Black Star Safari

Akwaaba!

2007-06-24T05:43:00.000Z

Greetings and welcome to my little labour of love documenting my life at the University of Ghana and my travels in West Africa and the British Isles from August of 2005 to May of 2006. Within are many stories, travel notes, photos, links and general musings on Ghanaian culture and the experience of a Canadian expat.

After a full year back home, I finally sat down and redesigned the blog and added dozens of new photos to add even more colour to my stories. If you can't see any, it's because I've exceeded my bandwith for the month. Sorry-oh...

If you're new to this blog, there is a general timeline for my travels: I explored the South of Ghana between August and November during my first semester and then on my break in December and January I traveled to Togo, Benin, the UK, Ireland, Burkina Faso and Mali. From February to May, I "settled" more or less in Accra with a few other trips, including to the North of Ghana in March.

Also, I recommend starting at the very beginning (a very good place to start) in August. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. You can send your questions, comments and criticisms to peaceloveunderstandingatgmaildotcom.

Decompression: One Month Later

2006-06-14T22:55:00.000Z

Sitting in my room (at my own computer, with my own internet connection), I am trying to look back upon the month in which I have been home. To be honest, the much-anticipated culture shock never hit me. I probably have my Christmas trip to Ireland and the flight to Amsterdam to thank for this numbness.

That's what it's been: a numbness. It seems like nothing's changed. A few more knick-nacks in the house, an epidemic of new cookie-cutter homes in town and a new government in Ottawa. That's all. To be honest, I feel like I've been warped back to May 2005 and I'm living the summer over again, sans visa applications and expensive vaccinations.

Some things never change. Markham may be growing by thousands per week (I think almost 300,000 people should qualify it as a "city") and more and more farmland is being chewed up to feed the housing boom - but that's always been a constant. What never changes about Markham is that it's ALWAYS growing.

This first month home has been busy: working, reconnecting with family and friends, reconnecting with Maleaha, spoiling my dog, reacquiring my driver's licence and planning for the school year ahead. As it stands, I'll be returning to Ottawa in the fall, living with Lisa and Peter in their swanky apartment and taking co-op work terms in 2007 - thus I'll graduate a year late. Not that I'm sad about it, quite the opposite.

So far it's been just fine and dandy. I'm happy to be back at home, where it's nice and breezy, the sun doesn't beat down on me and the food is fantastic. I'm trying to gain weight, partly to impress Maleaha and partly because she's probably right. I came back from Ghana quite the skinny boy.

The days are flying by. Landscaping for my dad's company is long and difficult work ("oh, but you get so much exercise and fresh air!") and once I'm home, I'm too tired to do anything except read internet news and watch tv. My appetite for books is gone, although I'm pushing through Chukwuemeka Ike's Sunset At Dawn - perhaps Africa's answer to War and Peace.

I'm definitely enjoying being at home and I've taken note of some of the differences between Canadian and Ghanaian life... Toronto has not only blacks, whites and Lebanese, but a bevy of other ethnicities as well. Markham is especially noted for it's giant Asian community. Nobody stares at me when I walk down the street because nobody finds a white person that interesting. Sometimes that's a sad thing. I enjoyed a lot of intangible benefits as a privileged minority. On the other hand, it's nice to have fixed prices and not get screwed by vendors. Sometimes I consider haggling. "Oh Charlay, that guitar is not worth $500. We do 150."

And so life goes on. Everything seems the same, but I've changed so much. I've grown so much over those nine months and have so many wonderful memories. I also made many friends along the way. I may have also lost a few friends and I'm still not sure where I stand with Maleaha. Nine months apart can put a lot of stress on a person and even hurt them. How I wish that it could be easier...

So here I am. A little older, maybe a little wiser. I'm not trying to make my life sound like an epic adventure with a grand finale big-screen ending. As the Eagle's Joe Walsh sang, life's been good to me so far. And with all of the experience I've had over the last 10 months, I'm sure it'll get better.

Man, I could sure go for a FanIce right about now...

Feels Like Home To Me...

2006-05-13T23:48:00.001Z

Sadly the 747 flight to Toronto was not nearly as engaging as the one to Amsterdam, however, they did have an awesome Indian veg option for the in-flight meal. I think my generation won't understand the fixation with poor airline food as our ancestors once did.

I also was in a strange dimension in which time passed slowly. Leaving at 1:45PM and arriving at 3:30PM whilst flying half-awake for eight hours really does wonders for one's sanity. Time lost all meaning, with place and distance being my only measure of linear progress.

Soon, through the clouds I could see familiar-looking hills, roads and even snow-capped peaks! We were over Quebec. Mercifully, we arrived in Toronto and I unmercifully, the carousel took forever to dispense my many pieces of luggage. Again mercifully, the customs officer let me pass with my litre-and-a-half of apeteshie and I was home free, legally.

My parents barely recognized me. My father had to point me out to my mother because she couldn't spot me in the crowd. Hilarious. Our reunion was most joyful.

Under threatening skies, we drove home. Soon I was back on the farm and my dog was going nuts seeing me for the first time in nine whole months.

So there I was: finally home in one piece - sun-baked, malaria-ridden, culture-shocked me. Home. We had dinner together (pasta), I wrecked their immaculately-cleaned living room with all of my junk and showed them all of the things I brought back with me, telling random stories off the top of my head in rapid succession.

Being jet-lagged, it was just the three of us and we kept it low-key for the evening. But damn, it's good to be home.

An Unusually Quiet Morning In Amsterdam

2006-05-13T13:40:00.001Z

The fatal flaw in our plan was that we only allotted about two hours of our overnight flight for sleeping. Thus, we arrived in Amsterdam at 6AM somewhat sleep-deprived. Added to this was my three-hour ordeal at Kotoka, which sapped my energy. But Lisa and I had a morning to kill in Amsterdam and we'd be damned if we were going to spend it sleeping on a bench at the airport.

Our first impressions of Amsterdam at 7AM? Eerily quiet. In fact, until 9, the only people we saw in the entire city were other tourists. It's like the entire downtown core had partied the night before and were all hungover.

We didn't take any pictures because I left my camera in the storage locker in the airport (along with my boarding pass, but that's another story), but here's what the city looks like:

Actually, it was more like this:

So we walked around the eerily-quiet capital of the Netherlands for a few hours, seeing no marijuana cafes, prostitutes or doctors euthanizing people, but we did have a pleasant stroll walking along the canals of the city, passing cyclists (who seem to outnumber car drivers - imagine that!) and generally feeling like crap - albeit crap walking around a world-class city.

What is there really to say? Nothing was open, so we found a small patisserie (or whatever they call them in Dutch, probably a Voortgofligjerny), ate some awesome pastries and drank real, fresh, whole milk. It was spectacular.

We walked around until 11AM, decided not to go to the Sex Museum - although I did argue for it being a form of cultural tourism - and instead took the train back to the airport. Lisa and I had some lunch, said our goodbyes and I got on my flight to Toronto as she waited for hers to Montreal.

Sidenote: Lisa and I had an awesome nine months and became great friends. We boosted each other when times got tough, especially with our respective partners. Along with Meghan, we became the Three's Company of Ghana. Yes, I was Jack. In fact, things went so smoothly that I'll be living next year in Ottawa with Lisa and her husband Peter in their swanky apartment. Let the Ghana experience continue!

Out Of The Frying Pan...

2006-05-13T06:00:00.000Z

I found my seat, much to Lisa's relief and walked up to her nonchalantly with Akwaaba-stick in hand. I probably said something witty, like they do in the movies when someone arrives unexpectedly. The plane took off promptly.

And what a plane it was! We were flying a brand-spankin' new 777, with spacious cabins (but not seats) and personal tvs embedded in the back of every seat, with the viewer controlling everything by remote - movies, tv shows video games and CDs, all on demand! I was so culture-shocked that I sat there for the first half-hour like a four-year old with my jaw hanging wide open.

It was almost too much, like they had broken the unspoken rule of air travel: you are supposed to be at least somewhat bored. You're supposed to at least have enough time to make you want to read the safety card - you know, just in case. Instead, I had to actually make a plan for what I was going to watch and when I was going to watch it!

And then there was Lisa and my goal: to get totally trashed on free drinks. That didn't take long. We had wine with dinner and Irish creme afterwards and we were sloshed in no time. We made observational humour, laughed at our stupid jokes and probably annoyed our new Chicago-bound friend named Chester. A few hours later, I fell asleep while watching Casablanca. Nice one.

Blinking lights on the airplane wings
Up above the trees
Blinking down a morse code signal
Especially for me

Ain't no rainbow in the sky
In the middle of the night
But the signal's coming through
One day i will be alright again
-The Eels

Escape From Accra

2006-05-12T21:10:00.002Z

So the final day arrived. To most of us who had been in Ghana since August, it was like Christmas in May. In usual fashion, I awoke to men yelling loudly in Twi outside my door. For the last time. For sure.

My last day in Accra was relaxed. I went to Shiashie market for souvenirs and got out in record time, I packed up all of my worldly belongings (leaving things for Babadoo and Muhammad the tailor) and entertained visitors - probably more than I've had all semester. (But my place was such a bachelor pad...!)

As the countdown neared, the obligatory goodbyes were said and I got kinda somewhat sort of just a bit halfway sad. I didn't get to make as many friends this time around as I did first semester, but that doesn't mean that there weren't awesome people. To name them all would be impossible and I'd be insulting those whom I had forgotten, so let me just say this:

If you were there, you know you were. And if we had good times, you know we did. And that's all that matters.

Jon had left earlier, looking rather snappily-dressed, to try and weasel his way into first-class. Lisa and I, having our seats booked next to each other on the same flight to Amsterdam (thanks to the incredibly lax and probably illegal privacy policies of KLM Accra... they printed off my flight itinerary and gave it to Lisa!) took our final cab ride to Kotoka International Airport. Laura, whose boyfriend was arriving on the plane we would be leaving on, came with. Interesting juxtaposing of us, no?

So we arrived at the airport. After nine months of watching the planes take off and land from my balcony and one flight of my own, I was finally going home. Home. The faded dream that it had been for so long would be the reality that I would trade those last nine months for. Would I let go of Ghana easily, or would I be dragged away from it kicking and screaming? What followed next was probably the least-expected chain of events possible...

In the end, I didn't have the option of either. At check-in, we were made painfully aware of KLM's new baggage policy. Long story short: my giant suitcase that I brought with me was now obsolete because it's contents needed to be split into two to be accepted. But I didn't HAVE an extra bag. I tried to disperse the weight amongst different bags (and since my djembe and guitar's body were stuffed with clothes, I was running low on options). Finally after almost an hour, the security guard helped me buy a crappy bag (at double the market price), filled it and I was let through.

Hurdle #2: Everyone had checked in by this point and there was little time for dawdling. But what's this? Apparently I was not on the passenger list! After watching the ladies talk at each other worriedly in Twi, whilst periodically looking at me with unencouraging looks, I tried to figure out what was happening. Check-in had ended and I was going to be stuck for another day because the print-out that I was given by the KLM office was NOT valid for me to be given my boarding pass (liar!). I was likely screwed and minutes away from tears. When I pulled out my old ticket from before I changed my flight, suddenly everything made sense to them and I was issued my ticket! As we ran with the rest of my luggage to the next point, the security guard laughed and yelled at me...

"I WILL BEAT YOU! GET ON THAT PLANE!"
(in the most lighthearted and comical way possible, of course)

Hurdle #3: By this point, I was passing through customs quickly, due to my plane taking off in less than half an hour. I pushed ahead through the line to the lugubrious customs officers. Eventually, I got my stamp. Lisa was being quite a good sport for not killing me throughout this episode, since she didn't have any of my problems. She made her way to the plane.

Hurdle #4: Though I had checked my bags, apparently my guitar case and djembe (filled with clothes and a bottle of Ghanaian homebrew) were too heavy to be taken to the cabin. This was a pain in the ass, filling out forms and such, but at least I only had one bag remaining (that's right, five bags in total).

Hurdle #5: There was a drunk guy at the gate. He was so not getting on that flight. I however, was getting on that plane if I had to run across the runway (which the transport bus did for me, thankfully).

Finally, with 10 minutes before take-off, I climbed the stairs to the plane, turned around for one last look at Africa, and got on the plane. I was officially no longer on land and had entered a different world: one of modern technology, multicultural society - and free booze.

Let the games begin.

All Things Must Pass... (Last Night in Ghana)

2006-05-12T02:10:00.000Z

She don’t care what it’s worth
She’s living like it’s the last night on earth

So it’s about 2AM of my last night in Accra, in Ghana, in Africa. Far from home, half a world away. However you put it. By this time tomorrow I will be somewhere over the Sahara en route to Amsterdam, the gateway to the “developed” world, a place far different from this one.

After returning home from a delicious dinner at Minnie’s and drinks at Jazztones, I came home and continued the process of packing, wrapping fragile gifts, trying to find order to things and finding interesting ways of maximizing the space available. Even my guitar is filled with my socks and underwear...

Festus came by my room for a chat as I was removing posters, maps and flags. When I turned around to look at the place I had made as my own space and sanctuary, I was struck by how empty it is now. No signs of life or character, just a bunch of junk on the floor; my life being jammed into a few small pieces of luggage.

This is the life I’ve come to know in the last nine months. And it’s become one that I’ve become rather comfortable with. I know the ins and outs of the university, the city and the country, plus a few others, somewhat. By now, I can dispense advice and wisdom like a human Bradt guide. I can eat almost anything and can sleep almost anywhere. Here, I’m capable, independent and treated as an adult (if not curiously by Ghanaians, like a free range zoo animal). I can make my way across the city, the country and beyond. I can pack a bag and leave anywhere at a moment’s notice. I can haggle.

Alas, I still have a life back home that I had put on pause. I suppose to say that is a bit naive, as if the universe will stay in suspended animation, like Super Mario in mid-leap. The world keeps turning and so has the world I once knew. People are getting lives, getting jobs, getting married.

Tonight, before packing it in my suitcase, I sat and slowly went through the giant scrapbook of home that Maleaha made for me. I realized that it represents another time and place – my “old life”, as it were. Everything looks a bit aged and faded. This is a life I can remember by sight, but not by hearing, smell, taste or touch. It’s all so fuzzy now, this life from so long ago.

The irony of this is that my “old life” is also going to be my “new life” (with some adjustments) by Saturday in the late afternoon. It’ll be back to work this summer, catching up with friends (hopefully, still) and playing some good tunes as well as seeing some great shows, inshallah.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m beyond excited to return home and I’ve been counting the days for almost two months. While I’ve become comfortable with my liberated, jet-set life here, I’m yearning for the one that I spent 20 years building up. Like a sympathetic executioner arriving at an inmate’s cell, I can hear the words calmly echoing in my head, “Okay... it’s time.”

I can see
The need in everyone
A change of season

I have parents to go home to, friends to spend time with, a dog to play with and a woman to build a future with. Beers that need drinking, basements that need jamming, movies that need watching and jokes that need laughing. These are the things that make life the rich tapestry that it has become. Like a fine kente, a Ghanaian would say, it is brightly coloured and intricately woven.

In the last nine months, I’ve done many crazy things, seen many fantastic places, experienced the warmth of human kindness and felt the presence of God throughout. I can’t help but be thankful every day for this experience, even if sometimes it can be too difficult to remember why. I’ve experienced so much and grown likewise. I’ve met so many people and have made so many friends from different places and have made strong friendships that will last for a very long time. I can’t imagine that by tomorrow everything will pass from me and become just a memory, a dream that I will have awoken from in my bed. I shudder to think that these nine months will soon become just a collection of stories that I’ll tell to others who will try to imagine it for themselves...

I’m just a boat on the ocean
I’m just a ship lost at sea

But hey, I’m still Michael. And I’ll probably be back someday. Tomorrow never knows...

Squeezing The Life Out Of Accra

2006-05-11T23:25:00.000Z

Thank heaven for Joe's moto. We had some "bizness" to attend to in Osu (don't ask why I just put outdated slang in quotations) and ended up getting done in three hours what would normally take me two days by tro-tro. First we assisted our friend Judah set up a bank account for his new bar, then went to the pan-Africanist bookstore that is perpetually waiting for the next shipment of books. If that place was a play, it would be called "Waiting for Nkrumah". On the way, we stopped at one of the famed workshops that makes custom-designed coffins. Options include a giant fish, beer bottle and cocoa pod.

We went all the way across town to Circle (good riddance) to the post office to check on my still-incoming birthday parcels (they weren't there) and pick up some bad Nigerian Films (someone will be receiving "Baby Police 2" as a gift when I return). We stopped at Assase Pa one last time for veggie food, at the Ghanaian designer clothes store MKO.GH and one last coffee at Max Mart.

Lisa and I had one last sunset run on campus. The coffee didn't help.

In the evening, Meghan, Lisa, Laura from Guelph and Alix (pronounced "Aleeks") ate a final dinner at Minnie's. It was delicious, but poor Jacob had malaria.

Finally, we had drinks at Jazztone, an American bar that plays great tunes and has a live band on Thursdays. Oh expats, how I'll miss thee...

Limping Towards The Finish Line

2006-05-09T23:21:00.000Z

Every time I think about back home
It's cool and breezy
I wish that I could be there right now
Just passing time

Everybody seems to wonder
What it's like down here
I gotta get away from this day-to-day running around
Everybody knows this is nowhere
-Neil Young

So I finished the dreaded Written Arabic exam. I think it went alright, but it's mostly just nice to have it out of the way, after having it hang over my head like the rainclouds that we should be getting here these days. It's still bloody hot outside.

Being only three days away from departure, one would think that I (and my friends) would be going out every night, trying to fit in all of the fun that I can while I'm in Accra. Instead, somehow I've managed to spend the day siting around the hostel, sleeping, avoiding studying, eating yam chips and watching old concert videos of Janis Joplin and the Grateful Dead (Jessee's brother mailed him the Festival Express DVD). Could I possibly think of a more dull way to spend my final days?

Probably not. But at this point, we're all tired and ready to call it a year. We don't feel like experiencing many things Ghanaian, because we're gearing up in "Western" mode and we don't feel like going out to dinner, because the places that we eaet at are mostly substitutes for things that we have at home. Indian, Chinese, Lebanese and even Ethiopian can be found where we will be returning, so what's the point?

Only In Dreams

2006-05-08T08:52:00.000Z

At this point, I only have a fuzzy feeling of what Canada is like. I can remember in my mind what things look like, but not really about the way things smell (better than open sewers and burning garbage, I hope) or how things taste (save for waffles) or how things feel, like a comfortable bed or my dog's fur.

I had this problem when I first arrived in Ghana. When I woke up, I was so disoriented and thought I had been living in a dreamworld and that when I awoke, I'd be in my bed in Markham, just like always. Soon Markham became the far-off dreamy place. Simon and Garfunkel said it perfectly in America when they sang, "Michigan seems like a dream to me now"...

When I got to London, things were so different (and developed!) and in a few days, it was Ghana that felt like a faraway dreamland thousands of miles away (well, physically, it was).

When I returned, the feeling came back, again, for Ireland as the magical dreamland that I awoke from - on a bus headed towards Mali!

It's going to be especially strange to think that in six days, I won't wake up with people talking loudly outside my door in Twi, eat fresh bananas, mangoes and pineapple for breakfast and go out walking in the scorching sun to the road to squeeze in a packed, sweaty deathtrap tro-tro. That too will become a distant memory...

Far out, man.

The Fine Art of Tro-Troing

2006-05-06T19:17:00.000Z

During first semester, I wrote a large piece on tro-tros, the most popular form of transportation in Ghana. When the computer blew up on me, I never got around to re-writing it.

I have a love-hate relationship with them and apparently Coleen Ross of CBC does as well. This article really sums up everything I think about them and comes with pictures, too! There are also a number of features on funerals, police corruption, violence against women and other topics available that any Ghanaphile should totally read.

Some other interesting takes on tro-tro culture include a Ghanaian editorial on tro-tros and a hilarious video of anthropology student moonlighting as a tro-tro mate.

On the darker side of public transit, I was told that an American student was killed when her tro-tro flipped on the Accra-Kumasi highway. She sounded and looked like any of my Ghana travel buddies and the tragedy made me consider my own mortality, like with the close calls I had on the same road. Tro-tro safely, kids. Sometimes it's worth taking the trip the morning after.

I-And-I And Saying Goodbye

2006-05-05T22:32:00.000Z

As you may know, there are a lot of Rastas in Ghana. But there are very few Jamaicans here (although Rita Marley is an exception to the rule).

