Hellohellohello,
Just an update on my current activities in Ghana. I am trying desperately to finish my blogs about Morocco but there are literally 8 to go, and I am starting to wonder how the hell I will ever get there...plus my current adventures are starting to take a backseat...oy vey!
Okay, so a new batch of Californians arrived a month ago and it is strange. They are very nice (for the most part) and are interested in learning and not teaching (which is a big step, seriously) but they are SO young in so many ways. Things like doing their laundry by hand in a bucket, or scrambling for candles and flashlights during a blackout, or hauling buckets of water up 4 flights of stairs is still interesting and fun for them, when in reality, it's not fun, or very interesting, its actually kind of a pain in the ass. I know I was like them in the beginning, and so I am trying to not be judgmental, but it becomes ridiculous when all you want is to bitch for a minute about the lack of water, and some big-hearted new kid is laughing and smiling over the whole thing...it makes you feel like a jerk. But I know I am not a jerk, I am just experienced, and I now understand (after a lot of trial and tribulation, I might add) that just because you are grateful to be in a place and really do like it for many reasons, does not mean you need to like carrying buckets of water up stairs.
Moving on: Elena and I went on a 5 day adventure this week. Our plan was to head North to go back to Mole (Mole-lay) National Park and then head to the Northwest corner of Ghana to go to Wa, to a Hippo Sanctuary where we would be allowed to sleep in a TREEHOUSE above the hippos! So we set out Friday morning and boarded a bus to Tamale, which is about 12 hours away. Unlike the last time we headed north, where our bus broke down 3 times and the 12 hour trip took 27 hours total, after only a short delay we were on our way, making it to Tamale by 9pm, a mere 13 hours after we were scheduled to leave Accra.
We stayed at the Catholic Guest House in Tamale Friday night, where we had called ahead to make a reservation, that they lost, so we were forced to sleep in a single bed, which wouldn't have been so bad except for the fact that it was easily 95,000 degrees (at 9pm) in Tamale. Ick.
We awoke at 4:00 am so we would get back down to the bus station by 4:30 to buy tickets heading toward Wa, but we would alight in Larabanga, only 5 km from the park. So we make our way through the crowded and putrid-smelling Tamale bus station, where we are informed by several people that the bus heading toward Wa is sold out. This is impossible, and we know it, because the last time we were in the Tamale bus station at 4:30 in the morning, the tickets to Wa did not go on sale until 4:30 in the morning, and as it was actually 4:35 by this time, there seemed to be no possible way, at all, that this bus, that only leaves once a day, and was the cornerstone of our entire trip going the way it was planned, could be sold out. So there.
Sadly, Ghana IS a developing country, and one development made in the city of Tamale, at this stupid bus station, was that of selling advanced tickets. The bus WAS in fact, sold out. Crap.
Just when we were about to get a little frustrated Elena meets this older gentleman, who tells us that the conductor of the bus will usually sell tickets when the bus leaves, and that way we could STAND. Okay. The two of us had done this ride from Tamale to Larabanga in December, and could attest to the fact that it was the absolute bumpiest ride in the entire world...and took nearly 3 hours. I was in serious doubt that my body would like me a whole lot after 3 hours standing on a bus that was literally jumping up and down.
But, that is exactly what we did, body be damned. It was pretty awkward, mainly because I was standing in between seats where two teenage boys sat, and had virtually no control over what they were saying about me/my body while I bounced around...so yeah. That kind of sucked. It was made more tolerable by the fact that the entire aisle of this bus was full of people, so it wasn't just the two oboruni women standing in the middle of the aisle to get laughed at. And everything became more amusing when some young Ghanaian man started trying to sell herbal remedies for all our bodily ailments. (The same cream could cure a sore throat, a runny nose, erectile dysfunction and vaginal discharge!)
After 3 hours of pure ridiculous, we got off the bus at Larabanga. We were the ONLY people to get off the bus, and about 15 more people were trying to get on. This was a problem, because our plan the next day was to catch this SAME bus heading toward Wa, to get to the Hippo Sanctuary, which was about 5 hours ride away. Meaning, if we decided to stay with our plan, we would have to most likely stand in an even more crowded bus for nearly twice as long...no thank you.
Our new plan became to try and go to Kintampo Falls, south of Tamale, and about halfway toward Kumasi, and then the Boabeng-Fiemma Monkey Sanctuary. Then back to Accra by Tuesday.
After getting off the bus, we then mounted a moto (motorcycle) with some young Ghanaian, who drove us up to the park, and then at the gate, after we paid the entrance fee, the moto took Elena up to the hotel (only one at a time on the back in the park) and I hopped in the back of some Danish family's truck, and hitched my way up to the hotel. Sometimes I am amazed by Ghanaian forms of transportation.
We took beds in the female dorm, where we met this really nice girl from Switzerland who had volunteered in Kumasi 2 years ago. While Elena napped I talked with her about what its like to miss Ghana. She said that she had never been homesick for Switzerland in all the traveling she had done, but that she was so homesick for Ghana when she left it. It was very sad and scary, but good to know that she is fine now, and makes it a priority to come back, and still has strong ties with the community she lived in.
In the afternoon, we went on a Safari walk, where we only saw one elephant, but it was really close, and I got some great pictures! We also saw tons on Bushbuck, Kob, and Crocodiles. We also saw this BEAUTIFUL bird that may have been a Great Blue Herring. This is according to this RIDICULOUS woman on the walk with us...who was completely covered in tarp-like stuff and putting bug repellent all over her socks (which were pulled up over her tarp pants) and who kept talking about wanting to see snakes or something...so who knows about the accuracy of this sighting.
The next morning we left the park (at 4:30) to go back to Tamale. The bus ride was full of all these arguments, that I could not understand, and ended up taking 4 hours. By the time we got to Tamale we were starving and irritated. We also found out that the tro we needed to take to Kintampo Falls had already left, and we were forced to take another one, heading further south to Techiman, and we would drop at Kintampo. This tro took about 40 minutes to leave, and was the biggest tro I have ever seen. In addition to the 6 or so rows of five seats running down the car, there were also two rows of 6-8 in the back that were raised up. No one wanted these seats, so all the seats in the main part of the car, including the fold out ones in the middle were taken first, forcing everyone to get up and move every time anyone needed to get in or out of the back. This problem was made worse by the fact that this tro was so incredibly cramped, for the fold out seat to fold UP the person sitting nearest to the hinge had to somehow move to allow the seat to fold. This was me, fyi. I had to do this squish-into-the-back-of-my-seat thing to let people pass at least 15 times, and on about the 11th time around, I cut myself on the metal part of the seat, making my back bleed all over my shirt, and so I was forced to hold a bandanna over the cut for the duration of the ride. Yep.
We eventually got off at Kintampo, where we found a taxi who would take us to the falls, wait for us, and then take us to Techiman, where we were staying the night, all for 11 Ghana Cedis. Not bad. The falls were nice, and very relaxing, and much needed after that freaking tro tro ride from hell. It was a little awkward because there are 3 different falls, the third only for swimming/bathing, and at all three falls, there were people praying. Kind of a damper on the fun of two oborunis in two-piece swim suits...oh well. We got over it, and presumably so did the pray-ers, and we got in the water and stood in the falls and it was wonderful. (I also got to clean up a little of the blood.)
