Dark Star Island Party

Last night was quite the trip.

Adrienne asks me to come to a pool party at her friend's house. Being a fan of aquatic culture, I jump at it so we and Jon, Lucas and Serai (forgive the spelling) take a cab to God knows where out of town. We get picked up by her friend in a drop top BMW and whisked to this beautiful compound house, with a guard and all.

Inside there were many people, but it was evident that they weren't there for the pool. Adrienne's friend is not only an human rights journalist, but also the son of a former African national leader. He is very well-travelled and speaks many languages. The house, which was lovely, was definitely not paid for on a journalist's salary. His friends inside were from many places around the world: Ireland, Germany, Lebanon etc. and they were all older and very well-traveled. There was also lots of alcohol. I sat and drank French Pastis whilst talking about topics from my education to another's travels in Uzbekistan. It was almost as if we were in a cafe on this magical island of sorts in the middle of Africa where "cultured" adults sat around and conversed over drinks and biscuits.

We students imagined ourselves in five to ten years, wondering if we will be these people, living around the world without a home; "Modern nomads", as one girl put it. I personally know that my life will be more stable, especially with a loved one. And barring a catastrophe, I'll never disown Canada as my true home. The more I'm away from it, the more patriotic I feel.

There was a pool too. We students had a nice swim (my first in weeks) and enjoyed ourself muchly. We left at around 1:30AM and had a quick sleep before class this morning. Freakin' sweet.


Post script: it turns out Adrienne's "friend" turned out to be quite the character... he was not quite a human rights journalist, but indeed was the son of a former African leader - and a rather dubious one at that! Ask me in person for details.

The Odd Couple

So my roommate Patrick moved in the other day. He's Ghanaian, but he's very cool and relaxed and easy to relate to. About a third of the residents in the Hostel are locals, I suppose to integrate the international students into Ghanaian culture. It sounds like a good idea in theory, but in practice it works a bit differently...

You see, the International Students Hostel is probably the nicest residence on campus. In a country like Ghana, where many people can influence the bureaucracy with a little backscratching, ISH is no different. Basically, from what I'm told, nobody is placed in the Hostel because of good luck. The reality is that the local students here are some of the wealthiest in Accra and that there are ways for them to get on the list.

Anyways, corruption-talk aside, Patrick is an alright fellow. He's a fourth year student, son of a doctor, very religious, and he's got the rez life down to a tee. He rearranged our furniture to maximize space, put in a new floor with a carpet, brought his own TV, playstation, fridge and microwave and even installed mood lighting. (We both are deeply in love with our girlfriends, but can you say "bachelor pad"?)

This conflicts with how I was running the show for the previous two weeks: I kept it simple, efficient and with as few frills as possible. (it looked like a seminary) So here you have two clashing archetypes: the Western exchange student who wants to live the simple African life and the wealthy African student who yearns to live the North American ideal. Not exactly the ideal paring for roommates, eh? ("I smell a sitcom!")

I've been told that there's still a few single rooms available for those who apply for it and as appealing as that would be, I'm greeting this as an opportunity. Tonight it paid off and we got some dinner from the Night Market, looked at my photo album that Maleaha made for me to remind me of home, talked about politics, the state of Africa and generally got some good male bonding time in. He also said he would help me learn some Twi, which will definitely come in handy for the next nine months. See? Things are looking up already...

"Having An Average Weekend"

Well, after last weekend's exciting (and somewhat exhorbitantly expensive) trip to Cape Coast and Kakum, I decided to stay in this weekend and find out what goes on at the Hostel when the work week ends...

The answer of course is absolutely nothing. The reason is because everyone leaves on weekends and goes on adventures. The Carleton girls (Adrienne, Hannah, Lisa and Meghan) and Katherine from UNC went for an overnight trip, but I was looking for something more. On the upside, Meaghan (note the added "a") from Virginia and I have decided to make a 4-day trip to the Lake Volta region of the country, which is in the East, near the Togolese border. There will be monkeys, kente cloth weaving and perhaps a neat little eco-tourist village. I'm counting the days.

In the meantime, I didn't go out on Friday in anticipation of Saturday and nobody went out on Saturday, so at least I'm saving money. I'm kicking around residence finding things to do. Most people are out, so I've been doing a lot of reading and guitar playing, which is good for the soul. On Saturday afternoon I went out to the rugby pitch with Carrie, a scrumhalf from Chico State in California. We played touch rugby with an impatient Englishman and a bunch of confused Ghanaians. I didn't last long, since I don't run much, but I plan on giving it my all next weekend.

