Hello!
So much to share and I have forgotten so much already!
So, first, the title of this blog comes from my recent experience with the most selfish (male, only male) co-riders of tro tros I have been coming across with ridiculous frequency this last week. A quick re-cap for those who don't know: A tro tro (from now on referred to as "tro") is a gigantic vehicle something like a 15-passenger van that has had it's original seats removed and much smaller ones installed so any vehicle fits anywhere from 20 to 30 people. Needless to say they get very crowded and very hot, and it is literally the most annoying thing in the entire world when some douche bag man feels he has every right to spread his legs at an angle approaching 180 degrees and squishing me into either another passenger, or the window, or in my favorite example, the metal side of the car forcing me close to concussion every time we hit a bump. I'm really happy for you that you have a freaking penis, really I am, but it just can't be that big that it requires two seats. Seriously irritating.
The last week or so has been fairly uneventful. Except for a pretty gnarly case of food poisoning that I came down with the morning Elena and I were supposed to take Anita, Sena and Claytus to the Volta Region to see the country's highest waterfall, Wli. (I blame a rouge tomato.) Unfortunately, I had to stay behind, which was a bummer, but was actually good, because I can't even begin to think of the pain involved in a 4-hour tro ride with food poisoning. Not to mention climbing to the top of a waterfall. Besides, it gave me a chance to catch up on my South African soap operas, Hangin' With Mr. Cooper (best show ever!) and Oprah circa 2007.
Hmmmm... the African Cup of Nation is officially underway, though Ghana has yet to play a game, as Togo, the opponent in their first match dropped out of the tournament because their bus was attacked by gun fire in Northern Angola and three people were killed. Pretty lame start to the tournament. I honestly don't know much about it, but I'm sure BBC online can give you quite the update.
However, the first match of the tournament, Angola v. Mali was anything but lame! Angola led 4-0 going into the last 30 minutes or so, and managed to score 1 goal fairly early into the second half and then scored 3 goals in the final 16 minutes tying the game! Is was awesome. Elena and I watched the game at Anita's house and then promptly went to bed... even though we had taken a 4 hour nap that afternoon after church. Sometimes hearing sexist sermons about the spiritual benefits of fasting (you had to be there) and being forced to give an "offering" unto the lord even though you neither believe in "him" nor believe in his super-church takes it out of a girl.
Tomorrow begins the Burkina/Mali/etc adventure, so the mundane will most-likely become the ultra ridiculous soon!
I love you.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Oh, oh dear.
Happy New Year!
Or as I have been stumbling over all week: Afisha paa, the Twi version. I generally just smile and say "Happy New Year" as most of the Ghanaians I meet won't understand anything I say anyway--my accent seems incredibly foreign.
After the Egyptian falafel excursion, Elena and I made it back to the airport, and then... slept all over it for our 3 hour wait, and then boarded a plane with maybe a hundred people heading for Accra. We again watched shitty movies (The Proposal) and ate crappy food (somehow we didn't request vegetarian meals) until finally landing, exhausted but so excited.
Accra was even more humid than I remembered. Stepping off the plane was like stepping into a bathroom after someone has taken a long, hot shower in it. It was suffocating, and made us both sweat instantly. We stopped in a bathroom at the same time as an Egyptian woman popped in to sneak a secret cigarette with a small child strapped to her back (uhhhh...) and then headed for customs. Surprisingly, we got a lot more hassle than ever before and the marriage proposals were waaaaaay down (could almost give a girl a complex...)
However, some things never change. Like the way we were immediately accosted by several taxi drivers as we waited for our friend Anita to come meet us. Or that we were stared at like ghosts, but only the rudest and most ridiculous of the crowd (douchy men) would actually talk to us. Luckily we had only one small suitcase and our backpacks, so we were not harrassed by people trying to move our luggage, and we carried the ammunition that we had been to Ghana before, so those who might attempt to take advantage of us were kept (somewhat) at bay.
Anita and her friend Claytus met us at the airport and we eventually made it out to Teshi, a suburb of Accra--where Anita, her mother and her sister Senna live. At midnight we ate Jollof Rice and drank pure wata (water in plastic bags) and then thankfully went to sleep. For 13 hours.
It is truly amazing the things that have just come back to me after a year and a half away. I natually talk with a "Ghanaian" accent, and rarely use contractions when speaking with someone. The water was out (they say "the taps are not flowing" here) in Anita's house upon our arrival, and is only turned on on Wednesdays and is shut off again Thursday afternoons around 1. We have filled and hauled many buckets of water this week, but it has seemed so natural and basic. The extreme heat has been slightly harder to feel comfortable with, but it's just part of the deal.
The church part of the deal has been harder to deal with. Anita and her sister attend a large "super church" based out of Nigeria called Winner's Chapel. It pretty much encompasses everything about Christianity I despise--money making scheme, brain washing, contains promises it has no way of fulfilling, hugely judgemental--on top of the fact that I'm not so comfortable with the idea of organized Christianity in the first place. So far Elena and I have gone twice; once on New Year's Day to... celebrate the New Year (?) and then again two days later on Sunday to hear that 2010 would be a year of spiritual restoration (as well as one where we will find Ghanaian husbands, get a new car, a job promotion, a baby, etc, etc) for 5 hours. Aiyeeee! Way too much God for me this week. But this is Anita's passion, and we are her guests, so Elena and I both have been trying to keep the intense judgement of our own quiet (at least until we escape to purge our frustration) and participate as much as possible. The church thing has introduced us to many nice people, including a seamstress who will make us the most ridiculously West African outfits ever (including gigantic HATS!) to wear on our last Sunday. More to come...
I love you.
