nice to be polite. It relates to their non-confrontational manner. And such optimism wears off on you.
I hope this gave you just a slight picture into normal life here in Ghana. Well, as for me, as the Ghanaians always say, "I'm fine!" with a huge smile on their face. I love speaking like a Ghanaian, living in this place I now know as home, comfortable in my own skin, now matter how blindingly white and sweatsoaked it may be.
It all started when our group decided that 80 cedis to renew our visas at the embassy was too easy and for that price we might as well travel outside the country, return to the border, and get the same extension. Simple, right? If I had only known how a simple stamp and the journey to get such a thing would end up being so so so much more.
The first plan was to travel through Togo, onto Benin since they are so close together, and then back. But once everyone told the various things they wanted to do in Benin, it was determined that we needed a more extended time period to see it all. So we were just going to simplify and just spend a nice weekend in Lome, the capital of Togo.
And then they had the elections. And thus riots protesting the rigged results.
So it comes to Thursday night, where someone had been shot on Monday, and our visas expired on the coming Sunday. Should we go on to Togo? Heather, Chrissy, and I decided that we had gotten the visa to Togo, we were going. But instead of traveling into Lome in the South, we would travel north to Ho and cross the border and turn straight back around since the violence was concentrated in the capital and lower areas. Other people braved going to Lome anyway, while others would just get the embassy extension that all this planning had been to avoid.
So Saturday morning, us three little white girls leave campus at 5:30 in the morning to head north. We had mapped out our route and saw that Cedi Beading Factory was right off the main road, so we would make a pit stop there on the way to Ho.
We get to the main tro-tro station in Accra and ask to go to Kpong, the town we thought was closest to the beads. Our accents did us a disservice and we got sent to the tro-tro headed to Akropong. Thankfully I checked our map, found the misunderstanding, discovered that it would be better to go to Somaya anyway and so we asked for a tro there instead.
A man told us he had a private car (or direct car? It was unclear) to Somanya. But a different man who was selling Mentos led us straight to the tro-tro we needed. I expected him to then ask us to buy some of his mints, as most vendors do after helping you, but he just walked away. This was the first of many angels on our journey.
This first ride was relaxing and we reached Somanya sooner than I expected. We asked a lady where we should get out to catch a tro on to Kpong, planning to head that direction, get off at the bead factory and proceed on our tour. We got out where she said, made our transfer and were proud of ourselves. On this second tro, a woman asked us where we were going. We told her and she said we had passed it! But then others argued with her so she gave up. We should have heeded her warning. We reached Kpong, having not passed any beads and then asked around where we should go. A mate of a new tro promised to know where it was and to take us. He didn’t wait to fill all the seats- taking only the three of us, which is odd since tros are always crammed. We arrived- after backtracking a ways from the station- at the Beading ANNEX. Which was basically just a stand on the side of the road selling the beads we wanted to see be made. After making a few purchases, the vendor was kind enough to hand us a map giving directions from the annex to the factory we were searching for.
So armed with our maps, we stand by the road to get a tro BACK to Kpong and then a different transfer towards Somanya. Our first tro had passed straight through Somanya, to drop us in 2 towns away- the source of all the confusion. So we are waiting, and waiting, and waiting and all these tros are full or can’t take on three. A nice man from the restaurant we were in front of on this highway came out and finally flagged one down for us. Back in Kpong, we finally showed our handy maps and headed to the right place.
We were so excited to finally be at the junction and walked the 500 m down this dirt path to finally reach the bead factory. It was a really nice compound, and Mr. Cedi greeted us and directed us to a man who showed us the processes for all five types of beads they make. They pound glass or powder or antique beads down, then pour them in molds to shape them. We saw the furnaces, which are made in termite hills, and the finished product. It was all very chill and intriguing. They don’t charge for the tour, but courtesy required a visit to the gift store. After we all picked out a few things, Mr. Cedi each gave us a “dash”- a bracelet thrown in extra to what we had already purchased- since apparently the man at the annex had said we were on the way and obviously had been lost.
