Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Monday, November 23, 2009
top ten ghanaian phrases and other observations
Top Ten Ghanaian Phrases
1. Obruni how are you? Everyone says this, from night market ladies, to young children, to professors and vendors calling to you on the street, and always with an emphasis on the “un” in Obruni.
2. What do you want? A polite and completely routine way of asking “what would you like?”. You hear this in every stall at a market.
3. Please I’m coming. Said when a Ghanaian wants you to wait for him. Assuring you that he will come back.
4. No Please. Used just like yes please is. I always laugh when I hear this one.
5. You go and come. Meaning, you will leave and then come back later. For example, if you don’t have enough money to pay the night market lady 50 pesewas for a bag of pineapple, you can go get the change and come back later.
6. Somehow. Used by my favorite taxi driver, Nuridean. “Somehow, I am tired.” “Nuridean, will you go to tema later?” “yes, somehow”. Always with the emphasis on “how” and the “some” in an unnaturally high pitch.
7. It is finished. There is no more. Usually you are told this when you want something the most, like fanchoco at the ISH market.
8. Small small. Used to describe a small amount. “You only speak small small twi”
9. I like it= I want it. It’s nice= I like it.
10. Ai! More of a noise than an expression, a high-pitched squeal of surprise or disapproval. Used by taxi drivers when you suggest a price that is “not good” or by the ladies at the market when you knock over an entire table of pens, rulers and notebooks with your huge, American backpack (not that I’ve had personal experience or anything).
I have also found that it’s very difficult to explain hypothetical situations. For example, when in a taxi and you want to know how far a certain place is and you ask “How long would it take to go to Adabraka?” The taxi driver always responds “Oh, you want to go to Adabraka? We go to Adabraka.” You have to say, “No, no no, how long WOULD it take?” You usually get the answer after several rounds of this.
Another thing that Ghanaians do to catch your attention is hiss. To produce this hiss, close your teeth and push your tongue up to the front of your teeth and make an “ssss” noise. I am constantly being hissed at. Ghanaians do not yell “Hey!” or even make a noise when they want to catch your attention, they just hiss. Once, I saw a university student, laden with three or four bags chasing down a tro-tro that he clearly needed to be on very badly, hissing after it. He did not yell, “Stop the tro-tro!” or “Hey!” or even “AHHHHH”, he just kept on hissing as though his life depended on it. I watched incredulously, completely sure that the tro-tro was not going to stop for the running hisser. Miraculously, the tro-tro stopped and began to back up to let him on. I think they can hear hissing through walls.
1. Obruni how are you? Everyone says this, from night market ladies, to young children, to professors and vendors calling to you on the street, and always with an emphasis on the “un” in Obruni.
2. What do you want? A polite and completely routine way of asking “what would you like?”. You hear this in every stall at a market.
3. Please I’m coming. Said when a Ghanaian wants you to wait for him. Assuring you that he will come back.
4. No Please. Used just like yes please is. I always laugh when I hear this one.
5. You go and come. Meaning, you will leave and then come back later. For example, if you don’t have enough money to pay the night market lady 50 pesewas for a bag of pineapple, you can go get the change and come back later.
6. Somehow. Used by my favorite taxi driver, Nuridean. “Somehow, I am tired.” “Nuridean, will you go to tema later?” “yes, somehow”. Always with the emphasis on “how” and the “some” in an unnaturally high pitch.
7. It is finished. There is no more. Usually you are told this when you want something the most, like fanchoco at the ISH market.
8. Small small. Used to describe a small amount. “You only speak small small twi”
9. I like it= I want it. It’s nice= I like it.
10. Ai! More of a noise than an expression, a high-pitched squeal of surprise or disapproval. Used by taxi drivers when you suggest a price that is “not good” or by the ladies at the market when you knock over an entire table of pens, rulers and notebooks with your huge, American backpack (not that I’ve had personal experience or anything).
I have also found that it’s very difficult to explain hypothetical situations. For example, when in a taxi and you want to know how far a certain place is and you ask “How long would it take to go to Adabraka?” The taxi driver always responds “Oh, you want to go to Adabraka? We go to Adabraka.” You have to say, “No, no no, how long WOULD it take?” You usually get the answer after several rounds of this.