Somehow one of our friends last semester found out about this little restaurant in Madina (10 mins North of campus) off the main road that is owned by a Jamaican Rasta named Jacob. His specialty is kick-ass vegetarian Jamaican dishes and drinks. It has to be our favourite place to eat and we're always craving his cooking. Anyone can go to an Indian, Lebanese or American restaurant in Osu, but Jamaican?

In other news, Rochelle, who has been here since the beginning last August, flew back home this evening. There was a big group hanging out in her room and a weird vibe in the air... like everyone wanted to see what it was like for someone to actually go home, especially a veteran like herself. She was a real cool cat and definitely latched on to the laidback Ghanaian lifestyle better than anyone. Ah well, I guess it all goes downhill from here.

One week left. Seven more sleeps. Hey, hey, I guess it hasn't hit me yet...

Over The Hump

2006-05-04T23:24:00.000Z

Jeepers... I just finished three exams in two days. Africa and the Global System went swimmingly yesterday morning and Colonialism and the African Response went pretty well this morning also. This afternoon's Societies and Cultures of Africa seemed to go alright, although I don't fancy myself a sociologist...

The point is, I'm over the exam hump and can relax and study until Monday when I face the music with the dreaded Written Arabic exam. Oy vey, I'm not excited for that.

However, it's 8 more sleeps until I'm on my way home, and for that I'm quite stoked.

Tuesdays With Fenning

2006-05-03T23:31:00.000Z

While I may have some issues with a few profs at the university, I've also been privileged to have some brilliant lecturers. Last semester I had Akosua Darkwa, an angry, young African feminist who taught Globalization and the Developing World and took no prisoners. For the whole year, I also had Robert Addo-Fenning teaching the history of Colonialism and the African Response. He always had interesting insights and had a keen sense of what went wrong then for Africans and what is still happening.

The professor is a 70 year-old man who has been teaching for fifty years in one form or another. He's lived through the Gold Coast's drive for independence and has been witness to the entire history of the nation of Ghana. He was a student at Legon starting in 1959, when it was an elite, Oxbridge-like institution (they had formal sit-down meals and servant boys serve tea every day at 4pm), and with some stints in Australia, Nigeria and the US, has basically been teaching history at the university ever since. The man has seen the trials and tribulations of the university and the nation and his brain should be considered a national treasure.

I started casually popping into his office late last semester, asking questions about the course. The man can talk your ear off and a single question could coax an answer a half-hour long. Sometimes we'd just talk about football for an hour and that would be fine by me. It was so refreshing to hear candid opinions on history and politics from someone who was well-educated, understood issues as someone who had seen it all and wasn't afraid of saying something that would step on another's toes. At his age, he doesn't need to be afraid of the government. Or his students, whom he actually challenges to think, a quality that is becoming increasingly rare for Ghanaian students.

It's really neat to hear him talk. I haven't had a grandfatherly figure to look up to since I was a child and I suppose he is a poor surrogate, but I find him to be the most fascinating person in the country. This year (after 10 years of contracted lecturing, propping up the crumbling history department) he is finally retiring for good. "I want to spend time with my grandchildren", he says. Today I conducted an hour-long interview with him which was part history of the university, part autobiography and it was a privilege. He will be one of the professors that I always remember and will probably be an inspiration for me for a long time to come.

Two Week Warning

2006-04-28T09:00:00.000Z

One day this week I came to the realization that I only have two weeks left in Ghana and that I have a helluva lot to do. I've already finished my Arabic Oral exam (for which I was quite nervous) and Working With Persons With HIV/AIDS (which went quite well).

This weekend: One last visit to the Volta Region with Meghan for some charitable work (and of course, to swim in the lake)

Next week: Three exams in two days, which will be an endurance test. Already my schedule is filling up quickly with last-minute things to do before I leave and my bank account is being depleted at an inverse ratio to the filling of the schedule. Hopefully I'll have enough space to bring all of my junk home. But that's just another worry these days, another brick in the wall...

Joe's Moto

2006-04-24T23:21:00.000Z

So let's pretend you're an on-the-go student activist/pleasure seeker. Tro-tros are too slow and inconvenient and a car is too bloody expensive. What are you to do in a hostile, foreign country? Why not invest in a moped?

That's exactly what Joe and Jon decided to do. They each bought their own "motos" and have relied on them ever since for most short-distance transportation. They're relatively cheap (a few hundred dollars for a bike) and go easy on petrol.

On the road, they're fantastic. Accra's traffic can get heavy at times, taking over an hour to get from downtown to campus. With a moto, you avoid the traffic jams by simply going in between lanes and passing by all of the other suckers in their cars, although avoiding hawkers at stoplights can be a challenge. Suddenly that hour-plus trip takes 20 minutes and you're home in time to watch your favourite Ghanaian soap opera.

Probably the one caveat would be the maintenance. Unless you develop a good rapport with your mechanic, he'll just fix your bike long enough for it to run for a week before it has to come back. And charge you through the nose for it.

Over the time that he's had it, Joe has allowed me to ride with him, which for me is always a blast. For someone who has never had a license before, Joe certainly learned how to drive well (in Ghana, it's done offensively) and avoided accidents all this time. He even taught me how to drive it one day. Anyways, we've had some excellent mini-adventures on his Piaggio, from exploring Accra to weekends at Kokrobite and Winneba. Riding around with him on the open road, listening to our iPods, singing bad tunes like "Born In The USA", weaving in and out of Accra traffic and yelling at bad drivers will all be fond memories that I'll have for many years to come.

Sadly, one day Joe will have to give up his moto and will have to start taking the bus again like a schmuck - that is, until he gets a license and a sweet job and will be able to drive whatever the hell he wants. Until then, whenever I hear a whining two-stroke engine in the distance, I'll always think of him.

Mike's Triumphant Comeback

2006-04-23T21:48:00.000Z

It's been a bit of a waste of a weekend, but I'm feeling good now, almost at 100%. On Saturday I was still a bit queasy, but at least my eyes didn't hurt, so I could read (God's Politics by Jim Wallis, one of my favourites), as opposed to before, where I could only listen to music and sulk. Now, I'm just feeling a little tired, although it's hard to tell because it just might be the fact that it's Sunday.

Meghan's progress has been slower, but she's walking around and eating now, which is good. Tonight for dinner I had the package of Mr. Noodles that my parents sent me in September and it was definitely the most delicious Mr. Noodles I've ever had.

Tomorrow I've got plenty of business to attend to and I'm going to try the gym. We'll see if I collapse under 20lb weights or what. Here's hoping...

Down With The Sickness - Two Nights at the Nyaho

2006-04-22T16:08:00.000Z

Thursday evening, walking by Meghan's room, I came upon her being huddled in blankets, shivering and delirious. She had a wicked fever and considering that two weeks ago, she had malaria, it sounded like the virus strikes back. So Lisa and I took her to the Nyaho private medical clinic, because private = better care, right? Yeah right. That's what they WANT you to think.

The nurses were less than cheerful or considerate ("So, which one of you is sick?") and the night doctor - intern is more like it - seemed rather clueless as to the situation at hand (Lisa dubbed him Doogie Howser, which was rather apt). For some reason, he wanted to run a bunch of tests despite the ailment clearly being malaria. Her test came back negative, but since the test isn't reliable anyways, she should still be treated for it. Somehow we got out of there in the early morning after lots of arguing, an IV, a prescription and a number of visits to the pharmacist (probably Doogie's little brother). We even got a ride home from a Lebanese family who I helped out, since they spoke little English (Level 100 Arabic student to the rescue!). Being sandwiched between three large Lebanese men in the back seat of a Toyota is something I'll have to add to my list of life's experiences.

That evening I had experienced some stomach pain and fatigue and when I woke up on Friday morning, I had chills, dizzyness, aches everywhere and other sexy ailments that kept me in bed for the day. Looks like my plans for one last visit to Green Turtle Lodge were dashed. Lisa monitored me and after my temperature hit almost 39 degrees all signs pointed to more malaria, so she took me to the Nyaho.

People were friendlier there during the day (apparently they only come out at night) and it seemed like everything would go smoother. My malaria test came back negative, of course. Then we waited for the doctor to give us his esteemed opinion. It got dark then. We should have known better. Quite cold and uncaring, he heard my story and after much thought decided that I should stay the night (big $) to get an IV and more tests...

But wouldn't that take just a few hours?
Well, yes.
So couldn't I just get those done and go home tonight?
It's possible, yes.
Then the nurse came in and informed him that the ward was full and there were no spare beds.
Alright then, I'll just write you a prescription and you can go home.

Incredible. You must be Doogie Sr. It took that long just to get the prescription that we wanted. He also wanted me to take some weird tests that would end up costing more money. That's the vibe I get at this place: they just want you to spend as much money as possible, whether it be for a bed, more tests, consultation fees or whatever else. Being here really makes me really appreciate the high-quality public healthcare that we enjoy in Canada. Being sick away from home is no picnic, as I learned last time around and having to cut through so much administrative crap. Three weeks left until I get back and I can't wait. I know Meghan can't either.

Running For Home

2006-04-18T15:38:00.000Z

Today, Lisa, Jon and I, who will all be flying out on the 12th of May, opened our Advent calendars that we picked up on clearance at Max Mart, Accra North's obruni supermarket. This means that I have only 24 more days left in Ghana. That's over 8/9ths of my safari complete, so I'm really into the home stretch now. Classes are finishing this week, I'll only have another week or so of drum lessons and then in May it'll be exams and then I shall be whisked away home. Somehow I'll find time to buy lots of junk for loved ones and visit my favourite places one last time. Here's hoping...

2006-04-17T23:00:00.000Z

Any other year and I would be excited for Easter - family gatherings, great food, chocolate, the most upbeat church services of the year... However, I couldn't quite hope for all of that, being in Ghana. In fact, to avoid homesickness and Accra being even busier and evangelically-crazy than it normally would be (and because I needed a rest anyways), I tried to get as far away from the city as possible.

Eventually, I found the best place to be Lake Bosumtwi, ironically close to Kumasi. A week ago I couldn't imagine myself going back, but there I was in Kejetia Market with Hannah, trying to find our way to the lake, 30km south of the city. Getting there, we had to avoid sinister cab drivers and pay a questionable tourist tax.

And yet, as per usual, it was all worth it. The lake is surrounded by large, green forested hills and reminded me of Lake Okanagan in British Columbia. The difference? When you jump into Lake Bosumtwi, it's deliciously warm! That, and no Ogopogo, although an Akan god may live in it, which would explain why canoes are forbidden on the lake.

The place, Rainbow Garden Paradise Guesthouse, was a bit pricey, but the people were friendly, the food was good and the scenery was great. Not only that, but they had a dog named Johnny B. Good and a brand new puppy! Needless to say, I was quite happy there.

The sunsets were great there as well. On Holy Saturday night, we saw a brilliant orange moon rising over the hills and on Easter Sunday night, there was a loud and brilliant, although harmless thunderstorm, both of which made for a great backdrop for conversation with an Austrian school volunteer and a British doctor working in Sierra Leone.

All that and I broke my Lenten fast with a large Club beer. And a well-deserved one at that. A Happy Easter, indeed.

Random Ghanaian #386: The Magic Waffle Lady

2006-04-13T20:34:00.000Z

Every Thursday evening, for the past two months or so, a lady by the name of Gladys comes to the hostel kitchen with her waffle iron and batter and makes fresh waffles for us. She's Ghanaian and isn't a cook by trade, but just likes to make delicious food, apparently. Lucky for me, Maleaha brought me a jug of real maple syrup, in case of emergency.

Gladys also lived in Norway for a few years, so when the Norwegians come, they all start talking in their funny language to each other, which is hilarious (my imitation Norwegian is actually getting pretty good - you should hear it sometime after I've had a few).

Making A Difference, Bit By Bit

2006-04-11T23:07:00.000Z

I was looking for a quiet, relaxing weekend, so when Hannah said we should go someplace near Kumasi, I thought "Ooh! Lake Bosumtwi, the famous getaway!" No, we went two hours further away (for about seven in all) to Techiman (which, to me, sounds like a Japanese cartoon) for HIKING at Buoyem and Tano Sacred Groves.

Okay, so I had to put off the quiet, relaxing weekend for a bit. The nice thing about these places is that they are eco-friendly and community-based tourist sites, so all money goes towards the community. For some reason, Ghana is full of these places (apparently under the direction of USAID, who seems to sponsor all of them) and they are not only highly ethical, but also ridiculously cheap in most cases. The new guesthouse alone was something like $3 per night.

Long story short, we had a guide from the village of Buoyem take us for a long walk/hike through the countryside, telling us about the history. We saw some neat rocks (yes, they can be neat) and went into the sacred bat cave, which was pretty awesome. Better than Shai Hills, if you ask me.

Some walking and tro-tros later, we reached a nearby town which is host to Tano Sacred Grove (apparently we were on some pretty holy ground). The grounds were quite beautiful and the pathway led to a climb up some large rocks to a place that was somewhere between Utah and Mars: A strange rock formation with its own small canyons, peaks and tunnels. Apparently back in the day, when a king was captured, the people he ruled had to surrender (kinda like chess), so this place was where the king would hide when the Ashanti came to wreck their stuff. Not a bad hideout, if you ask me.

That day was nuts, physically and we went to bed quite early, although the rain from the previous day had awoken the crawlies, so our room was literally filled with winged ants and other small odd bugs. A quick sweep of the place with a broom permitted us a peaceful sleep.

Like Wechiau Hippo Sanctuary and Tafi Atome Monkey Sanctuary, Buoyem and Tano are community-run eco-villages, set up by the US Peace Corps instead of the Ghanaian government. While I have my beefs with the Peace Corps, they do a great job with finding ways to boost the local economy through tourism, especially in Ghana.

And these are places that you can feel good patronizing. For example, our guide Paul told us that proceeds from the project go directly to buying medicine for the local clinic and towards the community library. He himself makes no profit from his work. How great is that?

Ironically, these places that are the most enriching and ethical are the ones that charge the least to experience. They certainly are not Indian casinos, but I find this quite strange... anyhow, if you are travelling, check out community-based eco-tourism, because I'd rather have my money going towards buying medicine for poor villagers than to some rich old Lebanese guy. Not that I have anything against the Lebanese...

Riverboat Nightmare

2006-04-11T00:16:00.000Z

Apparently I'm good at avoiding disaster. In addition to last week's smoking tro-tro incident, word has come that a boat sank in Lake Volta, where I recently had my own pleasure cruise.

There were up to 150 people on the boat and so far 30 have been rescued. The article in the BBC claims, "A team investigating the accident described the Volta Lake transport system as a death trap because of obstacles such as trees and rocks." (I couldn't agree more.)

You definitely don't run into these kids of problems in Canada. It will be strange to think that when I take public transportation back home, I won't have to wonder if I will be witness to great tragedy on a daily basis. One only needs to look at the scores of accidents on the Accra-Kumasi highway to see how dangerous it really is to get around West Africa.

Film Festival #2: The Darker Side Of Fish

2006-04-07T23:02:00.000Z

Somehow, a group managed to hold an Accra Environmental Film Festival (in a city known more for open sewers, smoke-billowing tro-tros and random burning piles of trash) and was showing movies all week to raise awareness, which resident flower-child Meghan would definitely approve of (if she wasn't in Mali with Lisa. Sorry-o!)

I caught the final night of the festival which featured Miss Ghana promoting idodated salt, a British director's short documentary on a Mauritanian desert board game called Sands of Enigma: Seig and a surreal, award-winning Senegalese short film called Petite Lumière about a little girl in a dreamworld.

The main attraction that evening was Darwin's Nightmare, a haunting film about a town on Lake Victoria in Tanzania. Some half-century ago, someone thought it would be a good idea to dump a few Nile Perch into the lake. However, they grew big and ate all of the native fish. The environmental effects are disastrous, but the economic benefits have already been realized: caught by fishermen, they are sent to a processing factory and shipped to Europe by planes that come in empty every day and leave with the fish.

The film lets the people speak for themselves and doesn't take positions, rather letting the viewer come to his or her own conclusions. It shows the hardships of the fishermen, the villagers, the town's streetchildren, the prostitutes for the pilots - but it also sheds light on the lives of the factory owners and the pilots themselves. It shows the worst victims of the global capitalist system, but doesn't demonize the people.

The movie is raw and jarring. And it isn't afraid to ask scary questions: where do the streetchildren go at night? What happens to the prostitutes? What happens to the fish, for that matter? And are the planes really coming back empty, or is it much more sinister than that?

I may be sounding like a paid movie critic, but if you get a chance to see this, please do, because it will open up your mind and show you one of the darkest sides of Africa.

So. Very. Hot.

2006-04-07T17:00:00.000Z

Normally, I would love to write about the things that have been going on in recent days, like classes wrapping up, where I've been or interesting people I've met. Unfortunately, all I can think about is how damned hot it is. Today whilst walking home, I was afraid that I would spontaneously combust.

On the upside, we had some monsoon-like rains that drenched the campus on Sunday and Monday and we seem to be on the cusp of the wet season, in which some parts of Ghana will find themselves full of water. I'm looking forward to these floods quite a bit.

The Truth Just SOUNDS Better

2006-04-03T23:41:00.000Z

Whilst cruising Ghanaweb , an excellent source of Ghanaian news, I found a great article called Our Ostrich Economy Is Not Ready To Fly. It's a bit pessimistic on Ghana's economic situation, but hot damn it's about time somebody had the courage to say something other that how great Ghana is and how it'll be a modern economy in ten years. As well as the country is doing (economic growth is at something like 5% per year), it simply has a lot further to go until it is ready to "take off" and can seriously consider itself "developed".

"...our economy has been readying for take off since 1957. For some reason, this take off either does not occur or ends up in all the wrong places when it secretly and invincibly occurs."

In Ghana, there is a large culture of deference and there is definitely a huge stigma on saying anything pessimistic about the state of affairs. It's about time we had a frank discussion on where Ghana really is heading.

Love and Theft

2006-04-02T21:36:00.000Z

On the topic of pickpocketers, it deserves to be said that Ghana, while it may be considered an oasis of stability in the region and known as the "safest country in West Africa" (*By whom, I have no idea), we have experienced over the last six months a considerable amount of crime. Usually, it's because someone was walking somewhere downtown and went down a dark street and got themselves accosted. For most victims of crime, it's been a pickpocketer in a crowd (I keep my wallet on a leash, and it's saved me TWICE) or worse, somebody with a knife who wants your cash. On campus, this has been especially true. Many people have been robbed walking down the main road in the dark and have suddenly found themselves at the wrong end of a machete. It's common sense, but so many people choose to ignore it... to add to the problem, THE UNIVERSITY OF GHANA PRETENDS THAT ROBBERIES DON'T HAPPEN ON CAMPUS. Thanks a lot, international programs office.

In addition, things tend to get stolen in the Hostel, on occassion. 99% of the time it's either because someone went out and left their door open or unlocked or someone's roommate's friends are jerks. That being said, here's a good story:

Festus, my eccentric metal-loving, British economist friend, told me that last year someone broke open a girl's window at the Hostel. The enterprising thief reached in and stole an old personal cd player on her desk... while leaving the brand new ipod right next to it. Talk about losing the lesser of two evils! (Joe and I have said that if we were to be robbed, we'd rather lose our passports than our ipods. Passports can at least be replaced.)

Talking to Maleaha, we reasoned that what is most likely to be stolen is that which people know what it is and how it works. Thus, perhaps I should have brought with me a Segway to Ghana?

Pumping Iron... Illegally!

2006-04-02T01:40:00.000Z

To prepare for the upcoming landscaping work season this summer, I've started weight training at the gym (see Dad, I am serious!). As much walking and running as I have been doing in the last 7 1/2 months, my muscles have probably turned to fufu and it's time to get back in "work" mode. After all, there will be life after Africa, and it will require a lot more money.

Enter the gym. I've commenced working out 2-3 times per week, adding yet more stuff to my already busy schedule. Lisa, who is a part-time personal trainer and is fit as a fiddle, has started me on a routine that will transform me from my current girlie-man status to that of a hulk. And an incredible one at that.

The problem with this foolproof strategy is that they just jacked up the price of membership at the gym, so a month would cost about $70 - which is more than I've paid for just about anything here, let alone for a gym in Canada. Thus, I'm illegally using the gym for my own benefit. I'll be paying the single-entry fee of $9 occassionally, but just to keep them from getting suspicious. Yes, I live a dangerous life. But this is Africa. And sometimes you've just got to take chances.