It was now time to proceed on to Ho- after buying a little bread and convincing a woman at the filling station to let us use the non-public washroom. Arriving at Kpong once again with a small argument with the taxi driver who changed the fare mid-ride, we got a tro-tro to Ho. We had to wait for about 15 minutes for it to fill- no big deal- and we were off.
Watching the beautiful Volta region hills and lush foliage out the window, it felt so nice to be outside Accra and to have encountered such nice people. The week before had been stress filled, with the uncertainty about traveling for the weekend and feeling a bit frustrated with the way things are in Ghana. I had woken up very nervous in the morning, uncertain how our first uncoordinated trip would go, but as we arrived at Ho at 3, we were in great spirits.
The next objective was to find a ride to the Togo border, cross it, and turn straight back around into Ghana, arriving back in Ho for dinner. After a mate directed us to the tros that were headed to Lome- the very thing we had traveled all this way to avoid- we finally found the ticket stand for the Ho-Kpalime journey. We expected to get in a tro-tro, but were directed to a 4x4 truck that was like the one we had taken our safari at Mole in. Undeterred, we climbed in the back as the first three passengers. The driver urged us to move to the bench seat in the middle, since there were supposed to be fifteen people in this thing. Not fully understanding what this meant, we moved and waited for it to fill.
And waited. And waited. And waited.
And started to get anxious about how far the border actually was, and if we had time to get back before dark, and why weren’t people going to Kpalime?!?!? Only three or four more people had joined us after 45 minutes, meaning we still had to wait for 8, though it was already cramped. The clock is ticking and unstable Togo is waiting who knows how far away.
And when I thought it couldn’t get worse, it started to rain. Just like Young Frankenstein.
At this point, the three of us are about delusional, wondering should we bail on this 4x4. Heather went to check to see if any taxi would take us, but got laughed at. Slowly more people came, though there were several arguments about the driver’s delusion that we could fit that many people in this vehicle. At least I guess that was what it was about- it occurred in French/Twi/Ewe/ Who knows?
Finally, after deciding not to bail because that would cause our own riot, and right when we were just about to pay for the other seats, people arrived and we joyously sang as we left the Ho station 2 hours after getting in the 4x4. It is 5 at this point, and we say that if we get to the border by six, we can take a taxi back into town no problem and be done with this craziness.
So when we arrive at a barrier with a huge building labeled Ghana Immigration Station at 5:55, we are stoked. We say goodbye to all our new friends stuffed in the 4x4, and sorta jig to the immigration officers. We make a point to ask for a 60 day renewal and then it all went downhill. We actually hadn't gotten to the border- Togo was still 20 minutes away and they refused to give us a stamp that night.
So here we are. We have to go into Togo, at night, with no knowledge of French and no place to stay.
Everything we had journeyed all this way to avoid.
I am freaking out at this point. And of course there is no service to call my parents about the change of plans. As we get back into the 4x4, under the eerie cover of darkness, we head towards the unknown. The jungle enclosed the road on both sides and I tried not to think about all the possible things that could leap out at any moment.
The 4x4 stalled a few times, but we eventually reached the actual border. And does it have lights or instructions? Of course not. It is literally a shack on the side of the road, with one lantern, with men yelling in French and directing us with flashlights. They separate us three white girls to sit on a bench, take our passports, and give us no instruction.
At this point, we are taking stock of how much CFAs (Togo currency) we have between the three of us, since we only brought a minimum in case of bribery. We determined we had enough for the night, since the driver had told the Ghanaian immigration leaders he knew of a hotel for us and that he would return us to Ho in the morning.
The Togo officers finally call us into the shack to ask a few questions and return our passports. Everyone in the 4x4 by this point is anxious to get to Kpalime and a bit agitated that they keep having to wait for these girls. We continue on, finally now in Togo, and stop randomly on the side of the road for yet another check point? No one ever really said, just that we all got out and stood awkwardly in this little village, clutching my flashlight and trying not to freak out.
