I think all Americans have a powerful love-hate relationship with Ghana and last week was a perfect example of just that. The weekend was fabulous, if not a little haphazard. A fellow student on my program and I traveled together to the most Western part of Ghana. We stopped first in Takoradi, a bizarrely metropolitan city by Ghanaian standards. The next morning we continuedto a small but beautiful coastal village called Beyin. It was from there that our true journey began. We boarded a small wooden canoe and our guide Gyasi (pronounced Jesse) pushed off into a small canal. The water was shallow and as Gyasi deftly propelled us forward he informed us that this canal was man-made ("donated" by the French). Soon the canal widened and lilies and lily pads began popping u left and right. The canal became thin again as we slid through the first of two jungles. Gyasi told us that early in the morning Mona monkeys could often be seen. He also pointed out various plants and their uses to his village: bamboo for fish traps, palm fronds for roofing, and full trees that would be hollowed out to make canoes. Because it was so late in the day, we were the only ones in the water and in the breaks between Gyasi's words, the stillness and quiet was overwhelming. Mona and I were wide-eyed and soaking everything in when Gyasi asked us to close our eyes as he counted to 10. We could hear him huffing and moving his arms faster as he said 1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8...9...9 1/2...9 1/2 again...10!! We both opened our eyes and gasped. We had come out of the canal and stretched before us was seemingly endless, flat, still, dark water. I will post a picture but it cannot possibly portray the beauty of this place. At this point, Mona and I started to help Gyasi with the paddling and about 20 minutes later, we were pulling up beside a "dock." It wasn't really a dock because it was smack-dab in the water and surrounded by small houses on stilts. These stilted buildings and dock make up the village of Nzulezu. We tethered our canoe and Gyasi led us down the walk way in the middle of "town." This village was entirely built on stilts in the Amansuri wetlands. Amansuri means "community water" in Nzema, the local language. Nzema is an Akan language as is the language I've been learning Asante Twi. A woman in the village cooked us dinner over a fire built in a tin can then Mona and I lay out on the dock as the sun set and the stars came out. Quiet fell over the village at about 9 o'clock and Mona and I spent the night in a small hut much like those the rest of the village live in. The next morning Mona and I played with the kids of the village until we were ready to head back to dry land. During the ride back our guide told us the story of how his people came to settle in the middle of the wetlands.
Hundreds of years ago the people of Nzulezu were living in Mali. However, the people of Senegal began killing and fighting them, finally driving them out of their homes and down towards the coast. It is said that their god took the form of a snail and led them from safe haven to safe haven. Each time their god felt that the enemies were coming, he set the tribe into motion again. One day, the snail plunged into a river. The people didn't quite know what to do so they cut down several trees, bound them together and used it as a raft. They floated down the river, finally opening up into the Amansuri wetlands. Here the snail popped out of the water and told the tribe that they would be safe here forever because it is so difficult to get to. This is where Nzulezu stands today. It has, in fact, kept the people of this village at peace for hundreds of years due to it's remote location.
It was on our trek back from Nzulezu that things began to go south. We successfully reached a bus that would take us back to Accra for only 7 cedi (score!) but it was when the bus started rolling that I began to realize just how long and painful this 4 hour bus ride was going to be. The minute we started to move a man stood in the middle of the aisle, bible in hand, and began leading a quite loud song and prayer session. Granted it was a sunday but most of the people on the bus had already been to church that morning and there was absolutely no regard for those who might have been Muslim.
Now this is something that I have avoided touching upon due to the fact that Religion is such a touchy subject world-wide but I feel like the telling of my personal journey in Ghana would be absolutely incomplete without it. I fully respect religion and those who are strong in their faith but a note to those who are reading: please feel no offensive when I share my own views on the subject. My experience here would be entirely different if I felt differently about religion and I feel that, from a sociological point of view, the way I feel about faith has been quite important.
Most of you who read this know that I was raised partially in the Catholic Church and partially in the Episcopal Church. Luckily, with that in mind, I have been quite equipped to answer the "Which church do you attend" question. This question is crucial. Which church do you attend? It is not a question of which faith you follow; it is a question of which denomination. This has been incredibly hard for two of my friends who are Jewish (as Mona, the girl who suffered through a 2 hour bus prayer session with me is). When they tell people that they are actually Jewish, they meet a few different responses. Some express disbelief, some seem to think that they simply "haven't found Jesus yet," some are flabbergasted, and many respond "You are the first Jew I've ever met!!" They are, however, met with a certain amount of mutual respect. For those with no faith whatsoever, as some of my fellow students have, the responses are absolute disbelief and a certain amount of "you are simply misguided." Most of the Southern region of Ghana, where I am located most of the time, is Christian. The Northern region, spreading into Burkina Faso and further, is mostly Muslim. The interesting thing is that, of course, traditional African beliefs have bled into both of these religions.
Now I am an incredibly spiritual person (which may shock some of you) but the fact that I don't belong to the Jewish, Christian, or Muslim faiths is something that people here simply don't understand. The idea of having "personal" beliefs is absurd to most Africans. During my time in Ghana, I have met some of the most devout people I will probably ever meet, which for many of the American students, especially those who major in Anthropology, African Studies, or even Religion, is hard to swallow. When you are simultaneously studying how those religions were brought here it's rather frustrating to sit in a bus with a man singing to you that there is nothing to be afraid of because God has a plan for you and your suffering is a part of it. Ironically, a lot of Africans' suffering today is a lasting effect left by those who brought Islam and Christianity to Africa. This does not in anyway mean that I think Africans' have less of a right to be Christian or Muslim; in fact, I think that both religions have been elemental in the strength that many Africans have shown over the years. It is simply something to ponder.
Back to the bus ride....the man's "sermon" went on for approximately two hours with the whole bus shouting and singing prayers (not in a very melodious way though). Luckily Mona and I shared my ipod and we had The Rolling Stones, The Beatles, Led Zeppelin and The Who to get us through it.
Once back on campus I began to realize that I wasn't feeling all that great. Several fevers and many stomach aches later a doctor was telling me I had Malaria - yipee! However, a shot and several pills cured me and in a few days I was starting to feel better, if not a little tired from the whole ordeal.
Later in the week my hard-drive crashed and I lost the vast majority of my documents and itunes library. In the United States this would have been a hassle but not detrimental. A drive to the nearest Mac store and two hours later, I'm sure it all would have been saved. Here it was quite aggravating. Also, throughout the week, the power and the water continued to go on and off, leaving my fevered self boiling hot and un-showered (not a happy combination).
This week was the perfect example of how I vacillate between love for and annoyance with Ghana all the time. I can go from absolutely stunning settings with completely unique people one day to bed-ridden and down-trodden the next. I will say, however, that all the little pains are worth it because where else in the world would I be able to wake up, canoe from a stilted village through two jungles to meet a strip of land that was touched, on the other side, not 50 feet away, by a gorgeous white sand beach and the Atlantic ocean? If you can find another place, let me know, but I have to say that Ghana is a country full a treasures, even if you have to stumble across a bit of junk from time to time.

This is a man at a Kente Loom. It is incredibly intricate and detailed work.
Here are some examples of beautiful finished kente. All the different designs have specific meanings.

This is me, Max, and Alexis pounding bark so that we can boil it to make ink for the Adinkra cloth.
This is me after dipping my stamp in incredibly hot ink. Here I'm shaking some of the ink off so that my stamp doesn't blur. As you might be able to see, I chose the symbols for versatility and wisdom.