Posted tagged ‘Ghana’

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“No, no! The adventures first, explanations take such a dreadful time.”

September 27, 2012

I want snow and cold. They will be cause for hibernation by the elderly whose cars will then lie fallow in garages for the season. Yesterday was the worst. I spent what seemed like hours behind a driver going 20 then up to a high speed of 25. The line of cars behind me stretched for miles. Finally the driver turned right and went through a red light to a parking lot beyond. I figured he thought the light was optional. I breathed a sigh of relief until I caught up with the car in front of me, a car from Florida. That one was going so slowly I swear two walkers passed it on the road. I even think one of them was using crutches. A detour did me in as every car had to go my way. The one in front of me put brakes on at every curve, however slight, and took my exact route home. The cars, again, were massed behind me. We could have been a parade.

Rain is expected starting today then through the weekend. The sun was bright earlier but is now behind the clouds. It’s warm. I stayed outside a while and checked out my front garden. The mums planted last year have blossoms. I saw white, yellow and  deep rust buds. My flowers are close to adorning the garden.

My daily life is almost back to normal. Last night I lasted until after 11 then woke up this morning at 7, the latest I’ve slept since my return. It is difficult to believe that a week and a half ago I was in Africa. Sometimes I even find it difficult to believe I actually lived in Africa, a place so different than here. When I’m there, every day seems perfectly natural: shopping in the market, greeting people in FraFra or Hausa, eating with my right hand and enjoying goat or plantain or rice with a few rocks, well, pebbles anyway, and constantly sweating from the heat. When I’m here, all of that seems more like a dream, something I conjured from a book I read or a movie I’d seen. But it isn’t: all of it is real, every wonderful day of my adventure.

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“When you are at home, your troubles can never defeat you.”

September 20, 2012

The routine of daily life returns far too quickly. Each morning I am closer to my usual time. This morning it was 6:30 when I woke up; two days ago it was 4:30. Last night I lasted until nearly 10:30 before I dragged my tired self upstairs to bed.

Last year I returned to a different Ghana after forty years away. The cities are huge and filled with crowds of people and with cars caught in constant traffic jams, except for Sundays when the roads are clear. That is church day in Ghana.

I could hear the sounds of car horns everywhere. They blow a second after the traffic lights turn green which I find strange in a country where patience, like food and water, is a necessity of life. Ghana is dirty, mostly in the cities. I partially blame the water sachets, small plastic bags of pure water, sold everywhere then tossed to the ground when empty. After a while, though, I didn’t notice. I just saw Ghana: the people, the animals and the wonderful small villages and towns.

Along the roads are deserted houses made of clay. They fall apart easily when not tended. Other houses in various stages of construction are everywhere. They aren’t abandoned but in process. New houses are build over time, when the owners have money. It often takes years to finish a house.

The roads are filled with tro-tros ferrying riders from one stop to another, from one small village to the next. The driver’s helper sits by the sliding door and yells the destination. Each tro-tro is filled with people crammed elbow to elbow. People don’t seem to mind the heat.

Goats are everywhere. They stand on the shoulders of the road to eat the grass beside the road. Babies stand with their mothers. Pregnant goats waddle. At night, the goats sleep on the same shoulders where they spent the day. I never saw a goat which had been hit by a car. Drivers are careful.

Along the road, villages and small towns appear out of nowhere. Speed bumps are the only indicators. They slow drivers down going into and out of each village, even the smallest. In between the villages I saw women carrying bundles of wood, bicyclists riding along the side of the road and children with buckets both filled and empty. Many times I never saw their destinations and wondered where they were going. I guessed there were isolated compounds somewhere off the road. Hawkers are everywhere. If you stop, they come to the windows hoping for a sale. Off their heads come their trays. Some are filled with oranges or bread, groundnuts, water sachets or dried fish. At toll booths, the hawkers sell wares particular to the region. Near the water were shrimp, octopus and snails. The food I wanted was a sweet donut. When I found some , I bought two. They used to be a roadside staple. Now they are rarer. The other food I miss is toasted coconut balls. They were delicious.