At this point, one of the men from the 4x4 came up to ask us if we were alright and that tell us we shouldn't be worried. We had talked to him a lot, since he was one of the first to get in the vehicle back at the station.
His name is Theo. And he is our guardian angel.
He asked where we were staying in Kpalime and we told him the name of the hotel the driver had told us he would connect us to. Theo shook his head, and told us that it would be way expensive and that there was a hotel near his house he was familiar with and would take us instead.
So after we finally get in the 4x4 for the last time, Theo tells the driver the new plan and we arrive at the hotel. It was such a welcome sight after such a long day and we planned to simply get the room and lock ourselves in to eat the bit of bread and groundnuts we had on us. Theo translates for us and we see the clean triple room for only 6,000 CFA (about 13 dollars). We ask the manager if there is anywhere close to get some water or soda, and he offered the few he had.
But Theo goes, "Oh, are you hungry? We need to get you food." At this point, I am amazed that this man would just help us to get the hotel, let alone stay with us to get food, while speaking French for us the whole time.
So we leave the hotel, but the place around the corner he had in mind was closed. So he called over some moto taxis for us, which are simply a motocycle that you hop on, with no helmet, and hopefully the male driver takes you where you want to go. So I am now riding a motocycle in Togo and it is quite exhilerating because I can just feel the peace that everything is going to be alright.
We arrive at the hotspot in town and Theo makes sure we enjoy fufu and gets us Cocktail de Fruits, this sparkiling fruit juice that we had a bit confusion about when he only called it cocktail. As he showed us proper fufu eating, and laughed at my failed attempts to take enough dough to dip in the soup and not chew as it went down, we talked about life. We told him that we could not thank him enough for the help he had given us with the hotel and dinner.
He told us that one time he was in Australia and that they wouldn't let him through customs. And a stranger had claimed to know him so that he could pass through. And Theo said that ever since then, how could he not help others in such vulnerable situations? Heather then asked if he believed if God puts certain people in our lives at certain points for a reason, and he absolutely agreed, saying that God always provides protection for his children.
We rode the moto taxis back to the hotel and say thanks, good night, and part ways. But Theo said, "The driver says he will pick you up at 8, I will be here at 6:30 to break fast." Oh. OK. You are not done helping us.
We had a long chat about the crazy day we had and the literal God send Theo was for us before crashing in exhaustion. When Theo didn't arrive ontime in the morning, I thought "Well, he helped us out beyond anything last night, that is fine." But he was just running behind and showed up at 7.
We had all expected to go back to a restaurant or go to a nice little stand. But as we kept walking, it became apparent that no, Theo was walking us to his apartment. He graciously invited us in and served us breakfast of coffee and tea with baguettes topped with mayo.
We had planned to go to church in Ho, but our dicussion over breakfast was one of the best services I have ever had. Theo simply discussed the blessings of God, and how therefore he must bless others. And that since he was helping us now, it will all return to him. That the greatness of God, and His unending love was the source of his actions. He told us that he knew we were afraid the night before, but that with God, we must be free of fear and then be free of heart to serve others. His prayer began with a heartfelt song and ended with him imploring for our protection on our journey back.
We went to meet the driver, who told us that he wasn't ready yet but that he would be back soon. So Theo got the man's phone number and told us that if this driver wasn't ready within two hours, we would find a different one. So we return to the apartment and start watching this Nigerian movie. It was horribly made with great dramatic music, but the side commentary Theo made were even more entertaining. The driver called he was ready at 9:15 so we went to meet him again.
The driver had been a little sketchy at our first meeting in the morning, telling Heather he wanted her as a wife and making all these comments. But when we arrived this second time, he only spoke in French and Theo out of the blue told us that we were leaving. Apparently, this man wanted to charge us 20,000 CFA (about 40 dollars) to take us back to Ho, when we had only paid 9 Cedi (about 6 dollars) the night before. Which was absolutely ridiculous! So Theo got one of his friends to drive us to the station to find a different driver.
