One year, actually 49 weeks, goes by very fast. I remember when I was younger, way younger, someone explaining to me (I think it was my mom) how time speeds up as we get older because each year is less and less of a percentage of our lives. Now that I think it had to be my mom as this is exactly the type of weird, in a good way, conversations we had in our family; a tidbit that has stayed with me each passing year. At 62, one year is only 1.6% of my entire life up to this point. This last 1.6% has been so full, life-changing, hard and wonderful. My rich life here in Accra, this crazy and chaotic place, is coming to and end tonight when I step onto a plane to go back to the good ol’ USA. Home sweet home.
What will I miss? In many ways the things that I will miss here are also the same things that I will not miss. I will miss/not miss the taxis blaring their horns at me to see if I need a ride; the tro tros driving dangerously close to me spewing out their cloud of exhaust with the conductor, head stuck out the side door or window, yelling the route either “Circle, circle, circle” or “37, 37, 37”. I will miss the street vendors weaving their way in and out of the traffic selling everything – food, clothing, steering wheel covers, magazines, tissue – you name it they sell it. I will miss/not miss the relentless heat and the humidity. I will miss my young, beautiful, smart French tutor, Recheal, who was so patient and kind with me as I struggled to re-learn a language. I will miss many of the people I encounter on a daily basis. The crew at our local coffee shop, specifically Manef and Priscilla, who always gave me big smiles and made me feel so welcome. I will even miss the guards up the street at GIZ (a German NGO) who go out of their way to say hello to me and ask me how I am. Of course I will miss/not miss the 100s of Uber drivers I have come into contact with over this year — these men (and one woman) taught me so much about the good and the great and the bad and the ugly of Ghana.
What I will really miss most of all though is sitting at the local coffee shop or running or having dinner with my friends and feeling camaraderie with people from all different countries making the best of their time in Ghana by connecting with each other. This has been the true blessing of my time here — to experience the human connection in such a beautiful and intense way and to make more new friends than I thought humanely possible at this stage of my life. RF1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 and RFHs — these people held me up and helped me really enjoy my life here. I am so grateful for all the people I met in this 1.6% and hope to keep them in my life for years to come.
What will I take back with me? Physically I will take back very few things. I came with two suitcases and am leaving with the same. I did have to ship some large items that I purchased back to the US via DHL (exorbitantly expensive by the way). I gave away half my clothes and filled my suitcase instead with some pottery, beads and fabrics beautifully hand-crafted here. The more important question is what non-materialistic things I am taking back with me? I am taking back a stronger even more loving marriage for one. Having this experience with the hubster has strengthened our already strong and healthy marriage. We leaned on each other here. A lot. Having the constant familiarity with each other in a constantly unfamiliar place makes the uncomfortable more comfortable and tolerable for each other. Without TV and other distractions of life back in California we spent a lot of time with each other (when we were both here) talking about everything but especially about our shared and unshared experiences in West Africa. The hubster traveled often to Côte d’Ivorie, Nigeria, Cameroon, and Burkina Faso and I loved to hear his stories about the companies he was working with and how things were different or similar in these countries to Ghana. Visa versa, he enjoyed hearing about my Mini Mermaids running program, my French lessons, what new places I discovered, my stories of getting around this crazy place and what my friends here were up to.
I am also hopefully bringing home a little different attitude and look at the world in general. I will be taking home a bit more patience and flexibility and a lot more appreciation for my life in California – especially the availability of safe and fresh food; clean air and water. This 1.6% of my life was spent a lot less encumbered than the previous 98.4%. My time here was my own. I did things because I wanted to do them rather than having to do them. I never felt rushed or stressed about getting anywhere. If it took 3 hours to grocery shop so be it. Getting a key made taking a whole day — que sera, sera. Hopefully I can carry some of that back with me. I will bring back a headful of good and some bad memories of people, sights, sounds and smells. Oh the smells — rotten fish and putrid smells abound here. Even our clothes started to have a certain “eau d’odor”. I will be glad when those smells will be in memory only.
This year has been so rich in experience and memories that no matter how happy I am to be getting home to my house, my dog, my colleagues, my friends and family I am sad for this year to come to an end. I feel blessed that I was able to have this full experience in my 60s. To get out of my comfort zone and be open to all that is happening around me was really what made the year feel so worthwhile. I think the hubster feels the same.
So what’s next? In Accra when you tell people you are leaving they ask where you are going to next. The assumption is that we are all living the constant ex-pat life, but that is not our journey. I will return to my job at Stanford University, reconnect with my friends, family and colleagues, take a walk on the beach, run in the redwood forest and be happy that life is full, messy and beautiful wherever I am. Thank you Ghana for showing me a different way for this 1.6%.
One of the great things about living in Ghana is being on the continent of Africa and having the possibility of exploring 53 other countries without leaving the continent. During Christmas vacation the hubster and I traveled to Morocco (North Africa) and then at Easter we flew to Saõ Tomé (an island nation off the coast of Gabon) for a long weekend. In June, if you read my last blog, we went to South Africa for a great 10 day trip. I have been itching to get myself to East Africa as well as I really wanted to be able to get at least a glimpse of that side of this expansive continent. We had previously tried to organize a trip to Kenya in March or May with relatives living in Germany, but that did not work out so I tried talking several friends from the US to meet me somewhere, anywhere, in the eastern part of the continent. Luckily my friend, Ellen, with whom I hiked the Tour du Mont Blanc last summer, agreed and we planned a trip to Uganda.
Why Uganda? Well, they have mountain gorillas…and chimpanzees…and all sorts of other wildlife including elephants, TREE climbing lions, zebras, giraffes, monkeys, warthogs, lots of different type of antelope and over a thousand different bird species. Plus it is not as hot there as it is in Ghana Rwanda also has mountain gorillas but the permit for one day of tracking gorillas there is about three times the cost of the permit in Uganda and they have a little less wildlife to keep you occupied once you have had your day or two with the gorillas. Uganda seemed reasonably priced and not too far (this is all relative as it still was a 5 hour flight to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia and then another 2 hours to Entebbe, Uganda by plane). Ellen could get a direct flight from SFO to Dubai and then direct flight from Dubai to Entebbe. We were even able to arrive within a few hours of each other at the airport.
I arrived first — at 4AM. There is literally nothing happening at the Entebbe airport at this hour. I wanted to walk around the four gate airport because first, it would keep me awake and second, I had been sitting on a plane for hours but I got so annoyed with cab drivers asking me if I needed a ride that I went back into the airport and walked around the very small area with the unopened shops there. Ellen’s flight got in on time around 6AM and I easily found her but we were not sure where our guide was meeting us, but the airport is small. While we are standing around searching for the guide a short, muscular man walks up to us and asks us if we are Ellen and Meredith. We have found our guide or I guess he has found us. His name is Nasser.
The first day is a 5 – 6 hour drive to our first lodge at Lake Mburo. We stop for a great breakfast and some of the best coffee I have the whole trip at a small restaurant right at the equator. We are both tired but it doesn’t take much to sit in a van. About an hour away from breakfast we get a flat tire — in the middle of nowhere. We get out of the car while Nasser attempts to change the tire which involves a jack and some rocks and a few panicky looks from Ellen and me while we worry about our guide being crushed by the van. Another safari vehicle stops to see if he needs help but drives on after about 5 minutes. Ellen and I do laps up and down the busy road with large trucks zipping by and motorbikes almost taking us out a few times. It is late morning and warm out, but not as hot as Ghana. Nasser finally gets the tire changed but tells us that he is going to have to stop at the next town to get the tire fixed. We drive for about another hour until we find a town and a gas station. At the first gas station there is no one to fix the tire but the second place we stop not only has a person to fix a tire there are several people in line to get tires fixed. Seems to be a big business in Uganda. We get out of the van and wait and there are a group of Muslim women dressed up taking pictures of each other. They are beautifully dressed with their ornamented dresses and matching headscarves and I offer to take a picture of all of them together. Soon we are joined by a very tall man who is also dressed up in a long white tunic, a white kufi (a short, brimless rounded cap) and a very western-looking sports jacket. Now he wants to take a picture of us and what turns out to be his wife and his sisters-in-law. I am embarrassed as I am sweaty and wearing the clothes I left Ghana in the day before (jeans and a tank top) but he insists and Ellen and I agree. We talk to him for quite awhile and learn that they are going to a wedding (reason for the lovely clothes) and they too have a little car trouble. Turns out this man used to be the manager of said gas station for about 10 years, also was a teacher and now is in the “tile” business. We exchange Whatsapp numbers and he sends me (he has me in his phone as Ghana White Lady) pictures.
Our new friends at the gas station
As we pull into Lake Mburo National Park, a beautiful savannah about 1500 meters above sea level, we begin to see zebras, giraffes, buffalo, baboons, warthogs and antelope. We arrive at our destination mid-afternoon just in time to get a very slow moving boat cruise in Lake Mburo and we spot some hippos and crocodiles and a lot of different birds. Both Ellen and I almost fall asleep on the boat as it has been a long day, or in Ellen’s case two or three days. Our accommodation at Mantana Safari Lodge was a fancy tent (we signed up for “luxury” accommodations and this might be a stretch) and we are the only visitors so we had very attentive staff. We had to tell them when we wanted to shower so they could bring the hot water to our tent and the shower was maybe the best one I had the whole trip despite or maybe because of the primitiveness.
The next morning coffee and biscuits are brought to our tent and after a large breakfast we journey out for a game drive through the park, which does not disappoint. No elephants or lions in this area but a plethora of zebras and eland (a type of antelope) and at the watering hole we witness zebra, baboons, buffalo, antelope and warthogs all sharing the water source. There are so many birds to see it is hard to keep track so I start making a list. By late morning we are off to our next destination — Bwindi Impenetrable National Park. This is where the famous Mountain Gorillas (Silverbacks) live and we are excited that the next day we will get to track the gorillas.