Another thing that Ghanaians do to catch your attention is hiss. To produce this hiss, close your teeth and push your tongue up to the front of your teeth and make an “ssss” noise. I am constantly being hissed at. Ghanaians do not yell “Hey!” or even make a noise when they want to catch your attention, they just hiss. Once, I saw a university student, laden with three or four bags chasing down a tro-tro that he clearly needed to be on very badly, hissing after it. He did not yell, “Stop the tro-tro!” or “Hey!” or even “AHHHHH”, he just kept on hissing as though his life depended on it. I watched incredulously, completely sure that the tro-tro was not going to stop for the running hisser. Miraculously, the tro-tro stopped and began to back up to let him on. I think they can hear hissing through walls.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
village on stilts
True to Ghanaian traveling form, we headed out of Accra on Friday morning, November 6, after a week full of classes- our second to last week of instruction before finals!
Our destination: Nzulezo, the 500-year old village on stilts, situated on the fresh-water Lake Amansuri at the westernmost point of Ghana, almost to Cote d’Ivoire. Legend has it that refugees driven out of present-day Nigeria by another tribe built the raised village. The refugees were tricked by spirits into building their village in a wetlands area and now their village hovers above the black waters of Lake Amansuri.
We began our long journey (we heard about 10 hours long) with a three and a half hour tro-tro to the coastal town of Takoradi, one of Ghana’s largest cities. After dinner and an early night, we got up the next morning and trudged to the tro-tro station and began our three-hour ride to Beyin, another town along the coast. The drive was bumpy but beautiful. We could see the palm-tree lined beach almost the entire way, and in between highways were picturesque villages with women carrying baskets on their heads and half-clothed children running around the dirt roads.
Once we finally reached Beyin, we had to check in with the Ghana Wildlife Commission, who organizes all of the trips to Nzulezo. They definitely know how to profit off tourists: after paying a student fee to visit the village, a canoe fee, an overnight fee and a camera fee, I was 20 cedis poorer and ready to see this famed village.
The only way to get to Nzuelzo is by dugout canoe, paddled and punted expertly by our guide, Eben, an Nzuelzo resident and employee of the GWC. On the hour-long canoe ride, he pointed out fish traps that the locals use to catch tilapia, catfish and mudfish. We rowed peacefully past beds of water lilies, green overgrown forests and narrow passageways reminiscent of Pocahontas until we reached an open expanse of a lake that reflected all of the surrounding trees on its surface. It was so beautiful. The water was so dark and still, and as Eben rowed us towards the stilted wood and raffia structures on the edge of the lake I felt like I was in a Discovery Channel show, exploring the furthest reaches of Africa. The lake, as it turns out, is part of the Amansuri Wetlands, which is the largest stand of intact swamp forest in Ghana. Our canoe pulled up to the raffia walkway and we unloaded our backpacks onto the somewhat precarious structure. The walkway was already crowded with Ghanaian tourists; mostly middle school students dressed in uniforms on field trips.
Eben told us that we could set our things in our rooms and then have a tour of the village and meet the chief. He also told us that we would need to buy the chief a bottle of gin, made at the nearby distillery, or give him 7 cedis, the equivalent price. We opted for the 7 cedis option as another Nzuelzo resident in charge of the guesthouse showed us our rooms. The rooms were made entirely out of wood and raffia, with the thin walls covered with old German and Italian newspaper and magazine ads. No lights, just a small window that looked out on the outskirts of Nzuelzo and the expansive lake.
The grand tour took all of 10 minutes. Eben showed us the typical Nzulezo houses, which looked exactly like our guesthouse rooms, except the walls were not covered with paper. The kitchens were located far from the houses, in open air, because of previous experiences with fires. I got the feeling as we were led down the wood dock lined with houses that we were not exactly welcome. Women looked up at us from their cooking disapprovingly and children shouted the routine, “Obruni! Obruni!” as we passed by. The friendly ones, as usual, were the boys. They all wanted to shake our hands, know where we were from and how we liked Nzulezo. Eben showed us the two stores- one containing crackers and water and the other selling small carved wooden canoes as souvenirs.
We reached the chief’s arena, a roofed porch with plastic chairs in rows facing a large wooden desk at the front, where the chief was seated. We learned that the actual chief was in Accra “receiving treatment”; for what, we weren’t sure. So in the meantime, they had an interim chief with bloodshot eyes and a blank expression. We sat in four plastic chairs closest to his desk, expecting to receive the promised 400-year history of Nzulezo in exchange for our 7 cedis. Instead, we got more blank stares from the questionable-looking chief and lots of questions from the young men of Nzulezo. They started out with the routine questions,
‘Where from?’