We found a tro-tro headed to Ho, for 1,500 CFA a person- a much more reasonable price. But Theo seemed uneasy talking to the man, and this was confirmed when the extortionist driver shows up again, yelling about what seemed to be about the broken agreement and now us trying to talk to someone else. So we left again, with a pissed Theo, who told us he was fighting injustice and that he would not let this man ruin our thoughts about Togo. And claims "I will take you to Ho!"
At several times, I had been overwhelmed about this man. He was truly helping us, no strings attached, because that is was what Christians are to do. He had saved us from so many compromising situations and vowed to protect us until we were safely back in Ghana. Heather and I start tearing up because, as Heather said, "You have FRIENDS who wouldn't do all of this for you." There is no other way to describe him but as an angel.
So after stopping to get his passport, we head towards the border. At one point, we get out and calls over more moto taxis. So the breeze on my face, flying by these beautiful mountain vistas that had been terrifying in the dark, headed home, having encountered the spirit of God, I felt so FULL.
So we go through customs at Togo, with Theo smoothing things over a bit in French for us, since we found out later that other American students had given bribes to get back into Ghana. And the Ghanaian officers this morning had no confusion about our visa renewal and let us pass simply. We did a little jig once crossing back into our now homeland, and hopped on the motocycle one last time.
We reached a depot, where Theo found us a shared taxi station wagon thing that only wanted 1.5 cedis from each of us- a dollar essentially- and would take us to Ho. We were so happy, but torn about finally parting ways with our new friend. When we go through Togo again in a few weeks, as planned, we promised to meet him again, but if not, I have no doubts that our reunion in heaven will be amazing.
We had to wait only a little while to fill the station wagon with 10 people- transportation is always jammed here- we got back to Ho, found a simple tro straight to Accra and were content.
I apologize for writing basically a novel, but I feel that the whole tale must be included. Because I know that every little thing- a missed tro here, deciding to come through Ho, it was all meant to be. Because we thus encountered Theo and were blessed beyond belief. There is no way to explain it but it was God.
Especially since my dad pointed out to me when I told them this adventure, chocking on my tears as I tried to find the words to express the actual existence of such a man, something that had completely not connected in all the craziness. His name was Theo, the Greek word for God.
Our Twi class is coming to a close soon and I’ve only really learned how to make basic sentences like the one above, meaning I eat rice every day. I can also beg for a lower price in the bargaining process, a necessary skill when going to the market to avoid the obroni surcharge that miraculously gets added to everything.
Now that I’ve been here almost two months, I have gotten into some routines, like eating rice every day, boiling water (though this has been halted temporarily since our boiler was taken after we left it in the kitchen and we haven’t gotten a replacement yet), walking half an hour to get to class, hanging out laundry, sweating constantly, power outages. Things that astounded me when I first arrived are now normal. And I don’t know if this is a good or bad thing.
I remember Peter Gess showing us the “culture shock” diagram in all our orientations and I must admit that I have reached the plateau, I feel. Things aren’t exciting anymore but I am still learning things every day.
Perhaps since I have slowed down on the traveling and am settling in at the international hostel more is why I am feeling a bit cut off from Ghanaian experiences. Hopefully I can get over this slump. Don’t get me wrong- I still absolutely love it here. It is just that being immersed in such a drastically different environment is a lot sometimes.
My last trip I took was to Kumasi, which is the second biggest city in the country. Our Twi teacher Kofi, though he might have a bit of hometown bias, claimed that you hadn’t truly seen Ghana until you had spent time there. And I have to say that I agree with him. Kumasi is the center of the Asante region, which has the rich history of the Asante Kingdom who thwarted the British several times before successful colonization. Their cultural pride is still very prevalent, especially in being the center of traditional crafts.