Otherwise, I found a Catholic Church (it's only a skeleton, since it's under construction, but they still decorated it and held mass), talked to my parents on the phone for a bit and ineptly handwashed some clothes. Last night I sat around with Leila and Hilde, two Norwegian girls, sharing a bottle of wine and waiting for something to happen. I showed them the photo album from home that Maleaha made. They agree that she is very cute and I am very lucky to have her. I agree.

Anyways, I'm told that some Americans are going to make grilled cheese sandwiches. And it'll be a cold day in Accra when I pass up on an opportunity like that.

Contacting Me

Being 8,000 kilometres away, I sometimes get lonely and homesick. That's why I love getting mail and phone calls. My mailing address is:

Room 130
International Student Hostel
P.M.B. Legon
Accra - Ghana

And if you get a $5 phonecard or something, my cell phone number is:

024 303 1471

I don't have a long distance plan, so I can't call Canada (for less than $1/min), but incoming calls are free so if anyone calls, I'll be happy to talk their ear off. And if you send me a self-addressed letter, I'll totally send you a postcard in gratitude.

White Like Me

I've only been in Ghana for a week and a half now, but one thing that I know I will have to get used to for the duration of my stay here is the fact that I am white and that I stand out like... well, a white guy in a sea of black students. Off campus, the difference is even more pronounced because while students may be used to seeing you and the other international students, everywhere else you are quite the novelty.

The world for "white person" in Twi is "Obruni" and for some reason, Ghanaians use the word liberally. It isn't necessarily that they are trying to degrade you or mock you, (although sometimes that's the case) but it's an easier way of getting your attention in a crowd rather than saying "sir" or "madam", or the tarditional Ghanaian "PSSST!" After a while, you learn to laugh it off and not take it personally. For example when I got my cell phone, I set my welcome message so that whenever I switch it on, it says, "Akwaaba, Obruni!" (or "Welcome, white man!")

Adults warm up to you quickly because you are perceived as being rich and when somebody says "Hello" they usually mean, "How may I extract money from you, white person?" Usually someone who wants to actually be your friend doesn't call you Obruni and is more polite and conversational and less forward about finding out where you live and how they can contact you.

For women, it's even more difficult. However, for you lovelorn ladies in the developed world who just can't find a man, try coming to Accra, because the men here for some reason want to marry every white girl they see. Usually they start with a "Hello", followed by "I like you. You are very pretty. Where are you from?" and maybe less than a minute later comes, "Can I have your phone number? I would like to marry you and you can take me to America." (Even if you say you are from Canada, they won't care) My friends Adrienne and Meghan, who have bright red and blondish hair respectively, sometimes get multiple proposals in a day!

This practice is quite peculiar because we still can't figure out the motive for all of these men. Are they serious and want to leave their homeland for the proverbial land of milk and honey that is America? Or are they just showing off to their friends for a laugh? Sometimes it's both. Godwin the cabbie believes that it really is a desire to bring oneself out of poverty, but I've also seen instances where one guy gets out of a group and everyone's watching as he does it, so there must be a certain element of machismo inherent.


Sometimes it can be downright frustrating. Here's a prime example:

In my first Elementary Arabic class, which is about 120 people, (three of us white) our professor was trying to designate a "class captain" (or something to that effect) to help with various odd jobs. He said it would be run like a democracy, so someone could nominate a candidate, they would make a 1 minute speech and then the class would vote. Anyways, someone voted for his friend and that was cool. Then someone from behind yells out, "I nominate Obruni!" and points directly at me. Well, the class was howling at that point and I was probably too astounded to be offended. The prof asked me to make a speech, so I decided to be a good sport and ad-libbed some crap about being there for the class if it needed me (and threw in a campaign style "I will be a river to my people" and blown kiss to the crowd) and had them in stitches. Someone after me nominated himself and since he was actually interested in the job and understood some Arabic, they (and I) voted for him.

The point is, even though I played along with it (and am now practically a celebrity in the class), I've been quite uncomfortable with the extra attention. Apparently people think that I am this studious, exemplary white model of a student, when really I just am really excited to learn Arabic. I'm going to tell the professor that while I'm flattered, I don't appreciate the extra attention, since it doesn't help my social or academic life.