‘How long in Ghana?’
‘How do you find Ghana?’ (meaning what do we think of Ghana)
And then the conversation takes an inevitable turn- ‘Obama!’ And we discuss how great of a man Obama is, an opinion with which all Ghanaians seem to be in agreement.
We tried to turn the questions on them, asking how long the village had been there, whether they hosted any festivals, what their main source of income was. All questions we posed to the chief but he either couldn’t speak English or just didn’t want to talk to us, because our answers came in symphony form- from about four young adult aged males and a 30ish teacher visiting with his class on a field trip. We learned that the village had been there for 500 years, and no they did not have any festivals, and that income consisted of gin and fish. After a few more questions, Eben told us the chief was tired and done with questions so that we needed to move on with our tour.
He showed us the Roman Catholic Church, a precariously leaning structure with a colorfully decorated altar and adorned with pictures of crosses, hearts on fire and Jesus that you can buy at any tro-tro station for less than 3 US dollars.
We went back to our rooms, exhausted from our travel and all the time spent in the sun. I couldn’t help but wonder, although this village was sponsored by the GWC and was really interesting and beautiful, was it all a big hoax? It seems so unlikely that such a small village of 450 residents could compete with huge fishing industries like in coastal Accra and Tema. Also, why couldn’t the chief tell us any kind of history about his village? The village structures themselves were decrepit and run down, I had to be careful which part of the dock I stepped on because some of those boards looked pretty loose to me.
As we relaxed, the children played and splashed in the water, jumping into the black lake from the back of their houses. As it got dark, we ate fufu and learned that the bathroom was a hole carved in the deck above the water surrounded by three walls and a thin curtain.
Then the music started. All over Ghana, no matter if it’s Cape Coast, Hohoe, Accra, or apparently Nzulezo, Ghanaians love to play music really, really loudly. As the proprietor Daniel put in a cassette tape of Ghanaian raggaeton-like music, all of the children, most of them half-clothed, ran to the guesthouse bar and began shaking their hips and jumping to the music. The seemingly fragile structure shook above the water and more Nzulezo residents piled into the sweaty room, drinking gin and dancing long into the night. They demanded we dance with them, grabbed our hands and led us to the crowded center of the room. Outside, the air was still and cool, the lake still and the sky above was scattered with bright stars. It was absolutely perfect.
Although, just to make sure that we didn’t forget we were in Ghana, my night was relatively sleepless thanks to the scuttling of cockroaches underneath the thin newspapered walls.
After each of these trips, it’s hard for me to qualify them in one word, but I will try. For Nzuelzo, I would call it arranged authenticity. While I don’t doubt that the people of Nzulezo live exactly the way we saw, the constant demand for money is tiresome and sometimes makes me doubt the genuineness of it.
Our destination: Nzulezo, the 500-year old village on stilts, situated on the fresh-water Lake Amansuri at the westernmost point of Ghana, almost to Cote d’Ivoire. Legend has it that refugees driven out of present-day Nigeria by another tribe built the raised village. The refugees were tricked by spirits into building their village in a wetlands area and now their village hovers above the black waters of Lake Amansuri.
We began our long journey (we heard about 10 hours long) with a three and a half hour tro-tro to the coastal town of Takoradi, one of Ghana’s largest cities. After dinner and an early night, we got up the next morning and trudged to the tro-tro station and began our three-hour ride to Beyin, another town along the coast. The drive was bumpy but beautiful. We could see the palm-tree lined beach almost the entire way, and in between highways were picturesque villages with women carrying baskets on their heads and half-clothed children running around the dirt roads.
Once we finally reached Beyin, we had to check in with the Ghana Wildlife Commission, who organizes all of the trips to Nzulezo. They definitely know how to profit off tourists: after paying a student fee to visit the village, a canoe fee, an overnight fee and a camera fee, I was 20 cedis poorer and ready to see this famed village.
The only way to get to Nzuelzo is by dugout canoe, paddled and punted expertly by our guide, Eben, an Nzuelzo resident and employee of the GWC. On the hour-long canoe ride, he pointed out fish traps that the locals use to catch tilapia, catfish and mudfish. We rowed peacefully past beds of water lilies, green overgrown forests and narrow passageways reminiscent of Pocahontas until we reached an open expanse of a lake that reflected all of the surrounding trees on its surface. It was so beautiful. The water was so dark and still, and as Eben rowed us towards the stilted wood and raffia structures on the edge of the lake I felt like I was in a Discovery Channel show, exploring the furthest reaches of Africa. The lake, as it turns out, is part of the Amansuri Wetlands, which is the largest stand of intact swamp forest in Ghana. Our canoe pulled up to the raffia walkway and we unloaded our backpacks onto the somewhat precarious structure. The walkway was already crowded with Ghanaian tourists; mostly middle school students dressed in uniforms on field trips.
