After returning home from Cape Coast, we had an exciting game to go to on Sunday. The Ghana Black Stars were playing Sudan in a World Cup Qualifier. For some reason, I always land myself in places when they are experiencing a big series of football matches. I absolutely love it. If I thought the Europeans were crazy about their football, it doesn't hold a candle to the organization and hutzpah of African fans. Before the match, there were veritable parades of people dressed in red, green, or yellow, chanting, singing and marching with flags raised high. When we sat in the stands, we noticed that people had grouped together by color and they all had cheers and giant flags that they sent up and down the aisles. It was a blast to be a part of it. There were four or five guys who were wearing tiny shorts and had painted the entire rest of their bodies in Ghana's colors with black stars here and there. I myself had drawn black stars on my cheeks and donned a jersey.
It was an exciting game and Ghana won, 2-0, qualifying them early for the World Cup! The actual president of Ghana stood just above us in the stands and popped a bottle of champagne in celebration. Throughout the following week, I'd had a few people say to me that they'd seen me on tv. I laughed and took this as "I saw an oboruni with brown hair on the screen who looked just like you." Many members of our group have gotten the odd comment that all oboruni's look alike, which I find pretty funny. Then, on Thursday, one of our Upals' taps me on the shoulder and says "you were on tv!" Apparently, during the football game, the tv camera's had zoomed right in on my black star-adorned face. I've only been here for a month and a half and I've already been on national tv! How cool is that??
The school week passed with ease and little excitement. Suddenly, the weekend was here again and we were headed back to Cape Coast, this time with all 50 of us. The point of this trip was two fold: to see one of the slave castles and to visit Kakum National Park. Half of our group went to Cape Coast Castle (the one Obama visited when he was here) and the other half, myself included, visited Elmina castle. Elmina is one of the oldest slave forts still in existence and at one point or another, it was controlled by each and every European power that swept through and terrorized the land of Ghana. It started with the Portuguese in the mid-16th century who initially came for gold. In fact, Elmina, the name of this small fishing town, is derived from the Portuguese words for "The Mine." Soon, however, they discovered an equally compelling commodity: Africans. Soon the Dutch had their eye on Ghana, then called the Gold Coast, and quickly gained trust and help of the Ghanaian people who thought that they would suffer far less at the hands of these new foreigners. The Ghanaians, who knew their land far better than the Portuguese, led the Dutch to victory and the Dutch soon took control of Elmina Castle. Eventually, power changed hands yet again, this time to the British who kept Ghana as a colony until Ghana's independence in 1958.
As we walked through the halls of this 400 year old death chamber, I tried my best to experience with all my senses. Now, this sounds incredibly hippie, but hear me out. I cannot even come close to imagining the hell that so many victims in our past and our present have experienced. Walking into the courtyard near the women's cells, I looked up at where the governor would stand to pick his woman of the day, and tried to imagine being chained in tight rows, crushed together with other women, former friends or foes, wincing up at the sunlight I've hardly seen in weeks, and praying not to be chosen. If I was unfortunate enough to be chosen, I would be chained to a canon ball, stripped of whatever rags I still owned, and doused with freezing water, in front of all the other women and soldiers. When the governor was done with me, I would maybe be given a meal, if I was lucky but if I wasnt lucky, I may be passed around the men and then tossed back into the filthy cage masquerading as a waiting cell. As we walked into the cell that has since been thoroughly cleansed, I was still struck by a distinct smell. It was a wet, molded, sweaty, human smell that even 200 years couldn't get rid of. I looked down to the cobblestones which had been long worn down by the trampling of thousands of weak and hopeless feet. I would wait in that cell for months, with the sick, and sometimes the dead. Meals were few and far between and bathing, non-existent. Finally, I would be shuttled like cattle through a dark tunnel into the room of no return. There, I may be able to catch a glimpse of my husband or child for the first time in months, never to see them again after. The slaves life would only get worse from there. Those who survived the squalor of their close-quarters aboard the ship had masters awaiting them, to be sorted and sold like farm animals. No one knew what to expect but few expected to live and those who did were not necessarily the lucky ones.
Walking through this building while using my imagination and the smells, sounds, feelings of my surroundings gave me just a tiny glimpse into the life of those who suffered 200 years ago. Taking everything in this completely made the experience so much more powerful to me. In a previous entry I mentioned the irony of the beauty surrounding Cape Coast compared with it's past and Elmina was no different. While standing on the top of the fort where canons guarded every corner, I could almost forget where I was. Every morning when the governor of the fort walked out of his quarters he would see a scene very similar to what I was currently seeing. The fishing boats the locals were using then were little different than the ones I was now seeing. Palm trees dotted the coast line which, parallel to the Atlantic, stretched out beyond my vision. Most of the solid infrastructure that still marks the main town area were built by the colonizing powers as places to house their men and their "african wives." This of course essentially translates to "slave woman whom I impregnated."