The Ghanaians are wonderful, friendly people. When you speak to them in a local language, they smile from ear to ear and often clap. They say, “You have done well.” If you are lost, a Ghanaian will give you directions or even walk you to your destination. A woman got in our car and directed us to where we wanted to go. They will grab your bundles so you don’t have to carry them. I was offered a bench every time I stopped to take a small rest. Ghana is rich in its people.

Ghana is a country of street food. We used to go into town at night for snacks and buy we’d kabobs, plantain chips or fried yams. The women, the aunties, were set up along the sides of the road behind basins filled with oil boiling over charcoal fires. Lit lanterns sat on their tables. I always liked the sight of the dark street dotted with those lanterns. Mostly that hasn’t changed, but now street food is available starting in the afternoons. I bought tasty sausages and kabobs, often with fried onions. I bought kelewele and yams and bread, delicious butter bread, and rolls for my sausages. Many small kiosks now dot the sides of the streets and sell food. They all have painted names on the front and most boast they are the best: the best meat, the best kenkey and the best of just about everything.

Last year Ghana was new again. This year it was familiar. It felt far more like home, the way it had all those years ago.

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“He is the happiest, be he king or peasant, who finds peace in his home”

September 18, 2012

I made it: I’m finally home! Gracie was crazy, and the cats head-bonked me and purred. I greeted them and then went upstairs to take a nap. I left my luggage in the middle of the floor and dragged my tired body upstairs. After, I came down to unpack a bit. Right now the laundry and two empty suitcases are sitting in front of the cellar door. I’m hoping the laundry elves will get busy and a pile of  clean, folded clothes will be there to surprise me.

The rides home were unspectacular: no missing flights, on-time arrival and departures and pure exhaustion after nearly eleven hours from Accra to New York. I then had to haul my bags through customs and down to the ongoing flight luggage counter. I waited three hours for my flight to Boston which felt like a minute long after the first flight. I got the bus and was home by 12:40, seventeen hours after the first take-off.

I need to tell you about my last few days in Ghana. I was back in Accra for one night then went down to Cape Coast. It is a beautiful city. Many of the buildings are old and have wooden second floors with shuttered windows. The houses are brightly colored with pink being popular. The streets are narrow and crowded with market stalls on each side which makes travel slow. As you approach Cape Coast you can see the ocean, the palm trees and fishing boats not far from shore. The easiest building to see is Cape Coast Castle on a buff right on the water. It is painted a brilliant white. The castle is on the Historic Register. It is where you’ll find the famous Door of No Return through which the slaves, chained together, walked on their way to the ships which were headed to the Caribbean and the coast of America. The tour guide was excellent. She took us to the male and female dungeons, the quarters of the British captain who ran the fort, the  punishment cell where slaves who resisted were left without food, water or light and finally to the ramparts where we saw the look-out tower across the way and the cannons lined up facing the ocean. Next to the male dungeon is a plaque commemorating the visit of the Obamas. Grace, my former student, asked if the Obamas had to pay. The guide laughed. It was hot and I had beads of sweat down my face, my constant condition in Ghana.

We stayed at a guesthouse on a hill overlooking the city. It was the most expensive of any lodgings I had had in Ghana. Each room was fifty cedis ($25.00), and I had to pay for three: mine, Grace’s and the driver’s, but the room were enormous and Grace was overwhelmed. She wanted pictures of the room. Breakfast was part of the room price. It was the usual breakfast: eggs cooked as almost an omelet but browned rather than fluffy usually with onions and sometimes also green peppers. It is eaten in a toast sandwich. Those egg sandwiches are delicious and available all over Ghana. This breakfast also included pieces of sweet paw paw (papaya) and bananas.

We hit the road after breakfast and went further down coast to the village of Beyin. The road was mostly unpaved, but the scenery was gorgeous with the ocean not far off. The waves had white caps and the beaches were crowded with palm trees. We stayed at the Beyin Beach Resort, a fancy name for the thatched roofed bungalows and two chalets. The bungalows had two single beds, each covered my mosquito netting, and shared bathrooms. The hot water was welcomed. Breakfast was extra but worth it. I had real brewed coffee and real milk. I also got a chocolate croissant and shared with Grace and Tankwo, the driver. They loved the chocolate.

