One week left

As I'm writing this it's hard to believe I've been in Accra for five weeks already, and that I only have one left. It doesn't help that this last week will be so busy. I need to turn in my capstone story on Thursday, and I have a final paper to write for my African media class as well as a take-home final on Monday. Since I don't care much about my grades here, I'm far less concerned with the papers and the final than with my final story.

My last story is about child trafficking in Ghana, but I really wish I had been able to start work on it sooner. I'm hoping to continue with my research after getting back to the States and trying hard to get this one published. So far I've met with the Minister of Information and the secretariat for human trafficking at the Ministry of Women and Children. Next week I'll be meeting with the West African coordinator of Free the Slaves, an organization I'm familiar with from my work at the Schuster Institute at Brandeis. I was able to call in some connections from there to set up these interviews, for which I'm very thankful. I wish I had enough time to travel to the Volta region, the lake on which much of the trafficking in Ghana takes place (for the fishing industry). Unfortunately I won't -- maybe there will just have to be a next time!

Last weekend the whole program traveled up north to Kumasi, Ghana's second-largest city. The trip was a bit of a pain -- it's a six hour drive and we only stayed a night. However, the region was beautiful -- far more lush and visually striking than the landscape along the coast, in my opinion -- and Kumasi had a much different feel than Accra. This is my own western version of what a city should be speaking, but Kumasi had more of a "city" feel to me. It had less sprawl, seemed a bit more organized than Accra, and even had street signs. We visited a really amazing craft village where we were able to buy some cool stuff and we took a tour of the Ashanti palace. We found a restaurant that looked really amazing on paper, but when we got there just about everything on the menu wasn't available. However, it was the first place we've been in Ghana where we could actually order cocktails. We tried to go out at night to get a feel for the place without our guides but an ill-conceived venture with some guys we met on the street brought us to an underground club off of a back alley that I think was a crack den. We decided that was a bit too real and politely excused ourselves.

On Sunday we visited what I think is the biggest market in Ghana. I don't like shopping complexes of any kind and I definitely don't like markets here. It was certainly interesting to see that sector of the economy at work and blah blah blah, but it was totally overwhelming, smelled like dead fish and shit, and it felt like the people there weren't particularly happy to have us there. The worst thing was we literally couldn't find our way out for about an hour and nearly collapsed from heat stroke. We eventually crawled out and, to our delight, found a really large, beautiful church with an inviting (and shady) courtyard. It was like a little slight of heaven. We collapsed on the stairs and listened to the morning prayer service from outside and I remembered the sanctuary I always found in Europe from the bustling streets. Anyway, I guess my perspective on the market was crappy since some other people seemed to have had a good time and even found some things to buy. I think I just had a bad time because I was stuck walking in a circle around the area that specialized in rancid dried fish.

We had class as usual this week and I turned in my story on the Accra Brewing company's sustainable development initiatives in Ghana. Basically they're trying to get Ghanaian farmers to grow the ingredients they need so they don't need to import it from South Africa and Europe. And they're looking to replace some of the malted barley in their recipes with local ingredients like maize, cassava, and sorghum. The company is owned by SABMiller and makes one of the country's more drinkable lagers, called Club. Interestingly the Guinness here is already made with sorghum and is considerably stronger than the kind in Europe and the Americas.

As far as my day-to-day interactions and cultural revelations are concerned, I've generally just become very comfortable here. I'm used to a lot of things that really stood out to me before. One thing I've become very comfortable with is the haggling system. At first I really didn't like that I needed to bargain with cab drivers and for some odd reason I missed meters a lot. It struck me as obnoxious that the driver would at first quote a ridiculous price for my proposed destination, and it was awkward for me to argue with him over what is ultimately just a dollar or two. So first I took the abuse lying down. Then I became an indignant and stubborn passenger, determined not to be charged the "obruni fare" and making it clear to drivers that I knew what game they were playing. But that wasn't quite right either. Eventually it occurred to me that it's part game, part cultural tradition, and that it's just as inappropriate to accept any ridiculous fair as it is to stomp your feet and be an ass. You don't get any respect for either. The best thing to do is nod your head and smile when he quotes some ridiculous price and maintain a good humor while informing him that that's ridiculous and you'll get a cab for half. It basically always works and the drivers usually appreciate your unwillingness to be a pushover as well as your friendliness. So I pay a lot less in fares now and have better rides to boot. On second thought that whole paragraph seems glaringly obvious but it wasn't to me. I still haven't gotten used to open sewers, though. Or the smell of dried fish.