After everyone had returned from the respective visit, we all got together to discuss our experiences and how far we feel the world has come since the days of slavery. It was a fascinating political and social discussion about world affairs and human rights. We dipped into naming the types of modern slavery (human trafficking, child soldiers, child prostitution, certain religious sects views towards women, sex workers, child labor etc) as well as social responsibility which is something I find incredibly important and woefully unaddressed. Someone posed the question of whether or not we've learned from slavery, the Holocaust and the other tragedies our species has witnessed. Another student replied with "We've learned that there is evil that must be stopped but our reaction time is still just too slow." I think this hits it right on the mark. I think most people today know that it's wrong to treat other human beings like meaningless products (at least I hope that's the case) but there is still so much strife in this world that is going on and we're doing nothing to stop it. I might soon actually use this blog to brief the readers on the human tragedy that has drawn me to this continent: Northern Uganda. In 2004, the UN named Northern Uganda as the most desperate but forgotten crisis in the world. The crisis has continued and nothing has been done...but I'll write more about that later.
People who hear about these passions of mine, as well as, admittedly, my bitterness at the International Community for ignoring them, often ask me "well what are we supposed to do about it?" You talk about it and talk about it and educate people. Don't let people be ignorant and eventually, hopefully, word of the issue will reach the ears of those who may have power to change. Even if it doesn't reach someone in power, don't let people become numb to each other's pain, because that will be our downfall.
On a lighter note...the next morning we journeyed to Kakum National Park. This is a rainforest fairly near cape coast where you can camp, hike and do a canopy walk. The canopy walk was INCREDIBLE. They essentially strung rope bridges across a decent part of the park at the canopy level, allowing you to look down on the life of the park. There are actually a good number animals in the rainforest but you almost only see them early in the morning before visitors come and scare them off with noise. There are monkeys, 600 different kinds of butterflies, pythons, leopards and even a small herd of elephants. The butterflies were gorgeous and everywhere. I was even lucky enough to see a little monkey jumping from tree to tree and pointed it out to a few friends. It was so cute!!
After that we all shuffled onto the bus and drove back home for a night of good sleep before monday classes.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
This is a picture of the Chief of Cape Coast and his daughter being carried through the streets.
This is another "royal" authority figure in Cape Coast. You can almost see how the "chair" is being carried on people's heads. At the far left of the picture, drums are carried high in the air as men play them during the procession.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Of parades, chiefs, forts, and violence
I am going to be so upset when I can no longer buy my food/drinks packaged neatly in a bag, sold by a woman or man who walks to the window of the car I'm in. One of the most bizarre things about this country (okay, not the MOST bizarre, but up there) is that, on every major road, people carrying baskets on their head containing plantain chips, frozen chocolate milk or vanilla ice cream in a bag (called FanIce), sodas, bags of water, pretty much anything you would want to consume, come up to the window of your taxi/tro-tro/bus and sell it to you right there. It's wonderful.
I feel like I'm always wanting to begin these blog entries with "Wow, what a week." Each week brings a slew of new wonders, challenges, frustrations, excitement, and experiences. This weekend alone contained what felt like several weekends worth of experiences.
On Thursday night (which is when my "weekend" begins because I have no classes on Friday), some friends of mine were invited to one of their neighbor's suite for a little get together, so I went with them. Part way through the night I realized that the nationalities in the room spanned the globe, which I thought was incredibly cool. The hosts were from Korea, Seoul and the second capital (which I hate to admit, I can't remember). One of their female friends was Korean by ethnicity but was born in Cote d'Ivoire and speaks fluent English with an American accent (didn't quite find out how that had happened though). One of the host's roommates is a Black Brit from Chelsea and another is a boy from Burkina Faso. There were two other friends from Korea, one of whom had lived in Ghana for the past 5 years. The last guest I met that night was born in China but had also been living in Ghana for an extended period of time. Then of course there were the four girls from the States - representing Minnesota, Texas, Pennsylvania and New York.
It was one of the coolest collective groups of individuals I've been with in my life.
The next morning, four friends and I boarded an incredibly crowded tro-tro headed towards Cape Coast. Some of you may recognize the name Cape Coast because this is the place where Obama visited a slave fort during his visit to ghana. Every first weekend of September, there is a festival in Cape Coast celebrating the harvest. We weren't quite sure what the festivities entailed, but we definitely wanted to check it out. All of the hostels in the center of the city were full so we ended up staying in this adorable little inn about 20 minutes outside of the city.