The next day, while walking by two male students, I heard them grumble "...obruni, obruni...", like I didn't understand them. I almost turned around and let them have it, but I decided to hold my tongue and walk away. I also walked by a well-dressed man who walked by and said in a similar tone "Eh-ti-say?" ("How are you?") So I turned around and yelled out "Ai-yea!" ("Very well!") He was pleasantly surprised.

Clearly the obruni issue (and white privilege in general) is bigger than a few isolate examples - it's an entire culture that subscribes to these ideas, so I'm finding the best way to counter it is to keep a quick wit, roll with the punches, and try and change a few hearts and minds on the way.

Peace, Love and Understanding,
Mr. Obruni

... and in my spare time, I am also a university student.

Well it looks like I survived the first real week of classes. Unfortunately, a class time was changed so my schedule will have to be rearranged. And as fascinating as that is to you all, it will be a story for another time...

As for my first impression of my classes, (since I'm sure my college administrator and student exchange director are dying to know) it's definitely the case that African university classes are much different from Canadian ones. It seems like they will require less work (at least now, when they are in their infancy), but the marking system here is British, so the difficulty may offset it. At the U of Ghana, they start as early as 6:30AM (poor buggers) and end as late as 7:30PM (which is still after sundown) Here's a rundown of what I've got so far...

Elementary Arabic: easily the most difficult and exciting class, it's going slowly since we have to learn an entirely new language, alphabet and script (plus we're learning ancient Arabic history). I'm kind of the star of the class (see my next post concerning that), which is not exactly why I'm there, but I'll have to roll with the punches on that one. It's three days a week, so there's a large committment, but I'm game for it, since it's kind of my pet project for the next nine months. It will be done, inshallah. (God willing)

Theories of Social Development: is a fourth year course with something like 600+ students in my lecture, which is larger than anything I've ever seen. The first class made it look pretty basic, but I'm totally psyched to hear the African perspective on it. (plus I had a time conflict with my Theories of Underdevelopment class, so I had to sink that one and put my eggs in this basket)

Management of NGOs: is an administration class and reminds me the most of B.PAPM back at Carleton, so Meghan, Adrienne and I will definitely feel at home in it. Plus our prof is a big Canada fan and apparently CIDA (Canadian International Development Agency) is well known in Ghana, so Canada has a good rep.

Colonialism and African Response: was cancelled due to a death in the history faculty, but it looks like a fantastic class. I'm so hyped for it that I don't care that it's my only class on Friday from 5:30-7:30pm. That's freaking dedication. (If I decide to go away for the weekend, I know I can call a favour for notes anyway)

So while I'll have to add another class to make it a full course load (6 credits is the norm, but the Arabic is like 1 2/3), but it looks like I'll enjoy the semester... that is, unless Carleton admin won't transfer my courses. But I hope they will, inshallah.

Classes and Hockey and Nigerian Tourists... oh crap!

This week is my first week of real classes. Last week was the official "first week", but it's an unwritten rule that neither the students nor the professors go to classes. Methinks it's an elaborate joke played on the white international students who walk cluelessly into empty lecture halls and sit around, waiting for class to start, wondering if they're in the right room.

Anyways, so far, I've had Theories of Social Development, which is a giant 4th year class and may be a waste of my time, since I probably know most of them. The other, which I am very excited about, is Elementary Arabic. I'm one of the only white students in the class, but I'm catching on quickly to pronunciations and the Arabic alphabet (which is something completely different) and plus the prof already likes me. It carries the load of two regular classes, so there's a large committment, but I'll be able to count it as a development credit, so it goes towards my major. (Why Twi, the local language and much more practical, isn't counted, is baffling to me. All of the American students are taking it.)


Waking up this morning was a strange affair. At about 8am, there was the sound of many people milling about, talking loudly. I walked out of my room and found myself surrounded by Nigerians students who were apparently on a field trip of sorts. They all gathered around me to take big group pictures and asked me for my e-mail and phone number, like I was some kind of celebrity. The same happened to Liu, a soft-spoken student from China. It was like we walked into somebody's high school graduation or something! Anyways, I ducked out quickly for some breakfast in the kitchen downstairs and they were gone quickly, which suited me fine.