Unfortunately I don't have pictures to upload at this very moment, but check back soon for some from Kumasi and a recent trip to a botanical garden.

Tro-tro wisdom

"Friends are bad"

"Nobody is honest"

The two most bitter tro-tro drivers in Ghana, both spotted in Kumasi. Sorry I didn't have my camera on hand.

World Cup Update

I've avoided writing anything about the world cup or Ghana's soccer culture because it all felt so overwhelming while it was happening. Now that it's a few weeks behind me and the excitement has worn off it feels a bit more manageable.

If you know me then you know that I follow sports exactly once every four years. Therefore each day of the world cup is especially precious. I was originally concerned that I would have a hard time catching the matches in Ghana. That was a silly assumption that gave Ghana exactly no credit for being a football nation. Ghana showed up in this and the last world cup as a serious competitor and every single person in this country is behind the team. Every restaurant, store, and outdoor bar built into a little shack had at least one tv for playing the games, so I never missed anything.

We arrived in Ghana the morning of the Ghana-USA matchup. There was no confusion of allegiances, but I have to say that I would have missed out on a great experience had the US pulled through. We missed the first few minutes of the game as we were on our way to dinner, but we knew that Ghana had scored early because the streets erupted with firecrackers, vuvuzuelas, and other inordinately loud noises. It was crushing to see Gyan score in extra time but right away Ghana had a new hero and I think we were all secretly pretty happy to be part of the excitement.

Even though it was our first night and we were all severely jetlagged we knew it would be a crime not to take part in the street celebrations following Ghana's victories. We had no idea where to go so we just followed the crowds of people. In impromptu victory party in an outdoor market area became our destination. I've never been involved in a street celebration like this one. It seemed like every single Ghanaian, no matter what age, was running and whooping down the street or dancing. A pack of rowdy little kids parading through the street actually picked me and a few other people up and started tossing us up and down and carrying us off down the street with them. Lots of people made sure to apologize to us and congratulate the US team before tossing us around or dancing with us.

The infamous Ghana-Uruguay quarterfinal was even more spectacular. We all watched on Friday night at a large outdoor bar complex called Epo's. There were hundreds and hundreds of people outside watching on six or seven large screens. I took a video of the celebration during halftime following Muntari's amazing goal in the 47th minute, which I'll try to upload.

As you probably know, a Uruguayan player denied a sure goal in the last moments of added time with a handball in the net. When Gyan missed the penalty kick that should have ended the game, the entire crowd was dead silent. By that point Ghana was the last African team in the first world cup on African soil, and everybody felt strongly that Ghana was responsible for the aspirations of the entire continent. Going into penalty kicks there was a generally bad feeling in the air. I have to hand it to the Ghanaians that after the loss everybody more or less shrugged it off and drifted home. I was originally concerned that if they took the loss as seriously as they had taken the last win, there would be rioting.

Of course, that didn't discourage the press and every citizen of Ghana to vilify the Uruguayan team and handballer Luis Suarez for weeks to come. I saved a newspaper clipping the next day showing Suarez with devil horns engulfed in fire and the caption "Suarez the dream-killer." The Dutch became the immediate favorite as they were slated to play Uruguay in the semifinals and everybody was very gratified to watch the Netherlands knock out the Uruguayans.

For my own part, I've played more soccer here than I have since I pretended to play right forward on my middle school's modified team. We all got free balls as a promotion with the cell phones we bought and we play most days in the courtyard between our buildings. It's pretty much the only exercise I get here. Lately some Ghanaian kids who live across the street have been showing up to play with us. Unsurprisingly they are a lot better than most of us despite being about 10 years old. Unfortunately the courtyard soccer matches have so far resulted in the destruction of two fluorescent lights and, as of yesterday, a breached electric fence. We have been informed by our CRA, who doesn't like us, that the next time something breaks soccer will be banned in the courtyard, but I don't think we're too worried about it.