By the time we got to the inn, we were starving, and so immediately sat down in their little restaurant to grab a bite to eat. It took an incredibly long time to get the food but we were enjoying each others company in the mean time and the owner of the inn came over to say "Hi." She introduces herself and we immediately recognize her accent as American. We soon learn that the adorable inn has an equally adorable history behind it.
Adjua, the woman who owns the inn, and her husband used to live in Philadelphia. After their son grew up, around 1998, they decided that they wanted to "go home." Never having been to Ghana before, Adjua and Kofi packed up all their belongings, including a numbers of items they had collected in order to donate them once here, and simply moved. They had never met anyone here and did not yet have a house. How gutsy is that?? Her husband built the inn outside the city and then built her her dream house overlooking the Atlantic. Kofi passed away this last year but she seems happy to have such strong reminders of him in the form of her home and the inn. Something I've discovered is that the foreigners you meet here are incredibly kind and down-to-earth with wonderful stories to tell.
After dinner we hopped a taxi into town. A bar called Oasis had been recommended by a friend, so we started our night there. Much to our dismay, the ratio of oborunis to ghanaians was approximately 6 to 1. However, the beach was just beyond the sitting area so we walked down to dip our feet into the Atlantic. It was beautiful and serene, which added to our horror when we turned to our left and realized that the Cape Coast Slave Castle loomed not too far in the distance. We all suddenly felt very eerie - a feeling exacerbated by the stark contrast between the serenity of the beach and it's bloody and painful history. We stood there for quite some time discussing next weekend's visit to the castle itself and those of us who have visited concentration camps in earlier travels commented on the likelihood of experiencing a similar haunted feeling as we did on those occasions.
Taking an active step against a morbid evening, we all wandered back to the sitting area of the bar. This was a smart move, as it turns out. One of the girls in our group struck up a question with a Ghanaian University student and after a lengthy conversation, he offered to be our guide for the festival.
The next morning Andrew, the University student we had met the night before, and his friend Emmanuel met us at a junction near the parade. They both warned us several times over to watch our bags like hawks (not the expression they used but definitely the gist) and led us toward the din and the commotion. I've seen parades before (one of the most memorable viewings being the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade from a roof in my dads building in Times Square - incredible) and I've seen "historical demonstrations" in Williamsburg, Plymouth, etc etc. This was just like a combination of those two things and yet nothing like it at all. The Chief of Cape Coast, along with other dignitaries, were carried through the crowd in chaise lounges balanced nimbly on the heads of beautifully dressed men. All participants of the parade were royally and traditionally dressed in fabrics of stunning color. Groups of women would perform a traditional dance as they passed while the men kept time with their drums. Andrew explained that the boy walking before the Chief was holding the Chief's shoes in a offering of reverence - a symbol that the Chief is so honored that he should never have to walk.
What amazed me, and hence the comment of how different this was from a "historical re-enactment," was that not one bit of this was staged. This parade was not happening for the benefit of tourists; this was and has been their tradition. Those who were in the parade itself seemed to take the task incredibly seriously - this is a part of their culture, a part of their heritage.
The crowd was insane. I've mentioned the Ghanaian lack of concern for personal space and it was only worse near the parade. Andrew repeatedly told us to watch our bags but I suppose we were so overwhelmed by the dancing crowd, the adorned women, and the rhythm of the drums, that we weren't keeping as close an eye as we should have been. Suddenly I realize that there is shouting and most of our group isn't right behind me. I look further and see Andrew holding the cuff of a teen's shirt, yelling. I run back to make sure everything is okay and my friend fills me in. The boy, who looked to be about 16 or 17 years old, had unzipped her backpack and was grabbing hold of her camera when Andrew caught him. I hear Andrew yelling "Don't you understand that this is why we don't have strong tourism? How can you treat them like that? It's kids like you that keep this country down" etc etc etc. The kid was struggling and it soon turns into a fist fight - something that I've seen happen before but had never been a part of.
I'm frozen in place. My jaw has dropped and I don't know what to do or say. I've never seen such violence for such a small reason before. Eventually, the police lazily meander over and ask what the trouble is. Andrew explains and they grab the kid by his shirt and throw him down the street with a warning "you come back here and it's jail." If I had been stunned before then, I was now absolutely bewildered. In the states, the police would have hauled both people down to the station for at the very least, a stern talking to.
Later on I had a discussion with some of my friends about this experience. We realized that the violence was "necessary" in their culture because their was no assurance that the criminal would be punished by the law. Essentially, people took the responsibility to deter teens from petty crime into their own hand. What I loathe about this is the fact that this system simply engenders a culture of violence.
The number of children in this society is shocking and they often roam the streets with no parental guidance or attention. This means that they see the same street fights we have witnessed. There is a mode of learning in psychology called imitation; a part of a child's essential development is watching their elders and imitating them. These feeds right into the theory of a cycle of violence and I truly feel that until the police begin to enforce the law, this country, and others like it, will never fully develop.