Or as I have been stumbling over all week: Afisha paa, the Twi version. I generally just smile and say "Happy New Year" as most of the Ghanaians I meet won't understand anything I say anyway--my accent seems incredibly foreign.
After the Egyptian falafel excursion, Elena and I made it back to the airport, and then... slept all over it for our 3 hour wait, and then boarded a plane with maybe a hundred people heading for Accra. We again watched shitty movies (The Proposal) and ate crappy food (somehow we didn't request vegetarian meals) until finally landing, exhausted but so excited.
Accra was even more humid than I remembered. Stepping off the plane was like stepping into a bathroom after someone has taken a long, hot shower in it. It was suffocating, and made us both sweat instantly. We stopped in a bathroom at the same time as an Egyptian woman popped in to sneak a secret cigarette with a small child strapped to her back (uhhhh...) and then headed for customs. Surprisingly, we got a lot more hassle than ever before and the marriage proposals were waaaaaay down (could almost give a girl a complex...)
However, some things never change. Like the way we were immediately accosted by several taxi drivers as we waited for our friend Anita to come meet us. Or that we were stared at like ghosts, but only the rudest and most ridiculous of the crowd (douchy men) would actually talk to us. Luckily we had only one small suitcase and our backpacks, so we were not harrassed by people trying to move our luggage, and we carried the ammunition that we had been to Ghana before, so those who might attempt to take advantage of us were kept (somewhat) at bay.
Anita and her friend Claytus met us at the airport and we eventually made it out to Teshi, a suburb of Accra--where Anita, her mother and her sister Senna live. At midnight we ate Jollof Rice and drank pure wata (water in plastic bags) and then thankfully went to sleep. For 13 hours.
It is truly amazing the things that have just come back to me after a year and a half away. I natually talk with a "Ghanaian" accent, and rarely use contractions when speaking with someone. The water was out (they say "the taps are not flowing" here) in Anita's house upon our arrival, and is only turned on on Wednesdays and is shut off again Thursday afternoons around 1. We have filled and hauled many buckets of water this week, but it has seemed so natural and basic. The extreme heat has been slightly harder to feel comfortable with, but it's just part of the deal.
The church part of the deal has been harder to deal with. Anita and her sister attend a large "super church" based out of Nigeria called Winner's Chapel. It pretty much encompasses everything about Christianity I despise--money making scheme, brain washing, contains promises it has no way of fulfilling, hugely judgemental--on top of the fact that I'm not so comfortable with the idea of organized Christianity in the first place. So far Elena and I have gone twice; once on New Year's Day to... celebrate the New Year (?) and then again two days later on Sunday to hear that 2010 would be a year of spiritual restoration (as well as one where we will find Ghanaian husbands, get a new car, a job promotion, a baby, etc, etc) for 5 hours. Aiyeeee! Way too much God for me this week. But this is Anita's passion, and we are her guests, so Elena and I both have been trying to keep the intense judgement of our own quiet (at least until we escape to purge our frustration) and participate as much as possible. The church thing has introduced us to many nice people, including a seamstress who will make us the most ridiculously West African outfits ever (including gigantic HATS!) to wear on our last Sunday. More to come...
I love you.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Return(ing)
Greetings from Accra!
So this is the New Year... I feel so blessed to be back in Ghana, even though it is intensely hot, and though I told everyone I talked to that I would be making my return in the dry season, it is humid enough to make showering nearly worthless. At least the rain and subsequent flooding gutter situation I witnessed often two years ago hasn't happened yet.
Moving on. Bianca, Elena's friend who also went to San Francisco State and who now lives in Brooklyn was nice enough to come meet me at the airport and keep me company while we waited for Elena's flight from Denver which was delayed and also later than mine in the first place. Eventually, Elena arrived and we got her bag and stepped out into the cold and rainy New York night. Our flight to Accra wasn't leaving for about a day-and-a-half so Bianca was kind enough to let us stay with her and play tour guide for us during our visit.
I really hope I can spend time in New York some time. The city was really fun, and I really liked Brooklyn. I think I may be growing out of my desire to live in big cities permanently, however there is something so satisfying about just walking and wandering through busy streets, letting street lights pick your route. New Yorkers were also surprisingly kind, breaking down my "New Yorkers are mean and rude" bias.
So Elena and I leave our warm clothes and jackets, as well as our close-toed shoes with Bianca, and step out into a frigid Brooklyn afternoon to grab our subway to the airport. We stood on the open-air platform shivering, waiting for the J train for a good 20 minutes before we realize that the J doesn't come to this stop. What country bumpkins we had become! We figure it out; no big deal--just extra time in the cold. Woooo.
We finally make it the airport, and find our terminal with little problems, and then find our airline to see that apparently everyone in the world has decided to fly Egypt Air to Cairo two days after Christmas. The line was at least 100 people long, and everyone had stacks of luggage to check. Yay! Actually, we were lucky and were waived into the Business Class line because we were only checking one small suitcase (and I also suspect, because we are white--yes! the racial analysis begins here!) and so we were at our gate with time to spare.
It was here that I had my very first encounter with doxycycline the antibiotic I will be taking for the duration of my trip to keep me from getting malaria. The pills are a good 3 cm long and bright blue--basically they look like poison. They also kind of act like poison--making me incredibly nauseous if I don't take them on the emptiest of empty stomachs and eating something within about 10 minutes. Irritating.
So, fast forwarding a little. The flight to Cairo, where we would grab a flight to Accra was 10 hours of cramped legs and ridiculously bad movies (Ice Age 3 (ugg) something with Jessica Biel as a blond race car driver. (terrible) and something about a Scottish Stone? I don't know (also bad.)