No Water or Internet

It's been awhile since I've been able to post, first because of travel and then because of technical issues. The internet is back -- for now. My water still isn't.

On Saturday, the whole program somehow rolled out of bed at 6am to board the bus headed to Elmina, the coastal town with the oldest European slave castle in West Africa. We arrived at our (beautiful) hotel on the beach, ate breakfast, and had a tour of the castle. I'm not really going to try and describe it here; suffice to say it is a poignant place. I added some pictures so you can get an idea of what it's like. It was built by the Portuguese in the 15th century, then taken over by the Dutch during the 18th, and finally the British during the 19th. It was returned to African hands when Ghana gained independence in 1957 and now it's a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Afterwards we headed to Kakum National Park, a rainforest reserve where we were treated to a hike up to a canopy walk. I've been on a tram over the rainforest canopy before but this was a lot more terrifying. I understood that it was held together with some really thick, tight wires and whatever, but the thing still shook all over the place while we were walking. On the way up a lot of the girls were making a big deal out of it and I was scoffing in the back. By the time it was over I was the asshole. But I did get some great pictures out of it.

We spent the night relaxing at the hotel, having dinner, and then drank palm wine on the beach. It was like a completely unnecessary vacation. On Sunday morning Liz was even able to come to my hotel for a few hours (she was staying about an hour away at Cape Coast) before we left, which was great.

Class on Monday and Tuesday as usual. I had a story due on Tuesday morning which I characteristically started on Monday afternoon. I only freaked out a little bit and ended up doing a story on a very strange hotel I found in Accra. I'm working on a few other stories now. Some are assigned and some are just out of interest. Next week I'm going back to Cape Coast to meet an African rabbi who offers "alternative" slave castle tours. He explained that his "narrative" is a bit different than conventional tours; I think that means he cuts the shit and tries to tell it like it was. I'm hoping to stay for at least a night or two and figure out just what a rabbi is doing in Cape Coast, if there is a Jewish community there, and if so, hopefully I can get a good story out of it.

Today, on assignment for a story about economic development, I wandered into the Accra Brewery where they brew a lot of the beer that's popular here. It was cool because I didn't have an appointment and the facility was a lot larger and more well-run than I had been expecting, but they still took me right in, sat me down with a guy from marketing, and I had a great interview. I learned about a program in development to encourage Ghanaian farmers to grow raw materials for the brewery so that they don't have to important malt and other grains from South Africa and Europe, and about experimenting they're doing to use the indigenous grain sorghum rather than regular malt.

Finished up the day sitting on a rock at that quirky hotel with a few friends listening to some new Ghanaian friends freestyle for us. Tonight we'll drink whiskey and play soccer in the courtyard until we pass out, and tomorrow I'll be up first thing, headed back to the brewery for a more interviews. Africa is awesome.

Pictures:

1) Canopy walk

2) Cannon at Elmina Castle

3) ...

4) The unbelievably macabre decorations the Europeans made over the dungeon where they threw dying or unruly slaves.

Obruni's tro-tro wisdom

In case you were wondering about the address of this blog, "obruni" is the common word in Ghana to describe a white outsider. I think it basically means "white person." It does not carry the same connotation as the American slang "cracker." It simply means white foreigner as a matter of fact. It's not meant to be offensive or racist -- I think a Ghanian who referred to you as an obruni would feel that they were just pointing out an obvious fact. I get called obruni many times a day, generally by street hawkers or random people on the street who want to say hello. Lots of times somebody will walk up to a cab I'm in and say, "Obruni! Hello! Want to buy Sandra Bullock DVD?" or just shout "Obruni!" and wave. So it's just something to get used to, although it can sometimes feel tiring.