Lots of zebras in Lake Mburo
Our luxury accommodations
Crocodile chillin’
After about 4 hours we arrive at the Mahogany Springs Lodge in Bwindi and I am ecstatic that is indeed a “luxury” accommodation. The lodge has beautiful exotic gardens on the property and sits just above the Munyanga River and it is steps from the entrance to the Forest. Our room is almost the same size as my apartment in Ghana and there is running hot and cold water. We are told we can safely walk/run on the road outside since there are no predatory animals close by so before it gets dark we go out for a walk to the town center. We return for dinner and I am pleasantly surprised by the healthy and tasty food. The next morning we arise early as the “briefing” for the gorilla tracking is up the road at 8 AM and we eat another delicious meal and have some more great Ugandan coffee. We were told that there are only 24 permits a day but there seems to be close to 100 people at the briefing. I google this when I get home and see that actually there are 88 permits given each day and now this makes much more sense. A local Catholic school is performing some dances and singing for us which is fun and exuberant and on the last dance they pull all of us onto the dance floor and try to teach us their dance. We finally get divided into our groups of 8 and I am a bit disappointed that most of our group looks amazingly unfit and several have hired not one, but two porters to push them up the hill. In addition to the 4 out of shape people there are two German women and one is tall and athletic looking, Claudia, and I turn to Ellen and tell her I want to be her friend. Ellen laughs but in the end Claudia and I did hit it off and chatted most of the way up and down the mountain.
Although I am sure there are many areas of the “Impenetrable” forest that are exactly that, most of our walk was on pretty easy terrain until right before we got to the gorillas. We probably walked about and hour and half before we saw our first gorilla and there were some pretty nasty vines with thorns that kept snagging on my pants. If you plan to ever do this bring pants that do not snag. They tell you to stay 7 meters away from the gorillas but the guide, trackers and porters pushed all of us forward until we were only a few feet away from many of the gorillas. There were 15 gorillas in the family group (Habinyaja) that we tracked. I was never sure how many we saw but we definitely saw the big daddy, with the “silverback” that he acquired around age 12; several youngsters, including one who played on top of a tree right in front of us for quite awhile and then did a backward dive into the greenery below. They are habituated and so for the most part they were not fazed by us, but at one point I was in front with two trackers and one of the males came charging from up above us and scared the crap out of me (and the trackers looked alarmed as well). We were only allowed an hour with the gorillas but it was magical just being with these gentle giants in their world.
The next morning we get up early again and go for a short run. There are dozens of school children walking to school and one young girl runs along side us as she walked to school. We also see one of the waitresses at our hotel walking to work. People are friendly but just like in Ghana cars and motorbikes drive way too close to us when we are on a road with no sidewalks. I now blame the British for this behavior with my n of 2 former British colonies. We are off to Queen Elizabeth National Park (QENP) which turns out to be fairly close and the drive is amazing as we see lots of birds (the list is probably up to 40 or 50 now) and we even see the “tree climbing” lions perched in two trees along the way. When we turn on the final safari (meaning dirt) road to get to our hotel we are blessed with seeing a large herd of elephants — about 30 — cross right in front of us. We arrive at our hotel, the Mweya Safari Lodge, perched on a hill overlooking the Kazinga Channel which connects Lake George and Lake Edward (yep, definitely former British colony). The hotel is large and probably back in the day it was considered a “luxury” accommodation but it is a little tired and dated. It does have a workout room for which Ellen and I are grateful as running here with all the wild animals is not a good idea unless you want to be someone’s breakfast.
The next few days we explore QENP including a boat ride on the Kazinga Channel where we see so many hippos, crocodiles and water buffalo that I cannot count them all and more birds including several types of storks that clearly look prehistoric. One morning we travel to do some chimpanzee tracking. Our guide for the tracking was a bit lame and kept only finding the chimps after his colleague radioed their location. He seemed to like running towards the chimps, scaring them a bit so most of my photos were of chimp butts but as you can see I did get a few shots of them in the trees. Again, these chimps are habituated but they didn’t seem really happy to see us and a few times they all went a bit mad screeching and talking and swinging. Each time I got ready to try to video this amazing chatter they would all stop. I am definitely not going to get a job as a wildlife photographer or videographer.
One of my rare good phtots
After three lovely days and nights which included some pretty decent Indian food (the owner of our hotel was Indian), one trip to the gym to run on the treadmill, several safari rides, the boat ride and the chimp tracking we leave early in the morning to head to our final destination, Murchison Falls National Park (MFNP). Unfortunately this place is about a 9 hour, yes 9 hour, drive from QENP. The drive takes us through mostly rural Uganda with many small villages and a few good-sized towns. We see acres and acres of coffee and tea being cultivated. There is a ton of road construction and in comparison to Ghana (I am pretty sure Ellen and Nasser are sick of me comparing things to Ghana, oh well) the roads are magnificent We stop along the roadside to have lunch and a bunch of kids from the local village walk down the road to stare at us. We offer them all the food that we have not eaten and the happily take it and run back down the road. Ellen and I get in a few games of Scrabble on her kindle along the way. The time actually goes by pretty fast.
We have to take a “ferry” across the Nile to get to our lodge and we arrive about 45 minutes before the ferry is leaving. We kill time telling baboons to leave us alone and befriend a cute little 2 year old (human) who sees me and immediately runs and jumps into my arms. We wave goodbye to our young friend, and we take the 4 minute ride across the Nile and we arrive at the lodge at Murchison Falls, Paraa Lodge, late in the afternoon just in time to get in a short swim. The pool even has a swim up bar. I guess that is why this place is considered luxury accommodations. It also has AC. It is the first place we have stayed with AC. It is actually needed as this area of Uganda is much hotter than we were previously as the lowest elevation is not too far from here — 621 meters at Lake Albert. (Albert, Edward, George, Elizabeth….yes, British) Our last safari ride is the next morning and we leave early and catch a beautiful sunrise over the savannah. We see a few lions right off the bat — a lioness with her three cubs that are about 9 months old. Two of the cubs play with each other right in front of us. I am truly a sucker for young animals of all kinds and even though these guys could devour us I think they are as cute as can be. There are also a ton of giraffe here and we are even allowed to get out of the car and stand fairly close to them as they are not known for trampling humans. In the afternoon we take a boat ride up the Nile to Murchison Falls, the largest waterfall on the Nile. We see a few more species of bird not seen before and when we return I count up our bird list and we are at 90! Being competitive I want to make it 100 and tell Nasser that we have to get a few more birds on the list the next day which is the last day of our trip.
On the last day, while still in MFNP, we take a walk at the top of the falls along a nice easy nature trail. We add a few birds to our list. Our guide that day, George, is knowledgeable and funny. Because this “hike” is really just a 30 minute easy walk we leave our backpacks in the car and I slip my phone in my back pocket to take pictures, bring a small bottle of water (the Ugandans seem to think that us foreigners will die quickly without water here) and wrap my binoculars around my neck. Murchison Falls are impressive as the water has to compress into a 7 meter wide space at one point. Here is what the top of the falls look like:
We finish up our walk and there is a bathroom near the parking area with two squat toilets. As per usual Ellen and I figure best to use any toilet we come along as we have a long ride to our next stop (a rhino sanctuary). I pop into one of the stalls and begin to drop my drawers and my phone falls out of my pocket and straight into the pit. The pit of shit. I believe I also uttered that word. I look down the hole and there is my moto phone face up, about 3 feet down, lit up with the time and date in a neat circle staring at me. For some reason, I go ahead and pee anyway (Ellen finds this part of the story amusing). I walk out to George and Nasser and nonchalantly tell them my phone is now in the toilet pit. Nasser laughs. He thinks I am kidding. Nope, not kidding. I shrug my shoulders and figure my phone is a goner. But wait, George pipes up, “Let me go tell the guys who work here. I bet they have had this happen before and they can get it out.” Nasser looks skeptical. Ellen, a microbiologist, is thinking of all the diseases I am going to get if they recover my phone. She repeatedly asks me, “Are you sure you even want your phone after it has been, well, you know, there?”
After about 10 minutes George returns with three guys. George tells me, “They have done this before. They think they can get it out but it will take awhile.” Apparently they had already gone to the stall and seen my phone, still flashing the time and date. They assure me that they now have blocked off that stall so, “No one else can make anything on top of it.” This is good especially since a large busload of school children just pulled into the parking lot. Nasser, Ellen and I sit on a bench (not in sight of the toilets) and wait. Nasser remains skeptical. Ellen remains disgusted by the thought of what the phone is in contact with. Weirdly, and maybe this is because I have lived in Africa for almost a year, I am just calm, slightly amused and fascinated that someone is actually trying to retrieve my phone out of a pile of shit.
Twenty more minutes go by. I grow impatient and want to check their progress plus I really, really want to see how the heck they are getting the phone out. I walk up to the outhouse and there are my three guys (all with gloves on) smiling. As I walk up they announce, “We just got it out!” There is a long stick on the ground with a plastic box with a corner cut out and there lying next to it is my phone. I think, “No f**in’ way.” They bring my phone closer to me and lay it on the ground. Time and date flashing still. It is remarkably clean yet there are some small “things” crawling on it. Maggots perhaps. I try not to think about these things too long and one of the guys takes a cloth and brushes them off quickly. They have a bottle of rubbing alcohol and clean cotton swabs. Quickly they take the cover off my phone and start scrubbing my phone and the cover with alcohol. It doesn’t take long for the phone to look clean. Maybe not sterile, but clean. They work on it awhile more while I negotiate a price for their hard work. I end up giving them $70 US. One of the guys emphasizes that this was “dangerous” work. Yes, he is right. I walk back to the bench where Nasser and Ellen are and proudly hold up my phone. They are amazed and maybe slightly disgusted.