We arrived in Cairo at about 12pm and set about our plans to get an Egyptian passport stamp and go into the city to get a falafel. We paid $15 for an Egyptian visa, and then asked the guy who changed our American dollars into Egyptian pounds where we should go to get a Falafel in 3 hours or less (we had a 6 hour layover, but didn't want to be late to an international flight) and he wrote something down in Arabic to show to a bus driver and we thanked him and left.
It turned out that whatever he had written down (Arabic just looks like pretty squiggles to me...) was far, far away from the airport and the center of Cairo in general, and so we were told by another airport employee to take a bus into the city center. Unfortunately, though English is one of Egypt's official languages, it is not widely spoken. So, no one could tell us which bus to take for quite some time, and then we found it was quite a long trip into the city center, where of course we would be faced with the whole "can you please tell me exactly where to go and how to get there?" thing we were currently doing very unsuccessfully. We swallowed our pride (and our wallets) and paid a taxi to take us to a falafel stand, wait for us, and bring us back to the airport. It was totally worth that shiny Egyptian visa in my passport.
I love you.
We arrived in Cairo at about 12pm and set about our plans to get an Egyptian passport stamp and go into the city to get a falafel. We paid $15 for an Egyptian visa, and then asked the guy who changed our American dollars into Egyptian pounds where we should go to get a Falafel in 3 hours or less (we had a 6 hour layover, but didn't want to be late to an international flight) and he wrote something down in Arabic to show to a bus driver and we thanked him and left.
It turned out that whatever he had written down (Arabic just looks like pretty squiggles to me...) was far, far away from the airport and the center of Cairo in general, and so we were told by another airport employee to take a bus into the city center. Unfortunately, though English is one of Egypt's official languages, it is not widely spoken. So, no one could tell us which bus to take for quite some time, and then we found it was quite a long trip into the city center, where of course we would be faced with the whole "can you please tell me exactly where to go and how to get there?" thing we were currently doing very unsuccessfully. We swallowed our pride (and our wallets) and paid a taxi to take us to a falafel stand, wait for us, and bring us back to the airport. It was totally worth that shiny Egyptian visa in my passport.
I love you.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Hippopapaapaa
Hihihihihihi,
The papaapaa means "very much" or "a lot". The common way of using this expression is the more simple, and much more boring: "paa". For example: Madasse papaapaa/paa means "Thank you very much". Mete Twi papaapaa/paa means: "I understand a lot of Twi". Meyare papaapaa/paa means: "I am very sick". And, I have decided that hippopapaapaa means: a lot of hippos. Here we go.
It has been the single goal of my roommate Elena this entire year to see hippos in Ghana. We tried once before to head all the way to the Upper East Region, to Wa, to see hippos back in late January, but were denied by time, money, and energy. So, we had promised back then that we were going to see hippos before leaving Ghana. Our solution: Bui National Park, in the Brong-Ahafo Region on the western side of Ghana, at the Cote d'Ivoire border. So about 3 weeks ago, we took a(nother) week off school, and headed west.
On our first day, we knew we weren't going to make it all the way to the park, so we set our sights on the village of Wenchi, where we would leave the next morning to get to Bui. Wenchi was apparently too optimistic. We left Accra early in the morning, taking a tro to Neoplan station, where we boarded a car going to Sunyani, the capital of the Brong-Ahafo region, and about 2 hours northwest of Kumasi. Too bad the man who helped us lied to us, and our tro went to Kumasi instead. So, in Kumasi, we took a taxi to another station, where we boarded a tro for Sunyani, and...just sat in it for two hours, waiting for the driver. Oh. My. God.
Eventually we left, and by the time we actually got to Sunyani we have been either riding in tros or sitting in tros for going on 9 hours, and we were tired. So we found a hotel with a restaurant in our guidebook, took a taxi there, got our room, and then were informed that the restaurant is only serving fufu. Fufu is okay, but after 9 hours on a tro it may be the least appealing thing in the world. So, we set off to find food, ending up at this pretty lame restaurant that only served plain rice, jollof rice or fried rice (or fufu) for way too much. So this is where we ate mediocre food for too much money, and then we walked back to our hotel where we passed out until 5 the next morning.
The next day, we were delighted to find that it was not only very easy to get to Wenchi, but also that we could take a taxi there for only 30 pesewas more than a tro. Ummm, yes, pleeeease. Our tro from Wenchi to Bui was hypothetically supposed to leave around 9am, so when we arrived in Wenchi, we had approximately 3 hours to kill. We went looking for breakfast, and found not only the best egg sandwiches this-side of the ones I make myself, but also the man who made them. He was around 5'6'', and wore a green felt hat which greatly resembled one you might see in a 3rd grade Christmas pageant. He also said the phrases "small-small" and "big-big" (very common Ghanaian expressions truthfully) more than I have ever heard before in this country, forcing me to only love him more.
But THEN: after breakfast, we wandered toward where the Bui tro would eventually leave from, and found that a tro leaving for Bui was there. Two hours early. We soon learned why as the two of us (in case you don't know: we are both white, young women--we don't look Ghanaian, or tough at all) squeezed into the most crowded tro of my life with only young, virile Ghanaian men, heading to Bui to look for work at the new damn site. (Sadly, the Ghanaian government has decided that it is in the country's best interest to build a damn at the village of Bui effectively wiping out the village and the park--including the hippo population--in the next 5 years. The construction has been underway for about a year.)
So, there we are, in the back corner of this tro built for about 12 people, but holding 22. (A note: Elena and I have named the very back corner of a tro the "Oboruni Seat", because not only do we constantly find ourselves there, but it is also the seat that would most likely insure death in the event of an accident. Not to try and scare you...but there you go.) This meant that the tro-tro mate (the one who collects the money, shouts out stops, etc) was literally hanging out the window, sitting on the door of the car. (This is REAL!) As we ride along, one of the back tires of the truck in front of us explodes!! I swear to God, it was the loudest pop I have ever heard. I thought it was a gun-shot! I ducked and covered!! (Well, as much as I could in the oboruni seat...) And the mate was almost hit!! It was insane, and so, so scary. Of course, no one seemed too concerned except Elena and I. I think it was then that I began to have elaborate fantasies about Dairy Queen and In N Out.