Eben told us that we could set our things in our rooms and then have a tour of the village and meet the chief. He also told us that we would need to buy the chief a bottle of gin, made at the nearby distillery, or give him 7 cedis, the equivalent price. We opted for the 7 cedis option as another Nzuelzo resident in charge of the guesthouse showed us our rooms. The rooms were made entirely out of wood and raffia, with the thin walls covered with old German and Italian newspaper and magazine ads. No lights, just a small window that looked out on the outskirts of Nzuelzo and the expansive lake.
The grand tour took all of 10 minutes. Eben showed us the typical Nzulezo houses, which looked exactly like our guesthouse rooms, except the walls were not covered with paper. The kitchens were located far from the houses, in open air, because of previous experiences with fires. I got the feeling as we were led down the wood dock lined with houses that we were not exactly welcome. Women looked up at us from their cooking disapprovingly and children shouted the routine, “Obruni! Obruni!” as we passed by. The friendly ones, as usual, were the boys. They all wanted to shake our hands, know where we were from and how we liked Nzulezo. Eben showed us the two stores- one containing crackers and water and the other selling small carved wooden canoes as souvenirs.
We reached the chief’s arena, a roofed porch with plastic chairs in rows facing a large wooden desk at the front, where the chief was seated. We learned that the actual chief was in Accra “receiving treatment”; for what, we weren’t sure. So in the meantime, they had an interim chief with bloodshot eyes and a blank expression. We sat in four plastic chairs closest to his desk, expecting to receive the promised 400-year history of Nzulezo in exchange for our 7 cedis. Instead, we got more blank stares from the questionable-looking chief and lots of questions from the young men of Nzulezo. They started out with the routine questions,
‘Where from?’
‘How long in Ghana?’
‘How do you find Ghana?’ (meaning what do we think of Ghana)
And then the conversation takes an inevitable turn- ‘Obama!’ And we discuss how great of a man Obama is, an opinion with which all Ghanaians seem to be in agreement.
We tried to turn the questions on them, asking how long the village had been there, whether they hosted any festivals, what their main source of income was. All questions we posed to the chief but he either couldn’t speak English or just didn’t want to talk to us, because our answers came in symphony form- from about four young adult aged males and a 30ish teacher visiting with his class on a field trip. We learned that the village had been there for 500 years, and no they did not have any festivals, and that income consisted of gin and fish. After a few more questions, Eben told us the chief was tired and done with questions so that we needed to move on with our tour.
He showed us the Roman Catholic Church, a precariously leaning structure with a colorfully decorated altar and adorned with pictures of crosses, hearts on fire and Jesus that you can buy at any tro-tro station for less than 3 US dollars.
We went back to our rooms, exhausted from our travel and all the time spent in the sun. I couldn’t help but wonder, although this village was sponsored by the GWC and was really interesting and beautiful, was it all a big hoax? It seems so unlikely that such a small village of 450 residents could compete with huge fishing industries like in coastal Accra and Tema. Also, why couldn’t the chief tell us any kind of history about his village? The village structures themselves were decrepit and run down, I had to be careful which part of the dock I stepped on because some of those boards looked pretty loose to me.
As we relaxed, the children played and splashed in the water, jumping into the black lake from the back of their houses. As it got dark, we ate fufu and learned that the bathroom was a hole carved in the deck above the water surrounded by three walls and a thin curtain.
Then the music started. All over Ghana, no matter if it’s Cape Coast, Hohoe, Accra, or apparently Nzulezo, Ghanaians love to play music really, really loudly. As the proprietor Daniel put in a cassette tape of Ghanaian raggaeton-like music, all of the children, most of them half-clothed, ran to the guesthouse bar and began shaking their hips and jumping to the music. The seemingly fragile structure shook above the water and more Nzulezo residents piled into the sweaty room, drinking gin and dancing long into the night. They demanded we dance with them, grabbed our hands and led us to the crowded center of the room. Outside, the air was still and cool, the lake still and the sky above was scattered with bright stars. It was absolutely perfect.