Been reading the news today. Televangelist and onetime presidential candidate Pat Robertson said that the US government should assassinate Venezuelan president Hugo Chavez. There's American moral values and Christian ethics in action. Man, did the Bush administration drop him like he was hot, or what?... Uganda is under fire for mismanaging AIDS prevention funding. It's an interesting case there, one for another time... The Senators traded Hossa and de Vries for Danny Heatley. Next year is going to be a good season. Anyways, it's lunchtime and I'm going to go for some red-red (beans and fried plantain).

Yum.

Mr. Obruni Rages Against the Machine

One of the things that I believe Africa will have to overcome if it is to develop is the bureaucracy. It's inefficient, disorganized and lackadaisical. Quite simply, it's horrible. Allow me to illustrate a prime example:

Wednesday:
For easy access to my funds, I decided to open up a bank account at the major bank in Ghana - Barclays. (There are a few main banks in Ghana, but this was simply the one I picked) I got the Scotiabank in Markham to write up a large bank draft (basically a cheque) so I could transfer the cash. To open an account, I needed tons of ID photocopied and stood in line for about half an hour just to speak with the lady in charge. So she gives me a form to fill out and bring back tomorrow.

Thursday:
Upon my return, I waited in line again for a considerable amount of time. When I arrived, I was scolded for not having filled out everything on the form. (Hell, I guessed half of my answers anyway) The lady told me to come back on Tuesday and the account would be opened. That's alright, I thought, I can just cash in a few traveller's cheques to get me through the weekend at Kakum and Cape Coast.

Tuesday:
I get back in the queue again and arrive at the lady's desk (by this point she may as well be sitting on a throne) and I am rewarded with a scrap of paper with a number on it. It may be my account number, but I really have no clue at this point. I get into another queue for the tellers who handle the large transactions. Here's what transpired:

Me: "I would like to put money into my account."
Teller: *blank stare*
Me: "I'm an international student and I have this bank draft right here."
Teller: *pause* "Would you like to make a deposit?"
Me: "Yes, can you take this and put it in my account?"
Teller: "Oh, okay. It will take six weeks to process."

What the hell is this tripe? Listen, lady. I need this money NOW. It's MY MONEY and I would like it deposited in MY ACCOUNT. I can't wait six weeks for you to send the draft back to Scotiabank and back to Barclays. In fact, I know that the two banks are partnered so that money can be transferred more easily across borders. So I may have to phone the bank in Markham (which is about $2 per minute on my cell phone - and the pay-as-you-go cards only come in $10 cards) and ask them why the hell they didn't tell me this in the first place when I asked the teller what the best way to transfer money to Africa would be!

Anyways, the point is I've been dealing with the bank for a week now and my money is trapped on a little piece of paper and I don't have much other money to spend. I have traveller's cheques, but I want to save them for when I travel. I have some Euros, but I'll need those when I go back through Amsterdam. The only other option is to dip into my account with my Scotiabank card (for a nominal fee with each withdrawl) until I can sort all of this out. Thus, I have been saving my money these days, which means that I've had to cut back on a number of things, most notably my internet time. It's re-damned-diculous is what it is. I may go to the bank downtown to get things straightened out.


The strangest thing about this episode is that it's by no means unique. When applying for classes at the university (a long and drawn out process in which you walk to each department, register in the department, sign up for each individual class, wait for a timetable to be released and hope your courses don't conflict), the guy in the school of administration gave me lip about not being a bona-fide administration student because I came from Canada. Luckily, I eventually got it sorted out and the prof likes me already.

So the next time you deal with "slow" online class registration or "snotty" bank tellers, remember... Everything is worse in Africa!

Bungle in the Jungle

Well, it seems like it's been forever, but I survived my first week in Ghana. And I think I'm getting into a solid groove... my initial culture shock is wearing down and I'm feeling very upbeat on things. School starts this week and we'll see how I adjust to it.

Even though we had only been here a few days, we decided NOT to play it safe and went out for our first trip this past weekend. Most of the Americans were out on "orientation" that their schools had provided for them, but us Carleton students have been on our own since we got here, so Adrienne, Hannah, Lisa, Meghan and I went for an overnight trip to Cape Coast and Kakum National Park, both a few hours West of Accra.