Kente cloth is the biggest product and it is absolutely stunning. It is so brightly colored and come in a multitude of patterns. We got to see the weavers- who were all men- in their looms, using their feet to change between threads, moving their hands at a blazing speed. Our tour guide explained that they weave in strips in either single, double, or triple weave. A single strip of triple weave could take up to a week to create. After the strips are formed, they are sewed together to make the overall fabric.
The next craft village we visited makes the cloth stamped with the adrinka symbols, which have significance to all Akan people. They showed us the process to make the ink for the stamps- involving mashing tree bark and boiling the liquid for different stages for various colors. We were then allowed to select a strip of fabric and stamp the symbols we desired. This process was a bit hectic, with various vendors harassing us for attention and money while we waited to stamp our cloth. It gets frustrating sometimes when my skin color makes me seem to be a walking bank that if provoked enough will buy anything at any price. But it was really cool once I got to actually stamp my bright blue strip with the symbols for unity, child of God, hope, call to share, and forgiveness.
After these two major stops, we also went shopping in a wood carving village, the cultural center, and the major market in town. Though it felt that we were only spending money for the vast majority of the time, we also did get to visit the Asantehene Palace Museum. The Asantehene is the chief of the Asante people and the museum had various artifacts owned or used by the last few rulers. Our tour guide was lively, explaining what we were looking at since there were no labels and suggesting at various times that we should buy his book in the gift store at the end of the tour. It was nice to learn more about this major Ghanaian historical and cultural group, though the condition some of the artifacts were kept in made me sad since they will probably not be preserved very long.
Speaking of preservation, I have finally made contact with the National Archives again. I went through a period of questioning my motives of pursuing this volunteer position. Was it simply because it is kinda expected that all the American students will volunteer somewhere while they are here and I don’t mesh well with the other options of tutoring kids? But I finally decided that the opportunity to observe how archives are managed in the third-world context would be horrible to pass up.
So three weeks ago I finally went back to the archives, after my sickness and wrong contact numbers and contemplation had kept me away for awhile. The archives director wasn’t very concerned why there had been the time gap and soon got me connected with the director of the research room. This man, my supervisor, explained to me the process researchers use when they arrive and how we attendants, which apparently is what I am now, assist them in retrieving materials in the collection. I looked at the finding aid, which is a huge book that has all the documents listed in a somewhat organized manner but still difficult to use. He then showed me the repository, which is where the collection is kept. The air conditioning has been broken for weeks now and the electricity only works in sections of the stacks. Imagine piles and piles of boxes and papers that are in various states of falling apart. There are collections of documents from the colonial administration and after independence. But there are probably hundreds of items that they have no idea what they are. I asked if I could help process something, but each collection is so large that I couldn’t even look at everything in time, let alone create and index and box. He explained to me the lack of funds and trained staff that holds up their progress. They haven’t even received new materials since 2000 because the resource center is the first location items go and get sorted, which has not passed on anything in that period.
So my job is to sit in the research room and help find things in the repository for the searchers, hopefully something that is related to what they are looking for. When we were helping this one guy, I was with one of the other assistants (there are about 7 of us, for 3 current researchers?) and we knew which box the paper was supposed to be in. Under normal circumstances, we place the slip in the box, remove the document, let the researcher use it, replace it in the box, remove the slip, and file the paperwork. But this time the box did not hold the document, so we had to find a document similar to the one requested. A loss of the document was seen as a minor problem and no real efforts were made to find it. It was lost and that was it. Later, when I was filing documents back into the boxes, the paperwork was missing, so no trail was created to show that I had replaced the document. I am trying to not allow the disorganization to get to me but it is hard to fully accept that things can be here or there, with no care for if a researcher needs it or the necessity to preserve it. I am also passing the hours in the research room that my assistance is not needed by reading my own stuff and deciding which documents I want to look at myself, if I can find them.