The rest of the afternoon was incredible however. Andrew and Emmanuel took us away from the parade and up a hill to an abandoned fort. The fort overlooked the entirety of Cape Coast and a stretch of the Atlantic. It was truly beautiful. It was our first taste of the physical remnants of colonialism in Africa - it was frightening how beautiful the scenery in comparison to it's past.
I'll post a few pictures of the weekend now and next time I'll tell you all about the World Cup Qualifier, frustrations and excitement, and Cape Coast part deux!
I feel like I'm always wanting to begin these blog entries with "Wow, what a week." Each week brings a slew of new wonders, challenges, frustrations, excitement, and experiences. This weekend alone contained what felt like several weekends worth of experiences.
On Thursday night (which is when my "weekend" begins because I have no classes on Friday), some friends of mine were invited to one of their neighbor's suite for a little get together, so I went with them. Part way through the night I realized that the nationalities in the room spanned the globe, which I thought was incredibly cool. The hosts were from Korea, Seoul and the second capital (which I hate to admit, I can't remember). One of their female friends was Korean by ethnicity but was born in Cote d'Ivoire and speaks fluent English with an American accent (didn't quite find out how that had happened though). One of the host's roommates is a Black Brit from Chelsea and another is a boy from Burkina Faso. There were two other friends from Korea, one of whom had lived in Ghana for the past 5 years. The last guest I met that night was born in China but had also been living in Ghana for an extended period of time. Then of course there were the four girls from the States - representing Minnesota, Texas, Pennsylvania and New York.
It was one of the coolest collective groups of individuals I've been with in my life.
The next morning, four friends and I boarded an incredibly crowded tro-tro headed towards Cape Coast. Some of you may recognize the name Cape Coast because this is the place where Obama visited a slave fort during his visit to ghana. Every first weekend of September, there is a festival in Cape Coast celebrating the harvest. We weren't quite sure what the festivities entailed, but we definitely wanted to check it out. All of the hostels in the center of the city were full so we ended up staying in this adorable little inn about 20 minutes outside of the city.
By the time we got to the inn, we were starving, and so immediately sat down in their little restaurant to grab a bite to eat. It took an incredibly long time to get the food but we were enjoying each others company in the mean time and the owner of the inn came over to say "Hi." She introduces herself and we immediately recognize her accent as American. We soon learn that the adorable inn has an equally adorable history behind it.
Adjua, the woman who owns the inn, and her husband used to live in Philadelphia. After their son grew up, around 1998, they decided that they wanted to "go home." Never having been to Ghana before, Adjua and Kofi packed up all their belongings, including a numbers of items they had collected in order to donate them once here, and simply moved. They had never met anyone here and did not yet have a house. How gutsy is that?? Her husband built the inn outside the city and then built her her dream house overlooking the Atlantic. Kofi passed away this last year but she seems happy to have such strong reminders of him in the form of her home and the inn. Something I've discovered is that the foreigners you meet here are incredibly kind and down-to-earth with wonderful stories to tell.
After dinner we hopped a taxi into town. A bar called Oasis had been recommended by a friend, so we started our night there. Much to our dismay, the ratio of oborunis to ghanaians was approximately 6 to 1. However, the beach was just beyond the sitting area so we walked down to dip our feet into the Atlantic. It was beautiful and serene, which added to our horror when we turned to our left and realized that the Cape Coast Slave Castle loomed not too far in the distance. We all suddenly felt very eerie - a feeling exacerbated by the stark contrast between the serenity of the beach and it's bloody and painful history. We stood there for quite some time discussing next weekend's visit to the castle itself and those of us who have visited concentration camps in earlier travels commented on the likelihood of experiencing a similar haunted feeling as we did on those occasions.
Taking an active step against a morbid evening, we all wandered back to the sitting area of the bar. This was a smart move, as it turns out. One of the girls in our group struck up a question with a Ghanaian University student and after a lengthy conversation, he offered to be our guide for the festival.
The next morning Andrew, the University student we had met the night before, and his friend Emmanuel met us at a junction near the parade. They both warned us several times over to watch our bags like hawks (not the expression they used but definitely the gist) and led us toward the din and the commotion. I've seen parades before (one of the most memorable viewings being the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade from a roof in my dads building in Times Square - incredible) and I've seen "historical demonstrations" in Williamsburg, Plymouth, etc etc. This was just like a combination of those two things and yet nothing like it at all. The Chief of Cape Coast, along with other dignitaries, were carried through the crowd in chaise lounges balanced nimbly on the heads of beautifully dressed men. All participants of the parade were royally and traditionally dressed in fabrics of stunning color. Groups of women would perform a traditional dance as they passed while the men kept time with their drums. Andrew explained that the boy walking before the Chief was holding the Chief's shoes in a offering of reverence - a symbol that the Chief is so honored that he should never have to walk.
