My Northern Adventure

So what exactly was I up to before I fell sick, you may ask? Well, I took the opportunity to travel to the Northern Region of Ghana, which is famously rural and hot. It certainly lived up to its reputation!

The Journey North
My ultimate destination was Larabanga, which is a small village that is the last turn-off before you enter Mole (Mo-lay) National Park, which is one of the largest reserve parks in Ghana. I had actually met a friend in Chicago who was from Larabanga, and his brothers ran a guesthouse there as part of their community development organization. My intention was to stay with the Salia brothers at their guesthouse and volunteer briefly with their NGO.

To get to Larabanga – and all points in the rural North, actually – you must first take a 12 hour (or so) bus ride up to Tamale (the biggest city in the North) and catch another 3-4 hour bus to the village. I decided to take the “Luxury” STC bus to Tamale, which is the state-run bus service and basically the Ghanaian equivalent of Greyhound. Apparently, “Luxury” means frigid air conditioning and bad Nigerian movies during the 12-hour trip. Whee. The bus made several pit stops along the way, each with progressively deteriorating bathroom conditions (“Hmmm, I hope this brown liquid on the ground is mud…”).

Fortunately, I made an obruni friend on the bus trip, so the 12 hours wasn’t so bad. Sarah was British, volunteering as an English teacher in Accra, and also headed to Larabanga and Mole National Park. We shared our respective stereotypes of each other’s countrymen and political leaders (Sarah on Dubya: “My, he’s a bit of an idiot, isn’t he?”; Me on English stereotypes: “Well, we don’t think badly of the British, but every movie villain does seem to have a British accent.”). We also had the pleasure of watching a non-Nigerian film on the bus, “Commando” (with Arnold Schwarzeneggar and a pre-Who’s the Boss Alyssa Milano). The Ghanaians on board seemed delighted at the violence. There were many a “Oh!” and “Ay!” when Arnie started slicing off heads and stuff.

Once in Tamale, I spent the night and got an early start the next morning. I caught a tro-tro (local minibus) to Larabanga, and, boy, that was fun. Luckily, there were no goats or chickens on the tro-tro. However, the bus was tiny. When I stood up, the bus ceiling cleared my head by about 2 inches (I am 5’3). Plus, the seats (for 2 people) were about 24 inches across – this includes the tro-tro seat: a seat that flips down in the aisle. So you have a bus that is about 5’5 tall, and a little over 6 feet wide, with 6 people seated across. The luggage is piled on top of the bus (there were, like, motorbikes strapped on the top of this thing!), there is a “standing room only” area in the front, and the tro-tro mate “rides” on the bus by basically hanging outside it. Oookkkaaaay. Hey, you have to admire that efficient use of space. Still, with the size of the bus in mind, I couldn’t help but think that it was a bit like riding the short school bus – the “tart (sic) cart”, if you will. Just as this amusing thought passed through my head, the tro-tro passed by a yellow American school bus. Hehe.

It’s usually when you’re on a long journey with loads of people, 12 inches allotted per ass, and surrounded by a swirling blend of body odors that you start thinking, “Wow, this is a good travel story!” The road to Larabanga is notoriously bumpy and dusty (this is why they make 4-wheel drive vehicles, people!), but the 3-4 hours went by relatively quickly. I think this was due to my fascination with the lady in front of me – or, rather, the huge ass bug crusted on the back of her shirt (“Did she lean up against a wall or something?” “I wonder if she knows the bug is there?” “Should I pick it off for her?”). I also passed the time by making faces at a baby on board, a favorite pastime of mine while riding on buses.

Sweet Home Larabanga
I stayed at the Salia Brothers Guesthouse in Larabanga for 11 days. Ah, sweet village livin’. Quite literally, the closest phone is 10-15 miles away in the town of Damongo, which is also the only town with paved roads between Tamale and Mole National Park. In Larabanga, some homes have electricity, but none have running water. It takes some getting used to, and, eventually, you do. In any case, one learns to really appreciate the bucket shower!