About 15 days later (15 days or 2 hours...), the tro stops and the mate turns to us and says "Last Stop". Almost everyone in the tro has to get out so the two of us can get out, but then, they get back in the car. Elena asked the mate in confusion: "If this is the last stop, why isn't anyone getting out??" The mate explains that we are here. We are at Bui Camp, where we should be staying. There is nothing around us. And then, the tro pulls away.
After about 5 minutes of staring at each other (how the hell will we get out of here??) We begin to wander around, and low and behold, there is a small compound down a hill where we find a woman hanging laundry and about 7 children who think we are ghosts and burst into tears. The woman tells us that the care taker is out, so we can wait for him. Okay, why not? We settle ourselves down under a tree and wait.
For about 5 minutes, until the care taker rides up on his bike. He takes us to our room, which is bare with a single bed. He then tells us that the canoe rides to see the hippos only leave at 6am and that there is a 6km walk to get to the water. (This is sounding familiar.) It was around 11am, and it was beginning to become obvious that there was really nothing to do at this place except see the hippos the next morning. And, the knowledge that only one tro leaves Bui camp a day, at 5:30am was beginning to sink in. It was a Friday, meaning we wouldn't leave until Sunday. What would we do here for 2 whole days?? Then, our caretaker informs us that no tros leave on Sundays. Correction: WHAT WILL WE DO HERE FOR 3 DAYS????????????
Upon seeing our desperate and exacerbated expressions at this news, the caretaker, Osmond, says he will call the guide to see if he can take us NOW. Which he does, and David, our guide, appears in less than 10 minutes. Thank you.
On the down side, it was nearing 12 by now, meaning it was around 108 million degrees, and we had exactly half a Nalgene bottle (500ml) of water between the two of us. We also had a total of 12km of walking and a two hour canoe ride ahead of us. Yayyyyy.
We begin walking, and walk for about 15 minutes until a truck shows up on the road, which our guide flags down. It turns out David knows the guy in the truck, and so they drive us a good 3km down the road before diverging to someplace else. Incredible.
We eventually reach the village of Bui (not to be confused with Bui camp where we are staying) and get into two canoes with some of the local fishermen. Elena was in the canoe with David, and David's big gun which was supposed to protect us from the hippos. (FYI: Hippos are Africa's most dangerous land mammal, because not only are they huge and fast, but also are prone to panic if anything get in the way of them and water...so I was a little bit nervous about the lack of weapon in my canoe.)
After about 30 minutes on the water, our canoes pulled over, and we looked across to see at least 7 hippos swimming in the water. Well...we really only saw their pink ears sticking out of the water at first. BUT THEN: This hippo just shoots out of the water, and we see its brown back and its whole head. It was enormous!!!!!! And...really scary from a good 100ft away. We sat and watched the hippos swimming around for about an hour, until one mother hippo and her baby started getting closer, and closer, and closer until Elena said, in a somewhat high-pitched voice: "Umm...David, we can go now...if you want."
And we did. We headed back to the village, and then walked back to the camp, playing geography games with David the whole way. First, there was the name all the states in America, then there was name a town or village in Ghana for every letter of the alphabet. We then continued this alphabet game for all of Africa, then Europe, then Asia, and then: We were back. David left us there, and we bought literally 10 water sachets each (500 mL each), and some Fanta soda and sat in the shade and ate peanut-butter sandwiches ALL evening, and played with the little girls in the village until it was dark (no electricity) and we went to bed.
We woke up at 4am to get ready to catch our 5am tro back to Wenchi, and went outside together to find the bathroom in the dark, and looked up to see more stars than I had ever seen in my life. The sky was practically white with them, and I wished on 3 separate shooting stars. I felt so small, but so connected, and so lucky that I found myself in this random village away from so much stuff. The walk, the tros, the de-hydration; it was all worth it for that moment.
I love you.
The papaapaa means "very much" or "a lot". The common way of using this expression is the more simple, and much more boring: "paa". For example: Madasse papaapaa/paa means "Thank you very much". Mete Twi papaapaa/paa means: "I understand a lot of Twi". Meyare papaapaa/paa means: "I am very sick". And, I have decided that hippopapaapaa means: a lot of hippos. Here we go.
It has been the single goal of my roommate Elena this entire year to see hippos in Ghana. We tried once before to head all the way to the Upper East Region, to Wa, to see hippos back in late January, but were denied by time, money, and energy. So, we had promised back then that we were going to see hippos before leaving Ghana. Our solution: Bui National Park, in the Brong-Ahafo Region on the western side of Ghana, at the Cote d'Ivoire border. So about 3 weeks ago, we took a(nother) week off school, and headed west.
On our first day, we knew we weren't going to make it all the way to the park, so we set our sights on the village of Wenchi, where we would leave the next morning to get to Bui. Wenchi was apparently too optimistic. We left Accra early in the morning, taking a tro to Neoplan station, where we boarded a car going to Sunyani, the capital of the Brong-Ahafo region, and about 2 hours northwest of Kumasi. Too bad the man who helped us lied to us, and our tro went to Kumasi instead. So, in Kumasi, we took a taxi to another station, where we boarded a tro for Sunyani, and...just sat in it for two hours, waiting for the driver. Oh. My. God.