What amazed me, and hence the comment of how different this was from a "historical re-enactment," was that not one bit of this was staged. This parade was not happening for the benefit of tourists; this was and has been their tradition. Those who were in the parade itself seemed to take the task incredibly seriously - this is a part of their culture, a part of their heritage.
The crowd was insane. I've mentioned the Ghanaian lack of concern for personal space and it was only worse near the parade. Andrew repeatedly told us to watch our bags but I suppose we were so overwhelmed by the dancing crowd, the adorned women, and the rhythm of the drums, that we weren't keeping as close an eye as we should have been. Suddenly I realize that there is shouting and most of our group isn't right behind me. I look further and see Andrew holding the cuff of a teen's shirt, yelling. I run back to make sure everything is okay and my friend fills me in. The boy, who looked to be about 16 or 17 years old, had unzipped her backpack and was grabbing hold of her camera when Andrew caught him. I hear Andrew yelling "Don't you understand that this is why we don't have strong tourism? How can you treat them like that? It's kids like you that keep this country down" etc etc etc. The kid was struggling and it soon turns into a fist fight - something that I've seen happen before but had never been a part of.
I'm frozen in place. My jaw has dropped and I don't know what to do or say. I've never seen such violence for such a small reason before. Eventually, the police lazily meander over and ask what the trouble is. Andrew explains and they grab the kid by his shirt and throw him down the street with a warning "you come back here and it's jail." If I had been stunned before then, I was now absolutely bewildered. In the states, the police would have hauled both people down to the station for at the very least, a stern talking to.
Later on I had a discussion with some of my friends about this experience. We realized that the violence was "necessary" in their culture because their was no assurance that the criminal would be punished by the law. Essentially, people took the responsibility to deter teens from petty crime into their own hand. What I loathe about this is the fact that this system simply engenders a culture of violence.
The number of children in this society is shocking and they often roam the streets with no parental guidance or attention. This means that they see the same street fights we have witnessed. There is a mode of learning in psychology called imitation; a part of a child's essential development is watching their elders and imitating them. These feeds right into the theory of a cycle of violence and I truly feel that until the police begin to enforce the law, this country, and others like it, will never fully develop.
The rest of the afternoon was incredible however. Andrew and Emmanuel took us away from the parade and up a hill to an abandoned fort. The fort overlooked the entirety of Cape Coast and a stretch of the Atlantic. It was truly beautiful. It was our first taste of the physical remnants of colonialism in Africa - it was frightening how beautiful the scenery in comparison to it's past.
I'll post a few pictures of the weekend now and next time I'll tell you all about the World Cup Qualifier, frustrations and excitement, and Cape Coast part deux!
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Sunday's excursion
Friday evening and Saturday were fairly unremarkable with the exception of the prunes my hands turned into from washing clothes. They don't have privately own washing machines here. There don't even have laundromats. You either handwash your clothes or pay a "cleaner" who uses their washer and dryer to wash your clothes. I only do the latter for my towels and heavier clothes (jeans, khakis, dresses etc) which means hand washing the rest. It's somewhat funny to walk across campus because each dorm seems polka-dotted with color....until you look closer and realize that everyone has hung their clothing out to dry on their balconies.
Sunday was our first group excursion. First we visit the Aburi Gardens. This is a botanical garden approximately 45 minutes outside of Central Accra. It was first established by the British and has since flourished as a public park made up of 10 lawns. Lawn 1 is also referred to as "The Presidential Lawn" because many world leaders have "planted" a tree there. Obviously I do not mean that Queen Elizabeth II actually got out her trowel and planted a mahogany seed, but she visited the gardens and had a tree planted in her name. Prince Charles, the former leaders of Romania (random?) and Nigeria, as well as many of the Ghanaian presidents have also "planted" trees on this lawn. We asked if Obama had planted one and were disappointed to find that Obama didn't visit the gardens; apparently he was far more interested in the slave forts in Cape Coast. I suppose I won't hold this against him.
One of the most odd things about the garden was that admist the beautiful and exotic trees was a giant, broken down helicopter. Oh don't worry, it gets more bizzare. The Ghanaian Armed Forces decided they would donate this decrepit vehicle to the park "for the children to play on." This is exactly what my tour guide said and the explicit purpose behind the donation. I will post a picture of it because it is just tetanus waiting to happen. Not exactly the safest play structure. Nonetheless, we all immediately scrambled to climb on it. One of our Ghanaian U-Pals was especially enjoying sitting in the cockpit with a boyish grin on his face. Inevitably he whipped on a pair of aviators and struck a Top Gun-esque poise. He seemed quite proud of himself.