I had a simple room in the guesthouse where I kept my stuff, but it was usually so hot at night that I would sleep on the roof. There was actually a tent, so that was really nice. Plus, I happened to have the only room in the guesthouse that was infested by ants. Ants in my toothpaste, in my clothes, anything and everything. I felt more comforted knowing that I could sleep on the roof away from the ants (although, after a while, I got used to the ants. I even started eating bread that had ants crawling all over it. When in Rome…).

Larabanga is a village of about 4,000 people. I met a whole heck of a lot of them. The adults, I can say, are really nice and very cool. Really hospitable and welcoming people who didn’t want anything from me at all. The kids…weeeellll, how do I put this? They kind of suck. Okay, that’s mean. I met some great kids who were awesome. But I consider myself a “kid” person and, really, for the most part, the kids kind of suck. In general, not a lot of people in the North speak fluent or even good English, but here is the extent of most kids’ English:

“Hello!”
“What is your name?”
“My name is _____.”
“Give me _____!”

More often than not, they just skip to the last bit. Many times, the kids would be like, “Give me money!” or “Give me cash!” I know that they probably don’t know that they’re coming off as rude or offensive, but it’s very wearing on anyone after a while. I was rather upset that I let it get to me so easily, because I feel that I’m a pretty understanding person. Still, I personally find it insulting for them and as a foreigner myself, because they equate “white” (and, yes, anyone not “black” counts as “white” here…so I’m white!) with money and everything good. It’s not that this isn’t a correct assumption most of the time, but, quite frankly, the resulting behavior and colonial mindset is really disturbing and disgusting to me. And, I hate to say it, but this tends to be a general trend that extends to a lot of young people and adults in Ghana. A lot of them are shameless and will straight-up ask you for money or any of your personal possessions. Call me Western, but my initial reaction is always, “Er, f*ck off.” Even to kids. Man, what has Ghana done to me?!?

The Salia Brothers
So despite the disillusionment I experienced in Larabanga and Ghana, the Salia Brothers were a bright spot and gave me some hope in humankind, I guess.

Hussein and Al-Hassan are twins, and they were born and bred in Larabanga. Basically, they’re a couple of the few formally educated people in the village and, instead of leaving for greener pastures, they decided to stick around Larabanga and help out. They initially started with stuff like developing water sources (dude, Larabanga is a dry place and has annual water problems during the dry season) and health issues, but, about 13 years ago, they decided that developing tourism in Larabanga would be a good way to sustain community development. Besides its good location near Mole National Park, the village is also home to Ghana’s oldest mosque (which is quite cool, by the way), so there was a lot of potential.

Unfortunately, as I learned, the brothers and the village elders with whom they worked encountered a lot of resistance to their progress. It’s really sad, but I think their experiences over the past decade or so really reflect a prevailing attitude that many Ghanaians have shared with me during my time here: even though something is good for a large portion of society, there will inevitably be opposition because someone doesn’t want another person to “get ahead”. They would rather pull everyone down than allow one person to get ahead. The Brothers and several of the village elders shared that a lot of their work could not progress because of a lot of pettiness in the community. Even in my short time there, I saw some things you wouldn’t believe. For example, with the assistance of a philanthropic foundation, two of Larabanga’s three wells had recently been mechanized – that is, a mechanical pump was installed so that water was pumped from the well into a big tank. Villagers could simply turn on a tap and draw water from the tank instead of having to lug buckets manually from the well. So mechanized wells and easily accessible water means that the whole village benefits unequivocally, right? So it would seem.

First, somebody stole one of the pumps. So that’s one well that cannot be mechanized any longer. Meanwhile, the second pump was hooked up to the electricity of some villager’s house. He decided that, if the village wanted to use the pump for the well, then the village should pay for his whole electricity bill. When the village tried to plead with him otherwise, the dude shut off the electricity to his whole house (that means he didn’t have electricity either!) rather than allow the pump to be functional! On top of that, someone stole the on/off tap for the water tank that stored the pumped water, so that the tank could not be used, even if the electricity was available for the pump.

