finally, you've reached part 3 ... below lies your conclusion to these tales of wacky, wild travels...
SUNDAY -- lots of driving & kintampo falls
We left Mole just as we'd arrived: in Mr. Fatal's tro-tro. Thankfully, we had no grand breakdowns or other hiccups on the trek back. We did take a small break to deposit a small gift in the small hands of our small friends at the mango tree as one final, emphatic thank-you, but then continued down the road and actually reached Damongo Junction and our beloved, actual bus less than two hours after leaving the park. Again, we were hassled by the villagers, but I think we were too relieved to have survived the morning and too busy sinking into plush seats to have it phase us. After Leslie finished yet another argument with Fatal regarding his moneygrubbing ways (he tried to sneak extra compensation from our group with a medley of tactics, from demanding that we cover his room and board to insisting that his fuel costs were higher than they actually were), we bid good riddance to our ironically named driver and got back on the road with wonderful Isaac. We were quickly comfortable and content again, and took up our usual bus activities with books, iPods and pillows.
Because we were running ahead of schedule, Leslie informed us that we had time to stop by a waterfall enroute and enjoy the scenery for a half-hour or so, if we wanted. Always eager to break up a long drive with a little trip somewhere other than a gas station or bathroom, we jumped at this offer. So, at some point (the exact timing is a little hazy here because of excessive napping) between Damongo and Kumasi, we pulled off the road and found ourselves at the entrance gate to Kintampo Falls. Leslie paid a small admissions fee, and we hopped off the bus. The base of the waterfall is only accessible by one of those very steep, million-step flights of stairs, so we gingerly forced our atrophying bus legs down the steps. The view from the bottom was well worth it. It's currently the wet season in West Africa, and our sub-Saharan locale gets a reputable amount of rainfall, so we saw the waterfall in peak form, with massive quantities of water dumping powerfully over dark, slick rocks. The pool below was calm and placid, and there were many flat rocks leading from the riverbank to the middle of the water that we hopped across and turned into our own makeshift lilypads -- sitting, photographing and simply being on them. I watched some local children, dressed in makeshift bathing suits, scramble up the rocks closest to the bottom of the falls, fighting gravity and spray, and once reaching a safe-haven inlet, scoot to their bottoms and slide down the smooth stone surface into the pool below, shrieking with excitement and pleasure. We only got to stay about half an hour, but it was time well spent. And, just as we'd all made it back up that treacherous staircase, monsoon rains started to fall from the skies. We hurried back to the bus, but were all sopping wet and muddy by the time we had reached our Chinese shelter. For a moment, it was refreshing to be cooled and slightly cleaned, but the bus felt more humid with 15 damp bodies sitting inside it, and we were ecstatic five minutes later when the rains subsided and we could open our windows for fresh air. We resumed our tiresome travels and returned to Kumasi and the Royal Basin just before nightfall.
We checked into new hotel rooms, and I very soon thereafter had the most wonderful shower of my life. It wasn't even entirely hot, because the hotel's water heater was still warming up, but I was SO DIRTY -- covered in two day's accumulation of red dust, sweat and whatever other dirt the African bush and entire northern half of Ghana had deposited on me -- and finally rinsing clean had never felt so invigorating. We squeezed our entire, hungry group into the hotel's small restaurant for a lively dinner (somehow, after all those hours of traveling and our earlier, elephant-induced anxiety attacks, we were in wonderful spirits), and I completely passed out for the night, book in hand, at the embarrassingly early hour of 9 p.m. But you can bet I was well-rested to enjoy our last day of vacation...
MONDAY -- the bead village
We'd done our tour of the Ashanti-region craft villages on Friday, but hadn't had enough time to sneak the bead village into that day's line-up. So, we "slept in" on Monday morning, awaking at the luxurious hour of 7 a.m. (although my early-to-bed self actually started stirring at 5:30), ate our last ketchup-and-omelet breakfast, and completed the familiar routine of boarding the bus and driving somewhere. This time, our destination took only an hour to reach, and we found ourselves in the bead-making village. This village has been making clay beads for about 200 years, and the beads manufactured in their factory are sold all over Ghana. Another thing this village makes is babies -- Leslie informed us that they have a "fertility problem," which carries the exact opposite meaning from how we use the term in the states. So as soon as we started stepping off the bus, we were almost tripping on the small bodies that had clamored to see our group. They were the sweetest children; as we walked, they would insert their tiny hands into our big ones, and walk along together, no one person really leading the other, towards our destination. First, it was the bead factory, where our new hoard of friends also got to learn about and watch the bead-making process; then, it was over to the small courtyard market where villagers were selling necklaces and bracelets (made, of course, with the village's own beads, which the ladies in our group all vigorously purchased); finally, it was back to the bus, where we took some last pictures with our new friends and sadly bid them farewell as we made our way southward, back to Accra.
By now you've probably figured out that nothing really exciting happens on these drives, so I'll not even try to wax nostalgic on that final part of our trip. However, I will mention that during a midafternoon rest stop, several of us purchased some suspect-looking food from some vendors there that may or may not have been a big-time mistake. In our defense, it was way past lunchtime, and our empty, travelling bellies were desperate ... and, you could get chicken and rice for 3.30 cedi, which is a fabulous deal, so we delved in. I first started to be skeptical of this "meal" when I saw the lady with whom I'd ordered take my chicken not from the chafing dish displayed in front of me, but from a tupperware sitting behind her. That was at room temperature, which in Ghana is a million degrees. I took just a few bites, to placate my stomach ... leading to some oh-so-fun indigestion about an hour later. As soon as we were back in Legon, I purchased a mango from Amina, the lady whose fruit stand sits a block from our house, and devoured it for dinner. Thankfully, I think some good fruit nutrients (and FIBER) flushed whatever would-be problem from my system, and I escaped without episode. I've been SO lucky thus far to have skirted any big digestive ailments, and knock on wood, I plan to keep it that way.
So, thus concludes the story of our Great Northern Adventure. Obviously, a week later, we're safe, sound and back to the grind in Accra. However, there's still lots of excitement (most of which takes nowhere near as long to document), so more great blog posts are coming your way very soon!
THE END
Monday, July 21, 2008
Friday, July 18, 2008
the great northern adventure, part 2
here now, part 2 of this series, where your heroine and adventuress will finally explicate on some of those damned spoilers...
SATURDAY - let's just drive all day
I actually pulled myself out of bed at 4:30 a.m. Saturday morning (impressed, Mom?) to savor one last hot shower in our Royal Basin bathroom before heading north. Small luxuries become big here ... you know? It wasn't even a great shower -- it had one of those removable, handheld nozzles and mediocre water pressure. But I'm small enough that I could stand underneath where it hung (with a little knee-bend) and just soak in the warm water for a while. This bathing experience that I would scoff at in the states felt like a week at the spa. (Since I've come back to Accra, and been shocked awake at 6:30 a.m. by our cold showers, you can bet I miss it.) After that and a little hurried, throw-it-in-the-backpack packing, we had an early buffet breakfast of omelettes and fruit. By some major, repeated lapse in judgment, I never bring any of my Tabasco bottles on our field trips, so I'm forced to compromise and use ketchup to season my morning meal. It's definitely not the same, but was still surprisingly good (and I know my ketchup-addicted roomie would be so proud).
Anyway, all 15 members of our group were loaded on the bus as scheduled at 6 a.m. (a minor miracle), and we started the epic drive. And then we drove and drove and drove and drove.