Pictures to follow.
After the helicopter, we got to see an interesting plant called "The Strangler Ficus." Apparently my knowledge of plants in woeful because I had no clue that ficus' often grew on the branches of another tree only to eventually strangle it's host and envelope it. We got to see the ultimate outcome of just that scenario. The ficus had killed it's host and surrounded it, forcing it to disintegrate. This left just the shell the ficus had created - a hollow tree! We were able to climb inside which was pretty neat.
We left the Aburi Gardens and headed to our next stop:
This cocoa farm is the oldest in Ghana. Now I don't know just how much you all know about Ghana's hand in cocoa production but it's far larger than I knew. Ghana is second only to Cote D'Ivoire in amount of cocoa exported and is globally ranked as number one in quality of it's cocoa. In other words, cocoa is Ghana's largest cash crop and therefore, the backbone of Ghana's economy. The cocoa farm we visited actually has two of the very first cocoa plants planted in Ghanaian soil. These plants are still in production!! Our guide walked us through the process of harvesting and fermenting cocoa, which was really interesting. When you first crack open a cocoa pod, the seeds are covered in a fruit that tastes a lot like mango. Weird, huh?
After the cocoa farm came my favorite part of the day: a woodcarving village. Village is a generous term. It would more aptly be described as a woodcarving street but it was wonderful all the same. Each artist has their own stall and the group was set up about 50 years ago so that the trade of woodcarving could be more widely and easily taught. The carvings were absolutely beautiful. I bought a small welcome sign (it actually says "Akwaaba" which is the Twi word for welcome). It depicts a mother with her baby carried on her back in the traditional Ghanaian way and a basket on her head. I absolutely love it.
The next few posts will be pictures of what I've just described!
Sunday was our first group excursion. First we visit the Aburi Gardens. This is a botanical garden approximately 45 minutes outside of Central Accra. It was first established by the British and has since flourished as a public park made up of 10 lawns. Lawn 1 is also referred to as "The Presidential Lawn" because many world leaders have "planted" a tree there. Obviously I do not mean that Queen Elizabeth II actually got out her trowel and planted a mahogany seed, but she visited the gardens and had a tree planted in her name. Prince Charles, the former leaders of Romania (random?) and Nigeria, as well as many of the Ghanaian presidents have also "planted" trees on this lawn. We asked if Obama had planted one and were disappointed to find that Obama didn't visit the gardens; apparently he was far more interested in the slave forts in Cape Coast. I suppose I won't hold this against him.
One of the most odd things about the garden was that admist the beautiful and exotic trees was a giant, broken down helicopter. Oh don't worry, it gets more bizzare. The Ghanaian Armed Forces decided they would donate this decrepit vehicle to the park "for the children to play on." This is exactly what my tour guide said and the explicit purpose behind the donation. I will post a picture of it because it is just tetanus waiting to happen. Not exactly the safest play structure. Nonetheless, we all immediately scrambled to climb on it. One of our Ghanaian U-Pals was especially enjoying sitting in the cockpit with a boyish grin on his face. Inevitably he whipped on a pair of aviators and struck a Top Gun-esque poise. He seemed quite proud of himself.
Pictures to follow.
After the helicopter, we got to see an interesting plant called "The Strangler Ficus." Apparently my knowledge of plants in woeful because I had no clue that ficus' often grew on the branches of another tree only to eventually strangle it's host and envelope it. We got to see the ultimate outcome of just that scenario. The ficus had killed it's host and surrounded it, forcing it to disintegrate. This left just the shell the ficus had created - a hollow tree! We were able to climb inside which was pretty neat.
We left the Aburi Gardens and headed to our next stop:
This cocoa farm is the oldest in Ghana. Now I don't know just how much you all know about Ghana's hand in cocoa production but it's far larger than I knew. Ghana is second only to Cote D'Ivoire in amount of cocoa exported and is globally ranked as number one in quality of it's cocoa. In other words, cocoa is Ghana's largest cash crop and therefore, the backbone of Ghana's economy. The cocoa farm we visited actually has two of the very first cocoa plants planted in Ghanaian soil. These plants are still in production!! Our guide walked us through the process of harvesting and fermenting cocoa, which was really interesting. When you first crack open a cocoa pod, the seeds are covered in a fruit that tastes a lot like mango. Weird, huh?
After the cocoa farm came my favorite part of the day: a woodcarving village. Village is a generous term. It would more aptly be described as a woodcarving street but it was wonderful all the same. Each artist has their own stall and the group was set up about 50 years ago so that the trade of woodcarving could be more widely and easily taught. The carvings were absolutely beautiful. I bought a small welcome sign (it actually says "Akwaaba" which is the Twi word for welcome). It depicts a mother with her baby carried on her back in the traditional Ghanaian way and a basket on her head. I absolutely love it.