To get there, we left early Saturday morning to hop a public transit bus (STC) to Cape Coast. When we arrived, we got a taxi driver to take us to the bank and then for a 40-minute ride to Kakum National Park. Unfortunately, our driver, like many in Ghana, was an opportunistic jerk who overcharged us for his services (as we realized on the way back) and even tried to squeeze out a few extra bucks from us when we got there. It's suprising that a country with so many dedicated Christians always seems ready to try and take advantage of you for being foreign. Ah well...

Kakum National Park
We arrived in the afternoon and arranged for a tour guide in the morning. We booked a campsite about 10 minutes away from the headquarters and got some cheap mattresses and mosquito nets. Hannah, Lisa and I decided to go into the neighbouring village to look for food. The children were very receptive and took us around the village to see the goats, trees and food, but the adults seemed wary of us, probably because we were just more obrunis going on safari and then going back home afterwards. Anyways, we went back to the campsite before dark.

Ghana, for those of you playing the home game, doesn't follow daylight savings time, so the sun goes down at around 6:30 and it gets dark quickly. Thus, we had a lot of time to kill before the morning came. So we all sat in a mosquito net and played cards, talked about life, how much we miss our loves. Right now, only a week apart, I'm missing Maleaha like crazy and I know she is missing me. Meghan's partner Garrett is also alone in Ottawa for the next nine months and Lisa's husband Peter is in the same boat as well. In a nutshell, we're all going through some tough withdrawl, but we're helping each other out as best we can, because otherwise, the next nine months are going to be absolutely miserable for us.


Anyways, we went to sleep eventually, as best we could, since there were so many weird noises coming from all around that we were freaking out periodically. We couldn't believe that we were actually spending the night in the jungle alone, with only a mosquito net to protect us (not to mention my great strength, good looks and charm). It was a great feat for us all.

Well, we made it through the night, despite the strange noises, wild animals and unusual chilliness. Our guide, Christian, arrived just after 6AM to take us around. So we hiked first to the canopy walk. Basically, it is a set of giant suspended rope-and-plank bridges and platforms that are as high as 120 feet in the air (thus, we actually walk through the canopy). Since arrived so early, we were the only ones there to enjoy the breathtaking vistas of the rainforest.

Then we went for a two-hour hike through the jungle with Christian, who showed us many of the types of trees and what they are used for (some were cures for headaches, hernias and snakebites, while others were poison for tipping arrows). He showed us bamboo and termite mounds and some of the largest trees I've ever seen. Sadly, we didn't see any monkeys, but we did hear them clearly! After the tour, he got us a cab for less than half the price that we paid to get to the park. First time burned, second time learned, I suppose.

Cape Coast Castle
We arrived in Cape Coast at around 10:30 and since our bus didn't leave until 4, we decided to kill some time at the castle. The castle at Cape Coast is a large, white colonial fortress that was used as the seat of government for hundreds of years in the Gold Coast Colony (now Ghana). However, the basement was of a much more sinister nature: the castle was also the main slave trading hub of West Africa, so the dungeon was a complex that held over 1,500 slaves at one time, before they were shipped to the New World. The castle is at once so very beautiful and so very terrible. I plan on visiting the other castles and forts along the coast of Ghana and perhaps I can speak in more detail on how 25,000,000 men and women were taken prisoner by rival tribes, sold to the Europeans and shipped away in the largest diaspora known to man.

Lunch was had nearby and we walked around Cape Coast for a little while. It is a very pretty town, even for an African one, and I plan on returning some other time (hopefully with Maleaha). The rest of the trip is inconsequential: the bus came very late and wasn't comfortable at all and our backpacks fell out of the back of our taxi on the way back. Whatever. It's good to be back at the Hostel.


Sidenote: Apparently Julianna, a girl at the Hostel, came down with malaria and is now at the hospital. She's only been here for a few days, but she was travelling through West Africa beforehand and probably got it while in the Gambia. Just another reminder of how vulnerable we all really are.

To Market, To Market...

Adrienne, Meghan and I went down to Osu (Eastern Accra) to buy a cellphone for me today. I got a decent phone from a place that sells refurbished (read: old) phones at decent prices. Adrienne had gotten a great deal and so she got me a phone with charger, battery, simcard and 150 units (Ghanaian phones work on a pay-as-you-go basis). I got it to keep in touch with my parents and Maleaha. To call Canada is expensive (the largest phone card will last about 15 minutes, I'm told), but incoming calls are free, so if you call me, we can talk until the cows come home. I'll post the number later.