With cell phone in hand we hop back into the van and head to the Ziwa Rhino Sanctuary. I wash my cell phone with Purell about 10 times on the way. Ellen keeps telling me I should not use it but it works perfectly fine and looks clean to me. Due to the unexpected delay at MFNP we don’t have a lot of time at the Rhino Sanctuary but we find three rhinos right away and follow them for about 30 minutes. The baby rhino wants to nurse so he follows the mom for 15 minutes whining like a puppy. She ignores him and even the guide is laughing at them because it really is too funny. Finally mom gives in and all three rhinos lie down so the little guy can finally get to nurse. Both the southern white rhino and black rhino were wiped out in Uganda as of 1982 due to the prolonged armed human conflict (think Idi Amin) especially in the northern area, poaching and mismanagement of the habitat. The Sanctuary currently has 20 something rhino and the plan is once they have 50 they will start to re-introduce them into MFNP. It is great to see this country doing so much to now protect the many wonderful species that exist there.
A few hours later we arrive back to Entebbe. Ellen is staying for an extra day and my flight leaves around 2:45AM so we have a hotel room. I don’t really understand why all the flights have to go in and out in the middle of the night but I am able to take a short nap before I get a ride to the airport just after midnight. Check-in at the airport is uneventful and I head to the airport lounge and get served the best of cup of tea I have ever had in my life — some mixture of Ugandan black tea and ginger and milk. My flight leaves on time and I get to Addis Ababa around 5 AM. I have a few hours and wander the airport and hang out in the lounge for a bit. When we board the plane to Accra I get upgraded to Business Class — what a nice ending to a great trip to a wonderful country. I am grateful for my traveling companion Ellen (I am pretty sure we never got on each other’s nerves) and our guide Nasser and special thanks to the three guys who fished my phone out of the s***hole. All’s well that ends well.
The hubster and I just returned from a 10-day trip to South Africa. We had some great experiences there and took a ton of pictures so I was thinking I would do an entire blog post about our trip. I mean who doesn’t like stories and photos of great food, beautiful coastlines, wine tasting, forests, friends, running (okay, some of you may not really be that interested in that or any of the other things I mention) and PENGUINS. But then yesterday happened here in Accra. A “normal” day here is hardly ever dull and yesterday was the perfect example of how a seemingly small task can morph into a day-long ordeal.
The day started with a run – not atypical for me, but my lovely running group here has slowly dwindled down in the last few weeks. All my friends here are in their forties and have school age children and when school lets out for the summer all the expat families take off. We visited two of my friends while we were in South Africa, let’s call them RF1 and RF2, where they are both spending the entire summer with their families. Two other running friends, RF3 and RF4 are staying in town because they both work full-time here but RF3 is on a trip to the US and the RF4 is in Germany. That leaves my nearest and dearest friend here, RF5. She and her husband, RF5H, have been the best friends one can ask for both to me and the hubster. We have run together and eaten together countless times in the last 10 months. They are a lively family of 5 from Israel and have lived in Accra for 5 years and love to travel and experience the country and they feel like family to us. And they left. Last night. For 6 weeks to Israel, Norway and Sweden. RF5 returns a few days before I return to the US, for good. So when RF5 and I finish our run we give each other tearful, sweaty goodbyes. I have a hard time imagining my life without RF5 in it everyday. So my day starts with this deep sadness. I miss her already.
Onto the rest of the day…Last month the hubster and I agreed to house a doctoral student from Stanford for a month while she is in Accra doing fieldwork for her dissertation. She arrives this Sunday and we needed to get an extra key made because I unfortunately lost one of our keys one day while I was out walking. Getting a key made in the US is easy and I had already been warned by one of the hubster’s colleagues (who also lost his key) that there are few places to get a key made in Accra. This is a city of over 2 million people and they are no locksmiths? I have the name of the place where the hubster’s colleague went and around 10 AM, I call an Uber and venture out to get the key made. I have already told myself that this might not go smoothly so I put on my patient and understanding hat for the day rather than my uptight American type A one.
The place (Key Doctors and Solutions) is in an area that I have never been to and the Uber driver gets a little lost including driving down a dead end street and insists that the place is on the street. I don’t really know or understand how the maps on Uber works or why the driver’s map and my map are not the same, but on my app I can see that the place is around the corner and after some discussion he gets me there. I have him drop me across the street sure that I am in the right place because I can see the bright yellow sign for “Key Doctors”. I step into a dirt courtyard and look around – I can’t tell if the buildings are living structures or businesses. It looks deserted except for a woman sitting in a plastic chair breastfeeding a baby. The door for the shop is next to her. There is a grate across it. I ask her if she knows if they are going to open (sign says open 8AM – 5 PM). She shakes her head. Points to the sign and says, “Call them. Not coming. They moved.” I call the number. Nice guy answers. I tell him I am at the shop and he confirms that they have moved but he tells me, “It is close by and I will send the location to your phone.” Got it. I try to copy and paste the location into my Uber app (street addresses are not really a thing here) but it seems like it is not the right place but decide I can figure it out when I get in my Uber. I thank the lactating mom for her help and find out the baby’s name is Francis and then go back to the street to wait for my next Uber. While waiting several taxis drive by with the traditional honk and turned up hand to see if I need a ride. One taxi driver goes by and yells out his window, “Your Uber is not coming!” I smile and laugh as does he. I guess an Obroni standing on the street with her cell phone is a dead giveaway that she is waiting for an Uber.
The Uber arrives. I tell him that a taxi driver said he wasn’t coming. He also thinks this is funny. I show him the map of where I need to go and it is not the same place that the Uber app shows so he takes my phone and follows my Google map. He says he is amazed how fast my phone is. We are on our way. We are going through areas of Accra that I never knew existed – also the new shop is not “close by” – it is about a 30 minute drive in any area called “New Town”. As we approach the pinned location I see the large yellow sign again for the Key Doctors. The Uber drives pulls in – the shop is in an old shipping container (common here) and it is very new looking inside. I hand over my key and ask if they can make me two copies. They look through their blank domestic keys (as opposed to car keys) and they have a blank that is similar but short. They ask that I take a seat in one of the two plastic chairs while they find the right key. Five minutes go by and one of the guys comes to me with my key and the short key and tells me, ”This key is too short we cannot make a copy of your key.” I ask, ”Okay, then is there somewhere I can get a copy made?” Another guy in the container pipes up (this guy seems to be the one I talked to on the phone and the boss), “Oh we can get the key made for you this afternoon and have someone deliver it to you.” Excellent. He asks where I live. I say, “Airport Residential.” He asks, “Near where?” I say, “Koala Airport.” This is a store in our neighborhood and one of the few landmarks anyone knows in Airport Residential. He continues to ask me some more specifics about where I live and I ask him if I should just send him the location just as he sent me theirs. And with that question, all 5 employees inside the store start laughing hysterically. I look at them confused and the boss goes on to explain, “You see, madam, our driver cannot read a map so it will not do any good.” I laugh because I have found this true of many Ghanaians including Uber drivers.
We agree that the driver will call me when he gets to Koala and I can either give him directions from there or walk up and meet him. While I wait for my Uber to pick me up the boss and I chat and he tells me that he thinks it is a shame that so many Ghanaians cannot read a map. He says he wishes they taught kids in school how to read maps. He asks me, “How will they ever be able to go anywhere else but their neighborhood if they cannot read a map?” Yes, good point. My Uber comes. It is now 11:30 AM. While in the Uber I call the hubster to let him know what I have been up to for the last few hours but also to ask him if he can meet me at the apartment (his office is close luckily) to let me in as now I do not have a key. Of course he agrees, but first he has a bit of an anxiety attack about me leaving my key with someone. The hubster has some weird obsession about keys and always needing to have them close by. I try to explain to him that it is all good – the Key Doctors and I have an agreement and I am confident that I will see my key and the copies at some point. He is skeptical.
First, I have the Uber drop me off at the market (not Koala) and I do some grocery shopping and then get another Uber home. I call the hubster to let him know I am close. Four Uber rides and two and half hours later I get back home still without keys but I have food and a guarantee from the Key Doctors that I will have keys later that day. The hubster makes it home to let me in and I make some lunch, do a little French homework and then take a short nap. I don’t know if I am tired from waking at 5 to run or from the emotional goodbye with RF5 or the running around for the keys but I have the best nap I have had in years. Afterwards, two out of three of my kids call me and I tell them about my crazy morning. I think they are bored with my stories.
Around 3 there is a pounding on my door. It is our building superintendent and he has a guy with him, a ladder and a handful of light bulbs. We asked about 5 months ago if they could put stronger wattage bulbs in our kitchen as it is really hard to see especially when we are doing dishes. We also have a bulb out in our bedroom and we have asked a couple of times this month if they could put a new one in and reminded them about the kitchen bulbs (for the nth time). We can’t reach the fixtures since we do not have a ladder or anything that gets us close to the fixture so we have been at the mercy of the maintenance staff. Today is our lucky day. About the same time the guy is changing the bulbs I get a call from the Key Doctors letting me know that they have successfully made the keys but that the driver has not yet picked them up but he will call when he gets close to my apartment. Around 4 PM I receive an invoice from Key Doctors via text. At 5:15 PM I get a call from the driver. He is at Koala. For a second I think about giving him directions to our compound or at least the German Aid office down the street but I remember the hysterical laughter from his colleagues and think it might just be best to meet him at Koala. I hoof it up to the market – a five or ten minute walk. I get to the parking lot and don’t see anyone lurking around. I call the driver. Me: “I’m here at Koala.” Driver: “Me too.” I laugh at the absurdity of this conversation. Me: “I am the white lady in the orange shirt.” I see a guy now waving at me from behind a tree with a cell phone to his ear. I have found my guy. He hands over the keys. I pay him and walk back home.
I arrive home around 5:30. The hubster is already home from work and he is beaming because he has already discovered the brighter bulbs in the kitchen. Better late than never I suppose. I test the new keys – both work. We sit down and have a glass of wine and celebrate the small victories of today. Things here may not happen quickly or efficiently but they do usually eventually happen. Can’t wait to meet our temporary roommate and give her a bright shiny new key.
