Innocents Abroad

Yesterday afternoon we returned to our little hostel in Labone tired, dirty, and so happy to see our ugly iron front gate again. After a shower, nap, and pizza dinner, I felt happy to be home -- walking to class this morning, however, was another story. The baking heat, unbearable stench of open sewers, and unwelcome attention of random men made me long for the cool, clean, friendly villages in the Volta region where I spent the last 5 days. We swam in rivers and waterfalls, climbed the tallest "mountain" in Ghana, and met an extraordinary range of people on our travels up the Volta lake, across a small section of the North, and down through the forrested Volta region. What follows will be an attempt to chronicle our itinerary and all the thoughts running through my head on those long tro-tro rides...

PHOTO: Dave lounging in the hammocks at Akosombo

AKOSOMBO: We started at the site of the Volta Dam which makes the Volta Lake and the vast majority of Ghana's electricity possible. Day 1 was the halting tro-tro ride from Accra, and the one day when Dave wasn't with us. It made me appreciate the 2-guys-2-girls dynamic later on in the trip - Ghanaian men are always trying to ask if you are married or dating, and when there's another guy with you it's convenient. One guy with two girls was, ah, confusing for them. Day 2 we spent swimming and canoeing with a group of young boys, and I think it was one of the most relaxing days I have spent here. The nightly tradition of the "juice box," (cheap wine in a carton) guitar, and intense conversations also started in Akosombo.

YEJI FERRY: Day 3 was the waiting day. We had planned pretty much the entire trip around taking this ferry up the Volta Lake to Yeji, and we spent Monday waiting for the ferry to depart. While Dave and Netanus went to town to buy food and Dan wandered, I made friends with a couple of British guys who were setting out on a 16-day travel itinerary after 2 months of volunteering as teachers in Accra. We ended up setting up camp next to the British group on the top deck of the boat that night, and were having a great time with some Ghanaian beer and Beatles songs until an elderly neighbor told us to be quiet. Day 4 we spent waiting as well - waiting for the boat to reach its destination. There was lots of reading and writing and sleeping in the sun that day, and lots of conversations with fellow travellers, mostly Europeans. It really struck me for the first time what a priviledge it is to travel, and how strange the concept seems to people here (and, I would imagine, in many parts of the world). The idea of going someplace just to see it is strange here - even stranger is our desire to sleep outdoors and do silly things like hike and swim, but more on that later.


Tuesday night we arrived in Yeji after dark and joined a surreal procession into the village. The only light was the floodlight from the boat, reaching up the embankment into a swirling cloud of mosquitoes. We didn't know where to go for a hotel, but an anonymous guide told us to follow all of the other people, so that's what we did. This strange procession of foreign backpackers and Ghanaian women with giant loads on their heads wound up the hill and into the town, and eventually we found ourselves at a rather sketchy and overpriced hotel where the manager could not understand why the two girls wanted to sleep in one room together and not partner off with our male companions...

PHOTOS: Hanging out on the boat (Netanus's picture) and Dan's morning ritual on the ferry Tuesday at dawn

BIMBILLA: Day 5 was our roughest travel day. Early the next morning we met our same guide again, and walked down to the water where we boarded an enormously overpacked canoe that took us across the northern tip of the lake. At the next town we packed into the most crowded tro-tro I have ever been on (where we ran into our British friends and a few other familiar foreigners) headed to Tamale. We hopped off at Salaga and immediately found a ride to Bimbilla, allowing us to save a day of travel up to Tamale and then back down to Bimbilla. The price we paid for this more direct route was the tro-tro ride from hell. Most of the used vans that serve as tro-tros in Ghana are in poor condition, but this one was literally falling apart. I was convinced that the back doors or side panel would fall off. An hour outside of Bimbilla, something that sounded very much like a wheel axle made a large cracking noise, and everyone pilled out of the vehicle. After about 10 men looked at the wheel for 15 minutes, they decided we could get back in, and on we went. I spent the next hour terrified of dying in a typically Ghanaian accident, but the car managed to hold together until Bimbilla.