Tempting Fate At 30 Cents A Ride

2006-03-31T23:28:00.000Z

Today my tro-tro almost caught fire. It suddenly stopped, smoke came from the engine (under the seats) and everyone ran out like a bomb was about to explode.

Stranger yet: five minutes afterwards it was working fine and I got right back on. I know those things are deathtraps, but perhaps I'm getting a little too used to unsafe public transportation...

You know what I can't wait for? Working seatbelts.

Total Eclipse of the Heart - Er, Sun

2006-03-29T23:59:00.000Z

This morning would have been pretty average for a Wednesday if it had not been for a total solar eclipse in coastal Ghana. For almost two months, posters around Accra warned that the eclipse was not a sign of angry gods or the Apocalypse, but a natural phenomenon (as my good friend Rick would be able to tell you). They also advertised 3D-esque eclipse-viewing glasses, which sold out days ahead of the event. (Yet another brilliant business idea that will never come to fruition)

I was awoken this morning by the screams of girls in the hostel. I noticed it was dim outside. "How terrible, it's cloudy, right before the eclipse." Actually, it WAS the eclipse. I went out to my balcony with Jessee (we're kinda like Tim and Wilson from Home Improvement in that way) and we observed the earth, as it quickly became very dark. Then we observed the blotted-out sun (for about .2 seconds) and sang some Pink Floyd. Soon, the sunlight returned and Accra, which undoubtedly had stopped moving for a good four minutes, returned to normal. Far out.

All that is now
All that is gone
All that's to come
And everything under the sun is in tune
But the sun is eclipsed by the moon.

No Meat No Fish - Or I Die

2006-03-27T00:13:00.000Z

Speaking of chicken, I really don't eat much meat in Ghana. There are a few reasons, notably:

1. Most of the Carleton kids here are vegetarians or former vegans, so we often end up going to restaurants that accommodate as such.
2. The chicken is either stringy or has the flu. "Free range chicken" means "the ones walking around picking at the garbage all day".
3. The fish is narsty, at least most kinds are. I just likes me halibut, plain and simple.
4. The beef - well, there isn't really beef, except at nice restaurants. And goat just doesn't turn my crank.

So basically, eating meat hasn't been high on my priorities. After so many months, Ive gotten used to either going to the vegetarian joint for dinner or ordering the vegetarian option to not offend my friends. (They never do get offended, but something tells me eating bacon in front of them probably wouldn't increase their comfort level...)

In addition, it's cheaper to not eat meat and as long as I get my protein, who cares? It really sends the average Ghanaian for a loop. For the first few months, we'd say "no meat, no fish", so of course they'd give us chicken. Now it's "no meat, no fish, or else I die!", which usually works better.

When I go home, I'll probably be more conscious of what I eat and go for the chick peas or tofu once in a while. However, until they make a convincing substitute for a ten-ounce Alberta beef steak, I'll always be prey to my own carnivorous tendencies.

Some People Just Can't Take A Joke...

2006-03-26T19:23:00.000Z

One morning George W. Bush is sitting at his desk in the Oval Office when Condoleeza Rice comes in with his daily intelligence briefing on the War in Iraq.

She informs him, "Yesterday, 3 Brazilian soldiers were killed."

"OH NO!" the President exclaims. "That's terrible!"

She stands, stunned, nervously watching as the President sits, head in hands.

Finally, the President looks up and asks, "Condi, tell me - how many is a brazillion?"

After telling this joke, a group of Americans sitting near us got up and left, one muttering, "That was so inappropriate..."

The moral of the story: when your government spends all its time and money putting its hands in other nations' cookie jars, don't be surprised if when you travel you find people are angry about your country's destructive foreign policy.

Besides, the Germans thought it was hilarious.

How Michael Got His Groove Back (or, Play That Funky Music, Obruni)

2006-03-24T18:01:00.000Z

The semester is progressing along decently (suddenly we have less than a month left of classes... didn't see that one coming) and I've managed to make good on my first goal of this semester: Take drumming lessons.

I found out about the lessons through my neighbour and bizarro-Michael, Jessee. For over a month now, I've been taking private lessons from a Rasta (of course!) named Harrison who basically builds African drums and teaches white kids how to play them for a living. He's quite an odd duck sometimes (ladies, you know why), but he's full of positive energy and has the patience of a saint - especially with me.

I get the benefit of having a mix of group and solo lessons and it's become a great way to blow off steam and get funky doing it too. West African drumming is pretty awesome and it's almost too bad that I'm only scratching the surface.

Last week, Habib Koité, one of West Africa's top artists, came to town and played a fantastic show. He combines Malian traditional music with blues and pop - his live band could have taught Dave Matthews a thing or two. And his percussion section was out of this world. Definitely recommended.

"Roughing It" in Africa

2006-03-21T09:40:00.000Z

As much as I like to consider myself half a world away from home, the reality is that we at Legon are probably the most connected to home of any group that's gone away.

Consider this: I have internet access, which I use daily, which allows me to e-mail and chat with friends. I also get the same international news that I get at home and I can even keep up to date with music, movies, etc. I talk to Maleaha almost every day. If I have the time, I can upload photos for all to see and at some places in Accra, I can even use a webcam. Also, I have a cell phone that, while too expensive to make international calls, allows me to receive them from my parents, who call often.

Looking back five years, there might have been slow, but moderately reliable internet access on campus, although probably not in the hostel. Phone calls would be much trickier - and there wouldn't have been cell phones here anyways, since they've exploded just recently in Africa. Landlines are really only for businesses.

Looking back ten years, there would be no internet, calls would have been ridiculously expensive and the primary mode of communication would probably be by air mail. Even two years ago, I probably wouldn't have had an online journal to write in.

All things considered, we've got it pretty easy these days, communications-wise. We're definitely living in a globalized age and it's made life much easier. I can't imagine being a Peace Corps volunteer, whose postings are for two years in small villages and aren't allowed to speak to their friends and family for the first two months!

Yes, we're definitely roughing it, in the Dark Continent and - oh wait, I need to take this call...

A St. Patrick's Day Of A Different Colour (or, Water Is Thicker Than Blood)

2006-03-18T13:33:00.000Z

I always look forward to St. Patrick's Day, but this year especially, since my trip to Ireland. It's like every March 17th my blood starts to boil just a bit and I feel like dancing a merry jig and all of that stereotypical nonsense.

Accra itself was looking rather Irish: it was cold, windy, it rained that morning and after months of drought, things were starting to look a bit greener! (Indeed for myself, it was the first rain I had seen in Ghana since November)

For some reason, as with Independence Day, I wasn't feeling motivated to jump on it. On top of this, Felicity (my Aussie chum studying in at Columbia University) was celebrating her birthday at a highlife bar in La Paz - not quite the St. Paddy's Day I had envisioned! Alas, I felt that I should be there for a friend, religion and heritage aside...

Regardless, I had fun and we ended up having our cake and eating it too, since we all wanted to go to the famous Ryan's Irish Pub. By the time we got there (midnight) they were almost completely out of beer and a local band was finishing their set on the patio. Where was the Guinness draught? The ceilidh? How about the Irish Rovers? The Pogues? Thin Lizzy?

So Ghana hasn't quite nailed down the St. Patrick's Day tradition. Considering the massive crowd that came out for it, next year's should be better. But I'll be back in Old Ottawa South by then. So for all of my friends on Bank Street, I'll be seein' ya at Patty's Pub same time next year. 4pm, right?

I've Been Everywhere, Man

2006-03-16T23:00:00.000Z

So I arrived on campus tonight at about 8PM from my tour of the North. At this point, I've seen every region of Ghana (even if I was mostly passing through the Upper East) and have been to all of the places that I've wanted to see since I arrived. It might be a bit pompous to say it, but I've pretty much seen it all and I'm ready to go home!

I've booked my flight and I leave Africa on May 12, 2006 and arrive in Toronto the next afternoon. Ya heard!

So I've got 56 days left (Lisa, who is on my flight, has been counting the days religiously) and for me, it's a bonus round. I've got classes to attend, exams to study for and write and will spend most of my weekends seeing small things I have missed or revisiting some of my favourite haunts.

I'm quite excited to be going home. After seven months down and under two ahead, I can see the light of the tunnel quite well and am very excited to be coming home. After being away from it for so long, I've realized how important it is (long wistful entry to follow). I've got to get back to my life, my school, my family, my friends and to Maleaha - all of which I've been missing terribly. So, we'll see how the next two months go. Should be a doozy, my great-grandmother would probably say...

Riverboat Fantasy pt. 2

2006-03-16T20:30:00.000Z

When I woke up, I was surrounded by tall, green islands in the lake. Apparently, not all of the earth had been submerged by the damming of the river. The islands were beautiful, sitting on the water in the Harmattan mist. As we trolled by them, I noticed that there was nary a village or boat to be seen in these parts. It felt as if we could have been here millions of years ago and it would still look the same.

I spent much of the day reading, with an overcurious boy named Saddam (I think) looking over my shoulder. Seriously, I don't mind the odd glance, but a solid hour of staring kinda throws off my concentration. He also didn't mind when his elbow came into physical contact with me, like he was absorbing my lifeforce through osmosis. Evidently, there isn't much to do for a boy on a boat full of yams.

Not long before we came into port, I finished Contact. I'd already seen the movie, which I love anyways and of course the book was better than the movie. It's a bit outdated (written in 1985 and set in 1999 - with the Soviet Union still in the picture!), but all in all it was a very worthwhile read. At first, I wondered why the hell I, a travelling Canadian student, was reading a book about interstellar travel while sitting on a boat full of yams in Ghana. However, although the book is about talking to aliens, it's a story that reinforces the idea of the oneness of humanity as well as the Universe and God. Somehow, by that reasoning it became hyper-relevant.

By the end of the trip as the boat rolled into Akosombo in the late afternoon, I was beginning to get the feeling that I had more or less "conquered" Ghana, travel-wise. I'd seen every region and all of the major sights to see. Most of my future travel will be in small places or places that I've already been. I also started to get the feeling like it was time I started thinking about getting home.

Daniel, who incidentally worked at the Pita Pit at Whistler for a year, and I got off the boat via a passageway between stacked crates of yams. It was pretty surreal. "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of yam, I shall fear no evil, for I have ketchup." We got a taxi with a Nigerian man who thought I was from Israel (Jewish misidentification #2 in nine days) and parted ways as Daniel headed for the Volta Region, I headed for home and our new generous friend Michael went somewhere else.

After that, I somehow got some quick tro-tros home (with a little help from kind strangers and a taxi driver,- many thanks) and even the useless, waste-of-cash International Programmes Office Bus picked me up to take me to ISH. It took the long route, but considering it was under a full moon, the university's white buildings were illuminated in blue and the red clay rooves in purple. I was suddenly struck by the idea that my campus could be beautiful!

Ah well... it's not home, but it will always be ISH, sweet ISH.

Riverboat Fantasy pt. 1

2006-03-15T23:59:00.000Z

Cocaine kisses and moonshine Misses
That's the life for me
I'm sailing away from my heartache
On a riverboat fantasy
-David Wilcox

By chance I ran into a fellow traveler in Yeji - a Mexican named Daniel. We made our way to the ferry and found spaces on the ridge to sleep on on the deck. ("You come where the white people sleep," the man said. I didn't know they did that on boats anymore...) It being almost a full moon, we sat out on the roof, casting blue shadows on the aluminum. We had a nice, long talk as we stared at the sky (and Daniel enjoyed a joint). Everything looks different in the sky from the equator. I didn't know that there was a rabbit in the moon...

I woke up the next morning to a German who plays the blues on a tiny guitar. Strange. The day was spent mostly lying in my sleeping bag and reading. I finished Miriam Toews' A Complicated Kindness, about a girl growing up in a Mennonite town in Saskatchewan, kinda like New Waterford Girl for the Praries. I traded with Daniel for Carl Sagan's Contact. The rest of the day was spent staring at the scenery. I was in quite the comfortable zone.

Lake Volta is an infant of a body of water, historically speaking. It's only 40 years old. It was created as a result of Kwame Nkrumah's damming of the Volta River at Akosombo and the resultant flooding has made it the world's largest artificial body of water.

It's so young that in the shallow Northern end, the skeletons of dead trees that haven't decomposed stretch out of the water like hands, forever trying to grasp on to something that will save them. The haze created by the Harmattan gives it a particularly sinister feel, like a neitherworldy fog.

That day we stopped at a few ports and eventually the deck started getting crowded with crazy Ghanaian women trying to take our mats. Then some angry soldiers came and rudely took our mats. (Actually, they were theirs, but they sure were jerks about it) I felt like a kid getting my ice cream cone getting taken away from me. Except when you lose an ice cream cone, you still get to have a comfortable sleep.

Take Me To The River...

2006-03-14T23:59:00.000Z

Getting to Yeji at the top of Lake Volta was, as travel often is here, a chore. You'd think I'd be used to public transit in Ghana by now, but I keep getting surprised at how unbearable it can be. The first tro-tro to Salaga was one of the dustiest I'd ever been on. I probably shouldn't have changed into clean clothes before boarding. My mistake.

The next one to Makongo was like a cattle car on a train. The upside was I rode up front in the cab; the downside was that all of the engine fumes went straight into the cab. I was high as a kite and probably knocked off a few years of my life with teh damage done to my lungs. To add to the fun, the truck traveled at a speed somewhere between "stubborn donkey" and "three-legged cat". It was likely the worst public transportation that I have taken in West Africa. When I tried to take a picture of it, some people got very angry. I guess they didn't want the secret to get out: that they had the worst tro-tro in Ghana.

Finally, I rode the ferry from Makongo to Yeji, where the boat headed South towards Akosombo was going to dock. I helped a Burkinabe woman out with her ticket (it's hard to say "no" to a woman with a baby) and met some government workers and an Indian engineer who were driving around the country showing farmers how to maintain their new Indian-made tractors. When they heard it was my birthday, they offerred me scotch. I couldn't refuse, lest I would offend them (Sorry, Jesus).

The information in the book on the ferry was sketchy at best, but somehow I was on the right track, the people of Yeji assured me. It was set to leave at 3AM, but one man let me stay at his bar until it closed. I had fufu and realized that I finally had stopped being such a puss about eating chop. Yet another proof of me being comfortable in my environment, I suppose. I had a long, circular conversation with a very drunk man, which was mercifully broken by a phone call from Maleaha. Of all places!

Hot Tamale

2006-03-13T23:59:00.000Z

The morning of March 13 was a defining moment of my travels: in addition to my being in Ghana for exactly seven months, it was also the time in which I felt further away from home than I've ever felt before.

At 4:30AM, all the mosques in the village turned on their loudspeakers and announced the Muslim call to prayer. And here I am, sleeping on a mattress on a roof in a sleeping bag that isn't mine (thanks again, Meghan). It was very dark. Moments later, a bus comes rolling down the road, honking loudly, announcing its arrival. I groggily threw my things in my bag and ran to the bus, which was about to make it's way to Tamale. Somehow I got on the packed vehicle with the help of my alleged pseudo-guide friend. I don't remember much.

Four hours and a flat tire later, we were in Tamale. The girls opted not to go with me to Lake Volta but instead make the gruelling trip back to Accra via tro-tro (another 13 hours in a confined space). Chacun son gout, as the French say...

I went to the nearest hotel, the Al Hassan (of course!) and booked a cheap single room, of course one of the "first-floor hotboxes" as described by the Bradt Guide that, "are best avoided unless you enjoy sweaty, sleepless nights." Apparently I do.

I spent the day napping, using the internet and walking around town. Pretty uneventful, but they have a very large mosque downtown. Tamale is the largest city in Ghana North of Kumasi and an important transport hub. If you want to go anywhere in the North or go onward to Burkina Faso and Mali, you need to pass through Tamale. It's also hot. Ridiculously hot. So. Damned. Hot.

Basically I could feel the sun slowly evaporating my soul. Considering they probably haven't seen rain there for at least four months, I can see why. It was probably the hottest place I've ever been. I felt sorry for the Americans who were in Mali at the time. Even the ones from Texas!

As expected, that night was spent roasting - even the bed was mysteriously a source of heat. A bucket shower helped me adjust, since the water was out (ironically the selling point in the Bradt Guide for the Al Hassan was its "fabulously enthusiastic shower"). Another swing and a miss.

As thrilling as Tamale was, the next morning, I was off to meet my destiny on Lake Volta...

Larabangin'

2006-03-12T23:59:00.000Z

The rest of the day was spent walking on eggshells (not literally, of course). I had met a teenager at the park who I feared was one of the pseudo-guides. He wanted to take me to see Larabanga's famous mosque and I, being naturally polite, gave one of those non-committal answers that would end up coming back to haunt me. He kept following me, even on bike back to the Salia Brothers (Sometimes Ghanaians don't understand that Westerners find this behaviour creepy). There was also something about donating to the local soccer team. My tourist alarm was going off in my head, so I spent the next few hours in the fortress Salia, where I was safe from the rest of the world.

At sunset, I got a real tour of the village with one of the brothers' nephews, Ali. The highlight, of course, was the mosque. The chapel-like mud-and-stick structure is known as the oldest mosque in the country, dating back some six centuries. Nobody knows for sure, because it's all folklore. But the story behind it is great, featuring rulers, holy men, prophesies and a flying Qu'ran from Mecca.

Later, my new Legon friends Joanna and Jillian were invited for some T.Z., a local meal. I forget what T.Z. stands for, but it's somewhere between fufu and akple. Being that it was homemade, the sauce was awesome. The weird part was that the allegedly pseudo-guide was there with us and he didn't know that I had already gone on a tour! We all went for minerals (soft drinks) afterwards and I had a long conversation with him and it turned out that he really wanted to be a professional tour guide and loved learning history. As strange as it was, had I misjudged the boy? It's hard to say, but I felt like I had definitely not been up front with him, let alone shortchanged him. I spent the last few hours of the night in pensive mode...

Ghanaian Lion Safari

2006-03-12T18:00:00.000Z

The only reliable bus to Larabanga, the next stop on my tour of the North, left before 5:30AM. Somehow there were many more passengers than seats. Delightful.

The upside to this ridiculously early start to my day was that I arrived in Larabanga at 9AM, so I had time to experience the village and nearby Mole (pronounced mo-lay National Park a day ahead of my plans. Due to Larabanga's notorious reputation of having many pseudo-guides, spongers and opportunists, I quickly headed for the Salia Brothers Guesthouse. The twin brothers Hussein and al-Hassan are very friendly and energetic men who have worked hard (or so they claim) to help the village prosper as a result of traffic to Mole, which is entirely government-run and has few, if any, links to the community.

Coincidentally, two American students from Legon were there that day to see Mole. After breakfast, I rented a bike from the brothers and went to join them at the park. On the way in, I passed by a warthog family and some baboons.

When one thinks of "National Park", one thinks of Land Rovers driving through remote savannah searching for elusive game. Mole is something more like African Lion Safari, - but without the lions. The Mole Motel (and pool and bar) are built on an escarpment in front of the two main watering holes in the park, so during the dry season when water is scarce, all the animals go there to cool off. Elephants, bucks, gazelles, monkeys, crocodiles and birds all congregate, have a drink and wash off the accumulated dust from the Harmattan.

The patio allowed us to see all of these things from the comfort of the motel. However, five minutes after I arrived, a Floridian biologist's bread was stolen from right behind him by a large, aggressive baboon, who got very angry at the man before running off with the loaf. Even if I had left right then, it would have been worth the price of admission.

We still did the ground tour with armed guard, which was interesting, if only to see the animals up close at ground level. It's hard to believe that visitors, even with an SUV, are only allowed to see a fraction of the park. There actually are lions, but they're much deeper in the park than anyone goes. I felt the place was more of a practice run for an East or South African safari. Perhaps some years down the road?

Back to Wa

2006-03-11T23:59:00.000Z

Some Ghanaian students arrived last night by car and we had a conversation with them. Apparently they're from the University of Development Studies in Wa. Basically, their curriculum is almost identical to ours, except they learn in a Ghanaian context and they have a fieldwork requirement. Finally: proof of Africans developing Africa! We were quite pleased to meet them.

Riding back to the town was absolutely exhausting. And my butt was aching like never before. Then we had to wait a while for another pickup to come by. In the meantime, I finished "Everything is Illuminated" by Jonathan Safran Foer, which is both very emotional and freaking hilarious. Please go out and read this book. Mom, Geoff, Dave and Maleaha especially.