We had to leave so early to ensure that we'd reach Mole before dusk. Leslie was adamant that we only travel in the daytime, because that is the best way to ensure the group's safety. Nonetheless, still quite wary of roadside robberies and all that risky business, several of us shared the roll of duct tape I'd brought and taped our camera cases, with debit cards and some cash tucked inside, to the undersides of our seats. My camera is brand spankin' new, and there is no way I would part with it; however, I was fully willing to instead hand over my terrible, four-year-old, doesn't-hold-a-charge-for-more-than-two-hours iPod and be done with that mess. Well, as it turns out, all this planning was completely unnecessary and overdramatic, because we carried on free and easy the entire drive. No hold-ups whatsoever. Thank God. The most exciting part of the drive was, every hour or so, when we'd look out the window and see the remains of a horrific car crash still sitting and taking up space on the side of the road. Most involved tankers or semi-trucks, so it was quite a spectacle. But when I wasn't watching trees, huts and heaps of steel fly by on the highway, I curled up in the two seats I owned on our bus (close to the front, scored by virtue of a sometimes-sensitive tummy) and napped. We have been so lucky to take this incredible, comfortable, brand-new bus on our field trips. The seats are plush (though the synthetic-leather material they're made of sticks to your bare skin so that you have to peel yourself off when you want to disembark or readjust) and there are almost enough rows of seats for each person to have one to themselves. It has nice, big windows that provide a refreshing breeze to keep us all from overheating. Basically, we are so blessed to have this bus. And I think we completely took the bus (and our amazing driver, Isaac) for granted until we reached Damongo Junction and had to switch vehicles to travel the last little stretch to Mole.
excursion with mr. fatal & the mango tree
So we were not allowed to take our beloved luxe bus on the final stretch of road to Mole (about 20 miles or so), because the roads were purported to be so bad and dusty and full of holes that it would basically ruin this beautiful, brand-new specimen of a vehicle. Therefore, at noon, as we rolled into the junction, we prepared ourselves to bid farewell to Isaac and relocate ourselves on to a different, more off-road-capable bus. But we didn't actually make any movements quite yet, because we couldn't see another bus anywhere. Also, the village children were clamoring around us at almost-riotous levels, and nobody wanted to go outside and be mobbed. They shouted up at the windows, demanding that we send down pens or money. I have absolutely no problem being called "Obruni," because I know it's really just a completely standard term in the Ghanaian vernacular, but when children start calling me "White lady," (as in, "White lady, give me money!") it makes my skin crawl a little bit. I just feel like it has all sorts of connotations that I want nothing to do with. At one point, someone in the back of the bus actually did throw some food or pens into the swarm of children, and it almost incited an all-out brawl, as all the children rushed, dove, tackled and fought for possession of these items. Leslie then insisted that we don't give anything to any of the children, because there would never be enough to go around and it really does more harm than good. Anyway, in the midst of the madness, Leslie had contacted our new driver, Mr. Fatal (um, yes, it's just as sketchy as you would imagine ... but to be completely fair I'll add that it's pronounced like "fay-tahhhl"), and I don't know if his vehicle was sitting there the whole time or had arrived while we were preoccupied with the children, but by this point he was arrived and ready to load us on to his "bus," which was really a MINIVAN. Basically, we crammed 15 people (and all of their belongings) into a tro-tro, and took that the rest of the way to Mole. But oh! the excitement had just begun.
At this point, we were all pretty skeptical of this Fatal character, because he was dressed so strangely (he was wearing a fishing shirt and plain shorts, but with argyle dress socks and some odd shoes that I can't exactly remember, and to top it off he completed the ensemble with a NY Giants baseball cap and wraparound sunglasses, which he never took off) and you could never really tell where his eyes were looking. Also, we had been under the assumption that Fatal was the actual driver, but this other guy, who I don't think spoke English, had been assigned that role, and Fatal smushed himself in the back with us, just taking up more room in the already overcrowded tro-tro. So, things were not quite going as planned. But, we made the best of it, and got some good group bonding time in our close quarters. The roads, as we soon discovered, were actually in terrific condition. They weren't paved, but the red dirt had been packed down (in some places, you could see the same sort of ridges that occur on a manicured ski slope) and there were no potholes. Despite this, the driver stopped the vehicle in the middle of the road (with nothing but trees and dirt in sight for miles) after about 15-20 minutes to check underneath the van. He came up with oil on his fingers, which is never a good sign. He and Fatal put another bottle of oil in the engine, and we proceeded along, but did not get very far before we had to stop again. And this stop was much more prolonged. Fatal informed Leslie and our group that there was an oil leak, so not only did they have to fix the pipes on the van's underbelly, but they had to go up the road to the next town to get more oil. So we'd be marooned in the middle of nowhere for a while.
Luckily, we'd broken down not too far out of town, and as we all started to pile out of the van to wait things out (instantly feeling the unbearable heat), some children ran up to greet us from a nearby house. Unlike the children at Damongo Junction, this group of seven or so was softspoken and shy, so much so that making introductions was a little difficult. Nonetheless, the eldest of the group, a boy of 12, invited us to sit under the mango tree that was just beside the road. We walked that direction, and the kids ran ahead, bringing benches and chairs from their home to make us comfortable. Their hospitality was incredibly touching and absolutely unforgettable. Mango trees are especially noteworthy because their branches extend very wide, providing ample coverage and shade for those seeking refuge. They're one of the smartest trees to grow in Africa, because they provide both food and shade, and Ghana has employed PR tactics on several occasions to encourage rural populations to plant them. Our rescuers sat beneath the tree with us, still quiet as ever. We started making conversation with them, and they slowly opened up to us. We learned that they were all related, some siblings and some cousins. We asked names and ages, but sometimes had trouble understanding their responses, so we grabbed a stick and the children wrote their names in the dirt. Every so often, Fatal would come check in and assure us that we'd be getting back on the road in just 15 minutes, but the clock kept ticking. At one point, Nick, a member of our group who knows a thing or two about cars, popped under the van to take a look at the problem. He reported back that the burst pipe was in bad need of repair, and that there were already three clamps on various places where the pipe had broken before. Two, he said, were still loose and leaking, because nobody had ever looked at them the first time we had engine trouble! He tightened them, and seriously impressed Fatal with his mechanical know-how, although isn't that really supposed to be the guy we hired's job? Let's review a moment -- first, the bus we were supposed to take to Mole turned out to be a tro-tro, and then it wasn't really a tro-tro, but a ramshackle hunk of junk that leaks oil and had likely been driven all its 300,000 miles without a single tune-up. Anyway, back to the story -- it took about two and a half hours for our oil to arrive, but we hardly noticed the time, because we were so preoccupied with our adorable new friends, and we definitely didn't notice the heat, because we were sheltered by the mango tree. We were very sad to leave our little oasis (and little hosts!) when it was time to go, but also kind of psyched to finally get back on the road and maybe reach Mole before dark. So we said our thank-yous and goodbyes, and got back on the road.
The rest of our drive was fine, save for the enormous quantities of DUST that seeped into our van. I think we are all developing the red lung now, from excessive dust inhalation. Our four valiant backseaters got the rawest deal, because the van's back door wasn't completely shut (way to go again, Mr. Fatal), so not only were they the dustiest, but the backseat gets hot, stuffy and sweaty, so they were truly covered in it. However, the good news here is that being covered in red dust gives the same illusion as a phenomenal spray tan. And if you ask me, I'll tell you that we all just looked "sexy and rugged," instead of "covered in dirt and sweat."