Although, just to make sure that we didn’t forget we were in Ghana, my night was relatively sleepless thanks to the scuttling of cockroaches underneath the thin newspapered walls.
After each of these trips, it’s hard for me to qualify them in one word, but I will try. For Nzuelzo, I would call it arranged authenticity. While I don’t doubt that the people of Nzulezo live exactly the way we saw, the constant demand for money is tiresome and sometimes makes me doubt the genuineness of it.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
lately
After last weekend, I can now say that I have been to two african countries!
After hearing of the frenchness that is Togo, we decided we had to see for ourselves. Heather, Grace, Andi and packed our backpacks (we have become experts at packing light), boarded a tro-tro and set off for the border town of Aflao. We arrived at around 8 pm, and had to apply for Visas at the border office. We paid the 48 cedis for a week-long visa to Togo, got some really cool-looking stamps on our passports, received marriage proposals from all of the immigration officers, and crossed the border to Togo!
Immediately as we stepped into the new country, we were surrounded by motorcycles, baguettes and french-speaking people. We made our way to a hotel, had dinner and slept well until the next morning.
We heard rumors about the motorcycles-as-taxis, so we decided to see if they were true. Indeed, when we stepped out of our hotel the next morning the streets were bustling with motorcycles; the drivers all Togolese, and each moto with room on the back for one passenger. We hailed four taximotos (we are getting good at hailing -cabs now- and also at negotiating the price) and told them- in french, no less- to take us to a busy market. We figured from there we could get a feel for the capital city of Lome and find a restaurant. We all held on for dear life as our taxi drivers weaved through the car traffic, cut close corners and yelled for pedestrians to get out of their way. (don't worry, mom, i am alive and that's all that matters!) That's something universal about Africa: cars DO NOT stop for pedestrians, even if they are in the middle of the road. Coming from a place like California where pedestrians can walk out in the middle of oncoming traffic and cars will screech to a stop, it's quite a shock to learn that's not how they do things here.
We pulled up to a bustling market where people sold goods like huge, straw hats, leather belts, fruit, vegetables. We walked for a long time through this market, and as we walked, the vendors yelled "Ca va?" at us.
The rest of the day was spent in a similar fashion. We discovered the beach, a beautiful, sandy expanse of land right on the outskirts of Lome. The water was a picturesque azure blue. We felt a little disoriented in this new place. It was so different from Accra. It felt very European: wide streets, french-style street signs (they actually have street signs!) and french everywhere. It was exciting to be able to communicate with people and actually use my french!
that night, we went to a restaurant where we could watch the football game: under 20 world cup finals, ghana vs. brazil. Even in Togo, everyone was rooting for ghana! As the game came to an end, and there were two intense rounds of shoot-offs (no idea what they're called) and finally ghana won! The entire place erupted in screams, chanting and songs. It was such a cool thing to witness: the first time an African country has ever won a world cup, and we were there! We all felt a swell of Ghana Pride as we watched the game, and it occurred to me that Ghana has become my home away from home. We were all homesick for Accra, and wanted to return soon.
The next morning we got up early and took taximotos to the Fetish market. In Togo, something like 60 % of the population practices the Vodun religion, which is basically Voodoo. It's not associated with "black magic" and creepy things like that. It's a legitimate religion that many Togolese practice. One aspect of Vodun that is unique is its use of fetishes for cures to diseases and other ailments. we pulled up to the market, which was a large dirt patch lined with stalls. In front of the stalls were tables filled with dead, dried out animals. Some were skeletons and skulls: horses, lizards, birds, cats. Some were entire animals: huge snakes, whole bugs, birds with wings still on them. Other tables had parts of animals: elephant tusks, cow horns, gorilla feet. Everywhere I looked there were parts of animals dried out by the african sun. A man from the market took us on a short tour, explaining what each animal part was used for (ground up elephant tusks were used to cure elephantitis, similarly dog is used to cure rabies from dog bites)- all in french. So he told me in french, and then I translated to my friends. After our tour, we went into the hut of the fetish priest to be blessed by him. After he blessed us with good health, happiness and safe travels, he explained the various fetishes and what they are used for. There is a talisman used to ward off evil spirits, one to protect travelers, and another to bless the family home. It was one of the coolest experiences I've had and unlike anything I've ever seen. It was all very mystical and spiritual.
On the way home from Togo, after we crossed the border and were three hours into
We left Togo with a different taste of Africa. I am so lucky that I am able to experience all these new places and meet amazing people, but I was equally as happy to return to Accra.