Hiking with RF1 and her family along the coast of South AFrica
So after the fiasco of having our AC fixed the hubster and I decided a trip outside of Accra for the Palm Sunday weekend would be a good idea. There are some places to go that are only a few hours out of Accra but a world away from the city-life we are experiencing here. A friend suggested we check out an area in the Volta region near some waterfalls – Tagbo Falls. A local eco-tour company, Jolinaiko Eco Tours, has a small lodge up that way and they also arrange for a driver and guide for you. The drivers and guides are experienced and it is nice to have someone who knows the area along with you. We arranged for the driver to pick us up at 9 AM on a Friday. Five minutes after leaving our house the driver, who was not familiar with Accra, tried to make an illegal U-turn. So, we got to spend our first half hour of our trip outside the police station while the driver “settled” up with the police. I think if this had happened in the first few months we lived here I might have been fazed by this incident, but the hubster and I just sat in the back seat of the car in front of the police station chatting with an occasional eye roll to each other about the delay.
The drive out to Tagbo Falls takes you from the heart of Accra out through the Eastern region where Volta Lake, the largest manmade lake in the world, and the Volta river empties into the Atlantic; and then out to the Volta region. The Eastern region is not actually in the most eastern part of Ghana but it used to be. The eastern part of Ghana was British Togoland until Ghana got its independence from Britain in 1957. So this easternmost region of Ghana is now the Volta region. Once out of Accra, well even in many places in Accra, the roads start to get a bit sketchy. Many (or most) of the roads have huge crater-size potholes and a lot of the roads out to the Volta region are dirt and/or gravel. Our driver was dodging the potholes like he was driving on an obstacle course. I always wondered what those handgrips in the backseats of 4x4s were for — now I know and I used mine most of the way.
A few hours into the trip we stop to visit a small village, Amedzofe, which is the highest village settlement in Ghana. We are not talking about the need to catch your breath high altitude here — the settlement is at 750 meters (2,460 feet) give or take a few meters. The second highest mountain in Ghana (just a few meters higher than the Amedzofe), Mt. Gemi, is here and we hike to the top in about 15 minutes. This is because they drive you most of the way up the mountain. We picked up a guide at the visitor center in Amedzofe and despite explaining to him that I run 40K per week and that the hubster and I hiked 200K this summer doing the Tour du Mont Blanc (in actual high altitude), he insisted on turning around every 10 steps to ask me, not the hubster, whether I was all right and whether we should stop for a break. There was a huge cross at the top of the mountain erected by the German missionaries when they came to convert the locals to Christianity in 1842. In addition to the cross, there is a beautiful view of the seven small communities around the mountain. It was a bit overcast the day we were there and it was definitely cooler than Accra and you could see the lush tropical terrain below for miles. We were definitely finally out of the big city. Getting down off the mountain took even less time, the guide again seemed extremely worried about my ability to go down the hill without either help or stopping every 10 steps. Oh boy.
View from the top of Mt. Gemi
We go back to the visitor center to drop the guide off and pay for our guided trip. In Ghana this always involves signing into a large ledger, which asks for way too much unnecessary information, and paying a nominal amount. We hop back into the car and drive back down the mountain and our next stop is Ho for lunch. Since all we did in Ho was eat lunch and drive through the city I cannot comment too much on what actually goes on there. It is significantly less busy than Accra and fairly small city with less than 100,000 people. Our lunch took a long time to get to us though so it did have that in common with lunch out everywhere else in Ghana.
Back on the road, and the roads past Ho were definitely both the best and worst along the way — more potholes, more obstacle course driving intermixed with some smooth roads.. The further out of Ho we got the fewer towns, cars and people and the more tropical vegetation. We pass through several small villages along the way and see a few pig and chicken farms. As we get very close to our destination we pass through a small village with a huge sign proclaiming, “Open Defecation Free Town”. This is no joke. With less than 40% of people in Ghana having access to a toilet you can understand why this is actually a real problem here. It is nice to see these small villages working towards a cleaner, safer place for the people to live, but it didn’t stop me from wanting to take a picture (I refrained). About 10 minutes later (after about 6 hours in the car) we pull into Tagbo Falls Lodge.
Tagbo Falls Lodge
We are immediately greeted by Philomena when we arrive. She is the cook and manager of the property. The lodge is a bit of an oasis set back from the road (which doesn’t have much vehicle traffic anyway) surrounded with lots of greenery and large trees with a few chickens running around. There are just a few rooms and no AC but the ceiling fans are adequate and there is warm water for the shower if you remember to flip the switch for the water heater which is outside of our room. The system for buying beverages is basic in that we can drink whatever we want out of the refrigerator and just write it down on a slip of paper and then we are charged at the end. We are tired when we arrive and take a nap in the quietness of the place. It is lovely. After the snooze, I go for a short walk up the road to check out the village, Liati Wote, and just as I am coming back a young man approaches me and asks me, “Where is the mountain?” I am pretty sure I cannot be mistaken for a local but whatever. I point straight up the road at a mountain and tell him, “I assume right there.” He goes on to tell me that he walked from Accra to there (remember it took us 6 hours in the car!) to raise awareness about sanitation and climate change and it has taken him 4 days. He tells me his name is Malik. Malik goes along his way and it is getting dark so I hope that he is not trying to climb the mountain tonight. At dinner we discover that there are only two other people staying at the lodge — a mother and daughter from Belgium. The daughter is living in Accra for 6 months doing an internship at a moderately priced hotel on the outskirts of Accra. The hubster can speak Flemish, but I cannot so I am lucky that they both speak English — the daughter incredibly well without a hint of an accent. Dinner is family style and simple but very good. We head back to our room early and despite no AC and the heat I am quickly able to fall asleep only to be awoken by a pounding rain storm with thunder and lightning that lasted about 2 hours.
The next day starts early as we planned to climb to the top of the highest mountain in Ghana, Mt Afadjato, and we have agreed with our driver that the guide will meet us at 6:30 AM before it gets too hot. The rain has completely stopped and it is overcast and somewhat cool for Ghana. Our guide for the day, Daniel, comes while we are still eating breakfast but kindly waits for us and chats with the staff at the lodge while we finish breakfast. I don’t see a car anywhere and realize we are walking from the lodge to the mountain. We walk up the road, meander through the village until we come to a dirt path. We come to a fork in the trail and Daniel explains that we will be taking the path to the left and we ascend. Straight up. Really, I think that this might be the steepest trail I have ever been on. Luckily even though it rained hard last night, the trail is not slippery — just really, really steep. I am digging the hike and the challenge until I turn around and see the grumpy look on hubster’s face. Unlike me he doesn’t exercise outside much – he is much more of a “go to the gym and turn on the AC” type of guy in Ghana. He was not enjoying this much. Oh well, we keep going. There are a few places that have cables to help you along the way and some adorable encouraging handmade signs that tell you when you are ¼, ½ and ¾ of the way there. We only see a couple of other people along the way and the trail is pretty clear of litter (this is very unusual for Ghana). It takes us less than an hour and half to get to the top of the mountain. And here we are:
The hubster looks happy here and I just look sweaty
Yep the trail is steep
First sign
Halfway mark
We are almost there
View from the top
Made it back down
We sit at the top for awhile enjoying the views and have water (mandatory) and a snack. Daniel points out Tagbo Falls below. After this short break, we all start to scurry down the mountain and who is in the front? The hubster. That guy is like a horse going back to the barn downhill. We quickly make it back to the bottom and when we reach the fork again we take the other trail which leads to Tagbo Falls. Daniel assures the hubster that the trail is flat and in 45 minutes we arrive here:
Since it is the end of the dry season here there is not as much water as usual in the pool below (nor in the falls). I dip my feet in but don’t go for a swim as it is not very deep. Daniel tells us we must come back in the rainy season when the falls are 6 times the size they are now. We head back to the lodge and we run into my new friend, Malik, with a group of about 10 people just starting to make their way up the mountain. We stop and take photos and I give Malik my Ghana phone number to send me the photos (the hubster cannot believe I do this). We are back before noon and we shower and eat lunch and spend the rest of the day lazing around the lodge reading. We are now the only people staying there as our Belgium ladies have left to head back to Accra. We are deeply grateful for the peace and serenity of the afternoon there.
The next morning we have agreed to go for a little adventure with Daniel and watch the locals make palm wine and distill gin. This has to be done early in the morning since that is when they tap the palm trees. This is something to do with the sweetness of the sap when it is cooler outside (or something like that) . So at 7AM we leave from the lodge and walk a bit through the village and then take a path through the jungle. We can hear various groups of locals in the thick of the jungle talking and laughing. The path is lined with cocoa trees and Daniel stops and picks a cocoa pod and opens it up and we suck on the sweet seeds inside – it tastes nothing like chocolate. Eventually we come upon a group of 6 or 7 men and these are our “guys” that are going to show us how they make the palm wine. Unfortunately here in Ghana they chop down the trees to extract the sap. Other places, like Saõ Tomé, which we also recently visited, leave the trees standing so you do not kill the tree to make the wine. There is already a downed palm tree with a large hole cut into it. It looks like this:
Palm tree
This large hole has a smaller hole in the bottom for the sap to drain out of the tree but first they take a lighted torch (made from wood) and heat up the area to speed up the flow of the sap. Then they put a container under the hole to capture the sap and just sit and wait as the container fills. It can take several days for the containers to fill. Then all this is dumped into a barrel and stored there and allowed to ferment. Some of this is further distilled and it made into gin. We tasted both the wine and the gin and at 7:30 AM with no breakfast the alcohol immediately went to my head (one of the crew is “tasting” the gin along with a bottle of Guinness). We politely declined to drink more with them but I thought both were surprisingly good.
Smokin’ out the sap
One very long matchstick
Palm Wine Fermenting
Owner of the Palm Wine
Gin Distiller
We do a brief tour around the village with Daniel. We visit the local school which is in pretty good shape but lacks desks and chairs and see all the churches preparing for Palm Sunday. After being in garbage-filled Accra it is refreshing to see how clean the village of Liati Wote is — no plastic bottles and bags strewn all over. Daniel lives in the village and as we walk along when he picks up what little trash he sees as do we. Every little bit helps. The other missing thing here is noise. Very few cars and for the first time in days I don’t hear any honking. The village is small – only about 1000 people live here (yet they have 7 churches) so our tour is finished quickly and we head back to the lodge for breakfast and to pack for our trip back to Accra. We are not finished with our day yet by any means.