So after that, we took a cab across the downtown core to Makola Market. And let me tell you it was something else. Perhaps those of you in the West are familiar with the concept of a "farmer's market", where a street or area is closed off and there are vendors selling various produce or home-baked goods. In Ottawa, we have the Byward Market, which is a very large area with people selling trinkets, fresh local fruits and veggies in the summer and maple syrup and Christmas trees in the winter.

The market here is in downtown Accra and it is immense, to say the least. It spans a larger area than Byward and is packed with phonebooth-sized kiosks and stalls. To walk through it is to walk through a giant maze of interconnected alleyways with barely enough room for two people to pass by. Imagine Indiana Jones trying to navigate the crowded markets of Cairo, the giant book-burning multitudes of Berlin and the mineshafts in Temple of Doom - all within the same hour.

There were people selling beautiful textiles and silks. There were fresh yams, carrots, peppers, and ochre. There was fish of every kind, live chickens and crabs (in the bucket), pig's feet and meat of indeterminate origin. There was cheap jewelry, wigs, pots and pans. There were old men begging and young girls sewing. We walked through stuffy corridors, alleyways and streets lined with filled dumpsters for over half an hour before we got to what seemed to be the end of it. The worst of it was going through the areas with the meat stands. Meghan and Adrienne are both practicing vegans in Canada, so it was all the more harder for them. The market was pure Africana and we experienced it in full. We walked through the entire thing back and forth and around (and probably didn't even see half of it) and saw no other white people in the entire labyrinth. We easily saw thousands and thousands of Africans, but not a single Obruni*.

So many people were excited that we came into the market, because they tried to sell us everything and a number of people were just happy to see white people. Children would shout "Obruni! Obruni!" and we would look at them and smile and they would smile back in wonder. One large lady, about our age, came right up to us and gave us all giant hugs, for no reason! (Yes, I still had my wallet and cellphone after the incident) We knew a few words in Twi, so a simple "Eh-tee-say?" (how are you?) or "Madasee" (thank you) made us a lot more approachable and the people more easygoing towards us. I suppose many whites come through Accra and don't bother to learn a single word of Twi, so we are a novelty.

Afterwards we took the long cab home during rush hour. We got pizza near the university - my first Western meal in a week. After today, I think I earned it. We met some young Ghanaian-Americans who had been in the country for a month and seemed to be eager to return to Southern California.

Hannah told me today that she and Lisa drove by a dead woman who had been hit by a tro-tro (minibus) on a busy road. Talk about sobering. I thought our day was tough. It was easily the worst culture shock I've experienced so far.


We laughed, we cried, we haggled. And we're slowly getting better at the latter.


*Obruni is Twi for "white person"

Everything Is Non-Automatic

As mentioned previously, one of the little delights of living in a third-world nation is that things tend to break down and stop working. The Hostel is no stranger to this, so we have been living without some comforts that we take for granted in the first world. While it sucks that it happens, it is always a humbling experience and it is fun to see how different people cope with it. Here's the basic rundown:


WATER:
In a country where there is a rainy season and a dry season, water is very precious. In the hostel, there is frequently no water, for whatever reason. I learned this on my first full day, when all of the men's rooms had no running water. This means no showering, no working toilets and no water for washing hands anyways. Guys were starting to raid the women's showers on the other side of the building! After the third day, I decided "screw it" and went in myself. A girl came in and showered in the stall next to mine, but she didn't seem to care. Ghana is a place that is pretty loose (even for a religious place), or so I've witnessed. The first floor men's room has water and the reason why is interesting: the water from the courtyard (where people handwash and dry clothes) can be connected by hose into the building, through the laundry room and into the men's plumbing, so that's how I showered! Sometimes, people will fill up their old waterbottles with tap water just in case it runs out again.

ELECTRICITY:
More rarely, the power goes out. Thankfully, it has only happened during the day, and since I didn't bring a personal computer, I haven't noticed much. However, sometimes the fans just shut off randomly and things don't work. This is felt most in the computer lounge, which brings us to our final area of malfunction...