So, the first thing we did when we arrived at Mole Motel was jump in the pool, thereby cooling and cleaning ourselves in one fell swoop. And then we paused to enjoy the beauty and amazement of the park.
mole national park (finally)
Mole is absolutely gorgeous, AND it's full of animals, which is just an overwhelmingly awesome combination. Once we passed through the park gates, on the short drive to the motel, we saw monkeys, antelope and warthogs, all just by looking out the tro-tro window. Actually, by the end of our short stay, seeing warthogs was old news, because they sort of just roamed through the motel grounds, grazing on the periphery. The motel has a lookout deck that sits above two watering holes, and the view is spectacular. The landscape looked exactly how I would picture an African savannah, but much greener. You couldn't quite see any animals from that deck, but you could make out the ripples on the top of the water that indicate an alligator is lurking below the surface. We might have also seen a few water buffalo, gazelles and antelope, but it's hard to say for sure. Needless to say, we spent a lot of time on that deck. Unfortunately, our stay in Mole was quite short ... we may have spent more time traveling to and from the park than actually in the park. Besides swimming, eating, deck-sitting and sleeping, we didn't do much else ... save for the SAFARI!
SUNDAY -- walking safari & ELEPHANTS
The whole point of coming to Mole was to see some animals, so we woke up early (again) on Sunday morning, ate a quick breakfast, and suited up for our 7 a.m. safari. Mole is some odd cross between a savannah and a forest (there's a technical name for it that I just can't remember), so our safari was not going to be in a jeep, like you'd always imagine a safari would be ... rather, we hiked. To curb the danger factor, an experienced guide with an enormous gun escorted the group. He also offered periodic nature or history updates, but I think he was really mostly there in a protective capacity. We asked our 23-year veteran guide if he had ever used the gun before, and his response was a very blasé, "Oh, of course." We started off on a nice, designated path, and saw some baboons and monkeys and more warthogs. They were all actually very docile, and lived near a small commune, so I think they weren't all that surprised to see humans. There were trash piles all around the commune, and it was so odd to see these wild animals living amidst the garbage. After a short while, we got to the juicy part of our hike and started trekking through the bush. The African bush wasn't too dense or hard to navigate through, as we were mostly walking on long grass, but there were lots of little trees everywhere that affected visibility. We trooped along in a single-file line, our armed guide bringing up the front. Those of us in the middle were essentially following blind. About five minutes in, the guide suddenly signalled for us to turn around, so we hurriedly started marching the opposite direction. We were rerouted to a little viewing spot nearby, and discovered the reason for that movement: a HUGE elephant was standing maybe 50 meters away.
I was awe-struck to be standing so close to such an enormous and powerful creature. However, the elephant seemed much more apathetic to our arrival, and it continued to stand around and eat leaves. We murmured and whispered in excitement to one another and shot pictures like a team of paparazzi. The elephant continued to eat leaves ... and despite the simplicity of the event, it was mind-blowingly amazing to witness. At one point, the big gray animal rotated to get at some better leaves or something, and we had a lovely view of its massive, wrinkled rear end. Again, we snapped photos like crazy. We were pretty much in an elephant-induced euphoric state, until our guard very seriously hissed for our attention and started leading us, at a fast clip, in a different direction through the bush. There was another elephant sauntering towards us! Once we had traveled about 25 meters, we were able to pause and absorb the spectacle. It too started eating, but had posed more appropriately with its best face forward. We never got to stay in one place for long, because like a magnet in jelly, these elephants REALLY liked to slowly make their way in our direction. Every few minutes, the guide would hiss and, with quick hand gestures, motion for us to follow away again. The guide informed our group that elephants are way high up on the list of most dangerous animals, and can run up to 70 miles an hour (only the cheetah is faster). So if one decides to come after you, there's really no getting out of it ... you WILL be trampled to death. So, the safari wasn't just a fun stroll through the bush anymore, but an anxiety-inducing obstacle course that involved dodging elephants and death simultaneously. At one point, we were so busy hurrying away that I didn't look where I was walking (also, it's the bush) and somehow got stung by a poisonous plant. It was REALLY painful ... but on the bright side, at least it wasn't a Black Mamba, which also reside in the African bush, and are far worse to encounter. Luckily, I recovered quickly enough to witness our two elephant friends start fighting one another, tusk-to-tusk. They were two males, probably trying to lay claim to a female we never saw. One already had broken tusks, which means he was probably a loser at least once before. It was an amazing spectacle to see ... one of those things that's so Animal Planet and that you never think you'll ever witness in person. Also, the good news here was that the elephants were far too preoccupied with one another to come trample us, so we were in the clear for a moment. We watched the two for a few more moments, and made our exit. We walked to a less-dense area of the bush and finally had an opportunity to see gazelles and more warthogs and baboons. The gazelles are really flighty, so they never stayed around very long, but were still very exciting and also, you know, not all that dangerous, which was a nice change of pace. We concluded our safari after about two hours, and trudged back to our tro-tro exhausted, but also exhilarated, by the morning's incredible events. Already quite sweaty and dusty, we piled back into Mr. Fatal's van and promptly started our drive back to Kumasi.
Given the ridiculously long nature of this installment, the rest of Sunday and Monday are upcoming in the 3rd and final post ... stay tuned!
SATURDAY - let's just drive all day
I actually pulled myself out of bed at 4:30 a.m. Saturday morning (impressed, Mom?) to savor one last hot shower in our Royal Basin bathroom before heading north. Small luxuries become big here ... you know? It wasn't even a great shower -- it had one of those removable, handheld nozzles and mediocre water pressure. But I'm small enough that I could stand underneath where it hung (with a little knee-bend) and just soak in the warm water for a while. This bathing experience that I would scoff at in the states felt like a week at the spa. (Since I've come back to Accra, and been shocked awake at 6:30 a.m. by our cold showers, you can bet I miss it.) After that and a little hurried, throw-it-in-the-backpack packing, we had an early buffet breakfast of omelettes and fruit. By some major, repeated lapse in judgment, I never bring any of my Tabasco bottles on our field trips, so I'm forced to compromise and use ketchup to season my morning meal. It's definitely not the same, but was still surprisingly good (and I know my ketchup-addicted roomie would be so proud).
Anyway, all 15 members of our group were loaded on the bus as scheduled at 6 a.m. (a minor miracle), and we started the epic drive. And then we drove and drove and drove and drove.
We had to leave so early to ensure that we'd reach Mole before dusk. Leslie was adamant that we only travel in the daytime, because that is the best way to ensure the group's safety. Nonetheless, still quite wary of roadside robberies and all that risky business, several of us shared the roll of duct tape I'd brought and taped our camera cases, with debit cards and some cash tucked inside, to the undersides of our seats. My camera is brand spankin' new, and there is no way I would part with it; however, I was fully willing to instead hand over my terrible, four-year-old, doesn't-hold-a-charge-for-more-than-two-hours iPod and be done with that mess. Well, as it turns out, all this planning was completely unnecessary and overdramatic, because we carried on free and easy the entire drive. No hold-ups whatsoever. Thank God. The most exciting part of the drive was, every hour or so, when we'd look out the window and see the remains of a horrific car crash still sitting and taking up space on the side of the road. Most involved tankers or semi-trucks, so it was quite a spectacle. But when I wasn't watching trees, huts and heaps of steel fly by on the highway, I curled up in the two seats I owned on our bus (close to the front, scored by virtue of a sometimes-sensitive tummy) and napped. We have been so lucky to take this incredible, comfortable, brand-new bus on our field trips. The seats are plush (though the synthetic-leather material they're made of sticks to your bare skin so that you have to peel yourself off when you want to disembark or readjust) and there are almost enough rows of seats for each person to have one to themselves. It has nice, big windows that provide a refreshing breeze to keep us all from overheating. Basically, we are so blessed to have this bus. And I think we completely took the bus (and our amazing driver, Isaac) for granted until we reached Damongo Junction and had to switch vehicles to travel the last little stretch to Mole.