We then headed to Techiman, but not before picking up 2 more passengers. Two men, one I never met, the other was Kwame. Kwame had to be at least 35, and talked at me for the 40 minutes of our ride about how he wasn't scared of anything and he was very brave, etc, etc. When he asked for my number I told him I didn't have a phone. Que Sara.
We then got into our hotel in Techiman, which for 20 cedis (too much...but who cares) we got running HOT water, toilet paper in the room, soap in the room, and A TELEVISION!!!!!!! The TV only got one station, but we still watched for 3 hours. Sometimes you just need to veg.
The next morning, we set out toward the Boabeng-Fiemma Monkey Sanctuary. We took a shared taxi to Nkrawnza, then a tro from there to Fiemma. We walked over to the orientation house-thing, where we met our guide, Robert, and off we went on a 2 hour walk to learn about monkeys.
This monkey sanctuary has two kind of monkeys: The Mona monkey, which is very social and a complete pain in the ass to all the people who live in the neighboring villages, and the Black and White Colubus Monkeys who are much more shy. Ironically we mainly saw the black and whites, which was fine, because we had seen the Mona at a different sanctuary in the Volta Region. They are pretty crazy looking with these SUPER long white tails and very wise faces. According to Robert, when these monkeys moan and cry between the hours of 11pm and 2am, it means someone in the village will die in the next 7 days. When this happens all the older people of the village walk around wondering if it will be them or one of their friends. And, if the monkeys moan and cry between 2am and 6am, it means it will rain. The people in the villages were hoping to hear them crying soon. (It was CRAZY hot and dry there).
We also saw the monkey graveyard, where the monkeys found dead must be buried, or bad things will happen to the villagers, and also where the fetish priests who have a special relationship with the monkeys are buried too. One of the priests who was buried was (according to his gravestone) 120 years old when he died. And, according to Robert, a woman in the Boabeng village is currently 160. I'm not sure if I believe it though...
When we left the sanctuary, we were told to wait at the junction down the road and a tro would come by and we could get on there. After an hour and a half, we had been passed by 2 full tros and were beginning to get worried. When it looked like we might have to just start walking, a pick-up truck came around the corner and stopped in front of us.
The driver, William Osu, was on his way to Techiman, to sell corn. We asked if we could hitch with him, and he said yes. So I climbed into the little seat behind William, and Elena in the passenger's seat and we were off. On the way, William stopped and picked up around 10 people from neighboring villages, on their way home after a day working on farms. He also told us all the names of the villages, and which where smaller or bigger, which had schools, etc. He was a complete life-saver. We gave him 5 cedis when he dropped us at the Techiman bus station and he wished us well.
We then got on another tro, this time toward Kumasi, where we planned to stay the night, and then grab an STC bus in the morning to Accra. By the time we got to Kumasi it was around 5pm and we were FILTHY. We dropped from our tro in downtown, and then grabbed a taxi to the STC station so we could buy our tickets in advance. After that we walked to this really cute hotel/hostel place very near the bus station where we promptly took showers, and then went in search of dinner and a much deserved beer.
The next day we got our bus (only left 90 minutes late) and got to Accra around 3pm. All in all not our most successful of trips, and we spent TONS on transportation (relatively...) but it was good, and now we have two more destinations off our lists of stuff to do before we leave...in less than 4 months.
Okay, there is more Ghana news...mainly that I might have a cancerous mole (getting it checked on Friday), I was bitten by a monkey, on campus, it did not draw blood, and I do not have rabies (but now really hate monkeys a lot), and that I still have yet to have an actual class. Oh, Ghana.
I love you.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Morocco Chapter 3: Meknes
Chah-laaaay!
The use of the phrase "Chah-lay" (most likely spelled "Charlie") is one that Ghanaians use to express excitement, among other things. With the prominence of the Cup of Nations this phrase has been used like nobodies business and I have decided to take it up, there is no better way to create habit than by repetition...so I'm doing my best to use it often, even though that often results in giggles...and blatantly being made fun of.
Okay, back to the Moroccan Madness. After leaving the youth hostel in Rabat, we walked back to the train station and boarded a train going to Meknes, a city just south of the much more famous Fes and reputed for being much more laid back and much less touristy. The train ride was supposed to be about 3 hours. 3 hours didn't seem like very long, except for the fact that when we boarded the train, so did every other person in Morocco...and the two of us, along with many many Moroccan riders were forced to wander aimlessly throughout the train, car after car, trying in vain to find a seat, and succeeding in hitting everyone me passed in the head, or arm or leg or hand or whatever with our huge backpacks. We are talking 35 lbs of (largely useless) clothes, sleeping bags, bath products, and Luna bars. So...it is pretty likely we were hated on a lot in the first 40 minutes or so of the ride.
Finally we stopped in between cars where we hung out with all the chain smokers who had most likely chosen to stand out the middle of two rocking train cars to insure they could light one cigarette with the other for the duration of their ride. Yum. Eventually, after about an hour of this, Elena found us two seats in this closed off compartment with 6 people in it, and just barely enough room for 2 white idiots and really no room for their bags of crap, but everyone was nice and accommodating and we eventually fit.
In this car was a couple from
So...Elena and I are ridiculous, and having read about recent anti-Western violence (specifically against Americans) we decided to tell everyone we were from
We made ourselves look like complete ass-holes because we kept referring to the US dollar when talking about money (the Canadian dollar is currently worth more now), admitted to spoke more Spanish than French (seriously) and looked for the slightest provocation to talk about
After the incredibly awkward ride, where not only did we practically prove that we were lying about our nationality, but Elena and the MW engaged in this ridiculous "who's-developing country-is better" competition where both just talked about Ghana and Malaysia respectively and pretended to be interested in the other's but really just wanted to hear themselves talk. (I wanted to kill them both after the debate about prominence of indigenous languages.) We got off the train, said bye to the (really cute) Moroccan brothers, and set off in search of our youth hostel.
We took a petit taxi to the hostel, and after the taxi rolled away, we realized that the door to the hostel was firmly locked. The hours on the door gave the impression that the hostel should in fact be open...and this hostel was kind of in the middle of nowhere, so we shrugged and decided we would have to get a taxi to the
About 40 minutes later a man pulled up right in front of us. He looked at us with some puzzlement, and we beamed back at him. He did not exit the car to let us into the hostel, but instead pulled out his cell phone to make a call. After about 2 minutes he got out of the car and approached us, speaking French. (see previous blog entry) After a few minutes of this our blank expressions notified him of our ignorance, and he began to speak to us in English. His name was Hassan, and he was a former employee of the hostel and had just called his former boss to notify him of two American/Canadian girls sitting on the steps of the establishment. Unfortunately, Hassan said, the boss-man was not going to open the hostel today, but would open in the following day (Sunday) at 6pm. Okay...not gonna help.
We thanked Hassan for his kindness, and then asked him where the best place to catch a taxi to the
Hassan was very nice, apologizing repeatedly for smoking in the car (I was practically immune to cigarette smoke by this point) and told us that after leaving the hostel he had moved to Saudi Arabia to do some very scientific sounding work for 7 years. He had just returned to
After 3 hotels where our poorly pronounced "bonjour!" ended nowhere helpful, we were starting to lose our gusto for this little adventure. I should mention that we originally had no intention to visit
Elena: Bonjour!
No response
Elena: Bonjour!
No response
Elena: Bonjour?