We left right after breakfast and drove next door to get tickets to see the stilt village of Nzueleo. We then walked down the street to where we took the boats, more like canoes. Each had two paddlers, one at each end. Grace had never been on a boat before. She and the driver wore life jackets. The woman who gave us the tickets said non-Ghanaians never take the jackets but Ghanaians always do. Few of them know how to swim. Unless they live by the ocean, there are few safe places to swim without the threat of  schistosomiasis (bilharzia), trypanosomiasis (sleeping sickness), onchocerciasis (river blindness), and, until recently, dracontiasis (guinea worm) which Ghana feels has been eradicated.

The guides paddled us through marshland to Nzulezo. The trip took about 45 minutes and was beautiful. We saw all sorts of birds and flowers. We reached the village which is on stilts and located on one side of Lake Tadane. We left the boat for the wooden walkway through the village. The houses are wooden and most have thatched roofs. We were told that the number in the village is somewhere between 300-500 but no one is sure. I couldn’t take pictures of adults without permission, but I could snap the children. The village has a bar, two churches and a school. Most houses had a TV. When I asked why they lived in that village, I was told that their ancestors were fleeing from enemies and were guided to this spot by a snail. The villagers make money by brewing and selling akpateshie, a local gin. They load containers on boats and paddle to the village to sell their Akpateshie. We stayed in the village for a small while, had a cold drink then went back to the boat for the return trip. Two other boats were paddled by us, both filled with “obrunis” or white people. They waved. We got to the car and drove most of the day to Accra and my last two nights in Ghana.

I spent Saturday doing last-minute shopping and packing. My bags were really heavy, especially the carry-on as it had two pieces of pottery, heavy thick pottery bowls in which to grind things like ginger, peppers or even onions. One bowl was for me and the other a gift. On Sunday Grace and her husband took me out to a farewell lunch. They chose a Chinese restaurant which I had pointed out to Grace while we were shopping. Neither had ever eaten Chinese food before. They both liked my choices and Grace thought she would bring her son there in October for his birthday. Her husband was surprised the bill was not too large but we had shared the dishes: curried chicken fried rice, vegetable tempura and beef with cashews. The vegetables weren’t hot so both Grace and her husband used the hot sauce brought with the meal. I tried just a bit and even my lips were burning.

I went to the airport early and hugged Grace and her husband good-bye. Grace says she’ll come here for a visit and we’ll see each other soon. I checked in early and went to the Adinkra lounge with its free drinks, food and wi-fi. I had a three-hour wait but in the comfort of air-conditioning. At 9:30 I boarded my flight, which left at 10:10 and arrived in NY at 5:30. My flight for Boston left at 8:30; I took the 10:45 bus from Logan to Hyannis and was home by one. My friends had me to dinner. I came home and went to bed around 10, which was 2am my body time. This morning I woke up at 4:30 which is why you are reading this extended travelog.

I am enjoying my second cup of coffee and will go shortly to the drive-way for my papers, the first ones in over three weeks. It seems so strange to be wearing a sweatshirt as the morning is cold. Where are the roosters?

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Greetings from Accra

September 12, 2012

Sunday morning I was awakened at 4 when the air-conditioner went back on  with all its rumbles. I hadn’t heard it go off, but the sound of its return was loud enough to roust me. During the night, the electricity in Bolga and the surrounding villages was turned off at different times for two hours. I suppose it was to conserve electricity but no one knew for certain. “It is what they do,” was the answer to why. Later, around 11, the electricity for the whole country went off. It came back slowly with Bolga being the last around 8 that night.

Well, after I was up so early, I finally stopped reading and got dressed around 6, made my disgusting coffee and went to the roof which is begging to be a patio. All it needs is a table, chairs, an umbrella and mosquito netting. From my perch on high, I watched the morning. I could see and smell the smoke from morning fires. From the compound beside the house I heard a baby cry. Roosters were greeting the day, one to each side of the house, but I couldn’t see them.  On the road I could see a man carrying a table on his head. I wondered about that table. A woman came out of the house, walked into the tall grass and returned in a bit with some eggs. Small girls carried empty then full buckets to and from the bore hole. The air was clear and there was a morning breeze. It was too early yet for the sun to grab the day. Mornings in the village are a joy to watch.