Returning to Wa and walking around during the daytime, I must conclude that "Wa", is native for "Dull". Talk about nothing to do. We tried to go to a restaurant under a kilometre from the town centre. We noticed that the Bradt guide was completely useless. Whomever drew up the map was whacked out on apeteshie, because it took us at least half an hour of brisk walking to get there. But they had delicious honey-roasted chicken. So it was worth it.

Random observation: Today I wore my large-print t-shirt from Nosara, Costa Rica. The local word for foreigner in the Upper West is "Nasara". How apropos.

Hip-Hop Anonymous

2006-03-10T23:59:00.000Z

We awoke on the roof on a cloudy morning, ready for our hippo safari. We rode the bikes to the river, where our yacht (read: canoe) awaited us. So there we were - sitting in a canoe on the remote Black Volta, the Western boundary between Ghana and Burkina Faso, on the lookout for the elusive giant beasts. (Pardon the dramatic flair)

Embellishment aside, it was quite exciting. The river was very quiet, save for the sounds of birds, insects and the occassional fisherman. Soon we saw a group of eyes looking at us from the water's surface. We had found a family of seven and they evidently were quite aware of us. While they wouldn't perform any routines for us, we were content to watch them from afar (when agitated, they are notoriously dangerous) and get a good look at them with binoculars. They were beautiful creatures and it was quite satisfying to watch them in the wild, even if they didn't do much persay and we couldn't see them underwater from behind a large glass case. We sat there for almost two hours watching them slip underwater for food, pop up and blow their nostrils like miniature whales.

In the afternoon, Agba took us to a nearby Lobi village. The Lobi in this area were still very traditional and it could be seen in their architecture (their Flintstones-esque compounds were mud-and-stick), economy (husbands grow yams, wives do just about everything else, goats and cows are everywhere) and lifestyle (polygamous, with many children). This village had some help from the hippo sanctuary as each compound has a solar-powered light in the courtyard - quite an achievement in such a remote area. While the village was far from perfect, I noticed that people seemed happy where they were. This place is quite underdeveloped, but in a way it seemed almost okay...

We went back to the river in the afternoon for another hour. Evidently the male (every group only has one, or else they fight) was upset at us because we interrupted him trying to have his way with one of the other hippos. Sorry-o. We got much closer and had better views of them (and hopefully some decent pictures as well).
The sanctuary was a highlight of my stay here, undoubtedly. And when you go, you really feel like you're supporting responsible tourism: funds go to the community (a new pump-well is positioned smartly outside the tourist office) and you can buy local crafts at the office. The sanctuary is only 8 years old, but its popularity is growing. It's been twinned with the Calgary Zoo, so it's getting lots of help (and Canadian exposure). A great deal of Ghana's tourism is very eco-friendly and community-based, which definitely makes one feel good about supporting them. And Wechiau was definitely one of them.

Getting to Wechiau

2006-03-09T23:59:00.000Z

In the morning, we wandered the sleepy town of Wa, ate beans for breakfast and found a covered taxi going to the village of Wechiau, near the Western Burkinabe border. The taxi was like the infamous one taken from Mopti to the Mali border, but mercifully less dusty.

Two hours and a flat tire later, we were in Wechiau. After being swarmed by curious children, a man eventually came to the doors of the tourist office and let us in. We arranged for a two-night stay at the sanctuary and rented bikes to get there. We brought rice, beans, tomatoes and onions for food and (so it seemed) plenty of water sachets.

The man, named Agba, became our offical guide and we set off in the mid-afternoon for a two-hour bike ride. Thankfully, the harmattan winds are at their peak, which acts like a giant dusty fog that shields us from the sun (which appears as a blurry, white circle in the sky), but doesn't do much for scenery. The ride was long and hard, since I had my large travel backpack on. I can imagine a giant T-shaped welt on my arse from all the pressure on it!

At the base, there was a long, Lobi-style traditional building that served as a guesthouse for visitors (and looked like it belonged in the Flintstones) and a large water tank, filled from a nearby well. Very nice.

While Agba prepared some dinner, we had refreshing bucket showers. As the night closed in, we told him what it was like to live in Canada and how life was not as perfect as it seems. We informed him that indeed there is poverty and even wealthy people can be very unhappy - simply because they buy so much stuff to make them happy and it never does. The fact that the average Briton tests lower on psychological "happiness" tests than the average Botswanan surprised him greatly. In return, he told us about what it's like to be a Northern Ghanaian. I wish I could remember half of the things he told us!

The night was so nice that we brought our mattresses to the roof of the building and slept out under a bright half-moon. Beautiful! After two whole days of travel, we finally got to where we were going, one of the remotest places of Ghana. And we were terribly excited for the things we were about to see...

Go North, Young Man

2006-03-08T23:59:00.000Z

(Note: I currently am in a cafe in Tamale, so I have some time to write about my travels)

Skipping class on Wednesday and going on a rumour that STC had a bus that goes to Wa, in the Upper West Region of Ghana, Meghan and I went to the station. Thank goodness there was one.

The trip was 13 hours and compared to the bus to Ouagadougou, was a breeze. Things of note: The drivers were hilarious people, I powered through Hemingway's "Old Man and the Sea" (a whopping 112 pages about catching a fish) and a lady threw up on the bus, with our backpacks in the blast zone. Suddenly, bringing a bar of laundry soap didn't seem so crazy after all!

First impressions of Wa at 10PM: it was hot, very quiet and the people were disarmingly friendly and helpful. The cab drivers pointed us in the right direction with no malice and a teenager named Isaac took us all the way to our hotel. We stayed at the luxurious Kunateh Lodge. The fan helped, the truck's blaring horn at 5:30AM did not.

African Lion Safari (No, Seriously)

2006-03-07T23:59:00.000Z

As per the stipulations of my birthday present to myself, tomorrow morning (Inshallah) I’ll be taking an all-day bus to Wa in the Upper West Region of Ghana. The next nine days will consist of hippo watching at Wechiau with Meghan, then afterwards striking out on my own watching wildlife at Mole National Park and whatever else I have the time for in the North of Ghana. My plans will ultimately culminate in getting to the Northern tip of Lake Volta and taking a ferry all the way to Akosombo, only two hours drive from Accra. If I make it home in time for classes next Friday and St. Patrick’s Day celebrations, it will be a success. Here’s hoping!

(Note: As a birthday present to the rest of you, I transcribed my travel notes in Mali from January 24th to February 6th, including my über-exciting trip on the Niger River.)

Happy Ghanaian Independence Day!

2006-03-06T23:36:00.000Z

So it was on this day, March 6, 1957 - forty-nine years ago - that Kwame Nkrumah gave a famous midnight speech at the Accra Polo Grounds proclaiming the Gold Coast's independence from Great Britain, to be henceforth known as Ghana, in memory of the first great African empire.

This was the first African nation to proclaim independence from a colonial power and was merely the first domino to be pushed in a long chain of nations that would over the following decades follow in Ghana's footsteps. Already having a keen eye on his United States of Africa, Nkrumah stated, "Ghana's independence is meaningless unless it is linked to the total liberation of Africa." Indeed, Ghana's constitution was probably the first one ever written that explicitly announced that it would give up its sovereignty to another country: a united Africa.

So every March 6, Ghanaians celebrate their freedom and Africa's as a whole. There are parades, celebrations, speeches and parties and everyone gets the day off. I myself was looking forward to going to Independence Square to see the events - so much so that I delayed my trip by a few days just to see it.

In the end, I missed the balloons, speeches, soldiers, tanks and schoolchildren (Although apparently President Kufour's speech was a real snoozer). I was so tired in the morning I didn't get up until 11 and only left the Hostel to go to the bank and eat a mango. However, in the evening, the Carleton students (minus Hannah, who is in Niger) and Felicity from Australia had Ethiopian food for dinner - a first for me - and talked about the kings of the only African Empire that withstood the might of Europe. So in a way, we were still celebrating Africa, no?

Oh, Those Crazy Evangelical Christians...

2006-03-05T23:03:00.000Z

So I walk into church today, expecting the usual Sunday morning 9AM mass, and it's packed, full of strange decorations and the sermon is being read. Apparently this means 1) mass started at 7AM, 2) something special is going on and 3) there is some sort of conference going on.

It turns out that it's for some ecumenical conference that includes a LOT of charismatic evangelicals. Now, I love my fellow humans, but this breed is quite the handful. The mass featured lots of loud singing, yelling, dancing and a handful of bewildered - and probably a bit scared - clergy.

Now, I don't mind a lively mass, but considering it's the first weekend of Lent (i.e. fasting, pennance and a general toning-down of things), this mass didn't exactly say "humble". And judging by the repeat-business customers at the church, they weren't too pleased about this development. The guests (including a VERY charismatic band/choir) probably didn't notice and something tells me they don't have Lent written down on their calendars, since the usual decorum was disregarded. I got out after 10:45 and we had JUST received communion (but only the repeat-business customers, of course).

This seemed weird, because I always felt the Catholic Church was a sanctuary from crazyness. Apparently not anymore! Now my church has been hijacked by evangelicals! Somebody call the Vatican!

Further infuriating me was the news that Meghan has been effectively pushed out of the school choir that she joined because she's not an active churchgoer. Apparently not recalling this week's Bible readings is a grave sin and the way to deal with church truants is intimidation and expulsion. Great way to set an example of love and tolerance, eh? The leader even asked her at one point whether she was Evangelical or Pentecostal - as if they're the only two choices! We're not talking about Coke vs. Pepsi, people...

Thus, this Sunday certainly wasn't the most ideal for the obruni. First our churches get all wild and crazy and then those who don't go get ostracized. I feel not only bad for Meghan for being denied something that she loves (i.e singing) as well as a trip to Cape Coast for a competition, but also ashamed to be associated with people who can be so insensitive. Again I ask: What's so funny about peace love and understanding?

The Name Game

2006-03-05T01:51:00.000Z

A curious thing occurred at my birthday party during the "Champs" leg of the tour: One of the bartenders stopped me and said, "Hey, you're Mike, right? Do you remember me? You used to come into my old work at Pizza Inn on Terrific Tuesdays!"

I was totally floored. I knew that many obrunis came into Pizza Inn, but I had no idea that he remembered who I was. After coming back from my travels, I've noticed that a lot of people seem to know me, especially on a first-name basis. My problem is that I can't remember anyone's name for the life of me, usually just faces. It's not just a problem for me in Ghana, but back home too. Names always seem to come last.

This brings us to one of life's little important lessons: Always remember people's names. From the people you work with to the guy who always serves you coffee in the morning, because you never know when they'll know YOUR name.

Last Time I Checked, I'm A MAN.

2006-03-04T13:08:00.000Z

21 years old. Now, there's no turning back. No special discounts, no restrictions and increased responsibilities. And I can drink in the US. Clearly, I am no longer a youth and am now an adult under the eyes of Western society. Forward ever, backward never, as Kwame Nkrumah used to say.

But that doesn't mean we can't have a little bit of fun on my birthday, eh? Which brings us to rule #12 of living abroad:

Just because you are away from friends and family doesn't mean you can't have an excessively large party on your birthday.

Thus, I brought out almost 20 friends for a night around the world: Chinese food, Lebanese ice cream, fake Irish pubbing and British karaoke bar. We had a grand old time (a special thanks to those who bought me a drink) and the hardiest of friends got to watch me sing "Summer Nights" from Grease with Priscilla.

Birthdays are kinda like funerals because people always come out of the woodwork to show that they like you. It's always great to be reminded of how many great people are here with me this semester. From the Carleton kids and Canadians to Americans to Ghanaians and beyond - it's great to be reminded. And my closest friends got together to buy me a drum. How cool is that?

Adulthood: it can only go downhill from here.

Lenten Blues

2006-03-02T23:32:00.000Z

Ah Lent is upon us... which means for Christian folk 40 days of fasting. Then crucifixion, resurrection and if he sees his shadow it'll be 2,000 more years of guilt! (Apologies to Robin Williams)

Seriously though, I like to "fast" for Lent, which in this day in age means giving up something one loves as a sort of cleansing ritual, like Ramadan, except not quite as hardcore. In Ghana, they take Ramadan quite seriously, although I'm not so sure about Lent, since it's more or less indigenous to the Catholic faith...

Regardless, I had a difficult time finding something that 1) meant something to me, as an improvement upon myself and 2) that could be realistically done during Lent. For example, I could give up my beloved Fan Ice, but that is my only source of calcium. Or, I could take up running, but I'm already doing that. Can you see the dilemma?

After a long, hard discernment (i.e. 2 days), I decided on alcohol. As enjoyable as it is, it adds nothing to my well-being and is non-essential to my existence (save for holy wine). Thus, for 40 days, I'll go without and enjoy myself.

Now, there will be two exceptions: the first is my birthday, since it's my birthday and we've already planned going to Ryan's Irish Pub. The second is St. Patrick's Day, again because it's St. Patrick's Day. Is this a cop-out? Perhaps, but the rest of the time won't be a cakewalk.

Test #1: Tonight was trivia night at Champs, which brought back Reach for the Top memories. Our team did so well that we not only won the challenge (which entitled us to 300,000 cedi of alcohol), but also won the tequila bonus round. What did I have to drink last night? A milkshake. And I'll bet you didn't know that Champs makes fantastic milkshakes.

I Walk The Line

2006-03-02T01:53:00.000Z

I remember when I first came to Accra six and-a-half months ago, I had this wonderful idea that I would slowly adapt and become assimilated into Ghanaian culture - changing my clothes, speaking some Twi, playing whatever sports Ghanaians play (apparently football) and hanging out with all of my new Ghanaian friends, doing what Ghanaians like to do (apparently go to church all the time).

Isn't that so adorable? Looking back, I can see how idealistic and perhaps unrealistic I once was. The truth of the matter is, I haven't become assimilated - if anything, I've become even MORE aware of my own culture and how proud I am of it. I never learned any useful Twi, because my school wouldn't give me credit for the classes. Arabic is fun, but us Canadians look like idiots when we can't converse with Ghanaians in their native language. That's a key to being respected here, so for the time being, we're all just ignorant foreign tourists who never bothered to learn the language. Trust me, learning the local language can make a large difference.

I'm no good at playing football, although I am learning the finer points of the game and can talk about it with people. Finally, it's really hard to make Ghanaian friends, especially when having to sift through who are trying to get a free ride from you/sell something to you and who genuinely wants to be your friend. In addition, it's hard to make deep relationships with people who think and act much differently that you. The (probably vast) majority of Ghanaians aren't interested in travelling around or world politics. University students yes, but most others are relatively humble and simple folk, so it can be tempting to spend more time with other like-minded international students instead.

However, for all of my failings in adapting to Ghanaian culture, I think I've done a decent job. Instead, I could have been a typical Western expatriate, like an embassy worker: wear fancy Western clothes, eat out at expensive restaurants, drive an SUV, (of course, for those treacherous Accra streets), shop for groceries at Koala or Max Mart live in a high-security compound with DSTV (satellite) and air conditioning. And these people have the nerve to say they "lived in Africa".

I definitely don't buy into that and hope I never will. I like to think that by wearing "normal" clothes, (save for the shorts, which no Ghanaian university student would be caught dead wearing) taking tro-tros, eating local chop bar food like waakye and akple in groundnut sauce (yum!), buying food from fruit and veggie stands (where you haggle because prices AREN'T fixed) and using the local slang ("Chalay, how?" = "Hello sir, how are you?"), I've been able to see a bit of Ghanaian society that so many people pass over because they simply can't handle the culture shock.

All in all, I like to think that I've been able to walk the line between being a local and expat while living here. Yes, I spend more money on comforts and live a semi-charmed life here that I wouldn't have access to back home, but I try to be humble as well, trying to find that balance. I'm happy with the state of things nowadays and I feel like because I haven't been reaching hopelessly for a nativist ideal, I can start living my life here on my own terms.

Green Turtle Lodge

2006-02-28T11:16:00.000Z

Okay, if Volta Region is my second home here in Ghana, I think I've found my third one: Green Turtle Lodge in Busua.

Getting to the lodge requires a minimum of three changes of transportation (eg. to get there it was taxi, bus, tro-tro, tro-tro) and a full day of travel, since it's West of Takoradi and near the border of Cote d'Ivoire - but it's all worth it. A relaxing resort with great food and people, ping-pong, foosball, a pool table, swinging hammocks - oh, and the most quiet and pristine beaches in the country. Wow.

To be there was to be a world away from the hustle and bustle of dirty, dusty Accra. The place is quiet, clean and eco-friendly (hello compost toilets and solar panels) and cheap, so it's perfect for hippie-backpackers. I spent the whole time reading (I finished Michael Crichton's Timeline, which was a historical blast and have started Africa Must Unite) and playing on the beach. The tide was pretty strong, as is the nature of the Gulf of Guinea, but we got to ride the waves with boogieboards and hey - the beach wasn't full of trash! Amazing!

If I can get a few days off between exams, I'll be there, undoubtedly. It makes Kokrobite look like - well, I won't say anything bad, since I'll probably be there again sometime as well. But damn, I can't wait to be there again...

Pan-Africanist Field Trip (warning, political thought ahead)

2006-02-26T13:33:00.000Z

Since arriving in Ghana, I've idealistically been waiting for a eureka moment - a point when I would realize a greater truth that could not have been found if I had not embarked on my safari. I'm still working on it - and to be honest, it may never come in the way that I intend it to, but if there is one thing that I have been "converted" to*, it's pan-Africanism.

*(Sorry evangelicals, looks like this one's been taken)

The basic idea of pan-Africanism is that since Africans have a shared geography, culture and experience of colonialism and since the borders of African countries were imposed on European powers anyways, the answer for security and prosperity is for the nations to unite under a common banner.

Kwame Nkrumah, the leader of Ghana's independence drive and later president (and later quasi-dictator and later deposed quasi-dictator) was one of the loudest voices and one of the greatest instigators of not only African decolonization but pan-Africanism. Not only did he lead the first African country to proclaim independence from a European nation and make huge inroads for its development, but he led the effort to create a United States of Africa.

So it's only fitting that they have an enormous monument to him in downtown Accra, where he is buried. Kwame Nkrumah Memorial Park is probably the most beautiful public space in the country, with lawns, trees and a giant pool with fountains in human likenesses leading up to a giant monument under which Nkrumah himself is buried. The structure is shaped like the bottom half of a tree: either celebrating the growth of Ghana/Africa that he initiated, or mourning the progress that was "cut down" when he was lost (whichever explanation you believe). In front of the tree is a bronze statue of Nkrumah walking and pointing, recalling his famous Cold War-era statement: "We face neither West nor East; we face forward."

When Joe (also a converted pan-Africanist) and I arrived in the morning, the park was empty and suprisingly quiet. The only noise we could hear was the faraway sound of drums and singing (I'm not making this up), which made the memorial that much more solemn. We were humbled by the presence of such a man who, for better or for worse, had an immense impact on the nation and continent.

The park also has a museum that has many fascinating photos of the man, but is rather sparse when it comes to artefacts. Nonetheless, they had his famous walking stick (rumored to have magical juju powers) and the shovel that commenced construction of the Akosombo Dam that created Lake Volta and was supposed to provide cheap power for the country, which didn't quite happen. That shovel could be the finest piece of historical irony in the country.

Also of note: the park has various young trees with plaques indicating which African leader planted which tree. There is a 15 year-old mango planted by Nelson Mandela, which will surely become more majestic with age (and whose fruit will be sweet for many).

After that, Joe and I took his moto to a pan-Africanist bookshop at the Trade Fair and I bought Nkrumah's seminal book, Africa Must Unite - and I'm relishing every page of it. There seems to be no end to the great ideas and quotes contained within. It's a geeky end to a geeky field trip, but we loved it. I hope the memorial will inspire young leaders for many years to come.

"I can see no security for African states unless African leaders, like ourselves, have realized beyond all doubt that salvation for Africa lies in unity... for in unity lies strength, and as I see it, African states must unite or sell themselves out to imperialist and colonialist exploiters for a mess of pottage, or disintegrate individually."
-Kwame Nkrumah

The Random Expat Personality Game

2006-02-24T23:46:00.000Z

After spending part of last night at Champs, talking to a charming man who claimed to be writing an article for National Geographic on the Ghanaian economy - and who probably was doing nothing of the sort in real life - I realized that so many people here are probably talking out of their behinds when they tell me their life story.

Thus, some girls and I decided at Assase Pa to create random fake personalities for each other. The next time we go to a bar, we'll become these people and see how well we can convince them that we are the real deal. Here's a list of new personalities...