PHOTO: Grass and mud huts in Bimbilla (Netanus's picture)

The town itself was lovely and calm, with bicycles largely taking the place of cars on the dirt roads. There were children everywhere, all wearing various school uniforms (though this could have just been because our guest house was near several schools). Our Twi was pretty useless here, and it was difficult to find people who spoke English, which made finding food and the tro-tro park an interesting adventure. But everyone we met was incredibly nice, and it felt good not to have children and adults grabbing onto us everywhere we went. (Everywhere I have been in Ghana the children are different, though there are always so many. In Bimbilla they were mostly shy and quiet, though they came running from all directions to be in photos.)

HOHOE/LACKHAM: Day 6 went smoothly enough for a 4.5-hour tro-tro ride in which we passed from the brown of the North to the green of the Volta region. After some disagreement among some hot and tired travelers we decided to take a cab to Lackham Lodge, which turned out to be a brilliant decision. The first night there it rained, the first rain we had experienced since coming to Ghana. So, naturally, we celebrated by running around and doing cartwheels in it. Then we bought beer. The Ghanaian lodge employees thought we were insane.

PHOTO: the view from the top of the mountain above Bowire-Lackham

The next morning we tackled Dan's mission for the day: climb the ridge behind our lodge. After picking our way through some forest paths, we found our way to the nearest village where we luckily ran into a son of the village chief. He arranged a small semi-formal meeting between us, the chief, and two other elders in which we exchanged some cedis and a book of Alan Ginsberg poetry (thanks to Dan's generosity) for permission to climb the "mountain." They sent us up the steep path with 5 Ghanaian guides, and on our return we drank palm wine with the village elders and passed around our digital cameras with pictures of the view from the top. It was one of the most classic "Africa" days of the trip, the kind of adventure you could never plan using the guidebook.

HO: We rejoined our program directors and the other CIEE students Saturday in Ho at Chances Hotel, complete with AC and a beautiful pool. We got free food and transportation for the next two days, and visited two community eco-tourism projects: a monkey sanctuary and Wli Falls, by far the most impressive waterfall in Ghana.


It was a wonderful break from the road, and we had a chance to share our stories with our other friends who journeyed up to Mole Park and more of the Northern region. After some serious internal debating, I decided to keep going for the next two nights, which I think were maybe the hi-light of our trip.

PHOTOS: CIEE students walking into Wli Falls; the incredible cloud of bats circling the top of the falls.

CAMPING: After the official CIEE field trip finished (and after some serious indecision) I decided to extend my spring break for another two days. We had the CIEE bus drop us at the visitor's center in the town of Likpe Todome, which was an old church building with nothing inside except for one small table and several posters of the surrounding sights. We had come to the town to visit the caves, and after a quick reapplication of bug spray and sunscreen we were off for our second hike of the day, hurrying to make the loop back to town before dark. The hike up to the caves was intense but short, and absolutely worth it. The cave tour was unlike anything you could legally experience in the US - our flip-flop-shod guides tooke us scrambling up narrow crevices and across faces of rock with only the help of a few sturdy ropes, and nothing close to a liability waiver. But we overcame our respective fears (of falling or getting stuck in small holes) and had an amazing day. We rushed down from the hills to make it to our guest house just before the sky opened up with the second rainstorm of the week.


Monday morning we caught a tro-tro back to Hohoe where we ate, stocked up on food for camping, and found a cab to take us to Liate Wote, a town from which we would hike what the guidebooks call the tallest mountain in Ghana, Afajado. What you have to remember is that West Africa is not exactly mountainous. What we actually climbed was a horribly steep trail up a miniature mountain, only to find, at the top, another peak right next to us that was clearly taller. As it turns out, this other point is not considered a "mountain" since it is just the highest point on a long ridge. Boo. But the view from the flat, baking-hot mountain top was still amazing, and the camping Monday night was definitely worth the climb. We cooked beans on our little fire and fashioned tents out of boulders and mosquito nets. We also watched a lightening storm. Yes, from the top of the tallest mountain in the country. It was amazing.