After hearing of the frenchness that is Togo, we decided we had to see for ourselves. Heather, Grace, Andi and packed our backpacks (we have become experts at packing light), boarded a tro-tro and set off for the border town of Aflao. We arrived at around 8 pm, and had to apply for Visas at the border office. We paid the 48 cedis for a week-long visa to Togo, got some really cool-looking stamps on our passports, received marriage proposals from all of the immigration officers, and crossed the border to Togo!
Immediately as we stepped into the new country, we were surrounded by motorcycles, baguettes and french-speaking people. We made our way to a hotel, had dinner and slept well until the next morning.
We heard rumors about the motorcycles-as-taxis, so we decided to see if they were true. Indeed, when we stepped out of our hotel the next morning the streets were bustling with motorcycles; the drivers all Togolese, and each moto with room on the back for one passenger. We hailed four taximotos (we are getting good at hailing -cabs now- and also at negotiating the price) and told them- in french, no less- to take us to a busy market. We figured from there we could get a feel for the capital city of Lome and find a restaurant. We all held on for dear life as our taxi drivers weaved through the car traffic, cut close corners and yelled for pedestrians to get out of their way. (don't worry, mom, i am alive and that's all that matters!) That's something universal about Africa: cars DO NOT stop for pedestrians, even if they are in the middle of the road. Coming from a place like California where pedestrians can walk out in the middle of oncoming traffic and cars will screech to a stop, it's quite a shock to learn that's not how they do things here.
We pulled up to a bustling market where people sold goods like huge, straw hats, leather belts, fruit, vegetables. We walked for a long time through this market, and as we walked, the vendors yelled "Ca va?" at us.
The rest of the day was spent in a similar fashion. We discovered the beach, a beautiful, sandy expanse of land right on the outskirts of Lome. The water was a picturesque azure blue. We felt a little disoriented in this new place. It was so different from Accra. It felt very European: wide streets, french-style street signs (they actually have street signs!) and french everywhere. It was exciting to be able to communicate with people and actually use my french!
that night, we went to a restaurant where we could watch the football game: under 20 world cup finals, ghana vs. brazil. Even in Togo, everyone was rooting for ghana! As the game came to an end, and there were two intense rounds of shoot-offs (no idea what they're called) and finally ghana won! The entire place erupted in screams, chanting and songs. It was such a cool thing to witness: the first time an African country has ever won a world cup, and we were there! We all felt a swell of Ghana Pride as we watched the game, and it occurred to me that Ghana has become my home away from home. We were all homesick for Accra, and wanted to return soon.
The next morning we got up early and took taximotos to the Fetish market. In Togo, something like 60 % of the population practices the Vodun religion, which is basically Voodoo. It's not associated with "black magic" and creepy things like that. It's a legitimate religion that many Togolese practice. One aspect of Vodun that is unique is its use of fetishes for cures to diseases and other ailments. we pulled up to the market, which was a large dirt patch lined with stalls. In front of the stalls were tables filled with dead, dried out animals. Some were skeletons and skulls: horses, lizards, birds, cats. Some were entire animals: huge snakes, whole bugs, birds with wings still on them. Other tables had parts of animals: elephant tusks, cow horns, gorilla feet. Everywhere I looked there were parts of animals dried out by the african sun. A man from the market took us on a short tour, explaining what each animal part was used for (ground up elephant tusks were used to cure elephantitis, similarly dog is used to cure rabies from dog bites)- all in french. So he told me in french, and then I translated to my friends. After our tour, we went into the hut of the fetish priest to be blessed by him. After he blessed us with good health, happiness and safe travels, he explained the various fetishes and what they are used for. There is a talisman used to ward off evil spirits, one to protect travelers, and another to bless the family home. It was one of the coolest experiences I've had and unlike anything I've ever seen. It was all very mystical and spiritual.