The next few posts will be pictures of what I've just described!
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Whew...what a week!
On Friday I made my first solo excursion outside of Legon, where our University is located. A piece of my guitar had broken so I needed to go to the music shop to fix it. One of our U-Pals is part the Department of Performing Arts so he recommended a shop near the cultural centre of the city. Normally he would have taken me but he had other errands, so I ventured out on my own. For the first time since I've been here, I noticed that I was the only white person for blocks upon blocks. It was amazing to notice this as I've never been in that situation before. Being American, I am used to often being surrounded by all ethnicities and when I'm at Bucknell, I'm used to mostly being around other caucasians. But there, two blocks from the shore of the other side of the Atlantic, I was alone in my ethnicity. It was an incredibly humbling experience, a titanic reminder of how huge and diverse this world truly is.
One negative about being a white girl walking alone down the streets of Accra is that every shop owner and half the men on the street want your attention. I'm really glad, however, that I went alone because a number of things happened that otherwise wouldn't have. For starters, I took a trotro meaning that I'm beginning to truly get a hand on Accra's public transportation. While waiting for one to come by, an older Ghanaian woman asked where I was headed. I told her "Tema Station" and she said that she was headed in the same direction. When the trotro came, she motioned to me to sit by her. We spoke briefly about what I was doing in Ghana and other pleasantries. While we were talking she gave her money to the "mate" and said a few things then he gave her change. We soon got to her stop and as she got off she said, "I've paid your way to Tema. Akwaaba (meaning Welcome in Twi) and I hope you like Ghana."
Now this isn't the first example of extraordinary kindness that I've experienced here but it is among the few that truly stand out. The first time I went to one of the bigger markets is another example that stands out. One of the girls I was with really needed to find a restroom so we were asking around the market stalls with no success. At one of the stalls it seemed like the woman we were asking was struggling with our accents. It seems that Ghanaians have just as difficult a time understanding our accents as we do theirs (makes sense I suppose). A man buying vegetables from the woman turned to us and said "how can I help you?" We ask him where a restroom would be and he says "I'll show you, follow me." Now, in the States, I wouldn't trust that for a minute. In Ghana, it's fairly common for a person to actually lead you to the place when you ask for directions. He led us down the street a ways and then said "They do have restrooms closer to the stalls but they're not very hygenic. I live right around the corner and I have a flushing toilet in a private bathroom. You are more than welcome to use it if you'd like." Of course, we were a little wary and didn't want to put him out. But he pointed to a house a little down the ways and said "It's that house right there. It's really no trouble." We walk with him to his house. He unlocks the gate and leads us to the side door. He points Angie to the restroom and tells the rest of us that we're welcome to stay outside or come in. As we're standing there, two little girls run around the corner as if they were playing tag. They stop and stare at the 4 white girls in their driveway. Their eyes light up and they smile broadly, running back around the corner of the house. While we're waiting, they periodically peek around the corner and then giggle and say something in another language and hide again. It was absolutely adorable but besides the point. Angie came out and the man walked us back to his gate. He asked us where we were from and we told him the US. Then he told us that he and his family were from Liberia but that they enjoy Ghana and hope we do too. He waved goodbye and shut the gate with a smile. Never in a million YEARS would I expect such kindness from an American or European. We live in far safer neighborhoods and we'd never let a stranger into our home. Here, I feel that people go out of their way to extend a friendly hand.
Another thing I discovered on my solo journey to Accra is that just because most men are interested in talking to the white girl does not mean that they are looking to badger you. One man walked introduced himself as a fellow foreigner. Now, I looked at him and his skin was extremely dark, similar to many Ghanaians and he had a thick African accent. Someone who grew up here would probably easily be able to tell the difference. I, however, had no clue. I soon discovered that he was a Nigerian footballer who had come here to play. We didn't get to whether he played for the national team or what sort of team but we talked for a bit as I walked to my next destination. Soon he told me that he had to turn down a street and he asks if there is a way to contact me. "Here it goes," I think to myself with a silent groan. I tell him that I'm a student at the University but I don't have a phone. Of course this is not entirely true but I've discovered that this is the best tactic. He tells me it's not a problem but hands me his card and says that it was nice to meet him and if I have questions about visiting Nigeria, to give him a call. 15 minutes later I experience a similar situation with a man who makes drums. I ask him which way to the nearest trotro station and he not only takes me to the trotro but helps me find the right one to get me back to Legon. Of course, he also told me that I should come by the National Cultural Center for drum lessons from him but he wasn't overly pushy and didn't ask me for a cent. As long as you get used to the fact that you are white and therefore, far more often than not, have triple the amount of money than the average Ghanaian, meaning that you are a symbol of prosperity, then you begin to realize that the people talking to you are not necessarily trying to rip you off, they just want to talk to you. Of course, there are a few bad eggs and people who think that you being white means you're easy to rip off. The best way to get people to treat you like a human being and not a walking dollar bill is to treat them like a human being and not a walking gimmick. The minute you start joking and getting to know the person, you learn a lot and could even make a friend.