PHOTOS: Alex on the climb up Afajado, the fire at our mountain-top camp site the last night

On our way back to town Tuesday morning, we had the only real blood of the trip (and so close to a clean finish!) when Dan lost in the fight with the garbage bin. Turns out a jagged beans can cut him in the hand, and we made a side trip to the government hospital in Hohoe. Luckily for everyone the wound wasn't bad enough to need immediate treatment, because we probably would have spent the whole day in that hospital. Once this was clear, we made for the tro-tro park and an early departure for Accra. (Turns out Dan didn't need stitches after all, though he might have a nasty scar on that hand.) So Tuesday afternoon we were home, extremely dirty and tired. A week later now, I'm not sure if I am happy to be back or not. There is certainly less to do in Accra than there used to be (with two classes no longer meeting and most of the sights already seen) but I'm not worried - we're heading out of the city again this weekend.

Ghana @ 50!

Ghana @ 50, the celebration of 50 years of "freedom," has been perhaps the most hyped aspect of my visit in Ghana, and I have to say that the day itself lived up to the talk. We somehow got the (very silly obruni) idea to walk through Osu to Independence Square, an enormous expanse of concrete the guidebooks like to mock. It may be a ridiculous use of beachfront property most of the time, but on very special occasions it becomes an amazing place to be.


In terms of descriptions, I think the photos speak for themselves pretty well. We survived the crowds, my camera was not stolen (despite a few attempts), and we only lost one of our friends. While she was lost, however, before fleeing back to the hostel, she took a lot of great photos, many of which I have stolen and displayed here. If you have ever been to a city in Africa, combine that level of disorder with the kinds of crowds you might find on the mall in D.C. on the 4th of July, and you have some idea of what the day was like.


The afternoon held a rather different sort of celebration for us, as we all visited the juvenille detention facility where one of our friends volunteers as a teacher. We brought FanIce (really creamy ice cream) and Netanus's enormous drum, and what we got was a group of young boys, aged 6 up through 16 (at least) drumming, dancing, and playing with our digital cameras. Some of them were absolutely adorable, and as with most interactions with children here, I felt vaguely guilty leaving. I know that caring for children is not what I am best at (which is why I have decided to do my volunteering for the West Africa AIDS Foundation doing outreach and education work) but I still always feel like I should be giving more of my time to these kids who obviously love the attention.

For now I will refrain from any more discussion of NGOs and aid and guilt, which I just wrote a 5-page paper about, and just let you enjoy the pictures. Ghana is 50! I never grow tired of listening to Ghanaians argue about whether or not real progress has happened in those 50 years. Maybe by the end of my stay here I can tell you.

PHOTOS: the crowds in Independence Square, the photo Netanus got lost to take, Josh dancing in his flag, then drumming and dancing with the kids

NOTE: I will be travelling for the next week or two (the entire trip is TBD), so I will be unfortunately out of touch, though I may be able to get in to an internet cafe in between buses and "mountain"-climbing. There will be many adventures and reflections to share after my travels in the Volta region, mainly what the ethics are of being a "tourist" in a place like Ghana.

Henri's

When we first showed up it didn't look like anything special - a collection of plastic chairs arranged around plastic tables on the sidewalk. The music was the usual mix of hip-life and American hip-hop, and the drinks were the usual Ghanaian beers. It wasn't until we went inside that Henri's began to look like the super-secret gathering place friends had told us it was: a gay bar.

That's right, a gay bar in Ghana. If you know anything about the nature of homosexuality in African culture you will appreciate how unique a place Henri's is. As it turns out, there are several bars and clubs around Accra known (though not to the general public) as gay bars and clubs. They have to be something of a secret, though, because of the intense level of homophobia here.

Traditional African society supposedly does not include homosexuality - it simply isn't part of the culture, according to a few articles I have read. There are no gay people in Africa, theoretically (or were none, in some imagined precolonial past). In some ways, this denial of the idea of homosexuality allows men of any sexual orientation to behave in ways that would be considered feminine in the U.S. - men can hold hands, dance together, and be otherwise physically close with other men, and these behaviors are not considered sexual at all. But at the same time, being openly gay is nearly impossible, especially for native Ghanaians.