Our first stop after we leave Tagbo Falls lodge is Tafi Atome. The people here live in harmony with the mona monkey. I had heard and read about this place before and was encouraged not to feed the monkeys. So what happens as soon as we get there? We feed the monkeys. The hubster did it first — he held an unpeeled banana in his hand and the monkey jumped on his arm, peeled the banana and ate it all in about 10 seconds! Both of us were a little freaked out when it got down to the nub of the banana so we just dropped the remaining bit of the banana and the monkey jumped off to get the rest of the banana. Despite reassurance from the guide that these monkeys do not bite I was not quite confident that they would know the difference between the banana and my hand when it got down to it.
We spend about a half hour at Tafi Atome and then we take off back towards Accra. A friend recommended that we stop at a pottery place along the way and I mention this to the driver. He knows of the place but has never been there but has a general idea where it is. We are traveling through small communities and come upon a little larger village and the driver stops to ask directions to the pottery place from a woman running a shop alongside the road. She starts saying there is one this way and that way and a few more over there. I can see the driver wondering how there could be so many POTTERY places around until he finally realizes she thinks he is asking for a POULTRY place (as you might recall we passed several chicken farms on our way). Anyway, finally we get a general idea of where this place might be and get into the town and the driver stops again at an NGO that he knows of to ask if anyone there knows where the pottery shop is. While there he runs into a young woman whom he met before because he was the driver for her and her parents when they came to visit Ghana a few months ago. It is a small world. They also give him general directions and it turns out we are close. We see the sign for the “Pottery Shed” and turn off the main road onto a dirt road and run right into a Palm Sunday procession after church. We stop. The driver gets out and asks one of the women if she knows where the pottery shed is. The next thing we know she is pulling another woman out of the procession who happens to be…the owner of the pottery place. Of course. This is Ghana and this is how things work here. She rounds up two other ladies who work with her and we all walk down to the pottery shed together.
The ladies are friendly and do not rush us and take the time to explain how they make the pottery. They make the pottery and fire it in the kiln and they remove the pieces while they are still hot and bury them in the soil. The smoke/smoldering creates beautiful black pottery that is not painted in any way. It really is beautiful. I buy several votive candle holders, small dishes, a large cooking dish, a spoon holder and the hubster is worried that I am spending too much money until he sees the bill — which amounts to about $60 US. We leave happy that with a little help from many people we were able to discover this gem.
Pottery from the
We leave the pottery shed and decide to not make any more stops along the way — we are still a good 4 hours from Accra. So, we continue to weave back and forth over the rough roads, back through Ho and we and all our pottery arrive intact and safe back home. The hubster and I are both happy to be home but very happy to have the weekend getaway to experience another side of Ghana that you would never get in the city. A memorable journey for sure!
Tuesday morning, 4:55. My alarm on my iPad goes off and I roll over, remove the thin white sheet covering me and step out of bed. I have only been back from a two week trip to the US for a few days but already I am back to my routine here in Ghana, if you can call any day here routine. I put on the hot water kettle to make my coffee and am full of sleepy joy when I remember that I have brought back both Peets coffee from home and French Truck coffee, a lovely boutique coffee roaster, from New Orleans. These small things really make a difference. In just a few minutes the water is boiling and I am making my first cup of coffee of the day – just enough to get me out the door. I check the temperature and humidity while I drink my coffee. I am not sure why I do this as it is not like I am going to throw on a long-sleeved shirt or bring a pair of gloves and there is rarely any significant difference in either the temperature or the humidity. Everyday here for me is shorts and a tank top running weather. At 5:00 AM the temp is usually around 26C – 27C, but today it is 28C and the humidity is hovering around 92%. It is going to be a hot one out there. This is Ghana.
I step out my door into the steamy corridor of our apartment building at 5:20 AM. It is still dark. Gingerly I step down the 4 flights of stairs (I have been warned by the hubster that the downstairs neighbors think I walk too loudly down the stairs) and say “hello” to one of the other tenant’s drivers who is always waiting in his car in the parking area. It is the time of the morning call to prayer and I pass by the two security guards kneeling on prayer rugs and facing Mecca – unfortunately Mecca is the opposite direction of our gate that they are “guarding” – I unlatch the gate and step into the morning in Accra. The street is not too busy this time of morning – mostly tro tros and people walking. A few taxis pass and honk at me. Once I get my GPS signal on my Garmin I start the short run up to my friend Lucia’s house which, according to my watch, is 0.5 km from my front gate. While I am running up to Lucia’s my friend Tally passes me in her car – we are the three “regulars” on our weekday runs. This is our routine every Tuesday and Thursday and it is one of the things that has kept me sane here.
After a few minutes of chatting we regroup at Lucia’s and run back down the street and pick up our friend Tula. There is a peacock who lives a few doors down from Lucia’s who proudly rests on one of the guard shacks, and apparently he has been MIA while I have been gone – I miss his crowing at us as we run by. We run another kilometer or so and pick up two more runners, a South African couple, Sally and Karl. It is Karl’s first weekday run with us as he thought (or Sally thought) that we only “allowed” women. And we are off to do our 8K loop; inhaling smoke and diesel fumes, passing bikes, watching for dogs and chickens, seeing men brushing their teeth, peeing, walking to work and doing just about everything on the side of the road. This is Ghana.
Tuesday morning, 6:30. I am already back home from my run. The rest of the day is just beginning. When I arrived back in Ghana this week I saw that we had a huge new water stain on one of our walls by the AC. Okay, I know I talked about how wonderful our AC was and all in the last post. Well, to be honest that same week that I posted that blog the pipe in one of our AC units sprung a leak. Don’t get me wrong – it still worked and was keeping us cool but there was water dripping out of the wall, then spreading like a map of Africa. After chiseling all the way through our CEMENT wall, which gave us a new open window to the outside world from our dining room, to find the pipe they finally “fixed” the pipe – with duct tape. I did wonder how long that would hold. Apparently about a month.
Monday morning (day before the above Tuesday). Sorry I know I am jumping around a bit here as this is not in order but this is how my jumbled brain is working. They came to fix the new leak. More chiseling through the wall but this time they only accessed through the outside wall so at least I did not have another new window looking out from my dining room. This go around they replace the pipe. I think to myself this is good and want to say, “If you had done this the first time it might have been a good idea,” but I refrain. After my run (back to Tuesday again) I look out at my balcony and the deck is full of water – it is not raining. The replaced pipe is leaking like a sieve. This is Ghana.
I try to remain cool (in my head). Remind myself that this is how things work here or really how things don’t work. I am on the phone by 8 AM with the building supervisor and explain the situation. The handyman returns to work on things outside and after a few hours gives me a thumbs up and tells me it is all fixed. I do not check to see what the fix is (this is all taking place on my balcony). It is now 4PM. The hubster is in Cote d’Ivorie all week so I am on my own for meals as well as dealing with the “repair” people, and I decide not to go to the store as it just seems too hot (I usually walk) and I am tired from all the waiting for things to be fixed. Seriously, all this waiting around can be exhausting! I decide to pick up a salad at the café around the corner around 6 PM. As I head out of the parking area I hear a dripping sound on the AC unit on the ground floor unit 3 floors below us. I look up. There is now a plastic tube running from my wall, along my patio and sticking out a few feet from the edge of the balcony and you may have guessed it, it is dripping on my neighbors AC unit three floors down. It looks like this:
This is Ghana.
Wednesday morning. Again, I am back on the phone with the building supervisor. I am again trying to maintain my cool. By the way, the AC works fine despite all this leaking but of course they have to turn it off to do all this repair work. He says they will come fix it. The guy comes and explains, “Yes, this is the fix. This is the fastest way.” I tell him, “I don’t think that is going to last long.” He shrugs and reiterates, “This is the fastest way.” Now my turn to shrug, “Well, I am only living here for less than 5 more months so maybe it will hold that long and after that I really don’t care.” He laughs. He decides they do need to fix the issue with the dripping on the AC unit below so they cut the pipe, add in some clips to hold the PVC in place, run PVC all the way down to the ground floor and “Voila!” The problem is solved the Ghana way or the “fastest” way or maybe, just maybe, the wrong way.
Thursday morning, 4:55. Same routine as Tuesday. Both the thought of great coffee and meeting up with my running group gets me out of bed. The heat and humidity are still here despite me thinking everyday that maybe this morning will be the exception.
Thursday afternoon. The repairmen are back. This time to close up the wall since now we have something that resembles a large straw attached to the pipe in the wall that is sticking out and then this is inserted into the PVC that runs down to the ground floor but there is still a large gaping hole in the wall. They cover the hole with cement and now it looks like this:
The repairman says he will be back “soon” (which in Ghana could mean tomorrow or next month or next year) to re-paint the huge water stain inside on our dining room wall as well as the outside wall.
Following week, Thursday. Apparently this blog post has taken me awhile to write and I have not seen or heard from anyone about the paint. The AC works fine. I have not killed myself tripping over the pipe running along my balcony yet but I did manage to injure the ball of my foot slipping on the bathroom tile though. I have had several more great runs with my group. The second group of my Mini Mermaid Running Club had their race on Tuesday which was incredibly fun and exhausting. The hubster is now in Cameroon – he really is not home very much. I have maintained my “cool” about the repair job and am not holding my breath for them to finish painting. If they wait long enough it will probably leak again and then they will only have to paint once instead of twice. After all, this is Ghana.
Okay so I have heard from a few people, well maybe more than a few, that after reading my blog they have re-considered coming for a visit to Ghana. The crazy and weird stuff really does make good material to write about – food borne illnesses, the heat and humidity, frustrating Uber rides, hazards everywhere and difficulties communicating. But just to be clear there are some really awesome and wonderful things here in Ghana, so I decided to devote this blog to some of the good, and not the bad and ugly, about living in Ghana.