Man out of absolutely nowhere who appeared behind the check in desk: Bonjour!!!!!
This man was Lechet. Lechet was a slightly overweight, jolly, Berber man who (thank god) spoke English and became our friend. Mainly because he had one room available. One small-as-a-tool-shed room, with walls decorated completely in mosaic, making it look, somehow, smaller, a clogged sink, and a bed where the middle was completely broken making Elena and I roll into each other no-matter-what, when we slept. All for about $9 a night. Without said room, Lechet might not have been so dear to us.
In
In
So, we located a Hammam by stealthily following a woman who was carrying a duffle-bag, in the area we knew a hammam to be, and voila! There it was. It cost 10Dh ($1.25) and was awkward, because all the women spoke mainly Arabic, and a little French, so figuring out what the hell to do was kind of crazy. We had read that swim suits were customarily worn in the bath houses, but going topless was acceptable. Elena, who is much more comfortable with nakedness than I, who am very, very, maybe embarrassingly, modest, so she was going to go topless, and I was going to wear my bathing suit top. That was until this tiny little woman who was in charge of the lockers in the hammam laughed (somewhat cruelly) at me, and removed my top for me. Okay...I will be naked in public. I can do that. I guess.
And I did. And it wasn't bad. If hammams existed in the States, I think body issues would be much less a problem than they are. It was actually really nice. Being warm, for one thing was incredible, and washing my hair, shaving my legs, and generally being clean was a sensation I was starting to forget about. The glory of the moment was dimmed slightly when we had to put on dirty clothes (still on the hunt for a laundry of some sort) but after we rewarded our cleanliness by buying these big pink frosted cakes and retiring to the hotel.
We really didn't DO that much in Meknes...we visited a Moroccan McDonalds (the McArabia is all the rage...I don't even want to think about that sociological discussion) where we were laughed at, we got lost in the Ville Nouvelle (new city, built by the French) ate strawberries (oh how I miss you!) and literally dozens of chocolate croissants and cups of coffee. We also got lost in the
Our last night in Meknes, after being denied a day trip to see the Roman ruins at Volubilis (a taxi was going to charge us 300 Dh, aka $45) we began to wander the cobble-stone streets of the Medina and got lost. It then got dark, and we began to get a little afraid. Out of the darkness, a man appeared, who tried to help us, but we sadly do not speak French, and upon realizing we spoke only Anglais he knocked on the door in the wall beside him, which was opened by a young woman, who he spoke to briefly, and then left us. We looked around awkwardly, and then the woman surprised the dirty jeans off of us by asking us in English where we were going. We told her where we were staying, and asked us if she could tell us the way. She replied that she would take us herself, but to come in first. We looked at each other, and decided to hope she didn't want to hurt/rob/eat us, and went inside.
Once inside, we met Bouchra's mother and father (who did not speak English) and her brother and sister in law, who served us coffee, and a plate of cookies. It was wonderful. Bouchra, had decided, out of the blue, to learn English at the American Language Institute in Morocco, and we talked with her about our trip thus far, our problems with language, Ghana, and her family for the next hour. She laughed heartily at us when we told her we had gone to the Hammam. Her family invited us to stay the night, but we politely declined, as we had already paid for our hotel. Bouchra then walked us home, where she made mean faces at all the creepy teenagers hanging out wanting to harass the hell out of tourist girls.
I love you.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Morocco chapter 2: Rabat or "No I am not lying. I do not understand French. Really."
Bonjour!
I don't speak French. I have had literally no desire in all my 22 years to learn anything about France, or the French language. I know I like french toast, french fries, and saying moi when I am being stupid. I know France colonized Morocco, and therefore French is one of the 3 official languages (along with Arabic and Berber). But, having this information did NOT inspire me to learn anything before traveling there. Boooo on me.
Again, I say it: I do not speak French. Nor do I understand it when it is spoken to me. This is a fact that I attempted to ignore in myself when trying to buy train tickets from Casablanca to Rabat. I greeted the man at the ticket counter with a Bonjour! like a freaking idiot, because he then assumed (as is his natural inclination) that I actually spoke French. (see above.) This inadvertently caused me to request 1st-class tickets on the train for about 3 times the price. Boo on me again.
However despite the 55 Dh (8 dollars?--7.5 dirham in one USD means I am doing estimation math in my head all the time...no wonder I spent like $300 more than I planned on. Boo. again.) as opposed to the...maybe 20 Dh we spent in 2nd-class, it was SUPER nice, and there was actually room for our backpacks, and we could sleep comfortably, or we could have if the ride had been more than its swift hour. All in all it was wonderful! It was also a little stressful, because we DO NOT UNDERSTAND FRENCH, meaning: We did not know where our stop was, and also had no idea if we had a transfer or not. We were hoping for not. The only thing we could do was strain for the name of our stop: Rabat Ville, which thankfully did eventually come up, and we got off the train with little drama.
The train station is in downtown Rabat, which looks like downtown LA, according to Elena. I have not spent enough time in LA to make such an assessment. We refer to a map in our travel guide Africa on a Shoestring (which our wonderful friend Megan left with us when she went back to home in December, because we had no other info on Morocco). Anyway, we decide that the Auberges de Juennes (Youth Hostel) is UP the street from the station, and we turn out to be wrong, so we head back DOWN toward the Medina (old city) and eventually arrive at our Hostel, which was lucky as my left shoulder was beginning to threaten to fall off.
There we meet Lydia. Lydia is a wonderful Muslum woman, probably in her 40s, and is in charge of the hostel during the day, and seemed a little lonely. She spoke quite a bit of English, and was probably the cutest hostel-mom ever. We decided to just get beds in the dorms, because they are cheaper than rooms, and we set our stuff down, paid Lydia, and went out into the madness to find an English bookstore, (and therefore a French dictionary) which, according to our guide did in fact, exist. After literally 2 hours of wandering around looking for it, I was beginning to doubt this fact very much.
Eventually, after employing the help of at least 7 different Moroccan men who spoke English in varying degrees, we found the bookstore. Just as it was closing. We begged for just 5 minutes so we could find a better guidebook, and a French-English dictionary, and luckily the man obliged, and after 5 minutes and 180 Dh (27 USD) we were out, and hopefully a little more prepared for our adventure.
We then got food (pizza again...) and then wandered around in the Medina, I bought a really cute shoulder bag made of wool, and Elena got a backpack, and then we went back to our hostel where we froze to death in our sleeping bags and the provided wool blankets piled high on top of us.
The next day, we went to the Royal Palace, which was BEAUTIFUL, and then went to the Kasbah (an old fort once used to defend Rabat against enemies, now home to many people) where we were convinced to get Henna tattoos on our hands, and paid WAY too much . (We each paid 100 Dh, when it should only be like 25 for one hand--when Lydia found out she was scandalized.) and then wandered the Kasbah, got a mint tea, and then went back to the Medina, where we were followed around by these creepy Rasta guys, escaped--thanks to Elena's quick thinking and very convincing performance as a white woman from Ghana who spoke only Twi (hahahahahah!) and then found sanctuary in a pastry shop where I got a Cafe au Lait and this little maple cake that I could not finish. But it was wonderful all the same.