Mel (St. Catharines): is an Australian trust-fund baby who has been travelling around the world and has now decided to open a Western-themed bar in Osu called the Giddy Up. She's even importing a mechanical bull from America.
Anna (North Carolina): is working on a pilot project to make sure all tro-tros are equipped with state-of-the-art GPS systems.
Laura (Norway): is using a grant from the Tony Hawk foundation to build a skater park in Accra and teach Ghanaian youth to skateboard.
Lisa (Carleton): is fostering women's empowerment by teaching alternative sexual positions other than the patriarchal "missionary" style. Her NGO's name? "Women on Top".
Hannah (Carleton): has been commissioned by the Canadian government and Royal Dutch Shell Oil to create a new engine fuel made of apateshie (distilled palm wine). Trust me, if you've had apateshie, you'll laugh your ass off at that one.

And myself? I'm a German PhD candidate from Jena writing a report on the "most peculiar" sexual habits of Kwame Nkrumah. And boy do I have some good ones lined up!

Let the games begin...

Tick-tock pt. 2 - The Semester of Mike!

2006-02-20T23:53:00.000Z

While being in school and taking classes is all fine and dandy, I crave extra-curricular activities. I've had many grandiose plans for this semester, making it a George Costanza-esque "Semester of Mike". Here's the game plan:

1. Take drumming lessons.
After seeing how much fun the kids last semester had in drumming classes (and seeing how I couldn't get credit for it), I decided that this semester I would take some private lessons with some American friends. Being that I have no natural rhythm, this seems to be an opportune time to work on it. Besides, if I came back from Africa and had no rhythm, then did I ever really go there in the first place?

2. Start up a trade justice group on campus.
This has been a pet project of Joe's and mine for a long while. After seeing the Road to Hong Kong protest, we thought that it would be a great idea to help facilitate the start of a trade justice advocacy group. Clearly we couldn't run it - that would have to be done by Ghanaian students who are passionate about the issues. But, if we can create the favourable conditions for such an organization and people take advantage of it, then perhaps we will have done a good deed in helping to improve the welfare of Africans. Sounds easy, doesn't it? Of course. It always does on paper...

3. Start exercising to prepare for work.
This summer, I'll be back to the landscaping grind. Considering my muscles have probably turned to mush over the last six months, I'll have to start getting back in shape at the gym. Lisa has agreed to be my personal trainer for the two months that I'll spend at the gym. I've already started running regularly. Soon I will no longer be a little girly man, but an Olympic ideal. (ha!)

4. Read lots and lots of fun books.
So eloquently put, no? I've already gotten to work on this one. I finished "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil" and am currently on "A History of Ghana", which is filling in some of the cracks in my historical knowledge. I also started up a book swap in the hostel, which is paying off already. (Basic idea: list your name, room number and books owned on a big list and people trade books. Neat, eh?) This week I will purchase Kwame Nkrumah's classic "Africa Must Unite". Sweet!

5. Travel lots and lots and somehow do it thriftily.
Last summer, I put off seeing a lot of places, thinking "I'll do it next semester". Now that it is upon me, I've got to get out on weekends to see places like the beaches on the Western Coast, Lake Bosumtwi and such. Also on the agenda: a 10-day tour of the North (seeing elephants, hippos and the like), taking the Lake Volta ferry and hopefully an excursion out of the country (Niger and a fairtrade conference in Benin have been discussed). I won't have this opportunity for a long, long time, so why not jump on it?

So that's the game plan for the next few months. Believe it or not, the original list was even longer. So, in the words of the immortal Ramones:

Hey, ho, let's go!

Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock...

2006-02-20T23:19:00.000Z

Back when I started this wild and crazy adventure last August, I had serious problems trying to see nine months ahead. Frankly, it freaked me out and was a major reason for being with Maleaha for Christmas. I just couldn't see myself spending nine months in a place like Ghana away from loved ones and the life I once knew. I started counting the months, marking each one passed as a sort of medal of honour...

Now I'm over six months into my tour of duty and I've realized that I now have less than three months left before I fly back to Markham. That means less than three months left to see and experience all of the things I have been craving for and to learn about this side of the world. This semester is shaping to be going quite well. Class-wise, I'm taking:

Elementary Arabic (again) - Suddenly, we're cramming so much more in so little time
Development of the Arabic Language - Can't put down history... or developement for that matter.
Colonialism and the African Response: Nationalism and Independence - Or as I like to call it, "The Empire Strikes Out".
Africa and the Global System - It's, uh, politics. At 7:30 in the morning.
Working With Persons With HIV/AIDS - This class is interesting as much for the course content as it is for understanding just how little students know about the disease and treating it... and these are 4th year social work majors!
Cultures and Societies of Africa - It's nice to hear that Ghanaians really are crazy - from a Ghanaian professor.

Weekend in Wli (read: Veekend in Vli)

2006-02-20T15:56:00.000Z

It's hard to believe that after eight weeks of travelling and not even two weeks of being in Accra, I'm already getting antsy. Luckily, on Friday afternoon in class, Joe and I made plans for the Volta Region - his first time to my "second home".

It probably didn't help that we took the slowest tro-tro to Hohoe possible. And it definitely didn't help that we had spent the previous evening at the bar (I was so on my game for karaoke - "Come on Eileen", "Like A Virgin" - I did it all!) and got a solid 3 hours of sleep, but the waterfall at Wli wasn't going to see itself...

Most of that day was spent tro-troing, which is an exhausting experience in itself. Stopping in Hohoe was like entering Tim Burton's nightmares, with cabs driving around madly in circles, swerving, honking horns, with red ribbons flying and men hanging out windows (Apparently, this is what passes for a funeral procession in Ghana, and not a demolition derby). But we arrived in the late afternoon at the Waterfall Lodge, a lovely wee hotel near the falls run by an older German couple. It was great to sit and relax under a giant cabana, sit on the long grass and play with their dog, Dolphy. I felt myself missing my dog, even when he came by our door in the early morning whimpering just like Dorothy does outside mine at home.

One delicious dinner, one star beer and 12 hours of sleep later (8:15 to 8:15) we set out with our guide and a young German couple to see Wli Falls, the highest and largest in Ghana and also reputed to be the highest in West Africa as well. The lower falls (yes, it's large enough to warrant two drops) were absolutely stunning: it was higher than I could estimate in size, at the centre of a giant cliff face that was home to thousands and thousands of nesting fruit bats. I would go as far to say that there were more bats there than at 37 Military Hospital in Accra! (a place legendary for the swarms of bats that live in the trees along the main road)

The four of us, eager to see the upper falls, yet on a tight enough budget to pay the guide to head back instead of lead us up the mountain to find it, began our ascent up the mountain trail.

Perhaps retaining the guide would have been the more prudent of choices. We ended up taking a sketchy path and climbing all the way to the top of the mountain, looking for the next pool of water and instead finding friendly Togolese poachers (with old rifles) and walking down a path that probably led to the border - only a few kilometres away. Like the intrepid explorer Mungo Park searching for the Niger, we also found the snaking river, but not the "mouth" of the falls (it got a little thick and we had no machetes to get through).

After hours of climbing and descending, our friends decided to make their way back to the base, while we tried another path that we found. Wouldn't you know it was the one leading to the base of the upper falls! We immediately ran straight in and enjoyed a brilliantly cool swim at the base of the magnificent, secluded falls. After so many hours of hiking, it was perfect for our aching limbs.

We still had to get down half of the mountain, which was ridiculously tiring. Thankfully, we found delicious wild bananas and somehow found the strength to make it to the lower falls (and go for another swim).

After that, there isn't much to say. After hearing shots fired we helped direct the park rangers towards the poachers, went back to the lodge, slept, woke up at 5:30AM and caught tro-tros all the way back to Accra by noon. And it's the start of another exciting week!

The Postman Always... Forgets Where Your Package Is

2006-02-16T11:06:00.000Z

I love getting mail.

There's really no other way to put it. I check my mailbox all the time in hope of getting something from home. Thankfully, Maleaha and Grandma Betty send me letters often and I send them postcards and letters back at them as well.

However, for all of its wonders, the Ghanaian postal system still has a ways to go in improving itself. Case in point: My parents sent me a small package (smaller than a shoebox) in mid-September. I noticed that by the end of the year, it still had not arrived. My mom called Canada Post to track its progress. Instead, they sent her a cheque for the amount it was insured for. Sounds promising, no?

Just this last Monday, I got a flood of mail (oh happy day!). A postcard (of Canada) and greeting card from Maleaha and two slips for packages that were being held at various post offices around the city (quoi?).

For the first, I went to the Legon Post Office. Guess what they had? The package that had been sent five months ago! Thankfully, all edible goods contained within were non-perishable (gummy bears, peanut butter, jello packets and Mr. Noodles) and quite delicious.

For the second, I went all the way to Kwame Nkrumah Circle to a giant building (file that one under "hideous monstrosities") and dealt with a comically surly clerk, who charged me 10,000 cedi ($1.25 CDN) to pick it up. I was amazed to find that Geoffy, bless his heart, had sent me a birthday gift! (I'll get you for this... KRAUTAAAAAIR!)

For receiving my first two packages in six months of being here, I've been quite happy. And the offer is still on the table: send me something and I'll send a flood of postcards back atcha.

Hence, why I love mail.

Slight Change of Address

2006-02-16T11:02:00.000Z

Note: my new mailing address is now...

Michael Creighton Esq.
Room 81, International Student Hostel
University of Ghana
P.M.B. Legon
Accra - Ghana

However, if you sent it to the old address, the porters will still put it in the right mailbox.

Happy Valentine's... Protest?

2006-02-14T21:41:00.000Z

Ahh Valentine's Day... love is all around us and so we go out into the streets to march against the government!

Not your average February 14th tradition? Well, Ghana is new to the game. It only took off after private radio was legalized in 1995, when stations started copying Western stations and doing Val Day promotions - and it's caught on quite well.

The reason for the protest is a new bill being introduced to Parliament by the ruling NPP. The bill would extend the vote to Ghanaians living abroad (which is good) but since there is no official list of Ghanaians abroad and no proper ID that they have to register with, the new law could make fraudulent voting much easier in elections (that being a bad thing). It also will cost a great sum of money for a developing country like Ghana. Besides, they are planning to introduce a new ID card in the near future (Ghanaian passports are easy to forge), so why not wait until the system will be able to handle this law? Crazyness...

So, about 5,000 people decked in red marched from Kwame Nkrumah Circle to Parliament, making lots of noise about their dissatisfaction with the government. Joe and I met up with Malik, the head of the student union at Legon and Ken, a former head himself.

The protest was pretty neat to see - it was the largest one I have been to here - but since the issue is so complex, most people there just shouted "We want peace!" and "Down with the NPP! Down with Kufour!" Given that it was organized by the opposition parties, they probably didn't seem to mind, but it definitely put off Joe.

All in all, it was a very neat experience. The last time I had seen any civil action in Accra was the Road to Hong Kong march last semester. While that one was small and highly organized, this one was huge and rather disorganized. Either way, we'll see what the result is in the upcoming days. And we'll see how the media reports the demonstration. (Note: there may or may not have been violent clashes by the end.)

Happy Val's Day, y'all.

To Market, To Market

2006-02-11T16:30:00.000Z

This weekend I decided to spruce up my room and make all of my large "living" purchases of the semester. So Hannah and I made a day out of going to Medina Market. Three hours and 500,000 cedi (about CAN $60) later, I bought:

-Computer speakers to plug my iPod and CD player into
-Bowl, glasses and cutlery
-Coffee mug with "Nescafe" written in Russian
-Electric kettle
-Running shoes (UPower brand... love those knock-offs!)
-Straw mat for carpet
-Way too much fabric for decorations (and later, clothes)

I'm quite happy with my speakers, since now I can fill my room with sound. I'm also putting up my development and West African maps, Irish goodies and trinkets. As superficial as it sounds, I'm so happy to finally have my own space for this semester.

Next project: pump my rugby ball so I can play some pick-up. Ruck 'em!

Settling in: Redux

2006-02-08T12:18:00.000Z

Considering our decision to travel during the winter break until the last possible week, it looks like we got on the residence boat pretty late. All of the new students have already settled in and it seems that they have their own groups and cliques... and despite there being greater international diversity from the West this time around (several Brits and Norwegians have been thrown into the mix), everyone seems to look the same to me. And none of us old crows can remember any of their names!

It is somewhat surreal to see all of these people going through the exact same experience that we went through six months ago - although the homesickness probably won't hit most for a little while yet. It's nice to be able to give advice to people when the need it ("Ed, please don't drink the tapwater. You WILL get typhoid.") and be the veterans of the exchange experience, but we're still going to have to connect with these people. Enter Joe's trademark potluck wine-and-cheese party at his house tomorrow. It should be a fun way to get to know people, methinks.

On the school front, I've been scrambling all week to make a schedule for my classes and register by Friday, the add/drop courses deadline. I'm feeling fairly far behind in Arabic after two months without, but methinks I'll be able to persevere.

Good news: I got my marks back and I'm carrying an A- average, with only a single B out of six courses. The agreement between Ghana and Carleton on this exchange is that my transcript will only show "Pass" or "Fail" for each course, but I won't let that rain on my parade...

Happy Birthday, Brother Bob

2006-02-06T11:30:00.000Z

As noted earlier, Ghana has become somewhat of a hub for the Rastafari Movement. Hell, even Bob Marley's widow Rita lives in Aburi, just North of Accra. So, what better place to celebrate Bob's birthday with a giant concert in Accra?

Thus, despite arriving in Accra at 6AM on Sunday morning, I passed over precious time for sleep and went to the "Africa Unite" festival at the Accra Trade Fair - apparently along with all of the obruni population of ISH.

Hosted by Rita with the message of peace and unity among Africans, it was a great show attended by thousands (an accomplishment in Accra for a ticketed event), with every Rasta in Ghana there, or so it seemed. Even Cha Cha from XOFA in Volta Region was there for the event. Also, there were many merchandise hawkers, vegetarian food vendors and even a pan-Africanist bookseller who is a diehard Nkrumahist and may have worked for Mumar Al-Qaddafi back in the day.

There was great reggae, good times and probably good weed, considering the pervasive aroma of the evening. The acts got everybody moving to the funky beat (even Jon's dad, visiting from Canada) and there were some great acts - most notably an rocking artist from Birmingham, England, a fantastic sax player who played a jazzy cover of "Jammin" as well as Rita Marley and the I-Threes (Bob's old backup singers). They sang spiritual songs (even some Bob Dylan) as well as a great medley of Wailers classics. After midnight, they brought out a big cake and we all sang "Happy Birthday, Brother Bob".

By about midnight, I was positively beat, so a few of us went home. We missed the Marley brothers play together, (Ziggy, Stephen and Damien) but we left just in time to run into a mob of pickpocketers right outside the gates. Imagine about 20 people waiting to greet you like at an airport and instead of hugging you, they start crowding you and reach into your pockets all at once, trying to look casual about it. I kept my hands in there and shook them off as best I could, but others weren't so lucky.

While I shrugged it off, it seemed to be a crappy end to an excellent evening. On the inside it was all about peace, love and unity and most people were having a great time dancing and singing along together and suddenly you cross a line into a world in which you're just another target for crime. Ah well, Happy 61st, Bob.

ISH Sweet ISH

2006-02-06T06:15:00.000Z

Stumbling up into my room before dawn to pass out, I realized how great it was to be back. I’d been on the road more or less for 8 whole weeks, traversing six countries on two continents (seven if you count Wales) and living out of my backpack the entire time. So the travel period was over and it was back into the daily Accra life for the next three and-a-half months. Now, it was worrying about classes and trying to get back in a groove, a new one in which I had my own space and could finally relax and grow some roots. I also had to start meeting all of the new kids, who over the last three weeks had come and settled in.

I don’t know when I’ll get the chance to travel and explore as I did over the last two months, but I’m looking forward to it. If I can muster up enough spare cash, I would love to travel across other parts of Africa, like the South and East. Or if my Arabic improved enough, perhaps North Africa and the near Middle East, from Morocco, through Egypt, Israel, Lebanon and Turkey? What about Asia? Or more of Europe? Imagine taking the Trans-Siberian Railway across the Russia. I haven't even been to Winnipeg yet!

Who knows? Even if I spend the rest of my life trapped in a cubicle pushing paper (God forbid), I’ll always have the memories of French West Africa, the UK and Ireland. I like to think that I spent that eight weeks productively, considering all of the stories I have, and I know that I’ll remember them for a long time to come.

The Long Ride Home

2006-02-05T23:59:00.000Z

In the morning, we found a taxi bachée (i.e. a pickup with wooden planks for seats in the box) that would take us to the Burkinabe border. I spent a hectic 20 minutes gathering all of the souvenirs that I had thought I would have time for to buy. It was crazy, but guess who came out of the woodwork? The Wizard! He helped me get a salt block (from the mines of Tadoueni), a teapot and another turban cloth – and he didn’t even ask for money. The only way I could thank him was with a tip, even though he seemed to not want one. Too bad I couldn’t buy him a beer or something…

I got there 10 minutes before the taxi left and Joe wasn’t pleased. In fact, it was the only time he’s ever been angry at me, although I’m pretty sure it was the not sleeping for two days thing. I tried my best to hide my smile the whole time.

The taxi ride through Dogon Country to the border was beautiful and surreal – like being on Mars. And just as dusty. Our turban cloths came in handy.

If I thought Joe was mad in the morning, it was nothing compared to us trying to get a tro-tro to the border and into Ouaghiya. After waiting for one to fill up after three hours, at 6PM the owner, a most arrogant and thoughtless character who laughed at our predicament, told us that it wouldn’t be leaving that night (which, at 3PM it was). This was the final straw. We already had no money (literally, my fare was on credit until we got to an ATM in Burkina) and were putting up with their antics. Joe flipped out and we ended up paying for all of the empty seats, so that we could leave before the border closed.

Once we actually got across the border, it was much smoother sailing. We got to Ouaghiya and then got a bus to Ouagadougou that arrived in the middle of the night. We slept in dorm beds in a crummy place with other backpackers (there was a piece of paper on my bed with crushed marijuana and mosquitoes in my net – charming!) and got out the next morning, finding a bus that would take us all the way back to Accra.

The ride home was generally uneventful, save for us having to switch to a tro-tro in Kumasi at 2:30AM. I was in a zombie-like state and apparently didn’t notice a number of near-death incidents as a result of our reckless driver – we also got in at 6AM, three and a half hours later. Considering the drive takes 5 hours at normal speed, I’m glad I was sleeping through it!

Burned Out in Accra

2006-02-05T10:16:00.000Z

Hey kids! After about three straight days of travelling from Timbuktu, Mali, (yes, it exists) Joe, Matt and I have arrived back in Accra and are totally burned out from our travels. Joe is physically breaking down, Matt is sleeping in copious amounts and I'm living in a sort of zombie-like state for the time being.

In the meantime, I will try to write about the last ten days or so out of my notes, but it will take some time, so please be patient. I'll keep up with current events so that I don't fall further and further back. I will also get to work on the fabled Togo and Benin trip from early December... I promise!

Return To Civilization

2006-02-02T23:59:00.000Z

Alcoo served us tea at sunrise (and finally gave Jan Il a reasonable offer for the scarf!) and searched for the camels for our return. He only found three, so he had to walk back. However, I rode in front and he gave me the lone rein attached to the camel’s nose and showed me how to control it, which I enjoyed immensely.

We had a small breakfast upon our return and tipped Alcoo (apparently all of the money we paid went to the middlemen and he did it out of the goodness of his heart) and hurried back for the 4x4 that was to take us all back to Mopti. Because of all the time spent getting to Timbuktu, we only had three days to get all the way back to Accra. It left, eventually, and we took the ferry across the Niger and drove down the road to Douenza, which has to be the sketchiest road I have ever traveled on. We drove the entire time in the sand next to the road itself and got stuck twice going up hills.

In French, Joe quizzed the driver about this and that and we learned a lot from him (thus is the advantage of speaking the local language). We found out that he wasn’t merely a driver, but also a hardened rebel veteran of the Taureg civil war that was fought in the early 1990s between the government and the marginalized people. Thanks to a peace plan, he lives a normal life now and his brother is now a general in the Malian army. We also talked about Mali and Islam, learning a lot about local opinion on the matters.