I know what you’re thinking, because it’s exactly what I was thinking: WTF? WTF?!?!?

This is just one of the stories, by the way. The brothers told me a lot more crazeeeeeeeee shit that went down over the years. It would make your head explode.

Sometimes I told Hussein and Al-Hassan about my own hesitations of entering public service, because of precisely the type of crazy politics and shitty egos that prevent real progress. I asked them why they even bothered sometimes. It’s like hitting your head against the wall.

Hussein had an answer that sort of restored my faith in people. “You have to do it, because no one else will. Just keep strong and faithful – it will work out OK.”

And, hey, who knows that the Brothers aren’t out to get ahead, you know? I’ve certainly kept that in mind, and you’ve always got to, as a skeptical American. Still, I think I’ve learned long ago that you should not deify men, but instead judge them on their actions. Hussein and Al-Hassan are straight-up dudes and they are very well-traveled, considering where they came from. Hussein has been all over Europe, and Al-Hassan has been to America. They both had a chance to stay, both had enough sponsors to allow them to stay, but they chose not to. They chose to return to little Larabanga instead. Heck, I sometimes feel that I can never return to Toms River because I saw a bit of Chicago, and here are these guys giving up even more to do good in their village. Makes you feel a bit of a chump…and a bit inspired, too, I suppose.

Miscellaneous Fun
Some other notable tidbits during my time in Larabanga:

1) Actually, it was kind of a crappy time for me to visit because everyone (Larabanga is 100% Muslim) was fasting for Ramadan. As such, they spent most of the day sleeping and trying to forget about food. I fasted for a day. The no-food thing is manageable, but not drinking sucks. I mean, it’s not really a climate meant for avoiding liquids (it was probably about 95-100 degrees Fahrenheit each day)!

2) A reason why I thought my illness was malaria was because I absolutely got chewed up and spit out by the skeeters (“mozzies” – thanks, Sarah!) in Larabanga. At one point I counted 79 bites – and those were just the ones that itched badly enough.

3) I got some really good mosquito quotes while in Larabanga:

“No, I fear mosquitoes.” - Al-Hassan, when I mentioned that Ghanaians were probably more used to mosquitoes than I was.

“I must protect you!” – Al-Hassan, upon discovering that I had no mosquito net

“Yesterday, mosquitoes try to kill me!” – Sharifa, cool Larabanga teenager


Sidenote of the Day: Rapidly dwindling time in Ghana
Dude! Only a week left before I head home. Being sick threw off my vacation schedule, but I’m still going to try to see the Cape Coast slave castle and the rainforest canopy thing before I leave. If only I wasn’t so lazy…

Back from the edge of the world (and the brink of disaster)

I’m back in Accra from Larabanga village in the Northern Region. An adventure indeed. I was about 10 miles away from the nearest phone and a good 3-4 hours from any Internet connection. I return to the “big” city with a fair lower standard of personal hygiene and a much greater appreciation for running water. After being disconnected from the outside world, I’m also glad to hear about the Chicago White Sox making the World Series (!!!), but quite depressed to hear about news of earthquakes and (yet more) hurricanes.

I initially decided to cut my trip short because I ran out of camera batteries (and what’s a good Asian tourist without camera in tow, anyway?). However, it turns out the return trip was well-planned. About 2 hours before I got on the 12-hour bus ride to Accra, I got sick. How sick? Well, not to worry anyone, but really really sick…and, for those who know me, that is really saying something. I was worried it was malaria, typhoid, dengue fever, meningitis…or really any other disease you’d rather not think about. I figured at this point it was probably good that I was returning to Accra, where hospital care is far better (thanks to the significant obruni population). Plus, I visited a rural hospital while in the Northern Region and remained scarred because I think I saw a baby die. :(

Anyhoo, it was the longest 12-hour ride of my life, peppered throughout with half-delirious promises to God of what I would do if he let me live, ranging from the sincere to slightly absurd (spend more time at home, do more volunteer work, not eat anymore sugar, etc.).