The next morning we planned to leave Rabat to go to Meknes. Like Casa, it was beautiful, but also a little boring...and also a little too ritzy and expensive. At breakfast (provided by the hostel) a Moroccan man was sitting at the table and we went to join him, where he proceeded to talk to me: In French. (see beginning of 1st paragraph) I tried to make him understand that I did NOT understand him, but he spoke no English and maybe he thought I was just being coy or something? So...I was talked at for no less than 30 minutes by this man who seemed to think that if he just repeated what he said over and over, louder and louder, with somewhat frantic hand gestures I would eventually understand what the hell he was saying to me. Shockingly, I did not. Although, out of sheer frustration and resignation I began to smile and nod and pretend I could nearly follow the flow of the conversation. I got very little actual breakfast-eating done.
We left Rabat feeling like we were slightly more prepared for Meknes, as we boarded the train. The adventure was only beginning.
I love you.
I don't speak French. I have had literally no desire in all my 22 years to learn anything about France, or the French language. I know I like french toast, french fries, and saying moi when I am being stupid. I know France colonized Morocco, and therefore French is one of the 3 official languages (along with Arabic and Berber). But, having this information did NOT inspire me to learn anything before traveling there. Boooo on me.
Again, I say it: I do not speak French. Nor do I understand it when it is spoken to me. This is a fact that I attempted to ignore in myself when trying to buy train tickets from Casablanca to Rabat. I greeted the man at the ticket counter with a Bonjour! like a freaking idiot, because he then assumed (as is his natural inclination) that I actually spoke French. (see above.) This inadvertently caused me to request 1st-class tickets on the train for about 3 times the price. Boo on me again.
However despite the 55 Dh (8 dollars?--7.5 dirham in one USD means I am doing estimation math in my head all the time...no wonder I spent like $300 more than I planned on. Boo. again.) as opposed to the...maybe 20 Dh we spent in 2nd-class, it was SUPER nice, and there was actually room for our backpacks, and we could sleep comfortably, or we could have if the ride had been more than its swift hour. All in all it was wonderful! It was also a little stressful, because we DO NOT UNDERSTAND FRENCH, meaning: We did not know where our stop was, and also had no idea if we had a transfer or not. We were hoping for not. The only thing we could do was strain for the name of our stop: Rabat Ville, which thankfully did eventually come up, and we got off the train with little drama.
The train station is in downtown Rabat, which looks like downtown LA, according to Elena. I have not spent enough time in LA to make such an assessment. We refer to a map in our travel guide Africa on a Shoestring (which our wonderful friend Megan left with us when she went back to home in December, because we had no other info on Morocco). Anyway, we decide that the Auberges de Juennes (Youth Hostel) is UP the street from the station, and we turn out to be wrong, so we head back DOWN toward the Medina (old city) and eventually arrive at our Hostel, which was lucky as my left shoulder was beginning to threaten to fall off.
There we meet Lydia. Lydia is a wonderful Muslum woman, probably in her 40s, and is in charge of the hostel during the day, and seemed a little lonely. She spoke quite a bit of English, and was probably the cutest hostel-mom ever. We decided to just get beds in the dorms, because they are cheaper than rooms, and we set our stuff down, paid Lydia, and went out into the madness to find an English bookstore, (and therefore a French dictionary) which, according to our guide did in fact, exist. After literally 2 hours of wandering around looking for it, I was beginning to doubt this fact very much.
Eventually, after employing the help of at least 7 different Moroccan men who spoke English in varying degrees, we found the bookstore. Just as it was closing. We begged for just 5 minutes so we could find a better guidebook, and a French-English dictionary, and luckily the man obliged, and after 5 minutes and 180 Dh (27 USD) we were out, and hopefully a little more prepared for our adventure.
We then got food (pizza again...) and then wandered around in the Medina, I bought a really cute shoulder bag made of wool, and Elena got a backpack, and then we went back to our hostel where we froze to death in our sleeping bags and the provided wool blankets piled high on top of us.
The next day, we went to the Royal Palace, which was BEAUTIFUL, and then went to the Kasbah (an old fort once used to defend Rabat against enemies, now home to many people) where we were convinced to get Henna tattoos on our hands, and paid WAY too much . (We each paid 100 Dh, when it should only be like 25 for one hand--when Lydia found out she was scandalized.) and then wandered the Kasbah, got a mint tea, and then went back to the Medina, where we were followed around by these creepy Rasta guys, escaped--thanks to Elena's quick thinking and very convincing performance as a white woman from Ghana who spoke only Twi (hahahahahah!) and then found sanctuary in a pastry shop where I got a Cafe au Lait and this little maple cake that I could not finish. But it was wonderful all the same.
The next morning we planned to leave Rabat to go to Meknes. Like Casa, it was beautiful, but also a little boring...and also a little too ritzy and expensive. At breakfast (provided by the hostel) a Moroccan man was sitting at the table and we went to join him, where he proceeded to talk to me: In French. (see beginning of 1st paragraph) I tried to make him understand that I did NOT understand him, but he spoke no English and maybe he thought I was just being coy or something? So...I was talked at for no less than 30 minutes by this man who seemed to think that if he just repeated what he said over and over, louder and louder, with somewhat frantic hand gestures I would eventually understand what the hell he was saying to me. Shockingly, I did not. Although, out of sheer frustration and resignation I began to smile and nod and pretend I could nearly follow the flow of the conversation. I got very little actual breakfast-eating done.
We left Rabat feeling like we were slightly more prepared for Meknes, as we boarded the train. The adventure was only beginning.
I love you.
Update on the boring and ridiculous.
Wo ho te sen??
I will begin by saying I am crawling out of my skin right now. Campus is boring, I can't go anywhere in Ghana because all hotels in major cities are booked because of the Nations Cup, (CAN 2008) and I don't have the money to go to another Francophone country right now. Francophone countries like Togo, Benin, and Cote d'Voire are at least twice as expensive as Ghana...and when you have grown accustomed to paying only 60 peswas (60 cents) for a meal, paying like 1000 CFA (3 dollars...I think) is awful. I can just imagine how I'll be when I get back to the States. Sigh.
So, I am frustrated. I feel like I should be doing something. But I am not. I feel accomplished when I cook food or do my laundry and am trying to use up the time by reading The Mists of Avalon which is 900 pages and only mediocre. I have decided I will reward myself for finishing it by letting myself read The Poisonwood Bible for a second time. Seriously, if you haven't read it DO IT, right now! Its incredible and parts of it are so incredible in the way they describe the problems facing Africa historically and in contemporary times. READ IT! It cannot be said enough.
In good news, the rats are gone. Presumably dead. Our neighbor Markeida found a dead rat on her balcony, so...yay! I am a vegetarian and I believe in animal rights, and I believe that things like rat poison are harmful to the environment...but...if I could do it again, I would still poison the little bastards. I would also poison the biggest rat in the entire world--which I saw 2 nights ago. I was on the phone, and I looked down at the ground floor of my dorm, and saw a black thing winding its way through the shrubbery. My first thought was: "What is that dog doing?" And then as it came out in the open, I suppressed a gasp as I saw its TWO-FOOT-LONG TAIL. The biggest rat in the world!!!!!!!! This thing has to weigh at least 20 pounds! Oh my god, oh my god oh my god! If that beast ever gets caught on MY balcony I will unleash the fury of 1000 boxes of rat poison. I swear it. Groooooooooosss.
Ooooh, I got my grades back. Well almost all of them. Betty, the advisor from Satan still has not returned my 46 page special study project, but other than that I got 2 As, 2 A-s, and a B+. Not too shabby considering I had little idea what was going on most of the time.