excursion with mr. fatal & the mango tree
So we were not allowed to take our beloved luxe bus on the final stretch of road to Mole (about 20 miles or so), because the roads were purported to be so bad and dusty and full of holes that it would basically ruin this beautiful, brand-new specimen of a vehicle. Therefore, at noon, as we rolled into the junction, we prepared ourselves to bid farewell to Isaac and relocate ourselves on to a different, more off-road-capable bus. But we didn't actually make any movements quite yet, because we couldn't see another bus anywhere. Also, the village children were clamoring around us at almost-riotous levels, and nobody wanted to go outside and be mobbed. They shouted up at the windows, demanding that we send down pens or money. I have absolutely no problem being called "Obruni," because I know it's really just a completely standard term in the Ghanaian vernacular, but when children start calling me "White lady," (as in, "White lady, give me money!") it makes my skin crawl a little bit. I just feel like it has all sorts of connotations that I want nothing to do with. At one point, someone in the back of the bus actually did throw some food or pens into the swarm of children, and it almost incited an all-out brawl, as all the children rushed, dove, tackled and fought for possession of these items. Leslie then insisted that we don't give anything to any of the children, because there would never be enough to go around and it really does more harm than good. Anyway, in the midst of the madness, Leslie had contacted our new driver, Mr. Fatal (um, yes, it's just as sketchy as you would imagine ... but to be completely fair I'll add that it's pronounced like "fay-tahhhl"), and I don't know if his vehicle was sitting there the whole time or had arrived while we were preoccupied with the children, but by this point he was arrived and ready to load us on to his "bus," which was really a MINIVAN. Basically, we crammed 15 people (and all of their belongings) into a tro-tro, and took that the rest of the way to Mole. But oh! the excitement had just begun.
At this point, we were all pretty skeptical of this Fatal character, because he was dressed so strangely (he was wearing a fishing shirt and plain shorts, but with argyle dress socks and some odd shoes that I can't exactly remember, and to top it off he completed the ensemble with a NY Giants baseball cap and wraparound sunglasses, which he never took off) and you could never really tell where his eyes were looking. Also, we had been under the assumption that Fatal was the actual driver, but this other guy, who I don't think spoke English, had been assigned that role, and Fatal smushed himself in the back with us, just taking up more room in the already overcrowded tro-tro. So, things were not quite going as planned. But, we made the best of it, and got some good group bonding time in our close quarters. The roads, as we soon discovered, were actually in terrific condition. They weren't paved, but the red dirt had been packed down (in some places, you could see the same sort of ridges that occur on a manicured ski slope) and there were no potholes. Despite this, the driver stopped the vehicle in the middle of the road (with nothing but trees and dirt in sight for miles) after about 15-20 minutes to check underneath the van. He came up with oil on his fingers, which is never a good sign. He and Fatal put another bottle of oil in the engine, and we proceeded along, but did not get very far before we had to stop again. And this stop was much more prolonged. Fatal informed Leslie and our group that there was an oil leak, so not only did they have to fix the pipes on the van's underbelly, but they had to go up the road to the next town to get more oil. So we'd be marooned in the middle of nowhere for a while.
Luckily, we'd broken down not too far out of town, and as we all started to pile out of the van to wait things out (instantly feeling the unbearable heat), some children ran up to greet us from a nearby house. Unlike the children at Damongo Junction, this group of seven or so was softspoken and shy, so much so that making introductions was a little difficult. Nonetheless, the eldest of the group, a boy of 12, invited us to sit under the mango tree that was just beside the road. We walked that direction, and the kids ran ahead, bringing benches and chairs from their home to make us comfortable. Their hospitality was incredibly touching and absolutely unforgettable. Mango trees are especially noteworthy because their branches extend very wide, providing ample coverage and shade for those seeking refuge. They're one of the smartest trees to grow in Africa, because they provide both food and shade, and Ghana has employed PR tactics on several occasions to encourage rural populations to plant them. Our rescuers sat beneath the tree with us, still quiet as ever. We started making conversation with them, and they slowly opened up to us. We learned that they were all related, some siblings and some cousins. We asked names and ages, but sometimes had trouble understanding their responses, so we grabbed a stick and the children wrote their names in the dirt. Every so often, Fatal would come check in and assure us that we'd be getting back on the road in just 15 minutes, but the clock kept ticking. At one point, Nick, a member of our group who knows a thing or two about cars, popped under the van to take a look at the problem. He reported back that the burst pipe was in bad need of repair, and that there were already three clamps on various places where the pipe had broken before. Two, he said, were still loose and leaking, because nobody had ever looked at them the first time we had engine trouble! He tightened them, and seriously impressed Fatal with his mechanical know-how, although isn't that really supposed to be the guy we hired's job? Let's review a moment -- first, the bus we were supposed to take to Mole turned out to be a tro-tro, and then it wasn't really a tro-tro, but a ramshackle hunk of junk that leaks oil and had likely been driven all its 300,000 miles without a single tune-up. Anyway, back to the story -- it took about two and a half hours for our oil to arrive, but we hardly noticed the time, because we were so preoccupied with our adorable new friends, and we definitely didn't notice the heat, because we were sheltered by the mango tree. We were very sad to leave our little oasis (and little hosts!) when it was time to go, but also kind of psyched to finally get back on the road and maybe reach Mole before dark. So we said our thank-yous and goodbyes, and got back on the road.
The rest of our drive was fine, save for the enormous quantities of DUST that seeped into our van. I think we are all developing the red lung now, from excessive dust inhalation. Our four valiant backseaters got the rawest deal, because the van's back door wasn't completely shut (way to go again, Mr. Fatal), so not only were they the dustiest, but the backseat gets hot, stuffy and sweaty, so they were truly covered in it. However, the good news here is that being covered in red dust gives the same illusion as a phenomenal spray tan. And if you ask me, I'll tell you that we all just looked "sexy and rugged," instead of "covered in dirt and sweat."
So, the first thing we did when we arrived at Mole Motel was jump in the pool, thereby cooling and cleaning ourselves in one fell swoop. And then we paused to enjoy the beauty and amazement of the park.
mole national park (finally)
Mole is absolutely gorgeous, AND it's full of animals, which is just an overwhelmingly awesome combination. Once we passed through the park gates, on the short drive to the motel, we saw monkeys, antelope and warthogs, all just by looking out the tro-tro window. Actually, by the end of our short stay, seeing warthogs was old news, because they sort of just roamed through the motel grounds, grazing on the periphery. The motel has a lookout deck that sits above two watering holes, and the view is spectacular. The landscape looked exactly how I would picture an African savannah, but much greener. You couldn't quite see any animals from that deck, but you could make out the ripples on the top of the water that indicate an alligator is lurking below the surface. We might have also seen a few water buffalo, gazelles and antelope, but it's hard to say for sure. Needless to say, we spent a lot of time on that deck. Unfortunately, our stay in Mole was quite short ... we may have spent more time traveling to and from the park than actually in the park. Besides swimming, eating, deck-sitting and sleeping, we didn't do much else ... save for the SAFARI!
SUNDAY -- walking safari & ELEPHANTS
The whole point of coming to Mole was to see some animals, so we woke up early (again) on Sunday morning, ate a quick breakfast, and suited up for our 7 a.m. safari. Mole is some odd cross between a savannah and a forest (there's a technical name for it that I just can't remember), so our safari was not going to be in a jeep, like you'd always imagine a safari would be ... rather, we hiked. To curb the danger factor, an experienced guide with an enormous gun escorted the group. He also offered periodic nature or history updates, but I think he was really mostly there in a protective capacity. We asked our 23-year veteran guide if he had ever used the gun before, and his response was a very blasé, "Oh, of course." We started off on a nice, designated path, and saw some baboons and monkeys and more warthogs. They were all actually very docile, and lived near a small commune, so I think they weren't all that surprised to see humans. There were trash piles all around the commune, and it was so odd to see these wild animals living amidst the garbage. After a short while, we got to the juicy part of our hike and started trekking through the bush. The African bush wasn't too dense or hard to navigate through, as we were mostly walking on long grass, but there were lots of little trees everywhere that affected visibility. We trooped along in a single-file line, our armed guide bringing up the front. Those of us in the middle were essentially following blind. About five minutes in, the guide suddenly signalled for us to turn around, so we hurriedly started marching the opposite direction. We were rerouted to a little viewing spot nearby, and discovered the reason for that movement: a HUGE elephant was standing maybe 50 meters away.