Part II  Meet the Mother of Chiefs

Sunday afternoon I was told to be at the chief’s house at 1:30. As I had met him before, I didn’t know why. When I arrived, four of my students were there. The chief was waiting and explained to me that I would be thanked for teaching these women and for returning to Ghana by a traditional ceremony. I was to become the mother of chiefs and I would be given a new Ghanaian name. I sat in a chair in the middle of the room then was told to stand up and raise my hands over my head. Lillian, a student and one of the wives of the chief, then took a fan on which was cloth, sandals and jewelery.  She passed it around me 4 times then took it and moved it back and forth in front of me 4 times as well. Then she and one of the elders started dressing me in Ghanaian cloth, 3 pieces. First came the skirt, then the top and finally a headpiece of cloth. All of my clothes were now covered by the Ghanaian cloth, the same cloth from which fugus or smocks are made. The chief announced my new name was (phonetically) an a Mah, mother of chiefs.  During all of this, a  photographer had been taking his own pictures and some with my camera. My students were going to order copies. After all of the festivities were finished, the elders accompanied me to my house (substitute car here as the village is too far). They took pictures of me walking to the car and getting in with the help of the elders. The ceremony was finished.

It was amazing. My students had planned it with Lillian and the chief. They had bought the cloth and all the accessories.  I was told that I would always be called by my new name by any FraFras. I couldn’t have been more honored.

On Monday we left late and made it only to Tamale (tam, as in rhymes with arm, a lay). On Tuesday we made it to all the way Accra with only one stop- to see the monkeys. Today we are traveling to Cape Coast and Elimina.

Next journal entry: the monkeys!

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Salutations!

September 8, 2012

Yesterday I was at my morning perch watching the world when the man in the compound beside me brought out two baby goats. They had been born the night before, still had their umbilical cords attached  and couldn’t stand long on their wobbly legs. They kept falling and getting back up, but they did manage to find their mother and breakfast. I watched for a long while. It was the first time I’d seen goats so young, and they were a marvel.

Today is market day so I will do a bit of shopping as I still haven’t bought any cloth. I get to one part of the market, do a bit of shopping and get too tired and sweaty to keep going. This time I hope to start out at the cloth.

We were driving to the town when we saw a huge line of men wearing white robes and black hats. They were singing. I asked the driver to park so we could watch and I could get some pictures. One man near us was happy to explain that it is a Moslem(still called Moslem here, not Muslim) organization which has three parts: women, youth and old men. Each year they have a conference at a different region. This group was the old men, all over 40. They were divided by region and they walked and sang a different song by region. We waited until all of them had passed.

Tomorrow I am meeting the old girls as my students call themselves. We are having lunch together and remembering the old times. I doubt I’ll get back here again as it is so expensive though I suppose I could get parsimonious and become a penny pincher, so not me.

The route, on Monday, will  be different than the one to come up here so I’ll get to see more of the country. We hope to get as far as Koforidua which is where I spent some time in training. I don’t know if I’ll be able to post on Monday but will if I get to the town early enough.

I hope the next stop will be the Monkey Sanctuary!

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Greetings!

September 6, 2012

Yesterday morning the rain started around 7 in the morning and when I went to sleep around 9:30 it was still raining. We had come into town for market day, but the rain pretty much washed that away. I sat under an awning, a tin awning, at a local spot and had coffee and an egg sandwich. The coffee is still Nescafe instant and the milk evaporated, but I have built up an acceptance of my lot and don’t mind it.

The rains were so heavy yesterday that the roads to the villages washed away in places. The river overflowed its banks and inundated houses and millet fields. Even Bea and Grace, my students, were amazed by how much water was in the fields.