I attended one of the Nations Cup games. Actually 2...I saw Morocco get beat (what????) by Guinea, and I saw Ghana play a terrible game against Namibia, who they should have beaten by like 6 to 0, but ended up with only 1 to 0. The fans were pissed. Rightfully so, it was a really bad game--I mean, just take a shot! Thousands of your country men and women used their hard earned money to see YOU play, just TRY and make a goal! Try!!!!!. But Ghana plays Morocco on Monday, so they better step it up if they want to make the quarter finals. In happy CAN 2008 news, Cote d'Voire is still kicking ass! Yay Elephants!
Okay, those are my Ghana updates, I will post this separately from Morocco stories, because then blogs get tediously long, and I don't want to create tedium. Okay, I will write about Morocco and then I am off to Champs Sports Bar to eat mediocre veggie fajitas. I dream about Mexican food lately...gotta get a fix somewhere...even if it is a cheap imitation of real fajitas.
I love you.
I will begin by saying I am crawling out of my skin right now. Campus is boring, I can't go anywhere in Ghana because all hotels in major cities are booked because of the Nations Cup, (CAN 2008) and I don't have the money to go to another Francophone country right now. Francophone countries like Togo, Benin, and Cote d'Voire are at least twice as expensive as Ghana...and when you have grown accustomed to paying only 60 peswas (60 cents) for a meal, paying like 1000 CFA (3 dollars...I think) is awful. I can just imagine how I'll be when I get back to the States. Sigh.
So, I am frustrated. I feel like I should be doing something. But I am not. I feel accomplished when I cook food or do my laundry and am trying to use up the time by reading The Mists of Avalon which is 900 pages and only mediocre. I have decided I will reward myself for finishing it by letting myself read The Poisonwood Bible for a second time. Seriously, if you haven't read it DO IT, right now! Its incredible and parts of it are so incredible in the way they describe the problems facing Africa historically and in contemporary times. READ IT! It cannot be said enough.
In good news, the rats are gone. Presumably dead. Our neighbor Markeida found a dead rat on her balcony, so...yay! I am a vegetarian and I believe in animal rights, and I believe that things like rat poison are harmful to the environment...but...if I could do it again, I would still poison the little bastards. I would also poison the biggest rat in the entire world--which I saw 2 nights ago. I was on the phone, and I looked down at the ground floor of my dorm, and saw a black thing winding its way through the shrubbery. My first thought was: "What is that dog doing?" And then as it came out in the open, I suppressed a gasp as I saw its TWO-FOOT-LONG TAIL. The biggest rat in the world!!!!!!!! This thing has to weigh at least 20 pounds! Oh my god, oh my god oh my god! If that beast ever gets caught on MY balcony I will unleash the fury of 1000 boxes of rat poison. I swear it. Groooooooooosss.
Ooooh, I got my grades back. Well almost all of them. Betty, the advisor from Satan still has not returned my 46 page special study project, but other than that I got 2 As, 2 A-s, and a B+. Not too shabby considering I had little idea what was going on most of the time.
I attended one of the Nations Cup games. Actually 2...I saw Morocco get beat (what????) by Guinea, and I saw Ghana play a terrible game against Namibia, who they should have beaten by like 6 to 0, but ended up with only 1 to 0. The fans were pissed. Rightfully so, it was a really bad game--I mean, just take a shot! Thousands of your country men and women used their hard earned money to see YOU play, just TRY and make a goal! Try!!!!!. But Ghana plays Morocco on Monday, so they better step it up if they want to make the quarter finals. In happy CAN 2008 news, Cote d'Voire is still kicking ass! Yay Elephants!
Okay, those are my Ghana updates, I will post this separately from Morocco stories, because then blogs get tediously long, and I don't want to create tedium. Okay, I will write about Morocco and then I am off to Champs Sports Bar to eat mediocre veggie fajitas. I dream about Mexican food lately...gotta get a fix somewhere...even if it is a cheap imitation of real fajitas.
I love you.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Morocco chapter 1: Casablanca
Hellohellohello,
So I have now been back in Ghana for 5 days (I got back at 5am Friday morning) and am now attempting to update all on my adventures in Morocco. Its been kind of a pain to get this done as campus is still closed and I am a little afraid to venture into Accra because the African Cup of Nations is in full swing. FYI: Ghana won its first game, yay! And my second choice (and probably more likely to go all the way, sadly) Cote d'Voire beat Nigeria last night in a really good game. Tonight Cameroon and Egypt battle it out, which should be pretty intense, and if I can just avoid this total gangsta man I met and who decided we were meant to be while watching the Ghana game on Sunday, everything is gonna be alright.
Also, to make my life a little more ridiculous, Elena and I's room has been attacked by not one, two or three, but FOUR rats starting Saturday night, when I got up to go to bed to see a RAT in my open window, threatening to JUMP INSIDE! Screaming ensued. As did a completely sleepless Saturday and Sunday night, and a trip into Accra to purchase rat poison, which was ALL GONE this morning when we woke up from a much more rest full sleep. Eww, ick, eww.
Alright, Morocco.
So, our flight to Casablanca was scheduled to leave Accra at 4:30 Christmas morning, which FYI is most likely when my family was watching Scrooge, a Christmas Tradition I sadly missed out on, over there in the Pacific Standard timezone. We arrive at the airport at 2am, where we are forced to wait in line for about 30 minutes, then are told we must go through customs, no one seemed to understand that we were not tourists in Ghana. After customs which was a complete joke, as I could have stolen the Golden stool of the Asante and this poor woman who obviously hated her life would not have noticed. (2am, understandable)
Then, we go through immigration where it is obvious that all the men working have gone maybe longer than they would prefer without any human, and by human I think I mean female contact, because after Elena (who is pretty and blond and everyone loves her) gets through 10 minutes of mild harassment where she told Maximilian (one of the immigration officers) that she was married, Max wanders over to me, where he begins to question me about my marital status and Elena's too.
Max: "Hi."
Me: "Hello. How are you?" (man in charge of if I can leave/reenter Ghana...must be polite)
Max: "You are going to Morocco."
Me: "Yes I am."
Max: "Do you want to know how I know that?" smile and giggle are added.
Me: "I saw you talking with my sister over there." sister means friend, or sister, or that to Ghanaians think all white people look alike.
Max: "She said she was married."
Me: "She did? That's because she is. She's married." Not so quick on the lying to creepy Ghanaians at 2:30 in the morning.
Max: "Her ring is not very nice." (Elena has a silver ring with a flower on it that she wears on her ring finger and which no Ghanaian ever believes is a wedding ring when she tries to prove she is married with it.)
Me: "She doesn't like to wear her real ring her, because she is afraid it will be stolen. So she wears the other one to remind her." hahahaha.
Max: "How old are you?"
Me: "22."
Max: "Your sister is only 20."
Me: "Yes."
Max: "Why is your sister married and you are not, when you are 22 and she is 20?"
Me: "I guess I haven't found the right man yet."
Max: "Would you ever marry a black man?"
Me: "I don't think I really want to get married." This is a lie, mom and dad, I probably want to get married some day, just not to Max.
Man looking at my immigration form who has not talked to me at all thus far: "Rules are made to me broken." What?
Me: "Well, I still have lots of school to finish...I won't get married until I am done with school."