For fun a few weekends ago, our group went to Champs for karaoke night. My roommate Patience and her good friend and our next door neighbor, Lucy came with us. The restaurant had “tex-mex” food, which beggars can’t be choosers. Patience tried her first burrito, and didn’t think it was that bad haha. It was funny for a cultural experience, because Ghanaians apparently take karaoke very seriously. Our group started out with the girls doing a poor rendition of No Scrubs, followed by Heather tearing down the house with Sweet Home Alabama with her natural entertaining self. Then Mitch, who is from West Virginia, led a group for Take Me Home Country Roads and then all of us ended our set with the classic Don’t Stop Believing. By this point, I think everyone thought we were crazy Americans. Because they then got up and performed like they were on American Idol. They were all really talented, except for the Lebanese men who rocked the house to a Bollywood song. It was a lot of fun, especially having Patience and Lucy along.
The next day we took advantage of actually being in Accra to see some of the sights we missed on the orientation trip. We told the taxi to take us the W.E.B. Dubois Center, which he took as the National Museum? It was OK cause we had planned to see both, but it was kinda funny that there was the mix up. The National Museum was nice, holding some artwork and a few artifacts. A lot of it was about archeological findings, but had some interesting information about traditional dances and textiles. We had the place to ourselves, which was nice, but I wish more people would be interested in the place so it can grow.
We then actually made it to the W.E.B. DuBois center. But we were confused on arrival because there was obviously a funeral being held there by the presence of about 100 people wearing black and red. Funerals are a huge deal here, especially on Saturdays, so it wasn’t weird to be occurring, but then we could only find the festivities and not the museum we came to see. We eventually got directed to the right place. We then toured the house Kwame Nkrumah gave DuBois when he moved to Ghana at the end of his life. They had a few pictures, some gifts given to him (including a signed book from Einstein), his graduation robes, a research library and his personal library he brought with him. Then we saw his final resting place. I wish there had been more at this very important site, but glad that we finally got there to see it.
Being in town also gave us the opportunity to finally attend church. Last week we went to the Legon Interdenominational Church, which is located on campus. We heard about it from one of the students who helped during our orientation. Their building is very nice, with a big balcony and projected lyrics on the screen in the front. It felt very familiar, almost like a service at home except for the bits of singing in Twi at parts. They were very friendly, even giving us pineapple juice after the service for being first time visitors.
They had a night celebration for Independence Day, which was the 6th of March. That was how I celebrated, spending most of the day resting and working on some school work. We thought they were going to be mostly showing this movie entitled Magdalena, but it ended up being a service in itself, with choir performances, poetry recitations, and the youth choreography group dancing. The actual movie Magdalena was an ordeal, with the dialogue first being much quieter than the dramatic music. Then it was first in French, so that needed to be fixed, followed by the sound mixing. When it was finally audible in a recognizable language, a large section seemed to be missing from the middle since the flashback clips at the end we hadn’t seen before… It was still a very interesting experience to spend the holiday with them.
This Sunday we went with a different orientation leader student, Shadrach, to his father’s church, which was in town. Some of those who we were going with were late, so we had to rush in some taxis to get there during the praise time. We finally get there, to find that it is simply a room in what I think is a school during the week, with about thirty very excited Ghanaians. Welcome to Victory Life Bible Church. Heather and I sat on the front row since that was where there was room, enjoying the tambourine playing and dancing matriarchs. They had testimonial time, with one of the musicians serving as translator from Twi, and most witnesses told their story and then led us in a song, leading to more dancing and shouts of amen. I probably said amen more times than I have ever said in my life combined. Shadrach’s father then got up to preach, and made a joke about how “our brethren who are joining us from Legon will be sharing a song after they have been touched by the sermon.” Except, it wasn’t a joke. He spoke on abiding in Christ and then called us to sing!! All of us didn’t really know what to do, so Heather struck up Amazing Grace. Which is a great song- but compared to their upbeat exciting tunes sounds so slow and sad!! We only made it through two verses, but they encouraged us so much. The ladies had us dance with them during the next praise songs and we shook so many hands after the service. It was just so wonderful to be among people that truly get their joy from the Lord and openly show it. We will definitely be going back, though we still want to visit some other congregations.