Also, I want to add a feature to my blog: your daily dose of tro-tro wisdom. A tro-tro is basically a vehicle that functions more or less like public transportation. It's generally a large van or small bus that has been converted to hold as many people as possible (usually about 12). It runs for dirt cheap fares along fixed routes, and tro-tros will take you anywhere. They will take you a mile through Accra or eight hours up to the North, depending on where you board them. They are like busses in America but cheaper, more dangerous, and maybe not completely legal. Some of them are owned by private companies but I think plenty of them are just random citizens with a VW van. They are absolutely everywhere and distinguished only by the mottoes and sayings they post in stickers on the back window. Just about every tro-tro has a sticker, and 90 percent of them are religious. Often they just refer to a particular Psalm, but sometimes they are extremely poignant or merely entertaining. Refer to picture below. So, now that you have an idea of what a tro-tro is, here is your Tro-Tro Wisdom of the Day:

"God is God": either a breathtakingly revelatory statement or a case of a missing vowel. You decide.

Food update

Breaking news: I have just cooked for the first time in Ghana. Either the gas is on for good or it decided to cooperate with me today for just long enough to throw breakfast together. I boiled tap water to make instant coffee with and fried two eggs in about a pound of butter. I toasted two thick slices of Ghanaian bread -- somewhere between French and Wonderbread -- and topped them with my eggs, whose yolks were curiously white. Over all that, my market prize from yesterday -- real cheddar cheese. I didn't have any salt or pepper and the instant Nescafe is like sludge, but this was one of the best meals I have ever eaten. I am a wholly satisfied man.

Included some pictures for fun. One is a lizard sitting in on an outdoor lecture at the academic center. The other two are from an ancient and crumbling slave fort in Accra, which was hosting a boisterous Sunday prayer service when we stumbled upon it last Sunday. It's been reclaimed by homes, shops, and murals depicting its history.

A day in Ghana

Rather than write a lengthy introduction of my living and studying situation in Ghana for my first real post, I thought it would be more useful to just describe in detail my day on Monday, which seems like a fairly typical day here. As I continue updating the reader will hopefully get a more full understanding of my setup, and I'll try to explain things as I go.

My phone alarm -- a horrid polytonal rendition of a vaguely familiar opera cliche -- woke me around 8:30 am. My roommate Tim, a rising NYU senior, showed no signs of life for at least another half hour. I was sweating because the AC in our room had gone off. In fact, it goes off every thirty minutes or so for no apparent reason. That's fine during the day, when we usually leave it off anyway, but during the night I have to wake up every few hours to turn it back on. I walked downstairs into the kitchen/common area of the house. It has three bedrooms which are occupied by two girls and four guys, all NYU students (except me). My two other male housemates, Adrian and David, were already awake, dressed, and playing Super Mario on their laptops. Many of us have reacted to this drastic change in culture and environment by reverting to suburban, pre-teen pastimes. Don't get the wrong idea, though -- those two are actually quite active and spend a lot of time playing barefoot soccer with the locals.

I tried to boil some water to make coffee only to find that the gas was inexplicably off yet again. So I just mixed my instant Nescafe coffee grinds with some bottled water and condensed milk and downed it as quickly as possible with a bowl of Cornflakes (we found ten boxes in the cupboard when we moved in). Then I came upstairs, where Tim still had yet to move, and went through the process of turning on the hot water (it involves pressing a big red button on the wall, flipping some switches on a large, totally unlabeled device mounted in the bathroom, and finally turning a nondescript faucet before actually turning on the shower. It took us three days to realize we had access to hot water.) I shouldn't bunk the housing, however. We live in a beautiful compound in Labone, one of the nicest areas in Accra, and the fact that we have hot water, a kitchen with a fridge, air conditioning, and the occasional burst of gas makes this place comparatively luxurious. In fact, I really love it.

Around 9:45 I heard Sammy, the program's driver, laying on the horn outside. We weren't supposed to leave for class until 10, but Sammy usually starts beeping a minimum of 15 minutes early, and for good reason. We are an unreasonably slow group in the morning, and most Ghanaians wake up very early. Sammy is a very adept driver and a really nice person, but I think he hates us.