This statement seems to satisfy both men who continue to smile and make stupid jokes, which I continue to laugh stupidly at until I have my passport back, because that is just what you have to do.
After 2 hours of waiting, we board our plane which takes off and then lands 30 minutes later, in Lome, Togo, where about 60% of the passengers get off, leaving many empty rows, which Elena and I stretch out across and sleep in until breakfast is served around 8am.
While eating breakfast it becomes more and more obvious to both of us that we speak neither French nor Arabic, and this could be a kind of big problem in about 2 hours when we land in Morocco.
Land we do, and while waiting for our HUGE backpacks to appear on the luggage belt, we meet a 20-something guy from upstate New York who is a Peace Corps volunteer in Ghana, in the Eastern Region. He has a one day layover on Casablanca, and is planning on going to the same youth hostel as us, so we become instant friends. Sadly, John, as is his name, speaks about as much French as I do. Awesome.
We take the train from the airport to Casa Port Gare de Train (just a little Francais for you) after a small crisis where we needed to transfer trains, and luckily a few people around us spoke English and were able to help us in the right direction. We get to the train station and are given the BEST walking directions (down street, lane, NO! lane, NO! lane, left, YES!) by a good natured Petit taxi driver who gave us directions even after we did not choose to take a cab with him.
We arrive at the hostel which thankfully had rooms available, (do people often vacation to Morocco on Christmas? I do not know) and after putting on an extra hoodie--because most Mediterranean climates get cold in the dead of winter, a fact that Elena and I drastically underestimated--the 3 of us set out to the Al Hassan II Mosque, which can fit up to 120,000 worshippers. Damn, that would be an incredible religious experience, no matter who you are.
The Mosque, built in the last 10 years (I think...) was made by the former King, Mohammad V, in an attempt to give Casa a big attraction. Its gorgeous, and one of the only Mosques in Morocco where non-Muslims can enter (only certain parts, obviously). It is located on the ocean, so there is a beautiful view, and we got there around 2pm, so the sun was out and it was relatively warm. I took about 50 pictures. The whole thing is blue, green, white and gold and done completely in mosaic. Its truly incredible how much time and effort must have gone into it.
After the mosque, we walked back to our hostel to get yet MORE warm clothes as we were all freezing. (We live in GHANA where the temperature was around 35 degrees Celsius=really hot) and then wandered through the Medina (old city, where all the souks and markets were) we bought postcards, which later became an addiction of mine, and THE BEST DONUTS IN THE WORLD!
The donuts were round discs of dough, deep fried in front of us, making them hollow in the inside. They are then cut open with scissors, filled with apricot jam (of my god! The apricot jam!) and dipped in sugar. They are then eaten to enter a state of euphoria. For 2 Durham (about 25 cents...I think) they were perfection.
We then got lost in the Medina, found a cafe, got our first of MANY Moroccan Mint Teas for about 1USD and wandered around until we were all too tired and cold to continue, and retired back to the hostel.
John left us the next morning to go meet friends in France (good luck with the French buddy!) and Elena and I spent our second day in Morocco wandering around in the RAIN! We were forced to buy hats and scarves and hid in a restaurant for about 2 hours watching Moroccan music videos and eating really good pizza. (It had been so long...) We also went to the creepiest Internet cafe IN THE WORLD where not only were cockroaches crawling everywhere, but the youth who set up the computers for us decided he loved Elena, and while I was hurriedly browsing the web, Elena was able to tell me (IN TWI) that the guy was a big creeper. (Uhhh...Andrea...obaa ye creeper paa!) I turn to see this 17 year old douche bag stroking Elena's face as she looks horrified. The only thing I could think to do was shout NO! at him which made Elena laugh at least...we quickly peaced it out of there. Poor Elena.
Casa was fun, but pretty ritzy...so we decided 2 days would be enough, and after MORE pizza for dinner and getting lost in the Medina, where a man who spoke NO English helped us find our way back. This was to become a recurring theme. The next morning we boarded a train for Rabat.
I love you.
So I have now been back in Ghana for 5 days (I got back at 5am Friday morning) and am now attempting to update all on my adventures in Morocco. Its been kind of a pain to get this done as campus is still closed and I am a little afraid to venture into Accra because the African Cup of Nations is in full swing. FYI: Ghana won its first game, yay! And my second choice (and probably more likely to go all the way, sadly) Cote d'Voire beat Nigeria last night in a really good game. Tonight Cameroon and Egypt battle it out, which should be pretty intense, and if I can just avoid this total gangsta man I met and who decided we were meant to be while watching the Ghana game on Sunday, everything is gonna be alright.
Also, to make my life a little more ridiculous, Elena and I's room has been attacked by not one, two or three, but FOUR rats starting Saturday night, when I got up to go to bed to see a RAT in my open window, threatening to JUMP INSIDE! Screaming ensued. As did a completely sleepless Saturday and Sunday night, and a trip into Accra to purchase rat poison, which was ALL GONE this morning when we woke up from a much more rest full sleep. Eww, ick, eww.
Alright, Morocco.
So, our flight to Casablanca was scheduled to leave Accra at 4:30 Christmas morning, which FYI is most likely when my family was watching Scrooge, a Christmas Tradition I sadly missed out on, over there in the Pacific Standard timezone. We arrive at the airport at 2am, where we are forced to wait in line for about 30 minutes, then are told we must go through customs, no one seemed to understand that we were not tourists in Ghana. After customs which was a complete joke, as I could have stolen the Golden stool of the Asante and this poor woman who obviously hated her life would not have noticed. (2am, understandable)
Then, we go through immigration where it is obvious that all the men working have gone maybe longer than they would prefer without any human, and by human I think I mean female contact, because after Elena (who is pretty and blond and everyone loves her) gets through 10 minutes of mild harassment where she told Maximilian (one of the immigration officers) that she was married, Max wanders over to me, where he begins to question me about my marital status and Elena's too.
Max: "Hi."
Me: "Hello. How are you?" (man in charge of if I can leave/reenter Ghana...must be polite)
Max: "You are going to Morocco."
Me: "Yes I am."
Max: "Do you want to know how I know that?" smile and giggle are added.
Me: "I saw you talking with my sister over there." sister means friend, or sister, or that to Ghanaians think all white people look alike.
Max: "She said she was married."
Me: "She did? That's because she is. She's married." Not so quick on the lying to creepy Ghanaians at 2:30 in the morning.
Max: "Her ring is not very nice." (Elena has a silver ring with a flower on it that she wears on her ring finger and which no Ghanaian ever believes is a wedding ring when she tries to prove she is married with it.)
Me: "She doesn't like to wear her real ring her, because she is afraid it will be stolen. So she wears the other one to remind her." hahahaha.
Max: "How old are you?"
Me: "22."
Max: "Your sister is only 20."
Me: "Yes."
Max: "Why is your sister married and you are not, when you are 22 and she is 20?"
Me: "I guess I haven't found the right man yet."
Max: "Would you ever marry a black man?"
Me: "I don't think I really want to get married." This is a lie, mom and dad, I probably want to get married some day, just not to Max.
Man looking at my immigration form who has not talked to me at all thus far: "Rules are made to me broken." What?
Me: "Well, I still have lots of school to finish...I won't get married until I am done with school."
This statement seems to satisfy both men who continue to smile and make stupid jokes, which I continue to laugh stupidly at until I have my passport back, because that is just what you have to do.