First, if you have been following the blog or know me well you know I love to run. One of the things about running that has bothered me for years in the US is that even when the temperatures are in the low 70’s (we are talking Fahrenheit here) I get crazy frozen hands after or during a run. For those of you familiar with this condition, Reynaud’s syndrome, it is a fairly common plague of runners. Ghana, and its consistent heat has, at least temporarily, cured my Reynaud’s. I haven’t seen the deathly-looking white, blue and then bright red changes in my fingers since I arrived. Since I am trying to keep this positive I won’t talk about the trade-off for running in the heat and humidity. The other part of running or walking here in Ghana is how amazingly safe it is here. I have never felt unsafe. Ever. I walk alone not just during the day but also in the evening. Since we are in a good-sized city where many people get around by foot there always seems to be others on the street even at 5:20 AM when I leave to go for a run. The other thing is that people always talk to you so there isn’t that weird vibe you get when walking alone in the dark on some streets in the US.
How much do you spend on your cell phone bill a month? Somewhere between $50 and $100? Well, here in Ghana I spend just about 20 GHC. This is equivalent to about 4 USD. This is for data, text and talking. $4. My cell phone bill isn’t the only thing that is incredibly cheap here – my average Uber or taxi ride is about $1.50; a bunch of bananas or a whole pineapple – 40 cents. Oh and by the way, the pineapple here is delicious, very sweet, soft and has a beautiful pale-yellow meat. Any locally grown fruits and vegetables are also incredibly cheap. If you stayed away from the imported goods and eating out here your food budget would be very, very small.
The availability and prices of handicrafts in Ghana are amazing. Hand-painted glass beads, beautiful woven baskets, vibrant batik fabric and Kente cloth (a woven silk and cotton fabric with interwoven cloth strips native to the Akan ethnic group of Ghana), leather sandals, and wood or metal sculptures abound. Everything is reasonably priced, even cheap by American standards. Craftsmen here are usually happy to share the process of their craft. You can travel a few hours outside of Accra and go to Cedi Bead factory where Cedi (that is his nickname which is the name of the Ghanaian currency) or his staff will show you how they hand-grind recycled glass, pour it into clay molds and fire it in wood fired kilns. After the beads are cooled they are washed, polished and hand-painted and then morphed into beautiful and colorful earrings, necklaces and bracelets. If you have time you can book a three-hour session there and create your own beads. So cool. You can also make your own batik fabrics with Esther at Exmac Fabrics here in Accra. I did this a few months back and created my own design and then had it sewn into a dress by a local seamstress (also an incredibly good deal here).
And then there are the coconut stands. It seems almost on every street there is a coconut vendor. You will see a huge pile of unused coconuts on one side of the stand and another pile of the discarded coconuts on the other. I love to stop at the stand, and pay around 2 cedi (again this is about 40 cents) for the young coconuts – these have more water than a more mature coconut. The vendor, using a machete, shaves the top part of the outside shell of the coconut and then hacks off the top of the coconut and gives you a straw (if you are trying to reduce your plastic use you can just forego the straw) to drink the delicious coconut water inside. When you are finished drinking all the water you can hand the coconut back to him and he will crack open the coconut so you can eat the meat inside which is a white slightly gelatinous glob and tastes delicious. If you ask, they will configure a makeshift spoon with a small piece of the shell of the coconut for you to scrape the inside. Remember this next time you go to Whole Foods and buy a bottle of coconut water for five bucks.
Before my arrival here one of the things people told me about Ghana was that I would be impressed with the people and this has proven to be very true. The people here are kind, friendly and compassionate. California, for the most part, is pretty friendly but Ghana is really the friendliest place I have ever been. When I walk down the street everyone says, “Hello, how are you?” Not just, “Hello”, “Hello, how are you?” Sometimes we exchange this greeting and just walk on, but especially when I pass vendors that I see a few times a week (like the ladies who run some of the food stands on my way to L’Alliance Francais) I stop and ask how they are, they say “good” (or “fine” which are the only acceptable responses – it is considered impolite to tell someone you are not well!) and then they ask how I am, sometimes they ask about my family and I about theirs. Even when I am starting to fume because I have had several cancelled Uber rides (I am really trying to keep this positive) once I finally get into an Uber, the driver is always just so nice that I can’t be angry anymore about anything. Also, the people are so proud of their country and their people. The first thing people ask me is, “How do you find Ghana?” That is literally how the question is asked. They want to hear what I love about their country; what foods I have tried and what are my favorites; where I have visited; how long I have been here and how long I plan to stay.
Just in case some of you thought we were really roughing it here, our internet and AC in our apartment are fantastic. Apparently Google laid 1200 kilometers of fiber optic cable in Ghana a few years ago and our internet here is faster and just as, or more, reliable than at home in California. As for the AC, I look forward to walking into our apartment from the oppressive heat outside. Every. Single. Day. I am always in awe of the coolness of our digs. This can really be the highlight of my day, that and taking off all my sweaty clothes.
Before arriving I really did not have a sense of how people in Ghana dressed. Because of the heat I assumed people would wear fairly loose and casual clothing. Remember I am a native Californian so I specialize in comfortable. Boy, was I surprised when I saw both men and women here dressing snappier than any day on Stanford campus back home. Women here, sometimes even the women carrying goods balanced on the top of their head in traffic, always seem to be wearing a very nice, fitted dress with a comfortable flat. The dresses are usually made of Ghanaian fabrics, bright and lively in mainly yellows, greens and various shades of reds and oranges with both intricate and bold, beautiful patterns. Many men, especially the younger men in the work force, wear “skinny” form fitting pants and shirts, ties and sometimes jackets. Some of my Uber drivers wear a nice pressed dress shirt and slacks. At church I feel like I stepped into a Ghanaian fashion show. Couples and even whole families come with beautiful matching Ghanaian fabric outfits. I don’t know how they survive here in these outfits but they don’t look any worse for the wear and they look like they could have stepped off the curb in New York City.
So there you have it – a few of the positive things about Ghana. I didn’t even get to all the places in and out of Accra that you can go for either a historical experience (think slave castles) or a weekend getaway only a few hours drive from here (think beach resorts). Maybe I convinced just a few of you to visit Ghana in the near future. If you come before next September we have an extra bedroom and bathroom waiting for you. You would even have your own fantastic AC unit.
So last I left off we made it to the airport after a bit of a kerfuffle about the transportation and me running myself smack dab into a glass door, but we arrive in Lisbon safe and sound. I already have two black eyes developing but luckily the bleeding has slowed. No one ran away from me at the airport so I am thinking I probably don’t look too bad, but people don’t seem to be cuddling up to me either. Our Airbnb hosts arranged for a driver to retrieve us and luckily only one showed up this time. As it turns out, Guillhermo was affable, spoke great English and was a joy to meet – especially after our fist-fighting driver in Morocco.
We arrive in the evening and it is already dark but can get a feel for the city right away with its views of the expansive Tagus river, hills and small, narrow and windy roads. The street where we are staying is closed to traffic and we are able to walk down the street to a cute little place with red and white-checkered tablecloths for dinner. The proprietor beckons to us (me, hubster and S2) and we only have to wait a few minutes for a small table and delicious and fairly inexpensive food. S1 and S1GF don’t go with us. They are probably sick of us as we have now been traveling together an entire week – much more time together than we would spend in California. I am not offended. Really I am not. Traveling with your adult children is not always easy but unlike traveling with young children you can just go separate ways when you want. Awesome.
We explore the city mostly on foot, hoofing it up to the Castelo of São Jorge (hubster loves when things are called George or Jorge) and down to the water where we do some shopping and grab lunch. The weather is great and the temperature is cool and the sky is incredibly blue and clear. There are great views of the Golden Gate Bridge look-alike, the April 25th Bridge, from just about everywhere. I post a picture of this on Instagram and several friends from California contact me asking if I am back in the Bay Area (ha, fooled them). As luck had it, one of the hubster’s nieces and her family are also in Lisbon and staying close to us. The 8 of us: me, hubster, S2 and the five of them, but not S1 and S1GF again (still not offended) walk to a pizza place that is fast and really good. It is so great to see family and spend some time laughing and talking.
On our last full day in Lisbon I wake up looking like a prizefighter or an old lady with a serious drinking problem and my nose is very sore. I decide not to go to a doctor as my nose is not crooked and there is little anyone can do if it is broken other than wait it out for it to heal. We (sans S1 and S1GF – still not offended) decide to take a tuk tuk ride around the city. You would think tuk tuks (thumbs up) might be like tro tros (thumbs down), but they are much smaller and are more used for tours around the city are definitely pricier (50 euros/hr) than a tro tro (~$.50/ride). Our guide is knowledgeable about the history of Lisbon, and a few times he is unclear about dates and amusingly laments, “Or sometime around then.” Close enough for me – I am never going to remember the dates anyway. Our tour ends when he drops us at an expensive restaurant. Hint: Don’t give your tuk tuk driver a good tip or he thinks you are wealthy and like to eat at very expensive restaurants.
At the end of the day we meet back up with S1 and S1GF (maybe they have missed us and it is our last night together) and hope to get into a well-rated restaurant close by only to find they are no tables available. Most of the people who are turned away are walking into the restaurant next door so we decide to do the same. The food is okay but when we get the bill we are shocked − five euros per person. This includes the beverage (wine and water for most of us), dinner and dessert. What? How is this possible? I whip out my 25 euros and happily pay the bill. Makes up for the not so cheap lunch earlier in the day.