We piled into our van and counted our numbers -- fourteen in all, thirteen students and our TA Sarah. We congratulated each other on all making it -- during the first week, at least one student was always missing to vomiting, diarrhea, or other affliction (including me for two days).

After a short drive to the NYU academic center we had the first of our meetings with the reporting class, which is taught by our program leader Frankie, an NYU journalism professor born in Nigeria. During this meeting we discussed a few articles we'd read, got our assignment for next week (a 500-word tourism piece) and discussed ideas and sources for our capstone project, a 1,000 word story of our own design. By noon, class was over. Tuesdays we have a class called "The Cultural Context of Journalism in Africa" which largely covers the (biased and unfair) way the Western media reports on African issues, but we didn't have it this week because the professor was presenting at a symposium in South Africa (an obvious cover for going to the World Cup).

We were expected to go off on our own to start researching our tourism pieces. A girl in the program said she was going to try and go to a nature preserve outside of Accra and see if she could do a story on a new monkey preserve there. I had little interest in starting my piece (I am the only graduated student in the program and, therefore, the only person who is not overly concerned with my grades) but as much interest in seeing monkeys as your average American tourist. All in all five of us decided this would be a good way to pretend to be doing research and set off to arrange a cab.

We flagged one down outside the academic center, which isn't too difficult because every other car in Accra is a cab. The first driver we found had no idea where we were going. After driving a few minutes, he pulled over without explanation to a small produce stand, took our guidebook, and consulted it with this seemingly random stranger for a minute. He then came back and told us it would cost 60 ghana cedis (around $40) to get there. We aren't too uncompromising in our dealings here but we aren't suckers, either. That's a ridiculous fare in Ghana. Our driver thought he could call our bluff but we've wisened up a bit. We found a driver who offered to take us for 20 cedis and we were off.

This driver, whose name we learned was Samuel (not unlike our program driver), was an average Accra driver. His cab was held together in places with duct tape and he drove with his elbow on the horn most of the way (it took an hour in the traffic to get about twenty miles, which isn't too unusual to somebody who's been driving in NYC for awhile). He used the horn for a broad range of communications, which seemed to include "get out of the way," "hello," "how are you," "don't you dare," "you are a Godless man" (I think he actually said that to a few fellow cabbies) or maybe "I have a car full of clueless Americans who want to see monkeys but haven't got the slightest clue where they are going, can you please help me?" When we finally made it to the main highway out of Accra, he was upset with the traffic and decided to take only side roads. These less-visited roads had features like waist-deep trenches and free-flowing streams, as well as all the stray and grazing chickens and goats you could ever want to see. I didn't mind the turbulence too much, however, because the locals were genuinely pleased to see us oggling their neighborhoods. A lot of kids ran up to the cab to say hello, and the men at all the "spots" or mostly outdoor bars that we passed looked up to wave and offer the driver directions back to the main road. Many of them also gestured that we should get out and join them, but our driver was a man on a mission and would not slow.

When we finally arrived in the town near the preserve, Kokobrite, we had no luck getting help with directions. Most people on the road had no idea what we were looking for. We finally flagged down a Rastafarian on a bicycle who listened to us and asked what we needed a nature preserve for. "Monkeys!" I said. "We're looking for the monkeys!" "Oh," he said, "the monkeys. Well, it's not really a forest. It's like...a stand of trees. And you probably won't see the monkeys. They don't come out during the day." By this point, I was completely disenchanted with the idea of the monkeys anyway and recommended to my companions that we just explore the area a bit and then head home. Our driver told us about a great beach nearby and offered to wait for us if we wanted to go see it. He took us to Bojo Beach, a breathtakingly beautiful sand-bar beach just a few minutes from the phantom nature preserve. We ended the day with a bit of serendipity. The beach was only open for another hour and most people had left, so it was just us, the surf, and the sand. If you know me then you know that I hate beaches, but I gladly plodded through the surf with a beer from the tiki hut bar. We had a very pleasant drive back to Accra through nightfall and I felt like I waved at every single person we passed.

That's it for now. I'm going to Cape Coast and Elmina with my program this weekend, so look forward to an update soon!