Sensory (and Probably Information) Overload

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?

And I still have three months to go.

I can't wait to see what they hold.

Belling the Cat

"Who is going to bell the cat?"

Kofi, our Twi professor, looks expectantly around our classroom, seeing that our faces are lacking comprehension, even though he had actually spoken English.

So he kindly then explained himself with a folk tale. There was a community of mice, whose numbers were dwindling because of the cat who lived near by. So they were having a meeting to determine what should be done to save themselves and one mouse suggested putting a bell around the neck of the cat so they could hear when he was coming. It was a great idea, but had a catch. Which mouse would be bold enough to approach the cat to put the bell around its neck?

Therefore, to bell the cat means to be the bold one to step up and make something happen.

And living in Ghana, where every day is a new adventure, I am learning to bell the cat.

My Intro to Traditional Dance class is a perfect example. Because of our schedule, Heather, a few other girls, and I decided to take DANS 102, which is NOT the obroni class. We could hear the drumming as we approached the building and could see the mass of people following the beat. Most of the steps are not that complicated, but making sense of the polyrhythmic music, and the syncopated arm movements with the steps is taking some time to pick up. But I absolutely love it. The teaching assistants are very helpful- and don't correct only us obronis! Last night, one of them approached me and I fully expected for him to show me once again how this arm thing is supposed to go. But he smiled widely and said "You got it going!!"

Monday I went to talk to Theresa, our director, about possible internships or volunteer work. Once I said I was interested in history or archives, she suggested the National Archives. I said that would be great and then she said "What are you doing tomorrow?" What? So soon? I thought. But I met her driver (which felt odd on a totally different matter), and we drove to the archives. I had no idea what to expect, and really didn't know what I was supposed to do when I arrived. She had given me a letter of introduction, so I just stepped up to the information desk, handed them the letter and stated my purpose. They looked kinda confused when I said volunteer, but eventually had someone lead me to the director's office. I awkwardly sat there for about five minutes before I was told that he was out but that I should leave my contact information. So I made the first contact and hopefully something will work out for me to help out the archives.

I was already nervous about taking Information Studies classes because I have never had anything of the sort. But sitting in the lecture hall as it slowly filled up with the other students I got even more anxious. I am the only obroni and no one else will talk to me. My Collection Development class had lecture today and I just loved hearing about how to manage a library. So I just need to have more courage to speak to the Ghanaians in my class to make new friends and contacts about our work.

My room mate Patience is helping me to be bold. Our first few days residing in the same room were a little tense because I think we were both trying to figure out how to approach each other. But once I tried to explain how my sunburn felt after my trip to the beach on Saturday, we have been having a wonderful time. She makes amazing fried plantains and thinks that since I don't like to drive, I should get a driver. Haha. Her dad works for Fan Milk, which is the biggest dairy provider for the country, it seems. But apparently he will visit and bring us ice cream? I think this is wonderful. And she is making me practice my Twi with her, which always leaves us keeled over in laughter. But she tells me that she can at least figure out what I'm trying to say and gives me English equivalents to figure out the pronunciations. I definitely lucked out with a wonderful room mate that provides nice insights to living here.

I tried banku the other day instead of eating the standard rice, chicken, bean stew or fried plantains. Banku is this dough ball thing made with corn that is really sticky. You take a tiny bit of it and dip it in soup or the tomato stew. It definitely filled me up, but it might be because of the weird consistancy of it. I was kinda proud I tried something new, and plan on eating it again, though not often.

A group of us went to the beach on Saturday, leading to the aforementioned sun burn. It was exciting to ride on a tro-tro without the help of Afiba, our student guide during orientation. I think I am starting to get the hang of dealing with the mates to find out exactly who is going where. Even going to the beach was an adventure for me, since I don't really like sitting in the sand and roasting myself for hours. But it was definitely nice to see the Gulf of Guinea. It was even more interesting people watching and continually telling everyone that no, I didn't bring any extra cedi for their necklaces/CDs/wood carvings/paintings/nail polish/etc etc etc.

I haven't had any marriage proposals yet. But I think my True Love Waits ring has been a bit of a deterrent, interestingly enough. One guy on the beach asked Paula, who actually is married, about her ring. She told him it was her wedding ring and then he asked about mine. I said it was a promise ring, and he didn't ask anymore questions after that.