Eventually we left, and by the time we actually got to Sunyani we have been either riding in tros or sitting in tros for going on 9 hours, and we were tired. So we found a hotel with a restaurant in our guidebook, took a taxi there, got our room, and then were informed that the restaurant is only serving fufu. Fufu is okay, but after 9 hours on a tro it may be the least appealing thing in the world. So, we set off to find food, ending up at this pretty lame restaurant that only served plain rice, jollof rice or fried rice (or fufu) for way too much. So this is where we ate mediocre food for too much money, and then we walked back to our hotel where we passed out until 5 the next morning.
The next day, we were delighted to find that it was not only very easy to get to Wenchi, but also that we could take a taxi there for only 30 pesewas more than a tro. Ummm, yes, pleeeease. Our tro from Wenchi to Bui was hypothetically supposed to leave around 9am, so when we arrived in Wenchi, we had approximately 3 hours to kill. We went looking for breakfast, and found not only the best egg sandwiches this-side of the ones I make myself, but also the man who made them. He was around 5'6'', and wore a green felt hat which greatly resembled one you might see in a 3rd grade Christmas pageant. He also said the phrases "small-small" and "big-big" (very common Ghanaian expressions truthfully) more than I have ever heard before in this country, forcing me to only love him more.
But THEN: after breakfast, we wandered toward where the Bui tro would eventually leave from, and found that a tro leaving for Bui was there. Two hours early. We soon learned why as the two of us (in case you don't know: we are both white, young women--we don't look Ghanaian, or tough at all) squeezed into the most crowded tro of my life with only young, virile Ghanaian men, heading to Bui to look for work at the new damn site. (Sadly, the Ghanaian government has decided that it is in the country's best interest to build a damn at the village of Bui effectively wiping out the village and the park--including the hippo population--in the next 5 years. The construction has been underway for about a year.)
So, there we are, in the back corner of this tro built for about 12 people, but holding 22. (A note: Elena and I have named the very back corner of a tro the "Oboruni Seat", because not only do we constantly find ourselves there, but it is also the seat that would most likely insure death in the event of an accident. Not to try and scare you...but there you go.) This meant that the tro-tro mate (the one who collects the money, shouts out stops, etc) was literally hanging out the window, sitting on the door of the car. (This is REAL!) As we ride along, one of the back tires of the truck in front of us explodes!! I swear to God, it was the loudest pop I have ever heard. I thought it was a gun-shot! I ducked and covered!! (Well, as much as I could in the oboruni seat...) And the mate was almost hit!! It was insane, and so, so scary. Of course, no one seemed too concerned except Elena and I. I think it was then that I began to have elaborate fantasies about Dairy Queen and In N Out.
About 15 days later (15 days or 2 hours...), the tro stops and the mate turns to us and says "Last Stop". Almost everyone in the tro has to get out so the two of us can get out, but then, they get back in the car. Elena asked the mate in confusion: "If this is the last stop, why isn't anyone getting out??" The mate explains that we are here. We are at Bui Camp, where we should be staying. There is nothing around us. And then, the tro pulls away.
After about 5 minutes of staring at each other (how the hell will we get out of here??) We begin to wander around, and low and behold, there is a small compound down a hill where we find a woman hanging laundry and about 7 children who think we are ghosts and burst into tears. The woman tells us that the care taker is out, so we can wait for him. Okay, why not? We settle ourselves down under a tree and wait.
For about 5 minutes, until the care taker rides up on his bike. He takes us to our room, which is bare with a single bed. He then tells us that the canoe rides to see the hippos only leave at 6am and that there is a 6km walk to get to the water. (This is sounding familiar.) It was around 11am, and it was beginning to become obvious that there was really nothing to do at this place except see the hippos the next morning. And, the knowledge that only one tro leaves Bui camp a day, at 5:30am was beginning to sink in. It was a Friday, meaning we wouldn't leave until Sunday. What would we do here for 2 whole days?? Then, our caretaker informs us that no tros leave on Sundays. Correction: WHAT WILL WE DO HERE FOR 3 DAYS????????????
Upon seeing our desperate and exacerbated expressions at this news, the caretaker, Osmond, says he will call the guide to see if he can take us NOW. Which he does, and David, our guide, appears in less than 10 minutes. Thank you.
On the down side, it was nearing 12 by now, meaning it was around 108 million degrees, and we had exactly half a Nalgene bottle (500ml) of water between the two of us. We also had a total of 12km of walking and a two hour canoe ride ahead of us. Yayyyyy.
We begin walking, and walk for about 15 minutes until a truck shows up on the road, which our guide flags down. It turns out David knows the guy in the truck, and so they drive us a good 3km down the road before diverging to someplace else. Incredible.
We eventually reach the village of Bui (not to be confused with Bui camp where we are staying) and get into two canoes with some of the local fishermen. Elena was in the canoe with David, and David's big gun which was supposed to protect us from the hippos. (FYI: Hippos are Africa's most dangerous land mammal, because not only are they huge and fast, but also are prone to panic if anything get in the way of them and water...so I was a little bit nervous about the lack of weapon in my canoe.)
After about 30 minutes on the water, our canoes pulled over, and we looked across to see at least 7 hippos swimming in the water. Well...we really only saw their pink ears sticking out of the water at first. BUT THEN: This hippo just shoots out of the water, and we see its brown back and its whole head. It was enormous!!!!!! And...really scary from a good 100ft away. We sat and watched the hippos swimming around for about an hour, until one mother hippo and her baby started getting closer, and closer, and closer until Elena said, in a somewhat high-pitched voice: "Umm...David, we can go now...if you want."
And we did. We headed back to the village, and then walked back to the camp, playing geography games with David the whole way. First, there was the name all the states in America, then there was name a town or village in Ghana for every letter of the alphabet. We then continued this alphabet game for all of Africa, then Europe, then Asia, and then: We were back. David left us there, and we bought literally 10 water sachets each (500 mL each), and some Fanta soda and sat in the shade and ate peanut-butter sandwiches ALL evening, and played with the little girls in the village until it was dark (no electricity) and we went to bed.