Of course this does not mean that there are actually no gay people in Africa, or that people here do not understand what this means. Cultural imports from the West, from television shows to magazines, have introduced the idea, though even in the wealthy, Western-friendly district of Accra where I live, this does not translate into acceptance. The homophobia is apparent in everyday conversations, where single men who aren't sexually active (for reasons not explained by religious commitments) are *accused* of being gay. Being "out," even in Labone, would certainly involve social ostracism, and in other areas a real risk of violence.

So the community is underground. But it still exists, as one of our closeted Ghanaian friends showed us this weekend. In some ways Henri's was not so different from gay bars in New York - there were plenty of tight T-shirts, lots of dancing, and even some bad 80s music, though no fancy drinks. But when you walk back out of the poster-covered sliding door, you could be at any "spot" in Accra, which is clearly the point.

Kumasi and Kente

I'm overdue for an update here. I finally managed to get photos online (Facebook) after a complicated process of trial and error that involved borrowing one friend's Mac (thank God she disobeyed CIEE's advice and brought her laptop) and another friend's tiny flash drive. All this means that I am far less depressed concerning computer matters and ready to write a decent update.

Last weekend was our third CIEE-sponsored weekend adventure. I neglected to describe the first one (which was four weeks ago) sufficiently, mostly because I was not able to post my pictures. We traveled to Cape Coast, the original colonial capitol of the Gold Coast. The faded city is home to a beautiful old fort with a dark historical role: it was a major port in the West African slave trade, where various kingdoms sold untold numbers of captives to the European traders. (As an important historical aside: chiefs did NOT sell their own people into slavery as some uninformed romantics like to spout off as one of the horrors of the slave trade. It was members of rival clans or ethnicities that were captured and sold, etc. People originally from all over West Africa passed through the slave dungeons of Cape Coast. Most were probably not from Ghana itself.) All of this is difficult to imagine in the bleached-out beauty of the castle today. We also went to Kakum National Park, a rainforest reserve, and traversed the famous canopy walk - giant rope bridges strung through the biggest trees of the forest canopy.


Now that we are caught up on the Cape Coast trip... this past weekend we made the much longer and more difficult journey to Kumasi, the city at the heart of the Ashanti Region. The journey itself is a story: we became stuck in an enormous traffic jam in which our bus and every other vehicle remained stopped for more than an hour. Turns out, a large truck had either overturned or broken down in the road (depending on the rumor you chose to believe) and THEN the fork-lift sent to clear the road also broke down. Only in Africa...

When we finally reached the city, we rushed to the military museum in which we received a very animated and fast-paced tour of Italian guns, a box full of human remains, and lots of very old photographs from a guide who must have been on caffiene at the very least. He really dramatized the story of the Asante's last battle against the British, even if his historical facts were a little fuzzy.


The next morning was a blur of artist communities. We started with kente, the traditional woven cloth of the Asantes in which different weaving patterns have different meanings. Next was adinkra printing, in which different symbols are printed onto woven cloth. A wood-carving village rounded out the day. Each stop was meant to be an educational presentation and investigation of a certain type of Ghanaian art, but in the end each place became a sort of shopping mall. I came away from the day with some beautiful kente I probably paid too much for, and a wooden statue that (I think) I got a really good deal on. Was it worth the hassle and the half-dozen "salesmen" literally grabbing me? I'm not sure. But apparently there is no other way to make a purchase in this country.


Another thing that struck me about Kumasi that we didn't really experience in Cape Coast was the children. Every place we visited outside of the museum, there was a crowd of children and young teenagers waiting, holding their hands out for gifts that we hadn't thought to bring. (It's amazing, but colorful pens and small candies go a long way.) Each time our bus pulled away, leaving the crowd of reaching hands behind, I had a sick, guilty feeling in my stomach. I know there is no real change to be brought by change and gell pens, but I wonder if that bus takes us through this country with a bit too much glass between us and, well, the country.



PHOTOS: Canopy walk in Kakum, kente looms and cloth for sale, Natalie making an adinkra print, the view on the way home from Kumasi