Tuesdays With Addo-Fening

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-Fening 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

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

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.

Mr. Obruni's Triumphant Comeback

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

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

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...

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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!

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

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

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

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...

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.

Play That Funky Music, Obruni

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-Mr. Obruni, 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.