We woke up at 4am to get ready to catch our 5am tro back to Wenchi, and went outside together to find the bathroom in the dark, and looked up to see more stars than I had ever seen in my life. The sky was practically white with them, and I wished on 3 separate shooting stars. I felt so small, but so connected, and so lucky that I found myself in this random village away from so much stuff. The walk, the tros, the de-hydration; it was all worth it for that moment.
I love you.
I Need a New Backpack
Hello hello,
I am following up my super-duper sad and serious blog with this summary about one of my recent adventures. I am in a constant state of awe at the things I have been able to do this year.
Immediately after crossing the border from Cote d'Ivoire back into Ghana, Luci and I bid goodbye to Elena and Becky who had to get back to Accra (and definitely had their own adventures on the way) and went on our own merry way to Nzuezlo, a village built on stilts above the water on this beautiful lake which I'm sure has a name that I don't know. Getting there proved challenging. After 2 hours and 3 shared taxi rides, we arrived in the village of Beyin, where the canoes that take you out to the village operate from. We planned on staying the night, which was good, because after all our frolicking around the Western Region of Ghana, it was almost 4pm, and was getting dark fast.
In Beyin we met our guide, Ben, and we headed off to the canoe. Note to everyone who might ever want to visit this fabulous place: GO IN THE WET SEASON. While the wet season is now currently moving into Ghana (proved by the infinite number of mosquitoes that make it into my room--mysteriously--at night) at the time Luci and I visited it was only just beginning, so the water levels of the lake were very, very low, resulting in our hour and a half hike through mud just to get to the canoe. This was fine, but I was carrying a backpack I bought for about 7 cedis, meaning it may have been meant for anything but hiking through mud, and thus, my shoulders--which I'm finding are more and more over Ghana everyday--were ready to dislodge themselves from my back and give me the finger. Luckily they did not.
We finally reached the canoe, and were off through this freaking Wildlife Safari. For anyone who has ever been on that wildlife safari ride at Disneyland, where you are on a river going through vines and narrow passages, Disney totally copied the canoe ride from Beyin to Nzuezlo. Okay, I didn't actually see monkeys hanging from said vines, and elephants didn't just come out to drink water, but it was absolutely incredible. My pictures, sadly, do not do it justice.
We then arrived at Nzuezlo, the stilt village. It was adorable, although a little bizarre to see these houses just jutting up out of the water. It was much more bizarre later when we walked around the village seeing the school, the restaurant for visitors, the church, people cooking dinner, etc, and there were tons of children between the ages of 1 and maybe 8 just running around and causing me to have several heart palpitations thinking about them falling in the black water that surrounded them. Kids learn to swim early here. Probably.
Sadly, no one could ever really explain to us exactly why these villagers had chosen to build a village on top of the water, but the people seemed happy and not bothered at all that to get anything from Beyin they would not only have to canoe for an hour, but then walk an hour and a half through the mulch. If it makes them happy, I'm happy for them.
There was no electricity (obviously) so around 7pm it was pitch black and cloudy--so sadly we missed a potentially amazing starry sky--so Luci and I ate the bread and cheese spread we had brought from Cote d'Ivoire and then retired to our adorable room with the walls papered in magazines and newspapers.
The next day we were treated to a canoe ride by two little girls of the village--both around 9 years old, both with arm muscles bigger than I can ever dream of having--which turned into a raid of my purse and the eating of any/all food I had--mainly mangoes and peanuts--and then the demand of a reading session from the book I had brought. Neither girl spoke much English, so they quickly lost interest. After this, we left with Ben who took us back to shore, and then walked us (an hour and a half!) to the tro tro stop, where we could catch a tro to the village of "T-1" (no idea) and then from there we could go to Takoradi, and then to Accra.
So this is what we did. For 11 hours. The duration or our travels was increased, frustratingly, by our tro simply stopping and kicking us off about 20 km outside Accra and then the subsequent traffic jam we found ourselves in for about an hour. We got into Accra around 10pm. I have never been so sore or exhausted in my life. It was completely worth it.
I love you.
I am following up my super-duper sad and serious blog with this summary about one of my recent adventures. I am in a constant state of awe at the things I have been able to do this year.
Immediately after crossing the border from Cote d'Ivoire back into Ghana, Luci and I bid goodbye to Elena and Becky who had to get back to Accra (and definitely had their own adventures on the way) and went on our own merry way to Nzuezlo, a village built on stilts above the water on this beautiful lake which I'm sure has a name that I don't know. Getting there proved challenging. After 2 hours and 3 shared taxi rides, we arrived in the village of Beyin, where the canoes that take you out to the village operate from. We planned on staying the night, which was good, because after all our frolicking around the Western Region of Ghana, it was almost 4pm, and was getting dark fast.
In Beyin we met our guide, Ben, and we headed off to the canoe. Note to everyone who might ever want to visit this fabulous place: GO IN THE WET SEASON. While the wet season is now currently moving into Ghana (proved by the infinite number of mosquitoes that make it into my room--mysteriously--at night) at the time Luci and I visited it was only just beginning, so the water levels of the lake were very, very low, resulting in our hour and a half hike through mud just to get to the canoe. This was fine, but I was carrying a backpack I bought for about 7 cedis, meaning it may have been meant for anything but hiking through mud, and thus, my shoulders--which I'm finding are more and more over Ghana everyday--were ready to dislodge themselves from my back and give me the finger. Luckily they did not.