I was awe-struck to be standing so close to such an enormous and powerful creature. However, the elephant seemed much more apathetic to our arrival, and it continued to stand around and eat leaves. We murmured and whispered in excitement to one another and shot pictures like a team of paparazzi. The elephant continued to eat leaves ... and despite the simplicity of the event, it was mind-blowingly amazing to witness. At one point, the big gray animal rotated to get at some better leaves or something, and we had a lovely view of its massive, wrinkled rear end. Again, we snapped photos like crazy. We were pretty much in an elephant-induced euphoric state, until our guard very seriously hissed for our attention and started leading us, at a fast clip, in a different direction through the bush. There was another elephant sauntering towards us! Once we had traveled about 25 meters, we were able to pause and absorb the spectacle. It too started eating, but had posed more appropriately with its best face forward. We never got to stay in one place for long, because like a magnet in jelly, these elephants REALLY liked to slowly make their way in our direction. Every few minutes, the guide would hiss and, with quick hand gestures, motion for us to follow away again. The guide informed our group that elephants are way high up on the list of most dangerous animals, and can run up to 70 miles an hour (only the cheetah is faster). So if one decides to come after you, there's really no getting out of it ... you WILL be trampled to death. So, the safari wasn't just a fun stroll through the bush anymore, but an anxiety-inducing obstacle course that involved dodging elephants and death simultaneously. At one point, we were so busy hurrying away that I didn't look where I was walking (also, it's the bush) and somehow got stung by a poisonous plant. It was REALLY painful ... but on the bright side, at least it wasn't a Black Mamba, which also reside in the African bush, and are far worse to encounter. Luckily, I recovered quickly enough to witness our two elephant friends start fighting one another, tusk-to-tusk. They were two males, probably trying to lay claim to a female we never saw. One already had broken tusks, which means he was probably a loser at least once before. It was an amazing spectacle to see ... one of those things that's so Animal Planet and that you never think you'll ever witness in person. Also, the good news here was that the elephants were far too preoccupied with one another to come trample us, so we were in the clear for a moment. We watched the two for a few more moments, and made our exit. We walked to a less-dense area of the bush and finally had an opportunity to see gazelles and more warthogs and baboons. The gazelles are really flighty, so they never stayed around very long, but were still very exciting and also, you know, not all that dangerous, which was a nice change of pace. We concluded our safari after about two hours, and trudged back to our tro-tro exhausted, but also exhilarated, by the morning's incredible events. Already quite sweaty and dusty, we piled back into Mr. Fatal's van and promptly started our drive back to Kumasi.
Given the ridiculously long nature of this installment, the rest of Sunday and Monday are upcoming in the 3rd and final post ... stay tuned!
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
the great northern adventure, part 1
as i've mentioned before, the great northern adventure was just too great to condense into one blog entry. so, over the next few days, tales of our exploits will be coming your way in multiple parts. here's your opener, to get things started...
THURSDAY - welcome to kumasi
We started off our northward trek with some time in the central region. Kumasi is the second-largest city in Accra, the seat of the Ashanti kingdom, and where we started our travels. On Thursday, we left the Legon house just after 7 a.m. and set out on the drive to Kumasi, taking only about four-and-a-half hours to complete the trip. We stopped at the hotel for a brief check-in before getting back on the bus to visit the Ashanti palace and a craft market. The palace we visited, which is now a museum, sits right next to the current palace of the Ashanti king. Ghana is definitely a democracy (and with elections in December, that great democratic tradition, campaign season, is in full swing), but the Ashantis still have a king who, despite his largely symbolic role, actually does preside over some important decisions and rules on tribal issues. Anyway, we toured the museum and saw some artifacts and some creepy life-size wood statues of the former kings and queen mothers. Afterwards, we went to a craft center which had the standard fare -- wood carvings, paintings, fertility dolls (which I am staying FAR away from, thank you very much), strips of kente cloth. To be honest, we were much more excited to return to the hotel for a swim and buffet dinner (we were starving children this whole trip, considering that we ate a real lunch maybe once the whole long weekend). The pool at the Royal Basin was nowhere near as nice as at Coconut Grove, but it did the trick nonetheless.
Kumasi, as a city, was pleasant and beautiful. Much more charming than Accra. It was hilly and the buildings were brightly colored and stacked very close to each other, so it reminded me a little bit of San Francisco. Except it was in Africa, so it was nothing like San Francisco.
FRIDAY - craft villages & the open-air market
The following day we toured some of the local craft villages. We saw the home of kente cloth, where the weaving technique was invented; visited an adinkra-stamping village, where we got to stamp African symbols on to strips of fabric and learn about the whole involved process; and finally, a woodcarving village, where we haggled and argued with shopowners over the prices of beautiful stools, drums and carved figurines. Each was beautiful in its own right, but my favorite was the adinkra village. Adinkra symbols all have complex meanings behind them, which makes the process of selecting and stamping a highly personal one. There are some that revolve around family, some around independence and personal success, some (because this is an ancient tradition) that pledge undying loyalty to the king and some that uphold faith and God. The dye, which is completely colorfast on fabric, is made from the bark of a tree, and is an incredibly interesting and involved process. We also learned that after the color has been sapped from the bark, they reuse the organic material to grow mushrooms, which they then eat. We Oregonians love the sustainability aspect, natch. We each did one or two stamps on a communal red strip of cloth, which we will later cut up so that each person can take home his or her own symbols. Some of us also purchased strips of cloth for our own stamping designs (you could also stamp on kente, which makes for quite the cool, cultural combination) and designed our own adinkra mini-tapestries. I wish that we could have spent more time at this village (which, actually does have a name, but it was complicated and I can't remember it), because if time had permitted, I would have stamped much more fabric and made many more great things to bring home. They also had intricately designed pieces, made by members of the village, for sale, but I didn't get a chance to look at them. They do sell adinkra in Accra, but, you know, at city prices.
We actually did eat lunch on Friday, and then took our full bellies to the Kumasi open-air market, which is the largest open-air market in all of West Africa. It was INSANE, and completely overwhelming. Leslie took us ladies towards the fabric section of the market, which took a five-minute, absolutely untraceable walk through vendors selling everything from radios to chickens. The fabric selection was expansive, and we found that if you ventured off the first aisle (where prices were steep and the ladies refused to cut the six-yard pieces into more manageable sizes), you could find equally beautiful prints and much better bargains. It was also less crowded, and we weren't constantly being jostled by passers-by as we all tried to share a foot-wide walkway. "Shops" were small inlets, open-kiosk style, down each aisle, and the women (this is a mostly female-dominated arena) who owned each shop would sit inside, sometimes on top of fabric piles, and call out to invite you into their shop. One lady from whom I bought multiple yards of multiple prints -- her name was Vic -- was so sweet and helpful that, once I was finished purchasing, I asked her if I could take her photo. She was tickled pink by the suggestion, and was absolutely giddy with excitement once I showed her the picture. I think it's a rare treat for the people here to see photos of themselves -- when we take pictures of children, they all clamor to see the image and squeal as they point to themselves on the screen -- and having a digital camera here is made even more fun when we get to share these moments with our new Ghanaian friends. Anyway, we continued on down the rows and rows of fabric, all of which was incredible. Since I arrived, I've had wanted to buy up all sorts of beautiful African prints and create a quilt out them when I returned. (I realize this news may surprise many of you, considering that I have NEVER quilted before ... and can barely sew). Despite the odds, I am very determined to make this goal a reality. So, I have been on the hunt for some good fabric, and probably bought five quilt's worth at the market. I may have gone a little spend-crazy, but everything is beautiful and will be put to good use. Towards the end of our shopping excursion, I actually cut myself off from all spending, and asked Jessica and Logan to help me uphold that vow, but as we walked out of the market, we passed a table that was selling even more fantastic prints for just 1.50 cedis a yard, and considering how cheap it was, I let myself buy a few more yards. I had to cradle my bag full of fabric like a baby back to where we were meeting the bus, because it was too heavy for its handles. It was really hot out, so Jessica and I indulged in FanChocos (somehow managing to balance my fabric baby at the same time) and chatted with some very sweet ladies who were cooking and selling ground-nut soup (aka peanut soup) on the market perimeter. The Kumasi crowd was very welcoming and it wasa treat to see how the Ghanaians shop. On the bus back, the boys talked about their afternoon exploring the meat section of the market. I'm normally a huge proponent of meat (Go MEAT, as we say), but apparently this was too much of a spectacle for even me. I don't know if I could have handled the pure stench of meat slabs hanging in front of every kiosk, not-so-seductively advertising themselves as "for sale," or the gutters running red with blood.