On the way home from Togo, after we crossed the border and were three hours into
We left Togo with a different taste of Africa. I am so lucky that I am able to experience all these new places and meet amazing people, but I was equally as happy to return to Accra.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
the best things in life are free
it's been awhile!
lately, my life in ghana has consisted of: a much-needed movie night at the Accra Mall to see Cloudy With A Chance of Meatballs; classes becoming much more interesting- even got a few paper assignments; got and then promptly quit an internship at the University Hosptial, which consisted of me sitting around for three hours, watching the nurses of the empty children's ward watch the television, got an internship at the New Horizon Special School; began volunteering at the Beacon House Children's Home; found a hot dog stand called Hot On Wheels- YES; reading A LOT- currently on The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand (for the second time); saw pentecostals roaming the fields at night speaking in tongues; went to a dance performance on campus, very good!; movie nights in our room where six of us crowd around a tiny computer screen just to get some american entertainment; traveled spontaneously to Kokrobite, a charming and beautiful beach town where we discovered a great Italian restaurant and hung out with amazing people and slept in tents; picked up an entire funeral party on our bus on the way back to Accra; found a great market with unique crafts and paintings; made great Ghanaian friends and had them over for burrito night- they were confused, we talked them through the constructio and consumption of the enigmatic burrito; bought a world map, a Ghana map and an Accra map to document our past and plan our future travels; embarked on a failed trip to Benin to see a soccer game- we were rejected at the Togo border; fed the messiest baby ALIVE at the children's home, came home with rice-covered clothes...
Needless to say, life moves fast here! This weekend, we are planning on traveling back to Togo, this time to the capital Lome. Apparently it is quite french! I've heard rumors of baguettes, covered sewers and motorcycles as public transportation.
It's amazing to be able to pick up and travel wherever and whenever we want. I've never experienced this kind of freedom and it is invigorating! School is not that demanding (a 65 percent is an A) and there is just so much to see...how can I not travel?
Peace and love from ghana.
lately, my life in ghana has consisted of: a much-needed movie night at the Accra Mall to see Cloudy With A Chance of Meatballs; classes becoming much more interesting- even got a few paper assignments; got and then promptly quit an internship at the University Hosptial, which consisted of me sitting around for three hours, watching the nurses of the empty children's ward watch the television, got an internship at the New Horizon Special School; began volunteering at the Beacon House Children's Home; found a hot dog stand called Hot On Wheels- YES; reading A LOT- currently on The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand (for the second time); saw pentecostals roaming the fields at night speaking in tongues; went to a dance performance on campus, very good!; movie nights in our room where six of us crowd around a tiny computer screen just to get some american entertainment; traveled spontaneously to Kokrobite, a charming and beautiful beach town where we discovered a great Italian restaurant and hung out with amazing people and slept in tents; picked up an entire funeral party on our bus on the way back to Accra; found a great market with unique crafts and paintings; made great Ghanaian friends and had them over for burrito night- they were confused, we talked them through the constructio and consumption of the enigmatic burrito; bought a world map, a Ghana map and an Accra map to document our past and plan our future travels; embarked on a failed trip to Benin to see a soccer game- we were rejected at the Togo border; fed the messiest baby ALIVE at the children's home, came home with rice-covered clothes...
Needless to say, life moves fast here! This weekend, we are planning on traveling back to Togo, this time to the capital Lome. Apparently it is quite french! I've heard rumors of baguettes, covered sewers and motorcycles as public transportation.
It's amazing to be able to pick up and travel wherever and whenever we want. I've never experienced this kind of freedom and it is invigorating! School is not that demanding (a 65 percent is an A) and there is just so much to see...how can I not travel?
Peace and love from ghana.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
travel days two and three
We woke up Saturday morning with ambition to climb the lower and upper Wli falls. Wli is about a 30-minute tro-tro ride from Hohoe, but the thing about tro-tros is that you have to wait until one fills up before it leaves. There is no set departure time so sometimes it takes quite awhile to get somewhere.
this is a really bad tro-tro
We waited for about half an hour before we left for Wli. When we approached the tro-tro after paying our fare (1 ghana cedi), the very backseat of the van was facing outwards like in old Volvo station wagons. Andi, Heather, Grace and I screamed in delight when we realized we were going to be able to sit backwards! I remember being young and wishing so bad that my mom would buy a Volvo JUST so my sister and I could sit backwards; it was so different, new and exciting! Our own little space in the back of a car! Our excitement really confused the Ghanaians, and as the driver went to turn the seat back around to its normal position, we urgently stopped him. The four of us piled into the van, sitting backwards facing the market. Ghanaians laughed at us as they walked by and were so confused as to why we were so excited to sit the wrong way. I get the feeling a lot of times that Ghanaians see us as children, unaware of cultural customs and often breaking taboos. But we are earnest and well-intentioned so they just laugh, half amused at us and half embarrassed by us.