After 2 hours of waiting, we board our plane which takes off and then lands 30 minutes later, in Lome, Togo, where about 60% of the passengers get off, leaving many empty rows, which Elena and I stretch out across and sleep in until breakfast is served around 8am.
While eating breakfast it becomes more and more obvious to both of us that we speak neither French nor Arabic, and this could be a kind of big problem in about 2 hours when we land in Morocco.
Land we do, and while waiting for our HUGE backpacks to appear on the luggage belt, we meet a 20-something guy from upstate New York who is a Peace Corps volunteer in Ghana, in the Eastern Region. He has a one day layover on Casablanca, and is planning on going to the same youth hostel as us, so we become instant friends. Sadly, John, as is his name, speaks about as much French as I do. Awesome.
We take the train from the airport to Casa Port Gare de Train (just a little Francais for you) after a small crisis where we needed to transfer trains, and luckily a few people around us spoke English and were able to help us in the right direction. We get to the train station and are given the BEST walking directions (down street, lane, NO! lane, NO! lane, left, YES!) by a good natured Petit taxi driver who gave us directions even after we did not choose to take a cab with him.
We arrive at the hostel which thankfully had rooms available, (do people often vacation to Morocco on Christmas? I do not know) and after putting on an extra hoodie--because most Mediterranean climates get cold in the dead of winter, a fact that Elena and I drastically underestimated--the 3 of us set out to the Al Hassan II Mosque, which can fit up to 120,000 worshippers. Damn, that would be an incredible religious experience, no matter who you are.
The Mosque, built in the last 10 years (I think...) was made by the former King, Mohammad V, in an attempt to give Casa a big attraction. Its gorgeous, and one of the only Mosques in Morocco where non-Muslims can enter (only certain parts, obviously). It is located on the ocean, so there is a beautiful view, and we got there around 2pm, so the sun was out and it was relatively warm. I took about 50 pictures. The whole thing is blue, green, white and gold and done completely in mosaic. Its truly incredible how much time and effort must have gone into it.
After the mosque, we walked back to our hostel to get yet MORE warm clothes as we were all freezing. (We live in GHANA where the temperature was around 35 degrees Celsius=really hot) and then wandered through the Medina (old city, where all the souks and markets were) we bought postcards, which later became an addiction of mine, and THE BEST DONUTS IN THE WORLD!
The donuts were round discs of dough, deep fried in front of us, making them hollow in the inside. They are then cut open with scissors, filled with apricot jam (of my god! The apricot jam!) and dipped in sugar. They are then eaten to enter a state of euphoria. For 2 Durham (about 25 cents...I think) they were perfection.
We then got lost in the Medina, found a cafe, got our first of MANY Moroccan Mint Teas for about 1USD and wandered around until we were all too tired and cold to continue, and retired back to the hostel.
John left us the next morning to go meet friends in France (good luck with the French buddy!) and Elena and I spent our second day in Morocco wandering around in the RAIN! We were forced to buy hats and scarves and hid in a restaurant for about 2 hours watching Moroccan music videos and eating really good pizza. (It had been so long...) We also went to the creepiest Internet cafe IN THE WORLD where not only were cockroaches crawling everywhere, but the youth who set up the computers for us decided he loved Elena, and while I was hurriedly browsing the web, Elena was able to tell me (IN TWI) that the guy was a big creeper. (Uhhh...Andrea...obaa ye creeper paa!) I turn to see this 17 year old douche bag stroking Elena's face as she looks horrified. The only thing I could think to do was shout NO! at him which made Elena laugh at least...we quickly peaced it out of there. Poor Elena.
Casa was fun, but pretty ritzy...so we decided 2 days would be enough, and after MORE pizza for dinner and getting lost in the Medina, where a man who spoke NO English helped us find our way back. This was to become a recurring theme. The next morning we boarded a train for Rabat.
I love you.
Friday, January 11, 2008
I guess thats the problem, huh?
bonjour from Morocco!
So I will preface the following with the statement that I am typing on a keyboard meant for french and arabic but not english and I cannot for the life of me figure out where the apostrophe is, so forgive my contractions their lack of apostrophe, please.
I found out today that my wonderful grandpa died on Wednesday evening. I found out via myspace message from my little sisters myspace and that is strange. But how else could I be reached. My Ghanaian phone does not work in Morocco and my family has no idea where I am staying, mainly because I dont know where I will stay until I am at the doorstep.
I wish so much that I could talk with my family, my mom especially, but I cant figure out how to call the states from a pay phone here, and it will be like 20 dollars, which I need to eat with, and this one moment is so frustrating because I have so many plans to run away and travel and explore but what about all the people I LOVE who I leave behind. In the case of my grandpa we all knew it was coming, and I am very thankful that he isnt in pain any more, because he was, for so long, but what about all the people HE left behind who are in pain, and I am halfway across the world not being able to comfort them or go the funeral or say goodbye one more time, and I hate that so much.
Is this the sacrifice I make by seeing the world? What a terrible bargain. On the other hand you cant live your whole life afraid something horrible will happen when you leave for a while, right?
Fear is such a cage, but I guess love is too.
By the way, Morocco is wonderful, and very very cold. I have a novel of stories in the works, which will be up eventually, most likely when I have a computer I understand back.
I hope you all are safe and well. As Chris Walla says, Take care of each other.
I love you.
So I will preface the following with the statement that I am typing on a keyboard meant for french and arabic but not english and I cannot for the life of me figure out where the apostrophe is, so forgive my contractions their lack of apostrophe, please.
I found out today that my wonderful grandpa died on Wednesday evening. I found out via myspace message from my little sisters myspace and that is strange. But how else could I be reached. My Ghanaian phone does not work in Morocco and my family has no idea where I am staying, mainly because I dont know where I will stay until I am at the doorstep.
I wish so much that I could talk with my family, my mom especially, but I cant figure out how to call the states from a pay phone here, and it will be like 20 dollars, which I need to eat with, and this one moment is so frustrating because I have so many plans to run away and travel and explore but what about all the people I LOVE who I leave behind. In the case of my grandpa we all knew it was coming, and I am very thankful that he isnt in pain any more, because he was, for so long, but what about all the people HE left behind who are in pain, and I am halfway across the world not being able to comfort them or go the funeral or say goodbye one more time, and I hate that so much.
Is this the sacrifice I make by seeing the world? What a terrible bargain. On the other hand you cant live your whole life afraid something horrible will happen when you leave for a while, right?
Fear is such a cage, but I guess love is too.
By the way, Morocco is wonderful, and very very cold. I have a novel of stories in the works, which will be up eventually, most likely when I have a computer I understand back.
I hope you all are safe and well. As Chris Walla says, Take care of each other.
I love you.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Blahhhh alykrelteworwsdiogsdlktjew;rpspejdjdfg'dgkols!!!!
Ahhhh!
There is so much to say and I have limited time in the Internet cafe and it will be closed tomorrow and I leave to travel Morocco on Tuesday, and I don't know when I'm gonna be able to get online again, and I know when I get back I will tons of MOROCCO stuff to say, and I will have forgotten all my GHANA stuff to say. Yeeeeeeesh.