If you have stuck with it to the end, I severely apologize for the verboseness. My emotions are going a million directions at once, and apparently my writing style suffers there from. I will make efforts to update more often so that it doesn’t reach a point where I have so much to speak about.
I know that as the rains start soon and I start realizing that finals are just around the corner, I will be cherishing more and more things, trying to capture them all in my mind and therefore on paper.
I am well aware that a new update is overdue. But I experience sensory overload everyday and it takes me awhile to process it all.
The pictures I take aren’t vibrant enough to capture the colors. All my words can’t convey the mindboggling concoction of aromas that hits you as you step off the tro-tro at Madina market. Yells of “obroni!” don’t have the same weight on paper.
It is insane that I’ve been here five and a half weeks, since part of me feels like it has always been in Ghana while the rest sees the calendar flipping at super speed.
What I have experienced within this time is possibly more than some people experience all year. Trying to take stock of all my encounters is impossible, but I will try to express a small taste of the latest ventures.
I had been looking forward to visiting Cape Coast Castle since I knew it was on our trip itinerary, meaning months. As a history major, seeing one of the major forts where slaves were stored on the coast before boarding the ships to take the Middle Passage across the Atlantic to the Americas was a once in a life opportunity. Knowing it would be an emotional experience, I was fully prepared to shed some tears and be contemplative. But as we slowly descended into the male dungeon, the darkness closed in, nearly suffocating me with its intensity. You could just feel the tragedy that had occurred there. I kept trying to contain myself from weeping, listening to the tour guide give the statistics about how many humans would be stuffed into the small room we were standing in and pointing out the one trench that could remove all of their excrements. As we walked to the end of the dungeon, a traditional priest was there to say a prayer. He spoke in some traditional tongue which of course I didn’t recognize, but it was apparent about what he was imploring. As tears now freely rolled down my cheeks, I myself joined him in prayer, asking the Prince of Peace to provide the type of healing only He can ensure and to forgive our sin-filled world where such evil happens.
I don’t like instability- literally and figuratively. So when I stepped on to the small foot board of the Kakum National Park canopy walk, at least 100 meters above ground, and it swung away from me, I got uneasy, to say the least. But my friend Paula is terrified of heights, so her fears were a lot more pressing at that point. As we slowly progressed across the seven bridges, stopping at each platform to catch our bearings, I just focused on encouraging Paula to just look at the back of my head, and to partially take in the scenery of the rain forest canopy. The stifling heat and nerves drenched us in sweat, but as we stepped back onto solid ground, we were triumphant and a huge bond between us was formed.
All of us went to Mole National Park with the sole purpose of spotting an elephant. That is what the park is known for and we knew that the trip north was worth it. So at 5:30 in the morning, we all jammed ourselves into a small bus that has fold out seats down the aisle and tried to remain positive. Road trips are always trying times, but the close quarters, lack of rest stops, and pot-hole ridden roads were wearing on everyone after the 13 hours. But we finally arrived at the hotel in the park and crashed in our rooms to prepare for our morning walking safari. As I stepped out of our room in the morning, a warthog ran by on the sidewalk. So, Pumba welcomed us to the exciting day in the park. Our guide was D.K. and he was excellent. We walked down this cliff onto the savanna, passing the watering hole. Elephant footprints were left caked in the mud from the rainy season and just made us expectant to see a herd. We trekked very far into the park and luckily saw waterbucks, bushbucks, and kobs, all antelope and deer type of animals. But we started heading back towards the hotel a little disappointed. But then D.K. started shaking his fists with a huge grin on his face. And then pointed to a huge gray mass behind a tree. A real live wild elephant was right there! It still blows me away. He told us the two we followed to the watering hole were senior adult males who can’t keep up with a normal herd. They are such majestic animals and we were so close to watch them eat and bathe. Our ride back to Accra was a lot less complaint-filled since we had such an amazing time on the savanna.