That's all for now but there will be an update on this past Sunday's excursion tomorrow!!
One negative about being a white girl walking alone down the streets of Accra is that every shop owner and half the men on the street want your attention. I'm really glad, however, that I went alone because a number of things happened that otherwise wouldn't have. For starters, I took a trotro meaning that I'm beginning to truly get a hand on Accra's public transportation. While waiting for one to come by, an older Ghanaian woman asked where I was headed. I told her "Tema Station" and she said that she was headed in the same direction. When the trotro came, she motioned to me to sit by her. We spoke briefly about what I was doing in Ghana and other pleasantries. While we were talking she gave her money to the "mate" and said a few things then he gave her change. We soon got to her stop and as she got off she said, "I've paid your way to Tema. Akwaaba (meaning Welcome in Twi) and I hope you like Ghana."
Now this isn't the first example of extraordinary kindness that I've experienced here but it is among the few that truly stand out. The first time I went to one of the bigger markets is another example that stands out. One of the girls I was with really needed to find a restroom so we were asking around the market stalls with no success. At one of the stalls it seemed like the woman we were asking was struggling with our accents. It seems that Ghanaians have just as difficult a time understanding our accents as we do theirs (makes sense I suppose). A man buying vegetables from the woman turned to us and said "how can I help you?" We ask him where a restroom would be and he says "I'll show you, follow me." Now, in the States, I wouldn't trust that for a minute. In Ghana, it's fairly common for a person to actually lead you to the place when you ask for directions. He led us down the street a ways and then said "They do have restrooms closer to the stalls but they're not very hygenic. I live right around the corner and I have a flushing toilet in a private bathroom. You are more than welcome to use it if you'd like." Of course, we were a little wary and didn't want to put him out. But he pointed to a house a little down the ways and said "It's that house right there. It's really no trouble." We walk with him to his house. He unlocks the gate and leads us to the side door. He points Angie to the restroom and tells the rest of us that we're welcome to stay outside or come in. As we're standing there, two little girls run around the corner as if they were playing tag. They stop and stare at the 4 white girls in their driveway. Their eyes light up and they smile broadly, running back around the corner of the house. While we're waiting, they periodically peek around the corner and then giggle and say something in another language and hide again. It was absolutely adorable but besides the point. Angie came out and the man walked us back to his gate. He asked us where we were from and we told him the US. Then he told us that he and his family were from Liberia but that they enjoy Ghana and hope we do too. He waved goodbye and shut the gate with a smile. Never in a million YEARS would I expect such kindness from an American or European. We live in far safer neighborhoods and we'd never let a stranger into our home. Here, I feel that people go out of their way to extend a friendly hand.
Another thing I discovered on my solo journey to Accra is that just because most men are interested in talking to the white girl does not mean that they are looking to badger you. One man walked introduced himself as a fellow foreigner. Now, I looked at him and his skin was extremely dark, similar to many Ghanaians and he had a thick African accent. Someone who grew up here would probably easily be able to tell the difference. I, however, had no clue. I soon discovered that he was a Nigerian footballer who had come here to play. We didn't get to whether he played for the national team or what sort of team but we talked for a bit as I walked to my next destination. Soon he told me that he had to turn down a street and he asks if there is a way to contact me. "Here it goes," I think to myself with a silent groan. I tell him that I'm a student at the University but I don't have a phone. Of course this is not entirely true but I've discovered that this is the best tactic. He tells me it's not a problem but hands me his card and says that it was nice to meet him and if I have questions about visiting Nigeria, to give him a call. 15 minutes later I experience a similar situation with a man who makes drums. I ask him which way to the nearest trotro station and he not only takes me to the trotro but helps me find the right one to get me back to Legon. Of course, he also told me that I should come by the National Cultural Center for drum lessons from him but he wasn't overly pushy and didn't ask me for a cent. As long as you get used to the fact that you are white and therefore, far more often than not, have triple the amount of money than the average Ghanaian, meaning that you are a symbol of prosperity, then you begin to realize that the people talking to you are not necessarily trying to rip you off, they just want to talk to you. Of course, there are a few bad eggs and people who think that you being white means you're easy to rip off. The best way to get people to treat you like a human being and not a walking dollar bill is to treat them like a human being and not a walking gimmick. The minute you start joking and getting to know the person, you learn a lot and could even make a friend.
That's all for now but there will be an update on this past Sunday's excursion tomorrow!!
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