Going to the library on campus I thought would be comforting because of familiarity. It was nice to use the card catalog, but soon I understood that their system was some crazy variant to the Library of Congress system. It doesn't help that there are tons of different collections, either at the main building or spread all around campus. It will take me awhile to locate my various readings, which I can't simply buy at the bookstore, and to determine exactly how much I really need to read.

Slowly but surely, I am stepping out and experiencing some amazing things. I think I'm going to market tomorrow. And then we are visiting Cape Coast this weekend. It blows me away every day what I get to do and learn and who I get to interact with. Hopefully I can report back soon that I am continually belling the cat.

Obronis, This is Ghana Man!

Yes, I know that Heather has already used this title, but seriously, this just perfectly sums up how everything is going right now.

A lady, carrying her baby on her back and her wares on her head, yelled this statement to us when we were walking through the market at Madina. We were 6 white girls huddled together, trying to adjust to the sensory overload of the thousands of people moving through the hundreds of stalls, jammed packed with fish, bananas, football jerseys, fabric- anything you could imagine!

And I certainly felt like a huge obroni.

Obroni means white person and we hear it several times a day, since it is the easiest way to get our attention since we are such a rarity.

And it doesn't have any racial slurs attached- they are just stating how it is. But it certainly reminds me how I certainly stick out like a sore thumb.

Like when I carried my hamper full of clothes into the laundry room yesterday to find that it was already full of the wash women you can hire to do the laundry for you. And they all turned, because it was obvious I had no idea what I was doing. But I manged to some how clean and dry my first load.

Or when our power finally came back on with the help of the generator after we had been without for 2 days. We all cheered, showing our great attachment to running water and not using flashlights to hang around Amanda's room.

And lunch today as I stood trying to figure out what was behind the glass in the service line at the restaurant in one of the dorms, finally settling for the safe bet of chicken and spicy noodles.

As a group of 15 of us trekked across campus to take advantage of buy one, get one free night at Pizza Inn.

Riding the tro-tro for the first time, struggling to understand what location the mate was yelling out, passing our peswas from hand to hand, giggling with nerves and excitement.

Sitting in the lecture hall with no one to talk to, unsure how long to wait before it is deemed that class will not be meeting today.

But then, sometimes it just strikes me- this IS Ghana. I am standing in Africa.

The sunset on the first day was stunning. The sun was huge and bright orange, suspended slightly above the savanna. Chrissy called it a Lion King moment and though it wasn't quite poetic, it was true.

Stepping out of the airplane on the first day and having the air knocked out of me by the heat. And then realizing there will never be a moment when I won't be sweating.

The fact there is a house on campus I pass on the way to the main lecture hall that has a monkey tied up as a pet outside.

How everyone in the country simultaneously sits in expectation, cheering on Essien to lead the Black Stars to victory over Burkina Faso in the Africa Cup.

Not worrying if things get done today, or next week.

The juicy pineapple I get for 1.5 cedi (about a dollar) from the lady at the night market.

Some things only happen because I am an obroni, but also only because I am in Ghana.
I have been here a week and I am obviously still learning.

But everytime I am asked "Obroni, sister, how have you found your stay in Ghana?" I just smile and say "Oh, it has been wonderful so far."

Handing Off My Coat

So it has been freakishly cold in Arkansas for the past week. Before heading anywhere, I bundle up in 3 layers, pull on my gloves, only to have to strip them all off again once I am safely returned to heated space.
And in less than 48 hours, I will be sweating under a mosquito netting in Accra.

Wow.

An interesting question I heard concerning my leaving for Ghana was:

What are you going to do with your coat? Are you taking it with you?

And my response was to tell them that of course not, I am just handing it to my parents at the airport.

This not only attests to the drastic climate change I am about to encounter--none too soon, mind you. I never deal with the cold well. But I am also leaving something behind as I move towards this vast experience that has so many unknowns waiting for me. There are things that I don't need, though the looming presence of my two massive suitcases might seem to contradict this. I have trying to do what ISEP calls "emotionally pack."

Determine your goals for your time abroad.
Prepare for culture shock.

And I am stuck here trying to make a list or checkpoints for myself. But you know what? I think I am just going to wing it. Which is very un-Rachel-like of me. I have read the majority of my guidebook, copied my paperwork, started taking my malaria pills. But I fear that I have reached the point where I must leap.

I mean really, how can you plan for a life-altering event?

There will be pre-Africa Rachel and post-Africa Rachel.
This is that big.

And just like how my coat will be left with my mother, who tries her hardest to hide the tears until I am past security, all my expectations should be placed behind me as I plunge into this mind-blowing adventure.