So: Out of an original group of 60 people there are about 15 of us left. The day that most everyone left was TERRIBLE. Oh my god. I haven't cried so much since I said goodbye to Tyra and Melody outside Holy Cow at like 2am my last night out in the city. So...there were a lot of tears. SO many tears. My handkerchief ( I have several--to wipe sweat, not tears or snot) was DISGUSTING. It got quite the scrubbing in a bucket of cold water and bar soap in between my jeans and one of my 5 wife beaters. Let me tell you.
I realized as I was hugging goodbye all these incredible fascinating people I have met here that I am always the one leaving. I don't think there has ever been a time when I have been left. That was the strangest feeling. I mean, I left Sweet Home for San Francisco, I've left like 6 jobs on my own, and have left really wonderful friends behind. I left San Francisco for Ghana, and now 45 people left me in Ghana to figure out how to function without this huge group around me. They shifted my reality and perception of what my Ghana experience IS. The second half will be infinitely different from the first. Different people, a new sense of belonging, the fear that I will do something wrong has been numbed, it's still there under the surface...but Ghana has become my home...at least for the time being. Wow.
All of these people leaving also made me realize that I am leaving eventually. I still have 6 months, which is longer than I've even been gone...but that time is only going to get smaller, and that is SO terrifying. There is so much to do and see and feel and experience in such a small amount of time. I find myself wishing I didn't have to go to school...even though that is the purpose for my stay.
The last 3 weeks here have been really intense. I finished my finals, maybe not with flying colors...but then again, a 70% is an A here...so who knows? I finally finished that research paper, with my advisor being horrible and heartless until the end. In the process of finishing that paper I got to meet and interview the former First Lady of Ghana, Nana Rawlings. She is the president of a women's organization I was writing my research about, and a total feminist. I really liked her, even though I was a little afraid of her. I travelled to Ada Foah (Adda Fo) Estuary, where the Volta river meets the ocean (it was practically a calendar picture, perfect beaches, palm trees, hammocks, amazing) and climbed Wli (Vlee) Falls. This is maybe the hardest thing I have done in a long, long, time--4 hours up and back down an incredibly steep mountain to see both the upper and lower falls, but totally worth it because we totally got to SWIM in the water fall pools. It was wonderful. And then just hanging out with people until they boarded planes to go back to a world I am starting to blur with everything I've grown used to here.
After everyone left campus (international and Ghanaian students alike) the National People's Party (NPP) held their election on campus to pick their candidate for the upcoming presidential election in 2008. 19 men covered the campus in their campaign posters and billboards, and in a matter of about 2 days, 2300 delegates from around the country arrived to cast their votes on Saturday. With them came what seemed to be half of Ghana in the form of supporters, merchants, protesters, and general ass-holes. All of us oboruni (white/foreign) girls hid in our dorms for the majority of the weekend in order to save ourselves from the inevitable harassment. (not being able to blend in EVER can really be a pain) The elections are over, and now campus is covered in garbage. Tons of food remains, campaign posters, water sachets (pure water is sold in about 16oz plastic bags for 5 pesewas--not sure I mentioned before...) among the mess.
I've also been planning a 3 week trip to Morocco with Elena. We leave on Christmas day (4:00am flight--yummm) and are visiting Casablanca, Rabat, Fes, and Marrakesh, and might pop over to Spain for a day or two. It is going to be a really nice vacation from everything. Different from both Ghana and the States. We're hoping that the different cultural climate will be fun, but won't put us through a new form of culture shock...here's hoping.
I will write about my Morocco adventures when I get back--possibly along the way, depending on the availability of Internet cafes.
Have a wonderful Christmas and a Happy New Year!
I love you.
There is so much to say and I have limited time in the Internet cafe and it will be closed tomorrow and I leave to travel Morocco on Tuesday, and I don't know when I'm gonna be able to get online again, and I know when I get back I will tons of MOROCCO stuff to say, and I will have forgotten all my GHANA stuff to say. Yeeeeeeesh.
So: Out of an original group of 60 people there are about 15 of us left. The day that most everyone left was TERRIBLE. Oh my god. I haven't cried so much since I said goodbye to Tyra and Melody outside Holy Cow at like 2am my last night out in the city. So...there were a lot of tears. SO many tears. My handkerchief ( I have several--to wipe sweat, not tears or snot) was DISGUSTING. It got quite the scrubbing in a bucket of cold water and bar soap in between my jeans and one of my 5 wife beaters. Let me tell you.
I realized as I was hugging goodbye all these incredible fascinating people I have met here that I am always the one leaving. I don't think there has ever been a time when I have been left. That was the strangest feeling. I mean, I left Sweet Home for San Francisco, I've left like 6 jobs on my own, and have left really wonderful friends behind. I left San Francisco for Ghana, and now 45 people left me in Ghana to figure out how to function without this huge group around me. They shifted my reality and perception of what my Ghana experience IS. The second half will be infinitely different from the first. Different people, a new sense of belonging, the fear that I will do something wrong has been numbed, it's still there under the surface...but Ghana has become my home...at least for the time being. Wow.
All of these people leaving also made me realize that I am leaving eventually. I still have 6 months, which is longer than I've even been gone...but that time is only going to get smaller, and that is SO terrifying. There is so much to do and see and feel and experience in such a small amount of time. I find myself wishing I didn't have to go to school...even though that is the purpose for my stay.
The last 3 weeks here have been really intense. I finished my finals, maybe not with flying colors...but then again, a 70% is an A here...so who knows? I finally finished that research paper, with my advisor being horrible and heartless until the end. In the process of finishing that paper I got to meet and interview the former First Lady of Ghana, Nana Rawlings. She is the president of a women's organization I was writing my research about, and a total feminist. I really liked her, even though I was a little afraid of her. I travelled to Ada Foah (Adda Fo) Estuary, where the Volta river meets the ocean (it was practically a calendar picture, perfect beaches, palm trees, hammocks, amazing) and climbed Wli (Vlee) Falls. This is maybe the hardest thing I have done in a long, long, time--4 hours up and back down an incredibly steep mountain to see both the upper and lower falls, but totally worth it because we totally got to SWIM in the water fall pools. It was wonderful. And then just hanging out with people until they boarded planes to go back to a world I am starting to blur with everything I've grown used to here.
After everyone left campus (international and Ghanaian students alike) the National People's Party (NPP) held their election on campus to pick their candidate for the upcoming presidential election in 2008. 19 men covered the campus in their campaign posters and billboards, and in a matter of about 2 days, 2300 delegates from around the country arrived to cast their votes on Saturday. With them came what seemed to be half of Ghana in the form of supporters, merchants, protesters, and general ass-holes. All of us oboruni (white/foreign) girls hid in our dorms for the majority of the weekend in order to save ourselves from the inevitable harassment. (not being able to blend in EVER can really be a pain) The elections are over, and now campus is covered in garbage. Tons of food remains, campaign posters, water sachets (pure water is sold in about 16oz plastic bags for 5 pesewas--not sure I mentioned before...) among the mess.
I've also been planning a 3 week trip to Morocco with Elena. We leave on Christmas day (4:00am flight--yummm) and are visiting Casablanca, Rabat, Fes, and Marrakesh, and might pop over to Spain for a day or two. It is going to be a really nice vacation from everything. Different from both Ghana and the States. We're hoping that the different cultural climate will be fun, but won't put us through a new form of culture shock...here's hoping.
I will write about my Morocco adventures when I get back--possibly along the way, depending on the availability of Internet cafes.
Have a wonderful Christmas and a Happy New Year!
I love you.
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