The moment of Zen for us was when we approached the town of Bambara. He told us how he and his comrades used to conduct raids on the town, which was not Taureg. When we arrived, the people were more interested in seeing him than they were of us – a first for me in Africa. The first man who approached the window shook his hand and looked at us, saying “This man! HE is the killer!”, to which our driver replied, “HE is the assassin!” Suddenly we realized that he was speaking the truth and this other man was a former rebel himself. Incredible.

The rest of the road to Mopti was in good shape, but the driver miscalculated his level of fuel and by dark, the petrol station was closed, so we spent hours waiting for someone to sell us gas. Not pleased. We arrived in Mopti, as per usual, in the middle of the night. Joe and I didn’t bother sleeping the few hours until dawn and ended up walking around the town, planning ahead, meeting interesting characters and sitting at cafés, talking about life.

The Fine Art of Taureg Tea

2006-02-01T23:59:00.001Z

Using a small teapot, boil some water. Add tea leaves and let it seep while on the fire. After a few minutes, add heaps of sugar at your discretion. Then take a glass (shot-sized) and pour some into the glass gracefully from a high altitude (you’ll get the hang of it). Pour the tea back into the pot and repeat a few times, to stir the tea properly. Taste some to see whether it is to your liking and when it is, serve in glasses for yourself and guests.

At The End Of The World - A Night In The Sahara

2006-02-01T23:59:00.000Z

Our tour was set to commence at noon. Kevin and I enjoyed breakfast atop the grand marché and prepared for the excursion into the desert. A word to the wise: understandably, changing money is difficult in Timbuktu. If you ever go, bring plenty ahead of time.

We were driven to the meeting point. We were already being offered trinkets by random people. Was this foreboding? Nevertheless, our chariots awaited us: camels for Jan Il, Kevin, myself and our Taureg guide Alcoo. Jan Il was especially excited. We set off for the desert…

Riding camels in traditional wood and leather saddles is a bizarre and rather uncomfortable experience (especially with the horn of the saddle being a large vertical plank of wood between your legs). Having no stirrups or reins was also strange to me, because I’m used to riding horses and being in full control, rather than being tied together. I got used to it, eventually. My camel Aybaydh, who I nicknamed Tim, was very well-mannered and did not smell - contrary to popular belief. Alcoo was a very friendly and likeable guide. Being the only one in the group who could speak French, I tried to make small-talk and translate for the others as best I could.

Going out into the desert was quite surreal. There was a lot of shrubs and small trees dotting the landscape, with some sand dunes standing above the sparse vegetation. We were told that one would have to ride on their camel for six days before seeing pure desert. To put this into perspective, it also takes 15 days of riding to reach the salt mines at Tadoueni, at the northern tip of Mali.

There was also a strange assortment of animals. “Wild” goats, donkeys and cattle walked about freely, munching on what they could. Apparently at night, they instinctively know to go back to the encampments, so they are allowed to roam as they please.

After a while, I noticed that I could no longer see Timbuktu and we appeared to be surrounded by desert – clearly we really were at the end of the world!

Two hours later, we arrived at the “village” (i.e. his tents). My bag was covered in camel hair. To keep a camel from going far, you tie its front legs together, so to move around, it “hops” about. Another strange fact: there is one kind of tree in the desert covered in thorns (I got caught in one) and they love to eat its branches. Wow.

While drinking Taureg tea and biscuits, we met Alcoo’s children and mother as well as the children of his uncle, who was apparently off in a caravan somewhere at the time. They were very adorable and well-behaved. Lunch was rice and goat. (Hey, at least it wasn’t fish)

We spent a few hours roaming around the desert, climbing the dunes and watching the donkeys play. It was so different to be there. I felt almost as if I was walking on the moon. At sunset I went out very far in search of a nearby village, but when darkness set in, I decided to return. Perhaps the end of the world was enough for tonight.

We set up our beds near the clam-shaped tents and drank more tea. Alcoo offered Jan Il one of his hand-dyed indigo turban cloths and we spent the evening slowly haggling in between dinner (more rice and goat), friendly conversation and more tea. We talked about the Taureg people, a historically marginalized nation, their lifestyle, the caravans that go to Mauritania and the impact of tourism on their lives. We sat and drank tea by candlelight under the stars and a crescent moon. So this is the desert life!

Crossing The Finish Line (AKA "Lookie Lookie Timbuktu")

2006-01-31T23:59:00.000Z

The ship arrived at Kouriome, The port closest to Timbuktu, at 1:45. Already we were getting stiffed in prices, from the pirogue driver letting us off the boat, to even buying a coke. After much haggling, we got a 4X4 (or quatre-quatre, pronounced “cat-cat”) to take us into town. Finally we arrived at the gates of what the French call “Tomboctou”.

My first impressions of Timbuktu: there was sand everywhere and many buildings were mud brick and clamshell-like Taureg tents. The place was desolate and looked like the planet Tattooine from Star Wars. (Fact: desert scenes in Star Wars were filmed in Tunisia)

We immediately booked rooms and were quite happy. The next order of business was to celebrate by drinking (heavily) at the bar – and it was only 3 in the afternoon.

Although our time was tight, Kevin, Jan Il and I wanted to spend a night in the desert. We were so close to the Sahara, we had to take the final step. Some hangers-on at the hotel bar offered their services for connecting us to Taureg guides, but they seemed rather arrogant, like little kings of Timbuktu – besides, it’s always good to get a second opinion, even if you’re buzzing.

We waltzed around the town for a while, seeing the grand marché and walking through the mud-walled streets. We asked around, but eventually went back to the original guys, who we found joyriding around town. They were snooty, pompous, smoked and made a hard-bargain – basically, I found it easy to hate him, but also to respect him!

We had some egg sandwiches whilst watching Ghana’s football team get trashed by Zimbabwe (astounding!) at the Cup of African Nations. Later we met up for couscous with the whole gang, including Russ and Pete who were quite trashed and probably gave Scots and Kiwis a bad reputation in town that won’t be shaken for a long time…

For the first time in almost a week, I slept in a bed. For the first time since Bamako, I slept in one that I was comfortable in. Finally.

Day 6: It's The Journey, Not The Destination

2006-01-31T23:58:00.000Z

As proof that we must be getting exhausted from the boat, we all slept in. I barely even bothered to watch the sunrise. We were so close to the end that we had packed in anticipation, but at our second-last stop we waited for almost two hours to leave. Joe found out that the crew was sitting around, drinking tea, which he was not pleased about. We sure picked a winner with this boat. Not only does the crew not care about their most expensive cargo (i.e. the high-paying tourists), the captain (and navigator) is only 26, which explains why we kept hitting sandbars – how competent could he be? To top this off, when cargo was being unloaded below deck, I noticed over 50 bags of dry concrete mix. No wonder the ship was so hard to navigate and get unstuck – the thing was carrying tonnes of concrete!

The boat left promptly after that. A lady said that we were almost there. I spotted a man riding a camel along the banks. Again, we must be close…

As we approached our final destination, we mused over the ridiculous journey we had just undertaken. For Mungo Park, getting to Timbuktu was a long and arduous journey and we thought that it would be just a matter of crossing distances from point A to point B. How wrong we were! Timbuktu, for many, is synonymous with the ends of the earth, the middle of nowhere and most people don’t even know that it actually exists. Getting there was a rather large undertaking and altogether a memorable experience. Unlike places like London, Cancun, Tokyo or Hawaii, the fun is in the journey, not the destination. That’s the point of going to Timbuktu – because you can’t just hop a plane any day of the week and be there in a few hours. Planes are infrequent and unreliable, boats are too and if you plan to drive, you need a Land Rover that can hack it for 12 hours straight – and in the wet season, don’t even bother. But we did it. And that’s what I will always remember: not the city itself, but the process of getting there. Beautiful sunsets, strange characters, bad rice, great books and what it means to be “inconvenienced”.

Day 5: A Change Of Season

2006-01-30T23:59:00.000Z

The night was bitterly cold. And that’s saying something. Nights in the desert are extremely frigid, because the land doesn’t absorb the heat. Thus, it’s not uncommon for the temperature to change 20 or 30 degrees Celsius in a few hours. So while the temperature may be 15 degrees overnight, it will feel like only a few degrees above zero to you.

The latest rumour was that we would arrive tonight. We were so excited that we barely touched the rice plate. Only dates and gateau for me, thank you! (Of course it didn’t arrive on time, because we’re in AFRICA) I noticed a change in the landscape, too. Rather than the dry sahel we had been used to, the surrounding area was becoming increasingly desert-like. We also had our biggest wildlife encounter yet: a hippo in the river! We must be close…

My latest book was the post 9/11 immigrant story Brick Lane, by Monica Ali. I thought it gave some interesting insights into Bangladeshi and Muslim society, although I could see the book easily being adapted into a “chick flick”. After a bread and gateau dinner, I went up to the roof, brought The Tragically Hip’s “Trouble at the Henhouse” and watched the stars. Truly a Canadian cottage moment.

Day 4: How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Boat

2006-01-29T23:59:00.000Z

Sleep was coming much easier. However, the slow start to the morning left us surly: we got stuck only 10 minutes in. Mercifully, we reached a port in mid-morning and stocked up on what little they had: cigarettes, plain biscuits and dates. My love for dates only increased on this trip.

After Joe chastised the crew (we had stopped for two hours, why? Because they were drinking tea!), we were motoring along well and hopes became higher, making for a more enjoyable trip. Today’s book was “Sex, Drugs and Cocopuffs”, by SPIN magazine editor Chuck Klosterman. He has some great American pop-cultural insights, even if he is an ass sometimes.

I spent the afternoon on the roof, enjoying my own real-life big screen TV: we were certainly in big sky country, with vast expanses of blue and wispy clouds above and the plains below. I was at the time listening to “Saskatchewan” by the Rheostatics:

Blue moon high
A canopy of sky
Home, Caroline, home...

The sights on the banks were always enjoyable. There were a few herds of cattle and at one point, a herd was crossing the river! I didn’t know that cows could swim! There were villages that appeared to be stuck in time, with children running out, waving and yelling “Ça va! Ça va!” as we passed by, reclining on the roof lazily, waving periodically like the Queen, or gazing disinterestedly like rhinos at the zoo. I was more interested in my Klosterman… could it be that I find books more engaging than people? What an odd thought…

A pirogue with greasy baked goods came by and we bought them out – saved by gateau! We had a feast and boiled some tea. By this point, rice and fish were quickly going out of favour with both myself and the others. Our cake made us much happier people.

Other notable developments was entering Lac Debo. Aside from being scenic, we could now check the West African map (thanks Dad!) and find out where the heck we were. Apparently, only about halfway to our destination. The upside? The river became much larger and we wouldn’t have to worry about running aground. We started placing bets on when we would arrive…

We sailed throughout the night and our spirits were high, playing cards and telling jokes. I wondered to myself: will I one day be wistful for this experience?

Day 3: Marooned With Maroons

2006-01-28T23:59:00.000Z

There was an odd shouting match at about 4AM and a baby wailing at 6. Combined with the uncomfortable rippled metal floor our mats were on, sleep did not come easily. Pete and Kevin slept on the roof, in spite of low temperatures and high winds. That struck me as just a bit crazy…

Sunrise over the Niger was like a reverse sunset, I realized. Coming from Ontario (and even Accra), where sunrises are rather dull in the summer, I had never seen the skies change so dramatically into bright colours in anticipation of the sun’s arrival. Every morning and evening was very special and sacred to me. Allah be praised!

I noted that we moved between the hours of 9-10AM, 12-1PM and 5-6PM. This was getting ridiculous and Joe was getting quite angry by this point. The first stop was near a collection of huts and a large tract (now dry) of rice paddies, sponsored by the Lybian government. The second time, we didn’t bother getting out for and spent the time reading and eating the usual rice and fish. Somehow, I was getting used to the taste. At least the roof of the boat was a good place to tan.

People were getting anxious. Not only were we running dangerously low on smokes (which would have made for a very tense ship), but we were losing precious travel days. We were only going to have a day or two in Timbuktu at this rate and would have to skip the planned tour of Dogon country. Bollocks. Kofi, a Ghanaian who was riding with us on business, was considering jumping ship. He wasn’t the only one…

That night I finished Life of Pi, which gave me plenty to think about for the evening. I wholeheartedly recommend it, because it opens the mind in so many ways. Even Joe, an avowed atheist, read it in Chinguetti, Mauritania (which, he claims, is the seventh-holiest city in Islam) and reported being very moved, spiritually. It’s amazing what books can do to people. I’m glad I’ve had the opportunity to read so much during my travels because it has helped me to appreciate literature on a greater level and has helped fill in the long stretches of waiting and bumming around in general that has been characteristic of being in West Africa.

Day 2: Waking Up From The Dream

2006-01-27T23:59:00.000Z

After a long night of many vivid bathroom-related dreams, I finally decided to get up and use it (i.e. the side of the boat). At this point, I had been stirred from my tortuous slumber by noises. I opened the tarp to go outside and was greeted by a magnificent sunrise that I had never seen before. I hopped on the roof and my eyes had a feast on the skies.

Breakfast was not a feast. In fact, it was rice with fish. We started to realize that our 10,000CFA per person food price was going towards paying everyone’s meals. There is nothing wrong with feeding others (who ate for free), but this was ridiculous, especially after the many promises made and all the haggling that was done. When Joe complained to the captain, fresh bananas and pawpaw appeared out of nowhere.

The morning started out well, travel-wise and the river was full of life, with pirogues (small Venetian-style boats) full of fish and goods traveling up and down, mut-hut villages (and a lovely mosque) and cattle grazing on the banks. It appears that, random fridges on the banks aside, life on the Niger appeared to be similar to what it must have been like long ago.

The Niger, with the distinction of being the third-longest river in Africa (After the Nile and Congo), also is the lifeline of the countries of Mali and Niger – without it, they would be hostile and unforgiving deserts with nomads and subsistence farmers. The land below it is Sahel, or semi-desert and the land above turns into desert after a short while, especially at the river’s apex at Timbuktu. The Niger shapes the life of millions of people and without it, they probably wouldn’t exist.

We were stuck again at 1 and stayed that way for two hours. Joe assisted the workers in dislodging the boat (and probably got bilharzia in the process), which helped somewhat. We were stuck again on the banks in no time. Many left the boat on a pirogue to chill on a nearby island. Jan Il, Pete and I stayed on the boat near the shore.

On the upside, this gave me the chance to explore the countryside. I went for a walk through tall grass, moist ground and the odd cow patty. I realized it was like being at home and walking through the farmer’s fields! All I needed was my trusty sidekick Dorothy to run around and chase the birds… there were large flocks of starling-like birds that seemed to weave and bob as a group, like a giant piece of cloth being tossed about in the wind. Taureg-herded cattle moseyed about in the background. Mali around the Niger felt like being in a giant empty savannah-like playground. Isn’t this the essence of Africa to the West? The stereotypical image of grasslands and baobab trees, where gazelles graze, hippos bathe, lions sleep and giraffes walk about awkwardly. I saw none of those animals, but I sure felt like I was in the middle of nowhere in an empty paradise – and happy to be there.

In the midst of another superb sunset, as the earth was bathed in a warm glow, I sat on the roof, reading Jan Martel’s Life of Pi. They say it is a story that will make you believe in God. Already having those convictions, I felt even more spiritual in that place.

We ended up staying on the banks for the night. It was clear that we were not going to make it to Timbuktu the next day. Dinner was rice and fish again – but aha! Ross had brought along a shaker full of black pepper! It became quite the lifesaver. We ended up having the rice as well as some unmarked bottles of wine on the roof, beneath the stars. As frustrating as it was to be stuck, I was content to be stuck where we were.

Day 1: Riverboat Fantasy

2006-01-26T23:59:00.000Z

The boat, which was set to leave at 10, of course left at 1 (it seems pointless even mentioning how late things occur in West Africa, simply because it has become a redundant exercise). Along with us came an American volunteer named Kevin and a random pair: a burly Scotsman named Ross and older man from New Zealand named Pete.

Something like 10 minutes into the journey, we ran aground. Given that this was the dry season and that the river was much lower at this point in the year, it was understood that this could happen. Men had to get out of the boat, wedge large logs between the boat and sandbar and try and push the boat on course. It took a long time before we left the greater Mopti area and this would be a reoccurring theme on the trip, as we would soon find out.

Dinner was – uh, rice and beef from a communal plate. Okay. We humoured the crew and ate it. On a higher note, the sunset over the Niger was spectacular and we got on the roof to watch it. The banks of the river were interesting, with houses that, at first glance, appeared to look like cottages with long paths to the docks. In fact, being on what was essentially a giant motorboat riding on freshwater felt a lot like being in the Muskokas or Lake Okanagan. It’s strange how some random things in faraway places just remind you of home. I’ve noticed it quite often, conjuring warm thoughts and images of near deja-vu.

In the evening, we sat around by candlelight, playing cards, reading and telling stories. I myself started reading “The Road to Timbuktu”, Tom Fremantle’s retracing of Scottish explorer Mungo Park’s journeys in his quest to find the mouth of the Niger River and the direction in which it flows. The story of his travels is quite fascinating, in which he is attacked by natives, beaten, deserted by friends, imprisoned by kings and eventually dies in his relentless pursuits.

As I drifted off to sleep, I felt a strange feeling, reading about Mungo Park, sleeping on the deck of a boat by candlelight, while other passengers played traditional Taureg music on an old stereo… I knew that I truly was in the heart of West Africa. And I was glad to be there.

Mopti

2006-01-25T23:59:00.000Z

One fabulous sleep later, we awoke to find ourselves in the old market town of Mopti. It was here that I got a taste of what was to come. The old city was something completely different from anything I had ever seen before: Walking through this district was like walking hundreds of years into the past. The buildings were made of mud and constructed close together, with small empty backstreets. If it weren’t for the odd store sign or power lines running from rooftop to rooftop, I’d have been tempted to ask the locals what year it was! There was a rather large mosque, constructed entirely of mud brick and logs jutting out of the walls, in the traditional Sudanic style. Who would have thought one could make such beautiful buildings out of mud?

We went to the port (hey sailor!) to find a boat to ride up the Niger River to Timbuktu. Magically, the wizard returned and was waiting for us there! He actually was very helpful with helping us book space on the boat and never once asked us for money. We reserved four spaces on the pinasse (cargo boat) that was to leave tomorrow, plus straw mats, water and food (veggie for Joe and myself). It was a bit pricey, but we were excited. The voyage was scheduled to take three days and two nights.

The rest of the day was spent wandering around, exploring the town, fending off leetches (one who sat around with us uninvited at lunch AND dinner and then got angry when we wouldn’t buy weed from him) and making some essential purchases: namely a Taureg-style scarf for myself and a large, warm, hand-woven blanket for keeping warm on the cold desert nights. We were all set to go…

The Road to Mopti, or: How To Turn One Bus Ride Into Three

2006-01-24T23:59:00.000Z

January 24

Our election all-nighter was followed by a serious political hangover in the morning. Joe and I commiserated over our nation’s future over the traditional omlette, baguette and café au lait (Henceforth referred to as OBC).

Quite the sight was seen at the Bamako bus station. Half a kilometre from the station itself as the cab was driving through, men started running (and I mean running) alongside, yelling “Mopti? Mopti? Timbuktu?” By the time we got in, there were about ten of them and some were sitting on the trunk! Clearly the fake-guide industry must be fairly profitable if they swarm white people like that. It took a while to convince them that we were perfectly capable on our own.

Getting around in Mali seems to be getting more difficult than the map would suggest. Our bus from Bamako to Mopti turned into two buses and a tro-tro, due to the first breaking down in the middle of nowhere, the second that we hopped on only going halfway (when you’re stuck in West Africa, take the first vehicle that will take you anywhere, because it could be a long time until the next one comes!) and the tro-tro completed the journey.

We arrived in Mopti at around 2AM. A strange man wearing sunglasses and a Merlin-like get-up appeared to be trying to hustle us into staying somewhere expensive. We ended up going to a place via taxi. Here’s the weird part: when we arrived, the guy was there! There was no question: he must be a wizard. Anyways, the guesthouse had empty rooms (save for crappy beds), rudimentary toilets and questionable showers. This had to be the worst place I had been to thus far, but we couldn’t argue with the price (4000CFA – about $4).

Expat Election Party!

2006-01-24T06:45:00.000Z

It is almost 7AM and I'm writing from a small internet cafe in Bamako, which we rented out for the night to watch the Canadian federal election live on the internet. Unfortunately the star-studded CBC coverage was down, so we settled for CTV while checking individual ridings on canada.com.