I luckily made it back to Accra in one piece. Let me say that Yinka and Calvin are my newest best friends for helping me out in my pathetic state (no offense to old best friends). I made it to a good hospital, where the doctor informed me that I didn’t have malaria, dengue fever, or typhoid. I was diagnosed with a general infection (uh, thanks, Doc), prescribed some antibitotics, and will be going back today for a checkup.

I’m feeling better, but am still having some trouble sitting upright for longer than 5 minutes (fear not: I am typing this entry from Yinka’s home computer, so I can lay my head down frequently). It looks like recovery might hamper the remainder of my travel plans, and that’s certainly a bummer, but health comes first!

Oooh, getting dizzy now. Will write more later.

New animal sounds; Hitting the Road (with a potential new diet)

It's been raining quite a bit here, but that doesn't mean it gets any cooler. In fact, it's the rain that has brought the latest animals to join the Asylum Down menagerie: frogs in the open sewer. Holy scary. There can't be many of them, but their croaks sound like dogs. Also added to the latest sounds (to make up for the absence of Insomniac Rooster) is the new baby goat next door, whose bleats sound like someone screaming in agony. Sweet.

But this doesn't matter, because I'm hitting the road! For the next three weeks, I'll be traveling to the North of Ghana. Since it's closer to the Sahara, it's a bit hotter...but, hey, it's a "dry" heat. The North is primarily Muslim, and it's Ramadan now. Oops. Well, I suppose that will be a new development in my tropical diet (Equatorial Heat + Walking + Risk of malaria + Ramadan fasting between 6am and 6pm).

From the North, I'll be working my way down south and back to Accra, through Kumasi (a big ol' city, heartland of the Ashanti empire), Elmina and Cape Coast (home of two of the most famous slave castles in Africa, Cape Coast is also near one of the few rainforest canopies in Africa), and the obruni beach resorts of Biriwa and Anomabu (deadbeating will continue). Needless to say, my connection to the Internet(s) and you all will be spotty, but I'll report back as soon as possible. Maybe I'll even be alive to tell a tale at the end of this adventure. Cheers!

Seen & Heard in Accra

A few of my friends were in the habit of collecting quotes, which (especially when taken out of context) are quite funny. I realized that I’ve seen and heard my fair share of amusing things during my time in Ghana so far! Of course, the point of this post is to share them with you, but I’m going to ruin them for you by placing them in context as well. I’m such a party pooper.


1) “PUSSY licker” - On a woman’s shirt, walking in Asylum Down

I saw this on a T-shirt (on an actual woman! Who was holding the hand of a small child!) during my first days in Accra, as I was innocently walking along the street. And, yes, the capitalized emphasis is accurate. From my summer living in China, I’m used to seeing non-sensical, cutesy “Engrish” (“Time for Friendly!”) on shirts, so I almost fell into the nearest open sewer ditch when I saw this one. Mind you, I’ve got nothing against pussy lickers, per se, but the fact that someone would display the word “PUSSY” so prominently on a T-shirt AND wear it in public both shocked and amused me! English is the official language of Ghana, and I simply assumed that the wearer of the shirt knew what this saying meant. After sharing this shirt anecdote with Yinka, she said that, weeelllll, the lady probably didn’t know what she was wearing. Maybe, Yinka suggested, she was wearing it because it was a nice design or something. And rightly she should, but I’ve got my doubts: it was just a plain black T-shirt, with the word “PUSSY” emblazoned (I’m talking armpit-to-armpit emblazoned here!) in huge white block letters, with “licker” in smaller letters beneath. Eh, whatever. Who am I to question another’s fashion sense?