The day we got back started very early for me since I got sick. I felt bad all day, but decided I had to attend class because we had a test scheduled. There was some confusion about where we were meeting and I didn't feel well rushing around campus only to find out that we were postponing it. After I took my temperature several times and it kept rising, Heather insisted that we visited the hospital because I had all the symptoms for malaria. I got really emotional because I was afraid I would be really sick and it would just worry my parents. Thankfully Heather hugged me as we were in the taxi and Amanda helped me do all the paper work throughout registration. They were wonderful, keeping things normal and making sure I was OK. After waiting for the doctor and the lab work, it was quickly determined that I only needed antibiotics to combat a simple intestinal infection. It was a tense few hours, but I had amazing support and hopefully it will be the last encounter with medical care.
My History of Western Medicine in Ghana class is one of the most interesting topics I have gotten to attend. It is intriguing to hear about how a single issue of malaria could shape so much of the entire British colonial administration. It got a little tense in my tutorial (a small discussion meeting we have once a week besides our two hour lecture) the other day though. One of the Ghanaians asked why the Europeans called it the "White Man's Grave" and didn't recognize that Africans were also dying from the same diseases. Another student replied that the colonialists only came for exploitation. There are a lot of American students in the discussion with me, but we all didn't know how to respond on such a topic.
My other history class, Ghana in the 19th and 20th Centuries, is interesting to say the least. My lecturer is kind of obsessed with herself, requiring we read about 20 articles written by her. And she stormed out of class one time because there was no respect? What I have read has been informative since I knew almost nothing about Ghanaian history. But the biggest issue with this class is our group project. Each group has a report to write about a different administration that occurred since independence in 1957. Which isn't a problem. But my group decided that being the secretary was "women's work" leaving me, who has no idea what all this entails, as apparently second in command of twenty students who keep dodging our meetings that I partially organize. Story of my life to have a slight academic debacle.
One of the most enjoyable times I have had was right here on campus. The School of Performing Arts had a special Valentines Day weekend performance run of Beauty and the Beast. Yes. It was actually the full blown musical with teapot costumes and dramatic strobe lights during the transformation. It was just such a mix of the familiar with Ghanaian elements. It started an hour later than posted, some numbers were accapella, traditional dances were incorporated during Be Our Guest, and the market scene still included women selling water sachets off a basket on their head. The audience was much more responsive than Americans would probably be, especially when the leads shared quite the simple stage kiss. It was just great to have something familiar, with a nice twist.
I spent the rest of the holiday weekend with the International Programmes Office on a trip to the Volta region, which is in the eastern part of the country. We once again were crammed into a small bus, though the trip was decidedly shorter. We first visited the Tafi Atome monkey sanctuary, which protects four groups of mona monkeys which we got to observe and feed bananas to. Yes, they actually eat bananas. We then proceeded to the Wli waterfall, which the hike to the falls was a bit further than predicted, but it was totally worth it. A lot of the group members swam around in the cold water but I just took in the sights. After we hiked back, the trip kinda went downhill. We got really behind schedule- not a new occurance- but it was partially created by the lack of gas which stranded us in the bush for about an hour. And then we were supposed to boat across the lake to stay in some huts on the beach, but a storm was picking up. So we instead stayed in a dimly lit guesthouse, with three to a bed. Some of the other girls' room didn't lock, so we had a sleepover with their mattress and a guys group bed on our floor for morale support. But the next morning we felt better as we did get to take a canoe over to the beach for a restful day. I stayed in the shade, reading, and enjoying the sand between my toes.
Sometimes it feels weird to have these crazy adventures on the weekends, which feels like vacation, and then I spend the week dancing and listening to lectures. But even day to day, I try to understand what is going on and sometimes can't.
How did I get so blessed to be having this experience?