The next day we bid adieu to S1 and S1GF as they are off to Berlin to end their journey there. Something about a friend, a rave, and great art. Hubster, S2 and I rent a car (Prius) and drive for 4 hours through Portugal and then onto Seville, Spain. After not driving in Ghana for 3 months, it is fun to be in a car steered by either you or someone you love and trust and of course the car is new, clean and has excellent working seat belts (lots of thumbs up). We pull into Seville at what we think is around 4 PM. Get all checked into our Airbnb (super cute, three floors, walking distance to dozens of restaurants and shops). We walk around the neighborhood a bit and see that many of the restaurants don’t open until 8. This is Spain. Around 8 we head out to check out a few of the places we saw earlier, the first one is full already and booked solid for the rest of the night. “Wow,” I think to myself, “When they say 8 everyone must be waiting outside the door for the place to open to be this busy already.” It is about 8:05 (or so I thought). The second place we go to is not full so we walk in. A very nice, friendly waitress tells us that they can probably accommodate us but they have a large party with reservations at 10. “10?” I say, “Well certainly we can finish dinner in 2 hours!” She gives us a look like we just came down from Mars. She very politely and kindly says, “Well, it is 9 now so you would only have an hour.” Oh geez. Yep, a time zone change. Oops. We get the table and enjoy a great dinner and we leave just as the large party, which includes children in strollers (this is Spain) enters the restaurant.
We were not the only people to decide to spend the New Year’s holiday in Seville. The city is jam-packed with people and we don’t go into the Alcazar or the Cathedral as the wait is on the order of 4 hours. We do walk around and see the beautiful Plaza de España, where there are fewer tourists and take a boat ride up and down the Guadalquivir river. I also get in some great runs in the mornings along a walk/bike path also along the river – complete with a dog park. On New Years Eve we journeyed out to watch Flamenco dancing followed by an 11:30 PM sushi dinner (this is Spain but that doesn’t mean we can’t eat Japanese food) with fireworks going off everywhere including a few feet from our outdoor table.
We have a far niente day on the 1st (this is Spain, but borrowing an applicable Italian word). Hubster goes to church in the morning and finds a delightful restaurant for lunch later that day. I start to think I can get used to having wine with lunch. We take a high-speed train to Córdoba the next day and do what we do best, walk a lot and eat really good food. There are fewer tourists in Córdoba (many are Spanish), hence shorter lines at the tourist attractions, which includes a handful of UNESCO World Heritage sites. I love everything about this city but I am especially enamored with the Mosque-Cathedral with the colorful arches of the Mosque entwined with the altars of the Christians.
S2 has to fly out early the next morning back to London and hubster and I drive back to Portugal and spend a night in Sintra (lovely, VERY hilly town) before we return to Lisbon to catch an early (and direct!) flight back to Accra. It would surprise S1 and S2 and probably S1GF if I said that I was trying not to make too many comparisons to Ghana this trip. It is strange traveling from a developing nation to one (or several) very much further along in development. I often found myself saying, “You know where they don’t have this? Ghana.” It became a bit of joke for all of us during the trip. I appreciate that in Portugal and Spain, and even Morocco, as well as the US that cars yield to pedestrians, there is little to no pollution, that the assumption is that the food and water are safe, and I can understand what people were saying to me and visa versa. But it is not even so much that I appreciated these things but I just miss some of what my life is like in the overly-developed world. Bottom line though is what I really miss most about my “other” life is my family and friends (well, and my dog, Preston). So, in the end, even though I loved all the countries we visited and it was nice to be out of West Africa for a few weeks, what I really enjoyed was being able to spend time not just with hubster but with S1 and S2. Oh and, yes, we still all love one another, at least I think so.
And my nose…the bruising is mostly gone. Broken? Maybe, never will know for sure.
After over three months living in Ghana, the hubster and I took a long much-needed vacation to Morocco, Spain and Portugal for the Christmas holiday. First we met up with my Son #1 (S1) and Son #2 (S2) and Son #1 Girlfriend (S1GF) in Casablanca. Somehow we managed to all fly into Casablanca and land within minutes of each other (S1, S2 and S1GF were all on the same flight from Paris). Unfortunately our hotel in Casablanca, with whom we had arranged transportation, was a little confused on how this all was going to work so they sent three cars to pick up the 5 of us. Overkill, but remember we are still on the continent of Africa so better than no car at all. Please keep reading to see that this is also a possibility.
The ride from the airport seemed like it was going to be fantastic first and foremost because we were riding in a new, beautiful, cush Mercedes Benz. After riding in Ubers and taxis in Ghana that sound and feel like the floor is going to fall out from underneath you at any minute this felt like the luxury ride of my life! Until…we are sitting at a traffic light and some guy decides to walk by the car and brushes something against the car. Suddenly our driver is opening the car door and pinning the guy up against the car and punching him in the face. Hubster and I are quietly sitting in the back seat and I am thinking, “Oh God, please make this go away soon and please no one jump in the car (other than the driver) and drive away with us.” After harsh words in Arabic and some more pushing and shoving and punching the driver returns and we are off. He doesn’t say a word to us. I hope that the rest of the vacation is less stressful.
Despite the rocky start, Casablanca was wonderful. It is a beautiful cosmopolitan city with great food and shopping and also old world charm with the Medina and souks. In addition to walking about 10 miles, we visited the Hassan II Mosque, the 3rd largest mosque in the world. The tour guide bragged that the people of Morocco paid for the mosque but later we discovered that King Hassan decreed a subscription campaign asking all 26 million people to contribute, so it was a tax of sorts. The people of Morocco were not exactly happy about having to dish out the dough. The final price tag was over $500 million – not surprising considering the place has titanium doors, a huge retractable roof, a laser on the 210 meter minaret pointing to Mecca and holds 25,000 inside and another 80,000 outside. It is a stunning site right on the Atlantic Ocean and worth a visit if you are ever in Casablanca.
After two nights in Casablanca we headed to Marrakesh. The first two nights we stayed in the Casbah (or Kasbah) at a lovely little boutique hotel complete with a hammam and spa. If you ever are in this part of the world definitely enjoy the hammam experience. Similar to the Turkish bath, it involves sitting in a steamy room on hard marble and sweating for a while (I do this just walking down the street in Ghana so was very comfortable) followed by someone (in my case a very nice lady) applying a cleansing black soap and then scrubbing both the soap and your dead skin off (quite vigorously). My skin felt fantastic afterwards and I swear that I she removed a few age spots. Our guide in Marrakesh told us that most of the people who live in the Kasbah do not have washrooms (only toilets) and so most people bathe at the many hammams throughout the city (um, no not the ones in the boutique hotels and riads). Especially in the morning and the evening we would see people carrying buckets that they take to the hammam with their clean clothes and towel and carry their dirty clothes back home in the same bucket. They use the bucket inside the hammam to either sit on or rinse off or both.
Marrakesh is a fun, colorful and vibrant city with the snow-covered Atlas Mountains sitting in the distance. There are quite a few street hustlers especially in the tourist area. People chase you down trying to get you to come into their restaurant or sell you a tour somewhere or take you to a “special” place to buy rugs or other goods in the souks. The souks, or markets, are concentrated in the main square in the city. From the outside it looks like a few little booths but once you start walking inside the souks you are in a maze of shops selling leather goods, shoes, ceramics, household items, literally everything. One day we went into the souks with a guide who took us to an argan oil factory which included the mandatory pitch from some guy which turned out to be quite effective as S1GF and I both bought a bunch of argan oil products that he promised would cure insomnia, arthritis, condition our hair, and even help create some delicious meals. But when we left this place it felt like we were NEVER going to get out of the souks. We kept walking and walking and we were still inside this maze and I wondered if we would ever get back (this was all heightened because I was hungry and I had to pee), but of course we did make it out and my hair has been looking good ever since.
For Christmas we decided to spend a few days about 45 minutes outside of Marrakesh in an area called Lalla Takerkoust. A friend recommended a lovely small resort, The Capaldi Hotel, owned by a British couple, which sits on many beautifully landscaped acres dotted with large loungers with umbrellas everywhere and 2 swimming pools. On Christmas Day, the hubster, S1, S2 and S1GF went on a hike through the lower Atlas Mountains. We started in the small Berber town of Amizmiz, and went to the weekly local souk first where the locals were selling the best looking fresh fruits, vegetables and meat. This was not anything like the markets in Marrakesh – we were the only tourists around and most of the items for sale were food; including live chickens, big slabs of meat including whole legs of animals and practical household items including donkeys (yes, this is a practical household item in Amizmiz). From the town we wound our way up through the Atlas Mountains and through small Berber villages. We passed children playing in the villages; sheep with mostly woman sheepherders – holding umbrellas to protect them from the sun; and people riding on donkeys, usually sidesaddle, either to or from the market. Around noon we stopped at a home in one of the villages were we were served a “typical” Berber lunch which was a chicken tagine with plenty of those same fresh vegetables we saw in the market and served with a flat bread that is baked over hot coals. We had lots of the obligatory mint tea (even the unsweetened is still sweet!) and dessert was a big bowl of fresh fruit. If this is how the Berbers always eat they sure are healthy (except maybe for the sweetened mint tea many times a day). The next morning we did a hokey camel ride, which included all of us being dressed in colorful caftans and color coordinated head scarves followed by of course…more mint tea.
On our last day at the resort I decided to go for a run out to the lake Lalla Takerkoust. It was a great run with fantastic views of the Atlas Mountains; ran past a few mosques on a mostly dirt path (my favorite to run on) and then along the lake and back through a small valley to the hotel. I came in from my run and into the lobby of the hotel, high on those endorphins and so happy with life and walked myself straight into a clear glass door. Bam. Just like that. I had a small gash on my nose – although it looked much worse at the time because it was bleeding so much as head wounds do. We were leaving in about an hour for the airport, or so I thought, so I rushed to shower, iced the heck out of my nose, got some quick breakfast, and hoped I didn’t need a doctor. Hubster, S1, S2, S1GF and I (holding ice pack to my face) assembled in the lobby at the appointed time and after a few minutes discover that the hotel had forgotten to arrange a car for us. They hurriedly called for a cab, told us they would be there in 20 minutes, and an hour later we finally get a car and we are off. It was a bit frenzied, but our driver sped as much as he could and we made our flight and happily landed on the European continent a few hours later. Will Europe be good to us? Do we have more issues with cars and drivers? Will we all still like each other by the end? Is my nose broken? Stay tuned.