THE INTERNET:
In Africa, the vast majority of dorm rooms aren't equipped for broadband internet use, especially here in ISH. So, we go to the computer lounge on the second floor and access the internet (for a small fee), which is already slow by Western standards (it's on a network, but is about the speed of dialup). It is cheap (it's about 80 cents per hour) and convenient (the free ones at the international student office are a nightmare), but the network has the quirky habit of going down often. Sometimes for 15 minutes, sometimes for hours on end. A popular phrase around here is, "Any internet today?" The most common answer is "No."

Yes indeed, we are roughing it here in Deepest, Darkest Africa. But hey, whilst trying to articulate my reasons for coming here to Maleaha, I told her, "I want to go to a place where the power goes out... where water isn't always there when you turn the tap on..." I guess I'm getting what I bargained for. Such is life.


Sidenote: Coincidentally, I am currently reading Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe. It's about the downfall of tribal Nigeria as seen through one man's tragedy. Dave lent it to me before I left and I recommend it for all y'all Westerners.

Live from Accra: pt. 2

I woke up the second morning at six AM, disturbed by the cleaning ladies who were gabbing loudly in Twi. Sadly, my open-concept residence allows for sound to travel quite freely. That wasn't the worst of it: the night before at 12:30, a rooster started crowing. I made a solemn vow to eat him later.

Excited for my first day on campus, I woke Joe up an hour early, to which he was not amused, so I went downstairs to the kitchen, where a few ladies prepare fresh breakfast. Ghanaian pancakes and syrup are terribly sweet.

The campus itself is a sprawling institution, with one long main street leading up the hill to the bell tower and many confusing sidestreets. Every building is identical: whitewashed walls and clay tiled rooves.

Aside from the buildings, I am just about the only other white object on campus. Along with my international friends, I am one of under 200 white students on a campus of almost 30,000. Joe and Jon helped me change money as well as register with the university and get my student card. (Many thanks unto them.)

Night fell, and as appears to be the custom, we went to the Lizzy Ent. club, which is pretty much a giant patio with a DJ. We had a beer, talked politics and decided to head elsewhere. The intrepid Joseph heard about a Rastafarian beach that had drumming, so we went to the beach. It looked sketchy, to say the least. Even our cab driver, Godwin, was telling us that it was a bad idea. So he took us to a dance club elsewhere. To thank him, we brought him with us and bought him a beer. Two hours later we were dancing and talking about Ghanaian life, philosophy and God. I found it gave me great perspective on things to hear all of this from a native. To recount our conversation would be a post in itself, so perhaps another time...

Peace, love and understanding,
Mr. Obruni

Live from Accra

So after all of the fuss I'm finally at the International Student's Hostel (henceforth known as "the Hostel", or "ISH"). It's pretty barebones here. The building is a giant square, with a lovely grassy courtyard in the middle, which gets used often for frisbee and the like. The individual rooms have desks, chairs, a pancake-shaped bed and a balcony. From my third floor walkout, I have a lovely view of the countryside (or the bush, I suppose) and a lovely breeze comes in through my windows.

But there was no time for that when I arrived. I quickly became acquainted with some of the Americans living here (and there are many coming here, 9/11 be damned) and I went out with them to a bar downtown. The cabbie got lost, so we raced around Eastern Accra until we finally got there. It was Saturday night so it was very busy. I was pretty jet-lagged, so after a few hours I left with some on my newfound friends and went to sleep on a bed that I wasn't sure was mine at the time, since I had signed in for the weekend as a "Visitor". I wrote en e-mail to assure Maleaha and my parents that I saw safe and sound. As much fun as the night was, I found myself somewhat in the homesick state and opened my giant photo album that Maleaha made for me, opened some letters inside to cheer me up (thanks to Nikki and Emeka! I really appreciated them) and fell asleep on my backpack.

Down the street from the Hostel, there is a little strip of vendors known as the Night Market. It's a great place to find cheap meals, basic necessities and get hassled by old women who want you to speak in Twi, the local language. I had the most declicious fresh mango for breakfast.

Since it was Sunday, evertyhing was closed, so that people could go to church, which almost everyone does here. Otherwise, they play football (you know, the kind without downs and helmets?), so Joe, John, Catherine (from North Carolina) and I went downtown to the stadium for the Sunday afternoon match between... the blue team and the white team? Nobody scored, but there were no less than 12 injuries on the field and every time, a stretcher team would race onto the field and carry them off. We think that they had the biggest workout.