We didn't do much for the rest of the day ... went out to dinner at this weird little Chinese restaurant (it was no Jing-Jing, and that's all I have to say about that) and after-dinner, had some sangria that is 3 cedi and comes in a box. It's deeeelicious. We didn't get too crazy because we had to be up ridiculously early the next morning to trek farther northward, towards the much-anticipated animals...
The dish on Mole coming up in Part 2!
THURSDAY - welcome to kumasi
We started off our northward trek with some time in the central region. Kumasi is the second-largest city in Accra, the seat of the Ashanti kingdom, and where we started our travels. On Thursday, we left the Legon house just after 7 a.m. and set out on the drive to Kumasi, taking only about four-and-a-half hours to complete the trip. We stopped at the hotel for a brief check-in before getting back on the bus to visit the Ashanti palace and a craft market. The palace we visited, which is now a museum, sits right next to the current palace of the Ashanti king. Ghana is definitely a democracy (and with elections in December, that great democratic tradition, campaign season, is in full swing), but the Ashantis still have a king who, despite his largely symbolic role, actually does preside over some important decisions and rules on tribal issues. Anyway, we toured the museum and saw some artifacts and some creepy life-size wood statues of the former kings and queen mothers. Afterwards, we went to a craft center which had the standard fare -- wood carvings, paintings, fertility dolls (which I am staying FAR away from, thank you very much), strips of kente cloth. To be honest, we were much more excited to return to the hotel for a swim and buffet dinner (we were starving children this whole trip, considering that we ate a real lunch maybe once the whole long weekend). The pool at the Royal Basin was nowhere near as nice as at Coconut Grove, but it did the trick nonetheless.
Kumasi, as a city, was pleasant and beautiful. Much more charming than Accra. It was hilly and the buildings were brightly colored and stacked very close to each other, so it reminded me a little bit of San Francisco. Except it was in Africa, so it was nothing like San Francisco.
FRIDAY - craft villages & the open-air market
The following day we toured some of the local craft villages. We saw the home of kente cloth, where the weaving technique was invented; visited an adinkra-stamping village, where we got to stamp African symbols on to strips of fabric and learn about the whole involved process; and finally, a woodcarving village, where we haggled and argued with shopowners over the prices of beautiful stools, drums and carved figurines. Each was beautiful in its own right, but my favorite was the adinkra village. Adinkra symbols all have complex meanings behind them, which makes the process of selecting and stamping a highly personal one. There are some that revolve around family, some around independence and personal success, some (because this is an ancient tradition) that pledge undying loyalty to the king and some that uphold faith and God. The dye, which is completely colorfast on fabric, is made from the bark of a tree, and is an incredibly interesting and involved process. We also learned that after the color has been sapped from the bark, they reuse the organic material to grow mushrooms, which they then eat. We Oregonians love the sustainability aspect, natch. We each did one or two stamps on a communal red strip of cloth, which we will later cut up so that each person can take home his or her own symbols. Some of us also purchased strips of cloth for our own stamping designs (you could also stamp on kente, which makes for quite the cool, cultural combination) and designed our own adinkra mini-tapestries. I wish that we could have spent more time at this village (which, actually does have a name, but it was complicated and I can't remember it), because if time had permitted, I would have stamped much more fabric and made many more great things to bring home. They also had intricately designed pieces, made by members of the village, for sale, but I didn't get a chance to look at them. They do sell adinkra in Accra, but, you know, at city prices.
We actually did eat lunch on Friday, and then took our full bellies to the Kumasi open-air market, which is the largest open-air market in all of West Africa. It was INSANE, and completely overwhelming. Leslie took us ladies towards the fabric section of the market, which took a five-minute, absolutely untraceable walk through vendors selling everything from radios to chickens. The fabric selection was expansive, and we found that if you ventured off the first aisle (where prices were steep and the ladies refused to cut the six-yard pieces into more manageable sizes), you could find equally beautiful prints and much better bargains. It was also less crowded, and we weren't constantly being jostled by passers-by as we all tried to share a foot-wide walkway. "Shops" were small inlets, open-kiosk style, down each aisle, and the women (this is a mostly female-dominated arena) who owned each shop would sit inside, sometimes on top of fabric piles, and call out to invite you into their shop. One lady from whom I bought multiple yards of multiple prints -- her name was Vic -- was so sweet and helpful that, once I was finished purchasing, I asked her if I could take her photo. She was tickled pink by the suggestion, and was absolutely giddy with excitement once I showed her the picture. I think it's a rare treat for the people here to see photos of themselves -- when we take pictures of children, they all clamor to see the image and squeal as they point to themselves on the screen -- and having a digital camera here is made even more fun when we get to share these moments with our new Ghanaian friends. Anyway, we continued on down the rows and rows of fabric, all of which was incredible. Since I arrived, I've had wanted to buy up all sorts of beautiful African prints and create a quilt out them when I returned. (I realize this news may surprise many of you, considering that I have NEVER quilted before ... and can barely sew). Despite the odds, I am very determined to make this goal a reality. So, I have been on the hunt for some good fabric, and probably bought five quilt's worth at the market. I may have gone a little spend-crazy, but everything is beautiful and will be put to good use. Towards the end of our shopping excursion, I actually cut myself off from all spending, and asked Jessica and Logan to help me uphold that vow, but as we walked out of the market, we passed a table that was selling even more fantastic prints for just 1.50 cedis a yard, and considering how cheap it was, I let myself buy a few more yards. I had to cradle my bag full of fabric like a baby back to where we were meeting the bus, because it was too heavy for its handles. It was really hot out, so Jessica and I indulged in FanChocos (somehow managing to balance my fabric baby at the same time) and chatted with some very sweet ladies who were cooking and selling ground-nut soup (aka peanut soup) on the market perimeter. The Kumasi crowd was very welcoming and it wasa treat to see how the Ghanaians shop. On the bus back, the boys talked about their afternoon exploring the meat section of the market. I'm normally a huge proponent of meat (Go MEAT, as we say), but apparently this was too much of a spectacle for even me. I don't know if I could have handled the pure stench of meat slabs hanging in front of every kiosk, not-so-seductively advertising themselves as "for sale," or the gutters running red with blood.
We didn't do much for the rest of the day ... went out to dinner at this weird little Chinese restaurant (it was no Jing-Jing, and that's all I have to say about that) and after-dinner, had some sangria that is 3 cedi and comes in a box. It's deeeelicious. We didn't get too crazy because we had to be up ridiculously early the next morning to trek farther northward, towards the much-anticipated animals...