We finally reached the canoe, and were off through this freaking Wildlife Safari. For anyone who has ever been on that wildlife safari ride at Disneyland, where you are on a river going through vines and narrow passages, Disney totally copied the canoe ride from Beyin to Nzuezlo. Okay, I didn't actually see monkeys hanging from said vines, and elephants didn't just come out to drink water, but it was absolutely incredible. My pictures, sadly, do not do it justice.
We then arrived at Nzuezlo, the stilt village. It was adorable, although a little bizarre to see these houses just jutting up out of the water. It was much more bizarre later when we walked around the village seeing the school, the restaurant for visitors, the church, people cooking dinner, etc, and there were tons of children between the ages of 1 and maybe 8 just running around and causing me to have several heart palpitations thinking about them falling in the black water that surrounded them. Kids learn to swim early here. Probably.
Sadly, no one could ever really explain to us exactly why these villagers had chosen to build a village on top of the water, but the people seemed happy and not bothered at all that to get anything from Beyin they would not only have to canoe for an hour, but then walk an hour and a half through the mulch. If it makes them happy, I'm happy for them.
There was no electricity (obviously) so around 7pm it was pitch black and cloudy--so sadly we missed a potentially amazing starry sky--so Luci and I ate the bread and cheese spread we had brought from Cote d'Ivoire and then retired to our adorable room with the walls papered in magazines and newspapers.
The next day we were treated to a canoe ride by two little girls of the village--both around 9 years old, both with arm muscles bigger than I can ever dream of having--which turned into a raid of my purse and the eating of any/all food I had--mainly mangoes and peanuts--and then the demand of a reading session from the book I had brought. Neither girl spoke much English, so they quickly lost interest. After this, we left with Ben who took us back to shore, and then walked us (an hour and a half!) to the tro tro stop, where we could catch a tro to the village of "T-1" (no idea) and then from there we could go to Takoradi, and then to Accra.
So this is what we did. For 11 hours. The duration or our travels was increased, frustratingly, by our tro simply stopping and kicking us off about 20 km outside Accra and then the subsequent traffic jam we found ourselves in for about an hour. We got into Accra around 10pm. I have never been so sore or exhausted in my life. It was completely worth it.
I love you.
This Is For the Ones We Loved
Hello all,
So I am down to two weeks left in Ghana, and unsurprisingly, my schedule is packed with finals and various activities--mainly gift buying, and having maybe more fun than ever before with my Ghanaian friends. I speak specifically of my neighbors, who not only made Elena and I dinner last week (rice and vegetable stew, that I am trying to get the recipe for), but who also came over on Saturday night to have a real California veggie burger night. (Which they loved.) We also have plans to go get super cheesy pictures taken at some jankie studio on campus. Yessss. It is so typical that now, as I am really emotionally ready to get out of here, people start to be more wonderful than ever, and I am constantly faced with the reality that soon I'll leave, and maybe never see these people again.
This fact has been compounded--HARD--by several recent deaths of people close to people I am close to. I don't want to say "luckily" about these people not being those whom I myself was especially close to, because I have seen the pain in my friend's experience, and that is incredibly difficult to face. Four people have died in the last month, two I knew (not well) and two I did not know at all. It has all sucked equally.
The two I did not know: First, a girl on campus who was affiliated with (but did not live in) my dorm died of malaria about 3 weeks ago. I did not know her, but it was a real wake-up call to everyone, especially me, because I have been taking the multitude of malaria cases of my friends and I very lightly, and honestly (sorry, Mom) have definitely not made it a priority to remember my medication. (I am really trying now.) Second, a good friend of a friend back home was recently killed in a car accident. I have done the only thing I can do from 8,000 miles away, call her, and just let her know I love her and will be home soon. I don't know how to comfort people over the internet. I feel like positive thoughts are my only weapon against grief.
The two I knew: First, a level 400 (senior) girl in my dorm drowned about a month ago. She had literally two months of university left, on the cusp of getting her BA in psychology. She was engaged to be married. Everyone knew her or knew of her. She followed her own rules, she did not apologize for herself--which is incredible. If I could truly explain Ghanaian women to you, you still might not understand how amazing she was. We are all trying to take comfort in the fact that she really did live life the way she wanted to--unafraid and with passion. I am trying to remember this everyday.
The last person: This one was the hardest for me, by far. A guy James, from South Carolina, who had studied in Ghana the fall semester, died about a month ago in a hiking accident. Despite the fact that he was a certified hiking guide, he, for whatever reason, slipped on a trail, fell down a waterfall, and died. When I let myself think about this, I am sometimes paralyzed, I am sometimes nauseous. I did not know him well, although he dated one of the girls on my rugby team, and he traveled to Mole National Park the same week I did--so he will forever be linked in my mind with a 22 hour bus ride and monkey attacks. What is so frustrating, as my friend Maureen explained to me perfectly, is that James went home. He left the scariness and uncertainty of life in Ghana--where people die of malaria, where the water goes out, where animals actually attack, where tro-tro accidents are common occurrences--and he went to a safe place. And he died there. Apparently there is no refuge from life.
These deaths have been weighing heavily on my mind this last month, because I know when I say goodbye, it might really be forever. I am trying more than ever to be thankful for the chances I have been given, that I have had the courage and support to actually take them, that the people I love love me back. With no real safe place, there is no reason to be scared to live.
I love you.
So I am down to two weeks left in Ghana, and unsurprisingly, my schedule is packed with finals and various activities--mainly gift buying, and having maybe more fun than ever before with my Ghanaian friends. I speak specifically of my neighbors, who not only made Elena and I dinner last week (rice and vegetable stew, that I am trying to get the recipe for), but who also came over on Saturday night to have a real California veggie burger night. (Which they loved.) We also have plans to go get super cheesy pictures taken at some jankie studio on campus. Yessss. It is so typical that now, as I am really emotionally ready to get out of here, people start to be more wonderful than ever, and I am constantly faced with the reality that soon I'll leave, and maybe never see these people again.