Being sick all day, I spent the evening trying to get better enough to see the results come in. After all, missing this election would be like missing Christmas, although in this case, we knew that the crazy old uncle would come in to spoil things in the end.

Watching the results come in starting at 3AM was exciting. Considering that Joe had been working on a few NDP campaigns before he left for Ghana, he was quite happy to see Jack Layton, Olivia Chow and Paul Dewar (Ottawa Centre) win. Nobody is happy about the Tories in power, although at least it is only a minority, meaning that Harper is going to have to reach out if he wants to last longer than Joe Clark. We were qlso quite happy to see almost 30 seats for the NDP. Poor Paul Martin is toast.

Anyways, at 10AM, Joe, Matt and our new Korean friend Janir will be on a bus to Mopti while I will knock myself out with Nyquil. After that, it will be off to Timbuktu, hiking in Dogon country and then back to Accra for classes. (ho-hum)

I'll see you around the bend...

African Social Forum

2006-01-23T23:48:00.000Z

Day 1

Registration was a long process. Rather, waiting in line was a long process. Being there at the Palais de Couture was very exciting. People from all over the world and all walks of life were present for the event: African women in traditional dress, idealistic young students, Taureg men wearing large facial scarves and old French hippies. I really had a sense of this being how the world should be - like a big international dinner party.

In the afternoon, there was a large parade and rally. The parade was very large - probably about 10,000 strong, with many locals (Bamakonians?) joining in. The finish was at a stadium with African bands and dancers. It looked to be like an interesting next few days, especially after looking at the wide variety of activities available. Unfortunately, most of them were in French and since few English groups signed up to run seminars and workshops, our options were limited. On the upside, the ASF did a great job of ensuring that many important activities had translators on hand.

Day 2

The first roundtable ont the World Trade Organization was excellent. Very informative. However, I quickly learned that the forum was not being organized very well. Neither of the two environmental workshops I went to were running, so I eventually found one on the illegal arms trade. Later on there was another roundtable on what the new world order should be like (how revolutionary!), with the former head of UNESCO, Federico Mayor. He was awesome.

That evening, I watched the sun go down over Bamako from Meghan's beautiful terrace. She lives in a lower-class neighbourhood far from the centre of town, but having that place would make it worth it all...

Day 3

More seminars, some working and some not. For some reason, I went to two of the same ones that a professor from Uganda named Yosh Tandon attended (Eliminating corruption in African governments and South African Iperialism). He really seemed to know the score and spoke intelligently and passionately. I'd like to know where he teaches!

Day 4

The last day of the activities was kind of a letdown. I went to two roundtables on visions for a new Africa and got nothing out of them. Just "talking heads", as Joe said. By this time I had seen a few good events, a few bad ones and a few that never actually happened. Considering the precedent that the World Social Forums of past years set (and the party that should be the Americas Social Forum in Caracas, Venezuela), I left feeling like there should have been more. And I know that I'm not alone. Joe, Meghan and Jaysal (an interesting chap from Calgary who is working in Senegal) also felt it as well.

Day 5

I spent the vast majority of this day in bed, with an upset stomach, pressurized head and feeling weak as a kitten. Methinks it was some water from a dubious source consumed at the previous night's dinner. (Sure the water is fine here, Alex the doctor said!) I missed the final big press conference and the closing ceremonies, which were apparently ho-hum as well as Meghan's birthday party.

So the African Social Forum was not a smashing success. The English component was lacking, save for Kenyan groups. I only met one Ghanaian during the entire forum and the head of an Accra-based NGO did not even show up. On the upside, next year there will be a single World Social Forum held in Nairobi, Kenya and it should be a great party.

Buses to Bobo, Buses to Bamako

2006-01-19T13:01:00.000Z

I will never cease to be amazed as to how ridiculous public transit can be in West Africa.

Case in point: the trip from Ouaga to Bamako was supposed to be 20 straight hours. The bus company immediately put me on a moped, drove me to another company's bus station and I waited longer before getting on the bus. As it pulled into Bobo near midnight, everyone got off and the driver told us we were stopping for the night and would leave the next day at 1PM. Incredible.

The ride to Bamako was taxing. We stopped many times and the bus broke down in the middle of nowhere at 2AM, arriving finally sometime after 4. I slept for the next few hours at the bus station with some French girls who were also coming for the African Social Forum.

Eventually I connected with the gil, Meghan, whose house I am crashing at for the next five days or so. She is working on a 6-month CIDA internship for the United Nations. Considering the number of people who are also staying with her from Senegal and the Gambia, it appears to be a popular thing to do these days! Joe, the other non-intern, was quite happy to see me again after over a month. So it looks like a house full of Canadian ex-pats for the next few days. Party on!

The Forecast for Today is Sunny with a High of 36 Degrees and a 100% Chance of Dust

2006-01-17T09:30:00.000Z

On closer inspection of my sunburn from yesterday, spending seven hours walking around Ouagadougou was probably not the brightest ideas. Nevertheless I shall persevere.

Ouaga has been rather kind to me so far. I have had some great food, internet access and have ran into some interesting characters. For example, yesterday morning I strolled on down into the Malian Embassy for a visa and who do I spot being pestered by some strange man? Hannah, of course! She obviously has been kicking around town for a while, since embassies are closed for weekends). The visa process took all of 15 minutes, (a record!) so we spent most of the day walking around finding buses to Bamako and looking for the non-existent tourist office. She had to go, but thankfully the good people at the Canadian Embassy gave me a helping hand. I spent last night hunting mosquitos, reading and having a delicious steak dinner. Then I quietly snuck up to the roof of the Auberge et Zem.Batik Windga (recommended) and beheld Ouaga under a full moon waning. Lovely.

Anyhoo, I have some final business to attend to and then I will be taking the overnight bus to Bamako, where hopefully I will be able to contact the friend of Joe who is letting us sleep on her floor for the next few days. I am not sure of the internet situation in Mali (I have been quite lucky here), so I shall see you around the bend. Cheers!

Democratic Blues

2006-01-16T18:51:00.000Z

Let me start off by saying that I am a staunch beliver in democracy. It does not always work (as in the case of Germany in 1933, or, perhaps less drastically, the US in 2000) and often allows fools to gain power (the US again in 2004), but it is a very wonderful and fragile thing. To think that here in Burkina Faso, the president came to power in a coup and stages only mock elections every few years to maintain a poor air of legitimacy, is absolutely depressing. When I see triumphs like Solidarnosc in Poland, Chile ridding itself of Pinochet and the election of Ellen Johnson Sirleaf last fall in Liberia, it makes me happy to know that such a concept exists.

I also tend to believe that anyone who does not vote in an election has no right to criticize their leaders because they are only victims of their own apathy. Voting may be a legal right in Canada, but to me it is both a privilege and civic duty.

Now here is where I dropped the bombshell: I will not be voting in the Canadian federal elections on January 23rd. On January 23rd, I will be at the African Social Forum in Mali and, hopefully, will not be waking up the next morning to a Conservative majority.

Could I have voted from abroad? Yes. I most certainly could have. However, to put this into perspective, here is the process for a Canadian voting from abroad...

Step 1: Look up the process for voting from abroad at www.elections.ca
Step 2: Somehow manage to acquire no less than TWO pieces of photo ID with your home address on them or two bills from public utility companies to determine your constituency. (I am sorry Billy, but a health card simply will not do... why did you not pack your hydro bill in your luggage like a good little boy?)
Step 3: Mail (or fax) the completed form to Ottawa (which takes at least a week)
Step 4: Elections Canada must process your application and find your ballot
Step 5: Elections Canada mails your ballot to either your address abroad or to the nearest embassy/high commission (which takes at least two weeks)
Step 6: Receive the package (if it gets that far), fill out the ballot and mail it back to Ottawa (another week)
Step 7: Pray that the package arrives in Canada before midnight of the 23rd of January.

Could I have successfully completed this process? Yes, but considering it would take about a month from steps 1 to 6 (plus whatever delays the Christmas holidays might entail) and recalling that I would only be in Accra until the 14th of January, I would have had to fax/mail the application out in early December.

Long story short: that is a damned difficult and inefficient way to exercise a civic duty. In this day in age, there should be better resources available for people in our situation, perhaps using the internet (or even the fax machine, if people still know how to use them).

So what can a poor boy do? I may just shut my trap for the next four years (if the government indeed lasts that long), but more importantly, I want to tell people that they should get out there and vote, no matter what idiot they will be supporting. When you see countries in which democracy is non-existent, (eg. Côte d'Ivoire, up until last year Togo) a farce (Burkina Faso) or simply just not working for the people (Ghana), you really learn to appreciate those rights and freedoms that so many of our brothers and sisters around the world can only dream of having.

Long Days Journey Into Burkina Faso

2006-01-15T18:48:00.000Z

So here I am in Ouagadougou at an internet café, staring at this bizarre Burkinabe keyboard, with mixed-up letter keys and mystery punctuation marks. I cant even find the apostrophe key, thus I can no longer write contractions - hence the proper grammar in the post and improper grammar in the title.

Ottawa is probably further from Toronto than Ouaga is from Accra, yet by public bus the journey between the former two cities takes under five hours in comparison to over twenty-four hours for the latter. And in lieu of a plane or private car, it is the fastest way to travel.

I took the good old 10AM STC bus direct to Ouaga. By that I mean the bus that left after 12, broke down an hour later and limped into Kumasi without air conditioning. (Apparently the "luxury" bus means less AC, more goofy Nigerian movies) Regardless of the delays, breakdowns, traffic jams and waiting in the wee hours of the morning for the Ghana-Burkina border to open - oh, and then two hours at the border waiting for the visas and cargo to be cleared by customs - we rolled into Ouaga sometime after noon.

What a journey it was! The Burkinabe countryside is something to behold: the Sahelian beauty of long yellow grass, patches of green trees and circular mud huts with smooth mud courtyard walls. In shor, it was perfect for driving through while listening to "Everybody Knows (This is Nowhere)" by Neil Young. (Thanks again for the cds, Geoff) I spent a lot of time either reading, sleeping munching on odd snacks and meeting fascinating characters: the man next to me was a soldier who served not only in various peacekeeping missions (Liberia, Sierra Leone, Congo and Lebanon), but was a former presidential bodyguard. (Guess whos cellphone number he gave me?) I also met a Nigerian on his way to Dakar and a journalist/trader named Sahada.

Sahada - a very wise young Ghanaian woman - and I got rooms at her favourite hotel. After awell-deserved shower and an hour of hunting mosquitos, we ate and had a nice long chat. It,s now early evening and I,m ready to read some Hemingway and peter out...

And to think that this is only the first (and probably most comfortable) leg of my trip! I have yet to get my Malian visa, take a 5 hour bus to Bobo and then a (supposedly) 15 hour one to Bamako - which is where I was trying to get in the first place. Ah well, in the immortal words of AC/DC, its a long way to the top if you wanna rock and roll...

Settling In... Sort Of

2006-01-13T17:17:00.000Z

Thankfully, when I returned to the hostel, Meghan, Hannah and Jon were sitting around waiting for me to come home. (Either that, or waiting for their soup to cook - you make the call) It was good to see familiar faces, because the hostel was still otherwise empty and it would be a pretty lonely night on my lonesome. Not having a room of my own, I slept in Lisa's bed (don't worry, she was in South Africa at the time) and slept soundly.

The next day, I got my room situation figured out and guess what: I got my single room and it's in the same building just a floor below! That was fantastic news for my troubled soul. I acquired my key, moved my junk in and started cleaning and customizing it all myself. I can't describe how great it feels to finally have a space to call my own after 5 months of living in shared rooms and beds. I could see things were looking up from there...

That night, being Meghan, Jon and Hannah's last night in Accra (the irst two to Egypt and Morocco and the latter to Burkina and Mali) we went to the Living Room for a movie. They didn't have "Casablanca" - those philistines.

Since then, it's been a lot of running around, getting my stuff together and preparing to leave Accra yet again. On Saturday the 14th, I'm taking the bus North to Ouagadougou in Burkina Faso and then, once I get my visa, onwards to Bamako, Mali to meet with Joe and Matt, who have been trekking around West Africa since early December. Their beards will be rather large by now, I believe.

What else? Ben, Alanna and Mel (all veterans from last semester) took me out for another movie night - one featuring a former ISH resident in an curious walk-on role and when we returned, there are new people! All right - fresh meat!

Just kidding. I've already met some cool characters (and even took Reuben from South Carolina on his first tro-tro ride) and I'm sure there will be many more by the time I get back. Until then, it's one more wild and crazy adventure! I'll try and keep basic info posted, but like the ever-delayed journal of Togo and Benin (which will be shared someday, I swear), good things will have to come in time...

Cheers!

Leaving London

2006-01-10T21:04:00.000Z

The morning I left was how the French say "horrible"... kinda like the way the English say it too. Maleaha came with me to the airport and we had a very teary-eyed goodbye.

The plane ride was great, materially. I got to see the hills of France, snow-capped Atlas peaks of Algeria, the many faces of the Sahara - with movies, food and free drinks aplenty. But I felt like junk the entire way back.

Could you blame me? I had three fantastic weeks with the woman I have been missing terribly for four months. In Ghana, I learned to live a sort of "single life" and tried to do my own thing and although Maleaha and I wrote to each other often and chatted on the internet as well, I knew that I had forgotten how alive I felt being with her. Life is just so much more - colourful, living it with her. Our reluctance to leave each other this time around is a testament to how much we depend on each other, indeed.

But I still have a mission to complete: Burkina, Mali and one last semester in Accra. I know now that I can do it, because I've already made it over halfway, going uphill is harder than downhill and the second time around it's always faster.

One Last Gasp...

2006-01-09T23:30:00.000Z

Wayne Campbell: Here we are, at Piccadilly Circus!
Garth Algar: Wow, what a shitty circus.
Wayne Campbell: Good call. There's no animals or clowns! What a ripoff!
-Wayne's World 2

Other than Berlin - and perhaps Toronto - I'd never been to one of the truly "great" cities of the world. Not just ones that people know about, but ones that are iconic. Toronto may have the CN Tower, or even the Skydome or City Hall, but London has Buckingham Palace, Parliament, Trafalgar Square, Piccadilly Circus, London Bridge, double-decker buses and fish and chips. It's oozing with history, pride, class and people from all walks of life who come for various reasons...

To perpetuate the touristy image, we took a guided double-decker bus tour of the city... we saw all the above, plus much more. 'Twas a bit rainy and Maleaha and I weren't in the best of spirits due to our imminent departure, but we still managed to enjoy it and have some fish and chips afterwards - and a Belgian strawberry beer called "Frülli". Deeelicious!

On Maleaha's suggestion, we had dinner in London's Chinatown, which is way more decked-out than Markham's - that's for sure. I resisted the urge to say, "Forget it Maleaha - it's Chinatown."

border="0" alt="" />For our last day together in London, we got up early (8:00? My goodness!) and took the Underground all the way to the famous London Eye - the giant ferris wheel that was recently installed. Instead of chairs, you walk around in big glass pods with other people and enjoy the view from the Thames in the centre of town. Despite it being a cloudy day, it was a great way to see the city, especially after seeing it from the ground.

Taking the Underground again (with a day pass, it's just so damned convenient. It's a giant maze of interconnected subways, so you're only a few stops from anywhere in the city... and the cars are so adorably small and quasi-futuristic... probably my favourite thing about London) we went for a stroll in Hyde Park. If there was a better way to spend our last afternoon together, I'd like to hear it. There were paths, fountains, monuments - even a lake stocked with ducks and Canada Geese.

Me: "Hey, what are you doing here?"
Geese: "No, what are YOU doing here?"

Everyone was out walking their dogs or feeding the wildlife - or not-so wildlife. The squirrels were practically trained to be fed and Maleaha gave the better part of our delicious cherry almond pastry to them because she couldn't stop being amazed at how adorable they were... We sat there for a good hour, I'm sure, just feeding the chubby squirrels and taking pictures.

We walked to Oxford Street and amazed ourselves by looking at expensive designer clothes and foods (meat pies and mash for Mikey!). After taking the Underground home (I told you it was handy) and back to Piccadilly, we had a delicious dinner at an Italian restaurant - something I haven't seen much of in Accra.

Finally, we went for drinks to St. George's Hotel, which has a rooftop bar overlooking the city. What a way to cap off three and a half weeks...

"If this were the last night of the world
What would I do?
What would I do - that was different?
Unless it was champagne
With you"
-Bruce Cockburn

Leaving Ireland

2006-01-08T23:00:00.000Z

Poor Anthony... we left him the same day that his mother and brother did as well. What's a poor boy to do? After loading up on souvenirs at the touristy gift shop (jacket, Guinness t-shirt, stickers, flags, etc.) and it was off to see the family again...

As our ferry was to leave Dun Laoghaire in the morning, we stayed the previous evening at my extended family's house nearby in Dalkey. Jimmy and Jetta embody the ideal of Irish hospitality. A lovely meal of chicken and potatoes, reading by the fireplace, working laundry... to be honest, I had not felt that close to "home" in a long time. Jetta took us out for drinks afterward at a hidden pub with local musicians jamming old Irish ditties. When bedtime came around, she gave us hot water bottles to heat our beds with! A great sleep and breakfast later, we were on our way, packed with lunches. If we had known we were going to be that spoiled, we certainly would have stayed longer. I knew immediately that I would be missing Ireland very much. The places, the people, the pubs - it was all something I could really fit in with... but if I left my heart in Ireland, I took about 12 more pounds home with me. All of that food and beer added up!

Despite a switcheroo with the ferries (I'm sorry, you'll have to drive all the way back to Dublin to catch the REAL ferry), Jetta drove us fast enough to catch it. The ride back was much smoother and Maleaha was doped up on gravol anyways. The train through Wales was nothing less than spectacular... hills, valleys, lakes, rivers, mountains, pastures filled with sheep, bridges and towns with funny-sounding names.

It was dark by the time we reached England (apparently you're only allowed to see one per trip - read The Rocky Road to Dublin) and we reached our hotel exhausted from travelling. I went out for a walk alone to explore the city a bit. London is the kind of city you just want to walk around all day in because there's something interesting around every corner. And it's so big that it would take years to know inside-and-out... and that's just downtown! Tomorrow we would go into ultra-tourist mode and suck up as much of foggy London town as humanly possible in two days...

Northern Exposure pt. 2 - Mike Goes Home

2006-01-07T08:50:00.000Z

While seeing the North justified itself as a reason for going there, I had an ulterior motive for my visit: I wanted to know more about my roots. You see, the Creighton family can be traced back 180 over years to the town of Downpatrick in County Down, where my great-great-great etc. grandfather Michael Creighton (yes, my namesake) left the town with his wife Jane to sail to New Brunswick, where the family settled and multiplied, albeit not very much. They were Protestant, you see...

Adding a bit of colour to the story is the claim that Michael did not leave Ireland of his own accord, but was actually exiled to British North America as a punishment for poaching a rabbit. If I had put more thought into it, I would have spent a day at the Ulster archives in Belfast, looking for an official police account of this incident. Alas, I had only one night and one day to get "in touch" with my roots. This time around, it had to be a superficial attempt.

The town of Downpatrick is a charming little Irish town about 30 kilometres outside of Belfast. With a population of just over 10,000, it's large enough to make for a pleasant visit, but small enough to not be terribly interesting to live in. Maleaha compared it to Trenton, Ontario, where her parents moved to get away from the hustle and bustle of the rapidly-suburbanizing Stouffville.

The bus ride in was senic (as per usual) and very exciting for me. I felt as if I were actually going "home" in some capacity. While Maleaha enjoyed the idea that I didn't know anything about my family and was on a wild goose chase to nowhere, a commercial truck passing by us with the name "CREIGHTON'S" confirmed my suspcions and heightened my anticipation.

Getting there was as wonderful as I had hoped it would. We arrived at sunset, walked around lost for a bit (helped by a friendly local) and eventually found a B&B run by a sweet grandmotherly-type lady named Maeve. She showed us our room, asked when we wanted breakfast and basically said "me casa et su casa". If you're ever in that neck of the woods, go to the Ardmore House. Our room had a splendid view of the sun going down over the mountains. (Who needs TV?) We went for some diner dinner and spent the evening watching British television.

I woke up before dawn to go out and get a feel for the town (after the full Irish breakfast, of course). I'm quite pleased now to know that like every Italian family's tiny, perfect "home village" in the old country, Downpatrick is the Creightons' Irish equivalent. It's nestled in a valley near the Mountains of Mourne (said to be the inspiration for C.S. Lewis' land of Narnia), has a fairly quiet main street, many quaint backstreets and footpaths to be found and some stunning hilltop views.