The dish on Mole coming up in Part 2!
Monday, July 14, 2008
back in accra
We are back from the Great Northern Adventure! It was AMAZING ... and will take far too long to elaborate on before my time at the internet cafe runs out ... but I promise a small novel's worth of posting in the coming days to fill you in on all the exciting details.
Some spoilers to hold you over until then:
- We did not get robbed on the highway.
- We saw ELEPHANTS!
- Elephants are actually really dangerous animals.
- Never take a bus trip with a driver named Mr. Fatal.
- Plant mango trees, they provide shade.
Okay, well now that you're all sitting on the edge of your seats in suspense (maybe?), I am going to go! I realize that this was a completely useless and borderline cruel update, so apologies, but I promise that the stories to come will be worth the wait. See you back here very soon!
Some spoilers to hold you over until then:
- We did not get robbed on the highway.
- We saw ELEPHANTS!
- Elephants are actually really dangerous animals.
- Never take a bus trip with a driver named Mr. Fatal.
- Plant mango trees, they provide shade.
Okay, well now that you're all sitting on the edge of your seats in suspense (maybe?), I am going to go! I realize that this was a completely useless and borderline cruel update, so apologies, but I promise that the stories to come will be worth the wait. See you back here very soon!
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
tema harbor
Work was so interesting yesterday! Some of you know I've been lamenting this cushy PR gig and envying my reporter friends for the exciting in-the-field reporting (and, by default, sightseeing) that they get to do daily. Well, I finally left Airport West on Tuesday and headed to Tema to do some field research with one of my coworkers. Tema is not far from Accra, maybe a 20-minute drive; on maps and in guidebooks, it resides in the Greater Accra region. The first marker I saw on the highway said "Tema: 24" (and that's kilometers), in case that gives you a better idea of the geography. In total, we were only out of the office for about two hours.
The lettering on the traffic circle as we entered city limits said "Ghana's Industrial City," which looked to be a fairly accurate description as steel cranes and smokestacks were visible on the horizon. Tema is also well-known for its port, where a large percentage of Ghanaian imports and exports pass through, and that's what motivated our (Naomi's and my) trip to Tema. GSMF runs an HIV/AIDS prevention campaign aimed specifically at harbor workers called "Portshield," which is largely run by peer educators, and we visited Tema Harbor yesterday for a little monitoring visit.
The lettering on the traffic circle as we entered city limits said "Ghana's Industrial City," which looked to be a fairly accurate description as steel cranes and smokestacks were visible on the horizon. Tema is also well-known for its port, where a large percentage of Ghanaian imports and exports pass through, and that's what motivated our (Naomi's and my) trip to Tema. GSMF runs an HIV/AIDS prevention campaign aimed specifically at harbor workers called "Portshield," which is largely run by peer educators, and we visited Tema Harbor yesterday for a little monitoring visit.
While we paid a short visit to the offices of the Ghana Dock Labor Company (I think that's what they're called), most of our time was spent talking to the workers. We never actually went down to the harbor itself, but instead stayed up the hill at the waiting area where workers congregate to receive their assignments (or, as I learned it's called here, "allocations") for the day. This area looked almost like a train station -- it had no walls, but a pitched roof, and many, many rows of benches, the majority of which were dilapidated and falling apart. Naomi introduced me to one of the more experienced Portshield peer educators, Kafui. A few other men wearing blue polo shirts with "Portshield" emblazoned on the left chest (but, in the logo, the "o" actually looks like a ship's wheel) gathered around, and Naomi sent me to interview them. This was the first really independent and important thing I've done for GSMF, so I was VERY excited, and of course, a little nervous, because I only had about two minutes to come up with some deep and thoughtful questions.
So Kafui, Gideon, Simon and I found a few benches to sit on and I just started asking them about how they do their peer education work. These guys were SO enthusiastic about the program and it was really great to see. Honestly, these were some of the kindest men (with kind faces, to boot) that I've met in Ghana thus far. And they were harbor workers, a group not well-known for being courteous and polite (I will admit that some of the other men around the waiting area were somewhat uncouth, definitely not quite as polished and sometimes a little grabby). These three explained how they bring the message of HIV/AIDS prevention to their colleagues whenever given the opportunity -- while waiting for allocations, if they have leisure time on the ships, in the evenings when back in their communities -- and said that they've received a warm reception from the other harbor workers. They mostly just talk to them in interpersonal, one-on-one settings, though sometimes they find a microphone and talk to larger groups. There's about 40 peer educators in Tema, a harbor with 5,000 workers, but this sub-1% figure is actually a pretty good statistic for the program, and the 40 men who do volunteer have a lot of success in informing and educating this at-risk population and recruiting additional members to join the peer education team. They also told me that many of the harbor workers have never been talked to about HIV/AIDS or condom usage, making the Portshield program all the more important. The only complaint they mentioned was a lack of materials. They requested more leaflets, to distribute to the men; a DVD system, so that they could hold audio-visual programs in the waiting area; and condoms to distribute, because apparently many of the men are too shy to go to the pharmacy and purchase them. It was a great and eye-opening experience to come to the harbor and see a GSMF campaign in action. I also think that it's pretty easy to forget about the AIDS epidemic when you're isolated from it, but going to the port and interacting with people who were so vulnerable to infection helped to shift my mindset and made the concept a little more tangible. Naomi said that we'd be returning soon for more monitoring, and obviously, I'm very eager to go back.
Anyway, we're off to Kumasi and Mole tomorrow, to see craft villages and elephants and maybe a lake ... the WORKS, pretty much. I'm SO excited! And I know that I still owe you all pictures from the last field trip, so I promise to work a little harder at getting photos uploaded when I return. At any rate, there will be plenty of exciting posts to look forward to after I get back to Accra on Monday. Take care until then!Tuesday, July 8, 2008
no day at the beach
I have to say that despite a wonderfully lazy Saturday, in which I slept until 11:30, finished an amazing book (Eat, Pray, Love) and had African dancers perform in my driveway, and a spiritual Sunday morning that you've just read about, the remainder of Sunday and the weekend was an absolute crazy disaster.
Three members of our group were mugged on Sunday afternoon at Coco Beach. I wasn't involved, and I wasn't even at the beach to be a secondhand witness, but it's still scary and I think we all still can't believe that anybody in our group was victimized like that. I don't want to attempt to tell someone else's emotional story, so please read this great blog entry by the beautiful and talented Jessica.
We're departing on another field trip on Thursday, this time to Kumasi and Mole National Park. The drive from Kumasi (which is in central Ghana) to Mole (waaaay up in the northern region), is long and slow, and we've heard reports of armed robberies along that road. We're taking great precautions to travel only in the daytime, when the roads should be safe, but it's still something I think we're all wary of, especially now in light of the weekend's events. It's extremely likely that the whole trip will be without incident, so don't worry too much ... but feel free to keep us in your thoughts and prayers!
Three members of our group were mugged on Sunday afternoon at Coco Beach. I wasn't involved, and I wasn't even at the beach to be a secondhand witness, but it's still scary and I think we all still can't believe that anybody in our group was victimized like that. I don't want to attempt to tell someone else's emotional story, so please read this great blog entry by the beautiful and talented Jessica.
We're departing on another field trip on Thursday, this time to Kumasi and Mole National Park. The drive from Kumasi (which is in central Ghana) to Mole (waaaay up in the northern region), is long and slow, and we've heard reports of armed robberies along that road. We're taking great precautions to travel only in the daytime, when the roads should be safe, but it's still something I think we're all wary of, especially now in light of the weekend's events. It's extremely likely that the whole trip will be without incident, so don't worry too much ... but feel free to keep us in your thoughts and prayers!
Monday, July 7, 2008
give the Lord a mighty clap
Molly, Ryan and I went to church on Sunday.