The main street where I was sitting was almost empty of people. The few walking had umbrellas or just got soaked. This morning was still cloudy though a bit later in the morning blue appeared only to disappear when the rain came, only small-small rain as the Ghanaians would say. It is now after 1 in the afternoon, and the sun is beginning to make an appearance.

This morning we went to Paga, to Pikworo Slave Camp. It was active in the later 16th century up to about 1840 or so. It held 200 slaves and according to our guide, they were tied to the trees much of the day. We walked up into the hills and saw the grinding rock where food was ground and bowls carved in the rock. The water trough was filled with water and we were told the water never left, even in the dry season. There was a rock, called the entertainment center, which made different sounds when hit with rocks so it was used as a drum with the slaves hitting them with rocks to produce the rhythm. There were drummers there who played and sang for us just as the slaves would have played the rock. If a slave tried to escape, he was placed tied up and naked on the punishment rock in the sun. If he survived the heat of the day despite no water he would be allowed to remain alive. Many, though, died from the intense heat of the sun. I couldn’t imagine how horrible it must have been for the slaves waiting to be taken away from their homes. Once they left Paga, they would be brought to the coast where many were shipped to America.

I will be leaving here on Monday to make my way down coast with a stop to see the monkeys then overnight in Koforidua, where I had a part of my training. I’ll be back in town on Saturday for market day and will post then.

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Bolika ( Good Morning in FraFra)

September 4, 2012

My favorite place to sit in the morning is outside the gates of the house on a concrete slab of a bench under a baobab tree. The yellow birds no one can name fly around a tall palm tree and at the fruit of the tree. Their fluttering wings as they eat remind me of humming birds those these birds are larger and more easily seen. As I sit, I see small boys carrying buckets of water on their heads to and from the bore hole. Everyone stops to greet me with good morning in FraFra. I have learned to reply, to offer them a good morning, to say I am well and thank you in FraFra. If I forget a work the small boys says it for me and waits until I repeat then he smiles. The women in the compound beside my house come out to greet me every day. They are pleased when I can answer them in FraFra. I can hear roosters and see goats foraging in the tall grass. I can also hear the mumbled voices from the compound beside me. This is the nicest of all mornings.

Sunday was market day, and I had arranged to meet a few of the volunteers who are posted near here. I said the magic word, cheese, and they all came. I had bought the cheese in a obruni (white man) store in Tamale expected to share. When I was a volunteer food and recent diseases were our favorite conversations. They devoured the cheese and even took pictures of each other eating it. I totally understood.

When they had left, I decided to walk to the internet cafe. My back has been horrendous since last week, and I walk as if I were a mobile question mark. I walk and rest then walk and rest again. I sat down on some steps, and the man at the stall beside me offered his stool, and I sat down. He asked where I was going and i told him. He offered to take me on the back of his motorcycle, and I accepted. It was wonderful, a ride up the whole street. I was reminded of my easy rider days and remembered how much I loved the wind as I rode.

Today was the first day of school. Here punctuality is in the mind of the beholder. I went to Kantia Primary with the crayons, pencils and sharpeners I had brought. Some students were still walking to school, some were sitting and eating while only a few were at the school. The bell was rung so they started drifting in. I went to primary 1 and gave then each what I had brought. Then I went to the pre-primary or nursery school as they call it here and did the same. The kids were thrilled at the new school supplies.

Last night all the lights went out in the village and a few neighboring villages. It was pitch black. I used my iPad for light and went outside on the porch. I could hear voices and the usual night sounds, and I sat there taking it all in for the longest time then dragged myself inside the hot house. I had brought a hand fan with me so I arranged it on my face and fell asleep. A couple of hours later the light and the air came on.

I am going shopping for cloth today and may be going to Kongo to see the chief, but mostly the day is still in the planning stages. I’ll finish here and wander the town a bit.

I have noticed that it is all familiar to me now.

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Another Day in Kantia

September 2, 2012

Last night I was awokened by a tremendous wind which sounded like a hurricane. I got up and went to the window. Trees were bent to the ground andgrasses were waving. Then came lightning and thunder. That went on for a while and finally rain came. It was amazing, exactly what you imagination tells you a tropical storm should   look and sound like. The rain continued into this morning which was cool and breezy. It finally stopped around noon, and the sun is back which means so is the sweating (oops perspiring).