Upon hearing my name, Maeve directed me towards the local newspaper, which distant relatives may own. They were kind and helpful and in the end, a reporter listened to my story and it looks like I'll be in next week's edition! Small town, indeed...

Downpatrick has many historical sites (old churches, abbeys, jails, trains, etc.) but it's claim to fame is being the final resting place of St. Patrick himself, on a hill near the Down Cathedral. I visited his alleged gravesite and poked around the cathedral, but didn't have the time to see the new flashy exhibit nearby. We had to make it all the way back to Dublin that night.

Maleaha pretty much let me do my own thing that day, but we both thought it was the best part of the trip. She got to relax and I got to see some of my heritage. I suppose that it's sort of a superficial thing, trying to find one's "ancestry", because if one thinks about it, their parents come from 2 families and their parents also come from 2 families, so by the second generation, there are 4 families, then 8, then 16, etc... and I'm only looking up the paternal line that had the good fortune of carrying its name down for generations, like a victor in a giant tournament of nomenclature. From my grandparents, I know I also have Welsh and Polish heritage as well. I haven't even begun to look into my mother's side...

Does this define me as a person? Yes and no. It definitely explains why I love potatoes and why I have such a funny countenance, but it doesn't really explain why I am the way I am. It can show me the past, but not the future. As much as I enjoy and identify with Irish culture, I would still consider myself a Canadian, as probably would my parents and grandparents. History teaches us where we come from and how we came to see the world as it is, but as many of my friends (especially the postmodernists) would tell you, there is definitely a limit to all of this.

At the same time, it's fun to be able to uncover history for yourself, especially when you have a personal relationship with it. I'm sure that one day I'll be back again and this time I'll do my homework first. I could make a big historical tour of it, really, checking the archives in Belfast and Downpatrick, finding specific places. I could even take the ferry to Scotland to go even further back beyond the 1600s all the way to the Creighton Castle and the 12th century!

And that's a whole different story altogether...

Northern Exposure pt. 1: Belfast

2006-01-06T00:50:00.000Z

Maleaha and I, realizing that our stay in Ireland was almost at an end and having visited three of Ireland's four provinces (Leinster, Munster and Connacht) decided to tackle the final one: Ulster.

For those of you playing the home game, that means Northern Ireland. A land of ire, or so we've learned from our history books. Up until about 1998, the region was racked with violence between British loyalist Protestants and Irish republican Catholics - a time now known rather quaintly as the "Troubles".

Thankfully, a cautious calm has descended over Northern Ireland and sectarian violence is rare and much less overt (save for marching season). This means that the North is now open for tourism, although it probably has a ways to go until it sheds its image as one of Europe's last warzones.

We began our two-day trip by taking the evening bus to Belfast. I can remember my first few hours there feeling like I was being secretly watched by Protestant or Catholic paramilitary groups, trying to find out what some kids were doing waltzing around town at night. (which just proves that even I can be naive and prejudiced) And I'll be the first to say that I was very suprised and impressed. The people are friendly and the downtown is vibrant. I couldn't imagine this being a place of tension and violence. It seemed like a smaller and less touristy version of Dublin. Belfast, for its checkered history, has become a lovely modern city.

Maleaha and I, only having a day to spend in town, spent most of it walking around and taking the standard double-decker bus tour. It was actually a wise choice, because we got to see most of the major landmarks around town: the shipyards where the Titanic was built, City Hall, Queen's University (yes, they have one there too), churches and cathedrals... I still find it strange how proud Belfast is about building one of maritime history's greatest disasters. Is there a town in Germany that advertises itself as the home of the Hindenburg?

And of course, we saw the darker side of the city: bombed-out buildings, former military checkpoints, a giant 70-foot "Peace Wall" designed to split the warring neighbourhoods from fighting and even stores that sold factional memorabilia (because your home isn't complete without a giant picture of the Queen and an Ulster flag). On the brighter side, there are also wall murals promoting peace among the ones of hatred and graffiti. Next time, I'll take one of the politcal "black taxi" tours, which are apparently very insightful.

While Belfast has shown the world that even Europeans can be terrorists, (suprisingly, there are a number of pro-Palestinian murals painted by Catholics) it also has shown how hate can be dulled, disarmed and overcome. The divide between the two sides is still deep and will take much time to sort out, but for the moment Belfast is a place to be beheld and a gem in the rough. If the peace process continues unhindered, I know I'll be back.

And thus concludes part one of this adventures. Stay tuned for part two, in which I fumble towards discovering my roots... same bat time, same bat blog!

Arthur and the Guinness Factory

2006-01-05T11:23:00.000Z

Anthony has it pretty sweet here in Dublin: downtown apartment, fun job at a bar, big tips... which means that we get to reap the benefits of it. Today's example: Free passes to the Guinness Factory!

It was like winning the Golden Ticket and going on a magical adventure, except that this one started on a city bus and ended with us drinking beer. But doesn't chocolate have mind-bending chemicals, too? I can justify myself, with enough denial...

The complex itself is a veritable Magnitogorsk (read: big factory) on almost 60 acres and they say it produces about 10,000,000 pints of the dark stuff every day. The tour was of the just-opened for tourists storehouse complex.

I could quickly feel myself feeling indoctrinated - and enjoying it! They had the original copy of the lease signed by Arthur Guinness in 1759 and huge exhibits showing the brewing process (barley + hops + water + yeast = Guinness), the history of the factory, the company - even an section on how they made casks (barrels) for the beer and models of the ships that carried the casks around the world - that is, until they started building other factories. They even have plants in Ghana and Trinidad! (Maleaha: "I'll bet most of it doesn't even make it out of the factory")

The best part was the advertising exhibit (i.e. the exhibit that explicitly admitted to advertising towards me), at which point I realized that if I were Rocco from the television show Undergrads, my alcohol-induced hallucinogenic friend would be the Guinness Toucan. Ah Tookie, I love you!

Wisely, the final exhibit after the advertising section is all about the dangers of alcohol and how drinking ruins your system if not done in moderation. (Although historically, doctors have prescribed a pint for a variety of illnesses, hence the claim "Guinness is Good for You") I wonder: if, say, Phillip Morris had a cigarette factory tour, how would they tackle the subject of advertising/counter-advertising? Regardless, it brought everyone back to earth a bit, so I suppose they can defend themselves as a responsible company.

Sidenote: the drinking and driving ads in Ireland are pretty hardcore. Its history of driving under the influence isn't very rosy, so I suppose it's an appropriate reaction to the issue. Non-rosy history or not, the ads are hard-hitting and even I have trouble watching them.

The final and long-awaited portion of the self-guided tour was redeeming your voucher for a free pint of Guinness that you get to pour yourself. Indeed, there is a proper technique and everyone in Ireland knows it. Considering that the pint a) was made across the street and b) I poured it myself, it was quite delicious.

Go West, Young Man

2006-01-02T08:46:00.000Z

The boys of the NYPD Choir were singing Galway Bay
And the bells were ringing out for Christmas Day
-The Pogues

The days following Christmas consisted of plenty of getting up late, watching TV, walking around town and not much else. (Although to be fair, we did see King Kong, a great piece of hollywood cheese) Maleaha and I decided it was time to go for some adventures. Thus we went to the West Coast of Ireland to Galway. Booking accommodation was a pain in the arse, considering it was coming up on New Years.

On the first night, it rained. So we had some pub food (more stew), some ice cream (they actually make a Bailey's flavour) and walked around the old city for just a bit. Maleaha was not impressed with staying in a dorm-style room for the evening. Something between the Italian female tourists and the drunkard waltzing into our room at 3AM...

On New Year's Eve, I wanted to see the town and shop a bit, since almost everything would be closed the next day. Sadly, the forecast for our entire stay in Galway was: rain, sunshine, rain, wind, more rain and some sunshine. It being near the Atlantic, the weather was liable to change every 5 minutes! Despite this, we got to see a lot of nice streets, pubs and stores and I dropped a lot at the Winding Stair, which sells old prints, jewelry and other knick-knacks. For a Christmas present, Maleaha bought me a hot towel shave - and let me tell you, my face hasn't felt that smooth in many a year. Gentlemen, if you want to spoil yourself in a testosterone-based manner, go for the shave. It's totally worth it.

Our B&B for the next night was a quick drive into the suburbs (the disadvantages of booking online: your universe looks that much smaller than in the real world), but it was like heaven: I had a real hotel room with tv, shower and the most comfortable bed I've slept in in at least four months. It was big and had electric heating pads under the sheets. I cannot stress how fantastic it was. I had a nap immediately. When I awoke, I turned on the TV to watch "Guns of Navaronne". (Hooray for old WWII movies starring Gregory Peck AND David Niven)

Given that it was a bit of a drive away from downtown and Maleaha isn't the "party girl" type, we took it easy for New Year's. We hopped by the nearby hotel/pub and my last meal of 2005 was bangers and mash (sausage and potatoes) with apple pie for dessert. I had a pint before midnight, but the place wasn't exactly "jumping" and the band wasn't exactly "traditional". There was a wedding reception going on next door - methinks we should have crashed it instead...

So I realized by that point that this evening wasn't about partying, it was about being with my Sweetness, Maleaha. A New Year's Eve party is a New Year's Eve party, no matter where you go. Besides, we have tons of Irish pubs in Markham and Ottawa and more friends to do it with. So we went back to the B&B and rang in the new year watching Irish TV from the comfort of our room. Some people were lighting fireworks in the backyard. Apparently the Irish really like their fireworks, 365 days a year!

The great thing about a B&B is that the second "B" stands for "breakfast", (In case you hadn't figured it out, the first is for "bed") so traditional Irish breakfast with egg, sausage, bacon, toast and pudding. No, that pudding was not made of chocolate, but pigs parts. A yum.

Given that nothing was happening on January 1st, not even "year round" bus tours (LIARS), we had a lovely walk near the bay and took an early bus home. Cheers to Galway.

Photos of Campus

2005-12-29T10:20:00.000Z

It occurred to me that I promised Christine, my program director at Carleton, about a month ago that I would post some photos of campus for next year's fresh meat - I mean, prospective exchange participants. I believe the application deadline is sometime in mid-January, so I hope they can help. Cheers!

CAMPUS - The University of Ghana at Legon is a giant, sprawling campus that takes a while to walk across (up to 20 minutes to some buildings from the hostel). While it's no Shangri-La, it has some great sights. Here are some of them...

Great Hall and Bell Tower - The "trademark" symbols of campus (if you look at their website) are pretty majestic, but it's too bad you'll only see them when you register at the start of the year and when you take your exams. Note the Far Eastern architecture and socialist symbols.

Akuafo Hall - They sure know how to decorate a residence courtyard. One of the nicer spots on campus.

Kwame Nkrumah Centre For African Studies - One of the nicer department buildings. Most are not so lavishly decorated and have no bronze statues on their lawn.

Crowd - The campus revolves around a main concourse, parts of which are closed off to traffic. They may not know how much about urban planning, but this street is a winner. Note the giant trees lining the street. Those will come in handy when the sun is high in the sky.

Balme Library - The other "symbol" of the university, it's a fantastic structure and I like studying there, due to its great old-school academic vibe. While it is one of the finest libraries in West Africa, it's a shame that many books get stolen or "misplaced" for it to be truly useful. Sadly, the best books are kept under lock and key and you can only borrow/photocopy them within the library. The card catalogue, photocopy and checkout systems need a major overhaul, so as great as it is, it doesn't compare to Carleton's library.

HOSTEL - The International Student Hostel is the nicest residence on campus and if you are Ghanaian, you probably have to "know" someone to get in. It's pretty decent, save for the odd water/power outage and it's open-concept cubic shape is great for catching cross-breezes, even on the hottest and driest days as well as for yelling out to people across the courtyard. If only it weren't built on the edge of campus! I don't have any photos of the rooms uploaded, but each has a bed, closet, desk, chair, nightstand, and easy chair (x2 for double rooms) as well as a porch/balcony.

The hostel itself has four floors (no elevators - in fact, I have yet to use one in Ghana) each has two kitchens with sinks, elements and a fridge. Each floor also has four washrooms with showers (2 male, 2 female). There is one internet cafe (whose quality greatly varies), a convenience store (the proprietor is quite the character) and a kitchen that makes decent breakfast, lunch and dinner. The courtyard is great for playing football or frisbee.

The higher up you are, the better the view from your balcony. And those West African sunsets are a sight to behold.

Dig those mango trees.

CAVEAT EMPTOR: Now that you've seen the rosy side of campus, it should be warned that not all of the university looks so picturesque. In fact, some of it can be downright dull and depressing. Simple things such as lawns are a challenge to grow, so grass doesn't grow evenly everywhere, if at all. The planning of campus leaves much to be desired, when compared to Carleton's efficient use of space. Most buildings are one or two floors and are built with ample space in between them. You may even walk by the odd pile of garbage waiting to be picked up by the trucks - or worse - waiting to be burned.

Stray dogs are a common sight on campus, especially in the quieter areas. If you are a dog lover, then maybe it'll remind you of home. Just don't pet them if they don't have owners. Here's an example of an open field that couldn't hope to grow anything green on it. Now it's a soccer field.

The other residences aren't as well-equipped as ISH. Their utilities are sketchy and due to the shortage of student housing on campus, there's a common practice of "perching" i.e. renting out floor space to other students illegally, so a room that is designed to house 4 can easily hold 8. While some have a royal architectural flavour, others are more Soviet-inspired and look pretty dull. Consider Mensah Sarbah Hall's Annexes.

Dryers on campus are also a luxury. While ISH residences have a common area for hanging clothes on a line, few other residences have such a luxury!

Also, When the British colonized what was then the Gold Coast, instead of building underground sewers alongside roads, they just built open concrete gutters, so most water/waste on campus flows through them. They're usually dry, but when the rains come, the stagnant water is a great place for mosquitoes to breed (read: malaria). At least the French had the good sense to cover up their gutters. On the lighter side, it's something of a right of passage to fall in one at least once while here!

So you take the good, you take the bad and when you're done, there you have - the University of Ghana at Legon. This is a limited picture of the place, but it's better than the picture I had before I came (which was the website photo of the Great Hall and Bell Tower. Love it or hate it, that's my home this year. Welcome to an African education!

Anthony 4 - Mike 0

2005-12-29T00:41:00.000Z

Not only have Maleaha and I been hanging out in Dublin with Anthony for the last two weeks, but his mother and brother have come to stay for a week as well. As happy as I am for him (very much so), I can't help but feel a bit envious of him. Not only does he get friends travelling from two different continents to visit him, but family as well! That boy's got it made here alright...

Ah well, at least his mom and bro are staying in a hotel. Otherwise, there wouldn't be much to sleep on in this apartment. 'Nuff said.

A Midwinter Night's Dream

2005-12-28T11:30:00.000Z

I awoke sometime last night and looked outside. I looked down to the street and noticed something moving under the streetlight... was that SNOW falling?

Indeed it was! I quickly put on a sweater and went outside, where the sky was filled with white fluffy flakes. They melted as they hit the ground, but it was a joy to see it, all the same. I went for a walk around the block downtown and it was gone by the time I reached Anthony's apartment, but it was worth it. There were few people out at that time of night (whatever that time was) and there would be no trace that it ever came. It was like a strange dream that only I could remember...

I had said that if it snowed even once while I was here, I'd consider it a successful trip. Check that one off - and I've still got two weeks left!

Sweet.

St. Stephen's Day Extravaganza

2005-12-27T12:50:00.000Z

As many of you may have already known, or even guessed, I've got roots in this country. Unfortunately, most of them (namely my entire dad's side) are from the North, so there's not much to be found in the way of geneaology around here.

Fortunately, my Aunt Patty married my Uncle Sean, who emigrated from the Emerald Isle and still has family here. Namely, his sister Jetta and her husband Jimmy. They graciously invited us for St. Stephen's Day lunch (it's what they call Boxing Day, 'round these parts) and we accepted. I was keen to see them after only meeting them once a number of years ago.

They live in Dún Laoghaire (pronounced "done-leery"), the major port out of Dublin and also a very well-to-do neighbourhood these days. Supposedly Bono of U2 lives somewhere around town...

We had quite a lovely time, drinking tea and cookies. Then Jetta's sons took us for a pre-lunch drink (quel bonne idee!), which turned out to be a lovely country drive (We even passed by Enya's castle. That's right, she lives in a castle.) all the way up to "undoubtedly the highest pub in the country", Johnny Fox's. A delicious two pints of Guinness later, I was ready for lunch. They fed us very well and it was great to hang out with a family and drink tea and wine, since I can't remember the last time I got to do that! We'll probably get the opportunity to meet with them again and I hope we do, because for me it's important to have family as well as friends.

A Christmas of a Different Colour

2005-12-26T10:30:00.000Z

CHRISTMAS EVE

Dinner at Michelle's was great. Although he was worried as to how his skill compared with his mother's, Anthony cooked the turkey and the potatoes to perfection and we had some salad and bread to go along with it (Maleaha, ever the black sheep, ate leftover chinese food. Does sweet-and-sour pork count as traditional Christmas dinner?). Dinner went to the sounds of the Tragically Hip and was finished off with irish coffee. We hung out, drank and ate chocolate for most of the night. After a while, Maleaha and I went for a walk to let the turkey/pork settle. By evening, all the stores and pubs had closed down and the streets of Dublin were empty - 180 degrees from only a few hours ago, when one would have to get a lift and surf the crowds over the streets. We swung by Anthony's house, where his roommates were watching "Love Actually". I'm always a sucker for sappy holiday movies.

CHRISTMAS DAY

We all woke up early (9:30, anyone?), put on our Sunday best and went to the local pro-cathedral (seriously, it was a ten-minute walk) for Christmas mass. Not only was it one of the most beautiful houses of worship I have ever been in, but this mass was conducted by the Cardinal himself! The giant choir, string quartet and organist finished the celebration with a chorus of "Alleluia!", to our enjoyment.

We spent the rest of the day making grilled cheese sandwiches, watching movies and that's about it. Just an enjoyable day of rest, like any lazy Sunday. We didn't even exchange presents until the early evening, simply because it seemed so secondary to us enjoying our day. Church, relaxation, lack of materialism. Could it be that we had an "ideal" Christmas? Nah, otherwise I wouldn't have bought a phonecard to call my whole family up as they were having dinner! We agreed that this would be the last one they celebrate while I'm half a world away.

This year's Christmas celebrations were quite a bit different compared to anything else I've ever done. It was the first time that I'd not been at home, opening presents and eating breakfast, going to church with mom and then gathering with the family for more presents and a massive dinner. I knew that to not kill myself over the holidays, I'd need to 1) be somewhere cold, 2) be with good friends and 3) be with Maleaha. It looks like I got all three of my wishes this year. And I couldn't be much happier.

Happy Christmas, everyone!

Christmas Wishes

2005-12-24T13:59:00.000Z

O Holy Night
The stars are brightly shining
It is the night of our dear Saviour's birth...

December 24th: While it doesn't feel like it at all, it's already Christmas Eve and the streets of Dublin are packed with people running around like headless chickens trying to get their shopping finished, while Anthony and I are making sure we've stocked up on enough turkey, cranberry and cider to get us through the next few days. Maleaha is lounging on the couch, as per usual...

Tonight we're going to have Christmas Eve dinner and will be staying over at the house of someone I've never met before. Her name is Michelle and she's from Saskatoon, so we'll be having a very Canadian Christmas. Tonight there will be caesar salad, vegetarian lasagna and garlic bread for all as well as turkey, cranberry and potatoes for Anthony and I (call us traditional). We'll finish it off with some Irish coffee and hobnobs... it'll be the best darned Christmas Eve away from home I could hope for!

*****

Anyways, I want to extend my warmest Christmas wishes to everyone. For those back at home, I wish I could be there for the traditional dinner with the family and traditional New Year's at Foy's, but remember that I'm there with you in spirit and I'll be home for Victoria Day...

For those in Ottawa, I definitely miss you and your fine city and wish I could be caroling, partying, skating the canal and all that jazz. I'll see you again by next September...

For those in Ghana, I hope your Christmas cheer is as warm as the weather. I hope your adventures are exciting and I'll be back with you much sooner...

For all of my friends scattered about the world (in the US, Norway, Germany, Palestine... wherever!), I hope your strange and foreign Christmas celebrations rock, too!

Happy Christmas to you all.
Mike and Maleaha