This fact has been compounded--HARD--by several recent deaths of people close to people I am close to. I don't want to say "luckily" about these people not being those whom I myself was especially close to, because I have seen the pain in my friend's experience, and that is incredibly difficult to face. Four people have died in the last month, two I knew (not well) and two I did not know at all. It has all sucked equally.
The two I did not know: First, a girl on campus who was affiliated with (but did not live in) my dorm died of malaria about 3 weeks ago. I did not know her, but it was a real wake-up call to everyone, especially me, because I have been taking the multitude of malaria cases of my friends and I very lightly, and honestly (sorry, Mom) have definitely not made it a priority to remember my medication. (I am really trying now.) Second, a good friend of a friend back home was recently killed in a car accident. I have done the only thing I can do from 8,000 miles away, call her, and just let her know I love her and will be home soon. I don't know how to comfort people over the internet. I feel like positive thoughts are my only weapon against grief.
The two I knew: First, a level 400 (senior) girl in my dorm drowned about a month ago. She had literally two months of university left, on the cusp of getting her BA in psychology. She was engaged to be married. Everyone knew her or knew of her. She followed her own rules, she did not apologize for herself--which is incredible. If I could truly explain Ghanaian women to you, you still might not understand how amazing she was. We are all trying to take comfort in the fact that she really did live life the way she wanted to--unafraid and with passion. I am trying to remember this everyday.
The last person: This one was the hardest for me, by far. A guy James, from South Carolina, who had studied in Ghana the fall semester, died about a month ago in a hiking accident. Despite the fact that he was a certified hiking guide, he, for whatever reason, slipped on a trail, fell down a waterfall, and died. When I let myself think about this, I am sometimes paralyzed, I am sometimes nauseous. I did not know him well, although he dated one of the girls on my rugby team, and he traveled to Mole National Park the same week I did--so he will forever be linked in my mind with a 22 hour bus ride and monkey attacks. What is so frustrating, as my friend Maureen explained to me perfectly, is that James went home. He left the scariness and uncertainty of life in Ghana--where people die of malaria, where the water goes out, where animals actually attack, where tro-tro accidents are common occurrences--and he went to a safe place. And he died there. Apparently there is no refuge from life.
These deaths have been weighing heavily on my mind this last month, because I know when I say goodbye, it might really be forever. I am trying more than ever to be thankful for the chances I have been given, that I have had the courage and support to actually take them, that the people I love love me back. With no real safe place, there is no reason to be scared to live.
I love you.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
The Way We Were
Dear
Remember Professor Korsaw? Sure you do, he taught my Africa Under Colonial Rule class. I think he only came to class 6 times…what an ass. But, it got so much worse when he failed to come to the last class, then decided to reschedule for dead-week (I hate how professors can get away with anything here!) and then, he showed up drunk! I know, I know, I only heard about it after the fact, as I had given up on that class long ago, but still, I believe the 20-or-so eye witnesses who told me about it afterward.
Then there was that time the bathroom situation got so bad (apparently the urge to defecate on a floor does not leave everyone at the age of 2) in my dorm that we had to lock all the toilet stalls, and then the lock to me and Elena’s stall broke, and before we could get it fixed, someone shit on the floor of our stall—right in front of the toilet!!!!!!! I’m sure you think it’s funny, but I assure you, neither Elena nor I felt the same, especially when the cleaning lady refused to clean it up, and Elena ended up mopping it up, and I boiled water to clean out her bucket, which she had to use. Gross, gross, gross.
You probably think I hate you, don’t you?? I don’t, I promise! We have had a lot of wonderful times together, that had nothing to do with poop, or drunken professors or potentially fatal diseases. Like the time Elena, Anita, Maureen, and I went to play rugby at La Badi beach in
And then there was the Elvis incident. Remember Elvis?? He was in that Religion in Gender and Society class I took, the one who always said things like: “Every woman I know loved being pregnant” or “The reason there hasn’t been a female president in Ghana yet is because women are just not as capable” you remember, I hated him. Well he is running for School President, and has posters all over campus. Late at night a few weeks ago, I stole one. I put it up on the inside of my door, so that Elena and I could laugh at him as much as we wanted. Well, the next day, Becky was hanging out in our room, and we were eating fried yams and cookies and just talking about our day…and there was a knock at the door. I get up to open it, and ELVIS WAS AT THE DOOR!! He had come to
And while I don’t necessarily appreciate that my next-door-neighbors wake me up at 5:30 every morning singing worship songs, or getting dirty looks from everyone I see on Sunday as they come home from church and see me hanging my laundry in my pajamas, it does make for funny stories. Also, a lot of the worship music is wonderful. I need to invest in about $600 worth of amazing West African High Life music before I leave. I’ll miss your music so much.
I will also miss Thursday nights. After a long, hot day, I love meeting Maureen and Elena, and sometimes Kayla at Desperados, the bar at the top of the hill, right behind Commonwealth Hall and having a Star and banku and hearing hilarious stories while simultaneously denying passes from the Commonwealth guys—more commonly called Vandals. I need to figure out how to make banku…who knew fermented corn dough dipped in pepper and ketchup could be the best thing ever?? I guess you did…well done.
I know I complain, but I will miss your food. Not everything…but Red-Red (black eyed peas in a spicy, oily tomato sauce served with fried plantains), Banku, Kenkey (more fermented corn dough…only different), and pineapple, paw-paw, mangos, and your local bananas…oh, I’ll miss those a lot.
We haven’t always gotten along, but I’m really trying to make the most of our last 3 weeks. I know you’ll try too.
I love you.
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