From the field, we could see a giant golden arch (not that kind), so we decided to go and see it. It was the famous Independence Square, a Soviet-inspired open space that appears to have a giant empty parking lot surrounded by grandstands. I'll bet it was great for military marches, but until Independence Day comes in March, it'll be an eerie monument to a time long past. I plan on posting a photo of it someday.

In the evening we took it easy, had some dinner (fried egg on a bun is delicious and nutritious) and pretty much hung out, swapping stories.

So there is was, my first full day in Accra. And the second was even more exciting, but it will have to wait a day. Cheers to all back home, because I wish you could be partying with me.

Warning: Obstruction ahead

A note to everyone who is wondering where the posts went in the last three days. Yes, I am safe and I already have many wonderful stories, but unfortunately, the internet has been down for the last two in my hostel (I'm on an office computer) and I am still having difficulty figuring out the phone situation (I may need a cell phone). Now I must be off to pick up Meghan from the airport, but rest assured that when the internet is back up, I'll be posting like mad.

Onwards!

So I made it to the University. Here's how it went down:

PEARSON
Saying goodbye to the parents was tough. Then I waited around for a few hours. KLM prides itself on being "the reliable airline", yet it was 4 hours late. On the upside, I traveled in a 747. I sat next to a Canadian woman of German descent and we discussed the ghettoization of immigrant cultures. Consider Chinese immigrants flocking to Unionville, Turks in Germany or Muslims in the Netherlands. (sidenote: apparently the world's largest mosque is in Rotterdam) Did I mention the flight was all you can drink? A glass of white wine and a blanket over my head put me out for a few hours. I awoke to breakfast and Amsterdam.

SCHIPOL
I had only 3 hours in the airport, but I made the most of it. It is smaller than Pearson, but has a lot more stuff to do. The flight to Accra was quite lovely. We flew over France, Ibiza, the Medditerranean and Algeria, so I got to see the Sahara from 35,000, which is a lovely sight. My neighbour on this flight was a seemingly paranoid New Yorker who works for the United Nations in Liberia. I asked her about what the work was like. She said, "Sometimes it's satisfying, sometimes it's frustrating." I'm sure she has many interesting stories.

KOTOKA
Accra from the plane at night looks like any city, but the airport was an awakening to the realities of the third world. Accra is very different from what I imagined it to be. There are walls everywhere in place of fences, the buildings are very peculiar and the taxi drivers are crazy. My first ride in a Ghanaian taxi was exhilirating.

Visas and bank drafts and airports... oh my.

After a frantic last few days of packing and tying up loose ends, I find myself sitting at home, with seemingly endless hours to kill. That's right. My plane, which was supposed to take off at 6pm, has been delayed until 10, so I'm sitting at home on top of a pile of luggage. This means that my stopover in Amsterdam has been reduced from seven hours to just three, so I won't get to tour the city as I had hoped to. Ah well, perhaps on the ride back?

In the meantime, I'll briefly recount the hassles that come with pre-flight preparations. And for a third-world destination, there certainly was enough red tape to cut through.


Passport - Mine expires in 2007, thank goodness.
Vaccinnations - I had to take five needles (yellow fever, rabies, etc), plus a mix for traveller's diarhhea. The bill came to over $400. I advise shopping around for a travel clinic.
Anti-malarials - must be taken every day at sunset
Plane Ticket - There's no right answer for this one. I got a decent deal for the summer at $2,700 round, after tax.
Visa - had to go to the Ghanaian High Commission for this. Surrendered my application, passport, photos and acceptance letter. After this, I have to apply for a student visa when I'm already in the country.
OHIP - must be changed for extended travels. Get to the health office early in the day for this. Travel insurance is also recommended.
Travel guide - For Ghana, nothing beats the Bradt Guide, which is detailed and comprehensive. Lonely Planet and Rough Guide have books for West Africa.
Incidentals - one needs to think about appropriate clothes (white clothes get dirty easily), first-aid kit, toiletries, electricity outlet converter, photos from home, music (I acquired an iPod, which stores both hundreds of songs and albums as well as digital photos)... There are so many things you need to remember, they can't be listed.

Anyways, I'm off to Pearson International Airport. Here's hoping I get out of there soon.

Definition of "safari"

The word "safari," in Swahili, means "journey"; it has nothing to do with animals. Someone "on safari" is just away and unobtainable and out of touch."

- Paul Theroux, " Dark Star Safari"