2) “Ghanaian guys love the ass.” - Yinka

While watching a new TV sitcom with Yinka, there was a shot of a guy following a girl who was jogging. The camera pans onto her ass and proceeds to stay there for a few minutes. Straight ass shot. I couldn’t help but think, “Oooh, that girl’s kinda chunky!” Like I’m one to talk, right? Anyhooo…

I guess my face registered some sort of confused reaction, because Yinka could not help but notice it. She shared with me that the girl – who I would objectively classify as overweight by US standards – had the ideal figure for the typical Ghanaian guy, who quite admires a lady’s hips and behind. The men like their women “well-covered” (i.e., with a little meat on her bones). Yinka personally chalked it up to the fact that, traditionally, in the villages, a woman who was about to be married would be placed in a “Fattening House” about a month before her wedding date, whereupon her bridesmaids (or, the Ghanaian equivalents, anyway) would do nothing but cook for and feed her up until the wedding ceremony. By the time her fiancé saw her on the wedding day, she’d be nice and plump. Well, I guess millennia of tradition die hard! It was interesting though. Nowadays, I think most of the girls are also into being slim à la Western standards.

The fascination with the ass, however, continues. Yinka says that sometimes, on her shoots, she’ll give her video camera to her cameraman and end up with an inordinate amount of ass shots. Hee hee.


3) “I don’t like that place because of the hookers.” - Friend #1

This was in reference to an obruni spot (again, spot=bar) that I went to called Byewell’s, which despite my friend’s (true) observation, is actually kind of cool. Yet, let it be known throughout the land to those who don’t know it, that wherever foreigners gather, so shall there be local women (and men) there to sleep with them or to hustle ‘em out of their money. It’s the golden rule of international travel, really. This was true in China, and it’s true here, too. It’s especially disturbing to me to see young girls basically sell themselves to guys who are willing to take advantage of them (the sight of the greasy, middle-aged Europeans in Speedos at La beach flirting with the local girls made me want to throw up). And, equivalently, sad to see a guy who genuinely want to find a girlfriend get hustled. Alas, what’s that wise old saying? “Don’t hate the playa, hate the game.” And so I shall.


4) “Pssssssssssssssst!” - [insert random Ghanaian here]

Ghanaians hiss to get your attention. If you’re used to people silently raising their hand or saying “Excuse me” to get your attention, a “Psssssssst!” may seem rude. I personally just find it creepy – it always surprises me somehow. My favorite “Psssssssst!” incident was when a street kid was like, “Psssssssst! [waves me over to him] Money?” Yeah right, kid, I’m really gonna give you money after you “Psssssssst”ed at me. Sometimes, in the Internet café, people around me with “Psssssssst!” in relatively quick order, so it’s like surround-sound stereo.


5) “Herrrroooowwww.” - Man-Cat #1

After many nights of sleeplessness, I’ve finally deciphered what one particular Man-Cat who lingers around the apartment has been saying. It’s definitely a long, drawling “Hello”, with an Asian accent (l’s replaced by r’s) – therefore, “Herrrroooowwww”. Yes, CREEPY. Refer to the Kim Jong-Il puppet in Team America: World Police if necessary.


6) “I don’t even know the name of the street I live on!” - Friend #2

If you’re used to the street grid of Chicago, identifying locations with street names, and street-led directions, forgeddaboudit here in Ghana. Here, the directions go something like this: “Okay, walk down this street until you get to the shoe shop, then turn and walk over the bridge, past the muddy river and the kebab stand, cross that street, walk past the Barnett’s furniture store, and you’ll be at the Internet café!”

Got it?