This was the first time any of us had attempted to worship here in Ghana ... the first Sunday, I think we were still a little too shellshocked from our recent arrivals to pursue anything so early in the morning, and the week before we were still in Cape Coast. But yesterday, we awoke around 8 a.m., and by 9, were out the door and in search of a church.
We'd heard there was a place near the A&C Shopping Mall, which we frequent for groceries and ATM service, so we took a taxi over there and hoped to easily spot a steeple or a sign from the A&C's front entry. No such luck. We tried to ask some people on the street where we could find a church, but were unsuccessful there, too. Everytime, we were asked, "What kind of church?" and nobody quite understood that we didn't really care what denomination it was, we just wanted to go to church. We started walking back the way our taxi had come, because we'd passed a few places enroute, and less than a block from the mall we heard music and singing. We stumbled upon Oasis of Hope Tabernacle International Ministries, a little congregation that met under canopies, for lack of a four-walled building. The sign outside said that service went from 8-10:30 a.m., and we decided we'd sneak in and catch the last hour of service.
So we walked in. I think we were all instantly surprised at how few parishoners were in attendance at 9:30. The congregation was divided into two sections: the kids' chairs, and the adults' chairs, both of which had large vacancies. With no building in which to put pews, we sat on plastic lawn chairs, choosing seats in the middle. We were welcomed with great, uplifting music. Despite not having a real facility, the church had a nice set of drums, an electric keyboard, bongoes and microphones for the singers. Of course, I likened it in my mind to a Creekside Crossings service back at LAUMC, but that's probably quiteeee a stretch.
Music continued for a while, and more people trickled in. The pastor took the pulpit and shared some words, and there was this music-preaching-music-preaching exchange for some time. 10:30 came and went, and I cannot remember what time we realized that we'd actually arrived at the beginning of services, but that realization descended and we buckled in for the long haul.
Religious services in Ghana are long, no matter where you worship. It's just how the Ghanaians do it. But at this church, it was also interactive and entertaining. At one point, we were all called to come up and dance to the music, which we did with great fervor. And when the small children -- some of the cutest I've seen in Ghana thus far, and that's really a statement -- came and joined in, weaving between us, it was definitely a highlight of the whole morning. It was not hard to find God in this little canopy-covered church, because faces were warm and bright, the music was fabulous, the sun shone through the cracks in our covering and the morning breeze kept us cool as it blew through the whole "room." All of the women in attendance were dressed in beautiful, vibrant tribal fabrics. Most of the little girls wore Sunday-best dresses and little frilly socks with Mary-Janes. The pastor was a passionate speaker, and the congregation worked hard to equal his emotion levels, frequently sending up devoted "Amens!" After something particularly rousing or moving, we'd all be encouraged by the pastor to not only shout our devotionals, but to "Give the Lord a mighty clap!" and the whole congregation (which, by the time things really got underway, had all but filled the arrangement of plastic lawn chairs) would start vigorously applauding. It's impossible to just sit there and not get caught up in the moment, so we'd contribute our "Amens!" and applause too. I'd never been to a service like this one before, but it was an unforgettable and very spiritually rewarding experience.
After the sermon preached about fellowship, and the trifecta of love, hope and faith, we were invited up to introduce ourselves. After the service had ended (around noon or later!), the pastor and many members of the congregation shook our hands and told us how happy they were that we had come. They were all curious about our internships and wondered if we would be coming back. We'll be in Mole next Sunday, but may return for another marathon morning the following week. I think I haven't felt as safe or secure yet in Ghana as I felt surrounded by the non-existant walls of this church.
We also learned that this little church is actually hoping to build itself a real home sometime in the near future. The pastor spoke of it as a huge evangelical center ... he mentioned 2,500 seats and several services each Sunday, both of which are a far cry from the turn-out featured on our visit. I have no idea how long this little church has existed, or how long they've been working on plans for this huge facility, but I hope they are successful in all they aim for.
This was the first time any of us had attempted to worship here in Ghana ... the first Sunday, I think we were still a little too shellshocked from our recent arrivals to pursue anything so early in the morning, and the week before we were still in Cape Coast. But yesterday, we awoke around 8 a.m., and by 9, were out the door and in search of a church.
We'd heard there was a place near the A&C Shopping Mall, which we frequent for groceries and ATM service, so we took a taxi over there and hoped to easily spot a steeple or a sign from the A&C's front entry. No such luck. We tried to ask some people on the street where we could find a church, but were unsuccessful there, too. Everytime, we were asked, "What kind of church?" and nobody quite understood that we didn't really care what denomination it was, we just wanted to go to church. We started walking back the way our taxi had come, because we'd passed a few places enroute, and less than a block from the mall we heard music and singing. We stumbled upon Oasis of Hope Tabernacle International Ministries, a little congregation that met under canopies, for lack of a four-walled building. The sign outside said that service went from 8-10:30 a.m., and we decided we'd sneak in and catch the last hour of service.
So we walked in. I think we were all instantly surprised at how few parishoners were in attendance at 9:30. The congregation was divided into two sections: the kids' chairs, and the adults' chairs, both of which had large vacancies. With no building in which to put pews, we sat on plastic lawn chairs, choosing seats in the middle. We were welcomed with great, uplifting music. Despite not having a real facility, the church had a nice set of drums, an electric keyboard, bongoes and microphones for the singers. Of course, I likened it in my mind to a Creekside Crossings service back at LAUMC, but that's probably quiteeee a stretch.
Music continued for a while, and more people trickled in. The pastor took the pulpit and shared some words, and there was this music-preaching-music-preaching exchange for some time. 10:30 came and went, and I cannot remember what time we realized that we'd actually arrived at the beginning of services, but that realization descended and we buckled in for the long haul.
Religious services in Ghana are long, no matter where you worship. It's just how the Ghanaians do it. But at this church, it was also interactive and entertaining. At one point, we were all called to come up and dance to the music, which we did with great fervor. And when the small children -- some of the cutest I've seen in Ghana thus far, and that's really a statement -- came and joined in, weaving between us, it was definitely a highlight of the whole morning. It was not hard to find God in this little canopy-covered church, because faces were warm and bright, the music was fabulous, the sun shone through the cracks in our covering and the morning breeze kept us cool as it blew through the whole "room." All of the women in attendance were dressed in beautiful, vibrant tribal fabrics. Most of the little girls wore Sunday-best dresses and little frilly socks with Mary-Janes. The pastor was a passionate speaker, and the congregation worked hard to equal his emotion levels, frequently sending up devoted "Amens!" After something particularly rousing or moving, we'd all be encouraged by the pastor to not only shout our devotionals, but to "Give the Lord a mighty clap!" and the whole congregation (which, by the time things really got underway, had all but filled the arrangement of plastic lawn chairs) would start vigorously applauding. It's impossible to just sit there and not get caught up in the moment, so we'd contribute our "Amens!" and applause too. I'd never been to a service like this one before, but it was an unforgettable and very spiritually rewarding experience.
After the sermon preached about fellowship, and the trifecta of love, hope and faith, we were invited up to introduce ourselves. After the service had ended (around noon or later!), the pastor and many members of the congregation shook our hands and told us how happy they were that we had come. They were all curious about our internships and wondered if we would be coming back. We'll be in Mole next Sunday, but may return for another marathon morning the following week. I think I haven't felt as safe or secure yet in Ghana as I felt surrounded by the non-existant walls of this church.
We also learned that this little church is actually hoping to build itself a real home sometime in the near future. The pastor spoke of it as a huge evangelical center ... he mentioned 2,500 seats and several services each Sunday, both of which are a far cry from the turn-out featured on our visit. I have no idea how long this little church has existed, or how long they've been working on plans for this huge facility, but I hope they are successful in all they aim for.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