Bea, one of my students, made kelewele for me, a plaintain dish, and my favorite Ghanaian food. I had it for dinner the other night. There I was sitting on the porch hearing roosters and the voices of the children speaking FraFra and eating kelewele with my hand. It is another world.

Today we drove by churches, and I could hear the singing. I saw women walking along the side of the road dressed in Sunday clothes, traditional long dresses made of Ghanaian cloth, colorful and beautiful. Men wore shirts of Ghanaian cloth or suits and ties. Small girls and small boys were miniature versions of their parents. I got a chuckle at the idea that even in Ghana kids are forced into Sunday clothes for mass.

We went to Navrongo yesterday. The road to there is one of my favorite. Along parts of it are huge trees overhanging and shadowing the road. Small girls sit by the side and sell oranges or tomatoes or Guinea fowl eggs. As you pass a village, chickens, goats and baby Guinea fowl run across the road in front of you. Cows with ropes around their necks wander. They had broken their tethers. The corn and millet are high, close to harvesting. The rain will last this month more and maybe small time into October. Here there is only one growing season while the south has two.

I am happy and doing well. My students are forcing me to eat more than fruits and salads by cooking for me so I am being well taken care of here. No worries!

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Greetings From Ghana

August 29, 2012

I made!! Right now I am sitting in an air-conditioned internet cafe in Bolgatanga. Arriving here was wonderful. Everything felt familiar. I could smell the charcoal fires and food cooking. As I sat and ate lunch outside, complaining sheep walked by in a line baaing for all they were worth. Chickens wander. Small girls go by with trays of food on their heads. I have been greeted and greeted and told welcome!

Last night was the best of all greetings. I was lying in bed reading when the room lit up and the thunder started. Both were tremendous. The lights soon went out and so did the fan. I decided this was too great a storm to miss so I went onto the porch. The watchman was there, and we both watched the lightning brighten the houses, and he said the rain was a blessing as it hadn’t rained in a week. When the rain came, it came in heavy drops which pounded the tin roof of the compound near my house. That is one of my favorite sounds.

I am staying in the house of one of my students in a small village called Kantia, very near to Bolga. The house is large and comfortable. The only problem is the air-conditioning which does not work. The electrician will come today.  I had a fan overhead that was working but the storm ended that. It was a warm night!

I am meeting my students for lunch at 2.

With only a single year between visits, it feels as if I were here just yesterday!

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“Travel is more than the seeing of sights; it is a change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the ideas of living.”

August 25, 2012

It’s a beautiful day for anything but especially for flying. When I woke up, I changed the bed, took my shower and did a laundry. All that’s left is to feed the cats, change the litter and take Gracie with me to the dump. My bus to Logan leaves at 2:40.

The adventure begins.

I remember the first time I was leaving for Ghana. I was scared, excited and totally ignorant about Africa. Peace Corps had sent me a bus ticket to Philadelphia where we were meeting for staging, a lengthier process then the one day of staging now. My father said no bus so he bought me a plane ticket. Both my parents drove me that Sunday to Logan and walked me to the gate. We didn’t say much as we waited. Two + years loomed in front of us. After what seemed forever, it was time for boarding. My father told me I could come home if I didn’t like it. My mother clung to me, a two year until I see you again hug. I promised to call before I left Philadelphia then walked down the ramp to the plane. When I looked back, both of them were there. I waved then went around a small corner and boarded the plane.

Today it is only excitement while last year there was also apprehension. I didn’t know what to expect, but not this year: I have an itinerary, a driver, places to see, a student for company and friends waiting. Sounds like a perfect trip to me!

I just used the downstairs bathroom and found a dead mouse, compliments of Maddie. She had been chasing it the other night until Gracie got involved and the mouse escaped, but obviously that was short-lived.

Well, I’m done here. I’ll post some music and finish my final pre-trip chores. I’ll try and post after a day or two in Bolga as there is an internet cafe. I will miss talking to you every day!

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