The first couple days I was here, I just couldn’t understand how Yinka could drive around the city. And, really, the quote above is appropriate. People don’t really know street names and navigate by landmarks and distance instead. I got lost one day while heading to the National Museum on Iforgotthenameofthisstreet Street, so I ask a passerby, “How do I get to Iforgotthenameofthisstreet Street?” He proceeds to say something like, “Er, you have to walk this way for about 30 minutes, then turn left when you get to the bend of the road and you’ll be there…I think.” WHAT? Feeling that, deep in my bones, this wasn’t right, I asked someone else, who helped me find my way by personally escorting me (really nice!). We did some crazy turns into weird alleys and jumped over a few ditches, but we got there. Who the heck would know this unless they’ve lived in Accra all their life?!?!? Yeesh.

Landmarks are also used for tro-tro (minibus) and shared taxi stops here, but they’re not really labeled by a sign. Instead, they have vague names like, “Blue Kiosk”. So, once you see the Blue Kiosk, you say, “Mate, please stop at the Blue Kiosk.” But what if the Blue Kiosk blows away one day?!? And which Blue Kiosk (there’s one on every corner)?!? Needless to say, I think I’d rather walk.


7) “Um, those are breasts on TV.” - Me

Yes, I know it’s egotistical/hedonistic of me to quote myself, but I’ve got a point here, I swear! I saw the aforementioned breasts on a Saturday morning show called “Today’s Woman” that was doing a segment on breast enhancement. Holy crap! Extended shots of bare-chested women for 10 minutes. This was not Cable or Satellite TV – just the regular ol’ network shows that anyone can get. And it was 9 AM!

And, then again, it really makes you think about American news and TV versus Ghana’s, and other parts of the world, for that matter. American movies are known for violence, cursing, and sex, but our news is freakishly tame. In Ghana, I’ve seen breasts, bums, and other verboten body parts abound in news and news-type segments. During the Evening News, they even show extended footage of actual dead, mangled bodies being pulled from car wrecks (by the way, they never warn you about the disturbing dead bodies…only after they show the footage will the news anchors sometimes say, “We apologize if you found any of that disturbing.” Hee!). By contrast, Ghanaian movies and TV shows are very tame – there’s hints of sex and stuff, but no on-screen kissing or coitus. The kissing alone is apparently quite racy.

So maybe that’s something twisted about American society – we tolerate violence and sex as long as it’s imaginary, but we can’t deal with it in real life. On the other hand, other countries confront that sort of ugly reality everyday, and it’s only in the imaginary, man-made realms that they can control it (as demonstrated by not having it at all). But I’m probably getting a bit too philosophical here!


8) “Hello, my wife!” - Yinka’s weird landlord

Yinka’s landlord is a older gentleman in his seventies who, by all accounts, is the stereotypical crochety old man who doesn’t like anyone. So, imagine my surprise during my first social exchange with him:

Landlord: [glares at me with a mean stare] Are you here to see me?
Me: No, sir. Yinka.
Landlord: Oh! [brightens] I love you!

Weird, eh? Anyway, so now, whenever he sees me, he greets me with the above quote. I guess it’s the submissive Asian thing. Whatev.


Sidenote of the Day: Insomniac Rooster is M.I.A.

Some of you may have heard my complaints about the Insomniac Rooster next door who crowed incessantly and without reason throughout the night. Honestly, for my first 2 ½ weeks in Accra, I didn’t not sleep well because of this rooster. It was my Arch Enemy, the Bane of My Existence, my Toking Bastard. Yinka tried to reassure me that, at least it would be dead and eaten by Christmas. Late at night, I seriously hatched plans to kidnap and murder Insomniac Rooster and feast upon it.

But lately Insomniac Rooster has been, gleefully, M.I.A. I’ve slept straight through the night for 3 nights straight now! Maybe the neighbors got tired of that bastard rooster and decided to feast a bit early. One can only hope. In any case, I’m only sorry that I didn’t take a photo of the I.R. to show you all. God knows I could’ve just taken a picture of its many rooster brethren running around the streets of Accra…but, hey, all’s well that ends well.