When you live in the same place for years (10+) and work at the same place for even more years (23+) you are pretty much in your comfort zone all the time. Yes, the commute that I had from Aptos to Palo Alto could be unpredictable and even a bit of nightmare at times and occasionally something would come up at work or in my private life that might be a teeny tiny bit out of my comfort zone, but really on a day-to-day basis my life in California is pretty routine and comfortable. Three months ago when I arrived here in Ghana one of the biggest changes both for me and the hubster was that every day we are way out of our comfort zone. Every. Single. Day.
Moving to an English-speaking country seemed as though it would be easy enough to communicate with people here but even that is a challenge. Sometimes when I am speaking my American English to the Uber driver, the shopkeeper, my MMRC group or even anyone in my French class including the professor, I get this look. A look like perhaps I am speaking Russian or Tagalog or maybe Martian and then they respond to my question or statement with what usually seems to me some unrelated topic. Typical conversation:
Me (to Uber driver): “Turn left at the next street.”
Uber driver: “Here?” Starts to turn left in the middle of the street.
Me: “No, no not here. Turn left at the next street.”
Uber driver: “Here?” Nodding his head in direction of the street on the RIGHT.
This can go on for quite a while if you start to give directions too far in advance. Being direct and not giving ANY extraneous information is very, very important. I have to remind the hubster of this daily – do not talk about anything that doesn’t have to do with what you are trying to do at that moment. I am also extremely bad at this: I like to elaborate on just about everything and like to chat about unrelated topics at length. I am assuming this is an American thing, but maybe it’s just me.
Even the weather is way out of my comfort zone. Before we moved here and I was reading up on living in Ghana one of things that really struck me was the description of the climate here – hot and oppressive. This is an understatement. For this California-born and -raised woman I find that some days my entire body feels completely wiped out because maybe I walked a mile to class, or ran 6 miles when the humidity was up to 92% (with temps in the 80s) or sat in a stifling hot taxi or Uber in traffic for an hour. Sometimes, being a glutton for punishment, I do all three of those things in one day. Nothing feels better than walking into our air-conditioned apartment and flopping down on the bed and just savoring not being quite so hot (I won’t say cold because I have yet to feel cold here).
Then there is the grocery shopping experience. There is a lovely air-conditioned market just up the street from us. We can walk there (preferably not in the middle of the day). They have a nice selection of fresh fruits and veggies and meat. I noticed one day they actually had some taco shells and salsa, so the next week after I spy these reminders of home I decide to make tacos for dinner. The hubster and I walk up the street – it is already about 6 PM, I am hungry, but am happy that tacos don’t take too long. Go straight to the aisle with the tacos and…they have converted the entire aisle into Christmas cookies! First, it was still November and second, where are my tacos? One week the store will carry Diet Coke, the next week none. One week, they have your favorite yogurt, the next week some crappy brand that you don’t like. Our local liquor store has been out of BEER, yes, beer, local West African beer for a week. So we are learning to never assume you will see an item again and if it is not perishable – buy as much as you can carry home!
There are plenty of other things that are out of our comfort zone including getting used to all the people in the community (including the younger kids but not my girls) where I have my MMRC group yelling, “White lady, white lady!” at me. Realizing voicemail and texting are not really a thing here, but WhatsApp is. When you drive across the border to Togo and Benin, as we did a few weeks ago, and you have to show all your documentation to get OUT of each country (this included one Beninois immigration official falling asleep while he “checked” our visas). Going to my driver’s church, a 2 ½ hour Charismatic Christian service, that included being marched into a room after the service with the other “first timers” at an attempt to recruit us – definitely awkward.
Yet, thankfully, there are still a few things that still fall into my comfort zone. I have found a great group of women to run with here, some who live very close to me. Waking up early (we run at 5:30 AM) and going for a run with people I like and can talk to about life, running races with them (I even got a first place finish) now that is what I know and love. Having the luxury of checking in with all my kids and a few other family and friends via WhatsApp or DuoMobile with a really good internet connection, easy stuff. Sitting down and eating dinner with the hubster, having yogurt with granola and bananas for breakfast and reading the New York Times, Washington Post or a good novel, yes, definitely in my comfort zone.
Over time some my “out of comfort” zone items have become a bit more familiar and I expect more will over the next few months. With the discomfort comes growth, which is part of the reason the hubster and I decided to embark on this adventure in the first place. To be in our 60s and able to have this eye-opening, beautiful, messy and uncomfortable experience and grow our hearts and minds just a little, is a blessing. A blessing that we are grateful for every day.
I love this trademarked line from Mini Mermaids Running Club. There are just so many ways you can dissect the meaning of “The finish line is just the beginning”. Although a creature of habit in many ways I always love new beginnings. I think that is why I enjoy traveling so much – new places to explore, new people to meet, new foods to feast on. Arriving in Accra I wondered – what would my new start and finish lines look like and what lies beyond my finish lines?
Starting line #1: Mini Mermaids Running Club (MMRC). Well, for those of you who have read my previous posts you may remember that I planned to start a running club for young girls here in Accra – MMRC. I originally thought I might be able to partner with the Noyaa school down in the Jamestown area but after visiting the school the first week I was here it did not seem like much of a possibility mainly because there was really no safe area near the school to have the girls run. A few weeks into our stay the hubsters comes home and tells me about a school that his group is working with and he had mentioned to the founder that I was looking for a school to partner MMRC with and, well, you can probably guess the rest. Remarkably the school is called “Happy Kids”. So I have twenty 10-year old girls who are participating in the program. The school kindly gave me three young (and very athletic) teachers to help out and excuse the pun, we are off and running! The girls are very excited and very inquisitive. In fact the first question I was asked by one of the girls on day 1, “Is your hair blonde?’ Ha! Trick question? I tried to explain that some people might call it gray or white. Nope, they insisted it is blonde, so I am going with that.
Starting line #2: French class at L’Alliance Française. My last French class was when I was a senior in high school, so let’s say “a long time ago.” Luckily I am in remedial French. My class is large (over 20 students) who hail from Ghana, Nigeria, Kenya, Thailand, Chile and the Congo. I am the oldest in my class (except maybe the teacher) by 20 years; the only American, the only white woman, but I love this class. The class is mostly women, not shy retiring kind of women, rather loud, outspoken young West African women. Sometimes it is so noisy that I can barely think but the energy keeps me on my toes and everyone is friendly, positive and not afraid to speak bad French to each other. I still have a hard time understanding spoken French but I am a whiz at the written exercises. Unfortunately this won’t come in too handy when I hope to travel to some francophone countries with the hubster unless I plan to write cute little notes to everyone I meet.
Starting line #3: NOT working full time. After working full time for the last 24 years, it really is nice to have a sabbatical. Although I do enjoy having more of my time being my own and not dealing with some of the bureaucracy of Stanford University; I do miss my job, my colleagues and just the excitement and fulfillment of cancer research. But my days fill easily here since just getting around (see last blog) takes a lot of time and energy as well as Starting Lines #1 and #2. Also I have a running group that I meet two mornings a week (5:30 AM!) and I have already run in a relay race in the Accra International Marathon − our team even came in first. I have met and am involved with a wonderful group of expat women in the North American Women’s Association (NAWA) who do great work funding humanitarian projects in the Accra region but also serves as a network for all of us who are far away from our home countries. They are also the go to organization for where to find things, anything, in Ghana and they even publish a book No Worries, The essential guide to living in Ghana where you can find restaurants, schools, spas, grocery stores, embassies, NGOs, hospitals and doctors, sports facilities, hair/nail salons, banks, and even a blurb about how to bargain in the marketplace.
Finish Line #1: Getting through the day safe and sane. The finish line each day in Accra proves to be interesting, frustrating and sometimes heartwarming. The other day I was on my way to Happy Kids School, which is in a village outside of Accra called Kwashieman. It is a bit of a haul from my apartment. We are stopped in traffic at a light on the George W. Bush Highway (yes, this is really the highway name). I am enjoying the air conditioning in the back seat of a private car with a hired driver. Like most intersections here in Accra there are multiple vendors, mostly women, carrying goods on their heads weaving in and out of the cars selling everything from water and food to foot massagers. Most are not terribly aggressive, although one foot massager salesman did reach into the car once when I had the window down and gave my arm a nice massage, but they do get up close to the windows and give a pleading look to see if you are interested in buying anything. Sometimes I just look straight ahead. Sometimes I just wave them away. That day I turn to look at one of the women. She is a few feet from the car, our eyes lock, she does not give me a pleading stare. I smile at her and she gives back to me the most beautiful smile – full of kindness, compassion and well, love, and then she disappears through the maze of cars. Something deep inside me stirs. I am so moved by the beauty and the rawness of the moment that my eyes well up with tears. Those few seconds of connection with that woman has stayed with me all week. Yes, the finish line is just the beginning but getting there can sure be great.
So after the fiasco of having our AC fixed the hubster and I decided a trip outside of Accra for the Palm Sunday weekend would be a good idea. There are some places to go that are only a few hours out of Accra but a world away from the city-life we are experiencing here. A friend suggested we check out an area in the Volta region near some waterfalls – Tagbo Falls. A local eco-tour company, Jolinaiko Eco Tours, has a small lodge up that way and they also arrange for a driver and guide for you. The drivers and guides are experienced and it is nice to have someone who knows the area along with you. We arranged for the driver to pick us up at 9 AM on a Friday. Five minutes after leaving our house the driver, who was not familiar with Accra, tried to make an illegal U-turn. So, we got to spend our first half hour of our trip outside the police station while the driver “settled” up with the police. I think if this had happened in the first few months we lived here I might have been fazed by this incident, but the hubster and I just sat in the back seat of the car in front of the police station chatting with an occasional eye roll to each other about the delay.
Aptos To Accra 