SO excited
We arrived at Wli, and went straight to the tourist center where we paid to visit the falls and climb the upper part, which required a guide. Alex was pretty excited that he got to lead four obrunis through the rainforest, and he stopped often to show us native plants and animals- there were colorful butterflies everywhere! As we neared the lower falls, we could hear the roar of the water. After a 40-minute walk, Alex signaled the turn off point to the steep upper falls hike. We changed from flip-flops into tennis shoes when we saw the narrow vertical trail and proceeded with enthusiasm and determination. It’s pretty safe to say that it was the HARDEST hike I have ever attempted in my LIFE! The trail was barely wide enough for one person and so steep that Alex outfitted all of us with long, smooth walking sticks to keep us from falling backwards down the mountain. Just to make us feel even more inadequate, Alex sprinted up the hill in long jeans and cheap sandals. As we panted up the overgrown trail, we tried to justify our slow progress: it was late in the day, we hadn’t eaten since breakfast, we are white?? Finally Andi and I fell so far behind and were so delirious with laughter that the other three had to stop and wait for us. We emerged from the green brush, sweaty and crying from laughing so hard, and Alex promptly informed us that he didn’t think the two of us “were fit to continue the hike”.
Cool, thanks, Alex.
Anyways we all agreed we would all be much happier swimming in the lower falls’ pool and taking pictures of how small we looked against the backdrop of the tall waterfall, so we somewhat reluctantly turned around and practically slid down the mountain as the rain came down. The canopy of trees completely protected us from the water.
Wli Falls
That night at dinner we decided that since we were so close to the Togo border (Wli is a border town), we should go there for the day. The next morning, we packed our things and took a taxi to the border, which consisted of a set of mud-walled houses painted bright colors on the Ghana side and two wooden posts with a string tied between them to indicate the physical border. We walked into the most populated office, weighed down by all our backpacks, to five doubtful looking Ghanaian immigration officials. We earnestly explained our desire to visit Togo for the day, and all simultaneously spit information at them about how we were students at the University of Ghana, from California, trying to impress them with a few Twi words, our Ghanaian names, dances, anything that would help us convince these straightlaced officials. They erupted into laughter and played our game with us, quizzing us on aspects of Ghanaian culture and indulging our showy performance before solemnly telling us that without passports we were definitely not going to Togo. We explained the problem: the US Embassy has our passports because they are in the process of granting us a six-month Multiple Entry Visa, and we did not have our passports back yet. I was pretty sure at this point that there was no way they were letting us into Togo. Finally after some begging, one officer got his superior, who summoned the “leader” to speak with him in his office (the other room of the office, separated from the main room by a lacy, mangled curtain). We pushed Andi into the other room, trusting her ability to charm almost any Ghanaian with her candid humor. Heather, Grace and I kept our conversation alive with the other officers, learning that some of them went to college and studied Political science, and that others had been trained and employed by the army and were placed at the border for a few years. Andi emerged from the curtain triumphant, later telling us that the man wasn’t really allowed to let us into Togo without passports, and that it would cost us 10 cedis each, which we gladly paid. He asked Andi leading questions like, “So, I hear you’re a student. Are you doing some kind of project in Togo?” (raises eyebrows meaningfully) To which Andi answered, “Ahhhh, yes, we are all students studying the cultural differences between Ghana and Togo.” (raises eyebrows back at him) We were to be smuggled into Togo! We would meet the “secrecy service” at the Togo border and we were not to speak, just smile and pretend we were visiting our friend in Ghana, who wanted to show us Togo.
Finally, we passed over the string border and into No Man’s Land! The four of us followed our assigned immigration officer, Mawuli, like little ducks. We trailed behind him excitedly, half expecting some kind of sign that we were about to cross into another country- like a time warp, or a ceremony at least. There was nothing of the sort- just a normal looking man on a motorcycle who shook our hands and welcomed us into Togo under another string border. Togo is absolutely beautiful. Just like the Volta Region of Ghana, it is green, lush and humid. It’s really a part of the Volta Region, but arbitrary European borders made it a different country. At the border there was a village with thatched roof huts, people sitting outside cooking and waving at us, and children staring at us. There were goats, turkeys, chickens and roosters everywhere making various noises. The rainy climate creates a golden, healthy glow over everything. Most people in Togo speak Ewe, the native language also spoken in the Volta Region, but they also speak French! It was the coolest thing to converse with the people in French- it really made me feel like I was in a different place, whereas in Ghana we speak English all the time. We walked through two more picturesque villages, all with equally beautiful scenery and people.
We stopped at the third village, called Yikpa Dzigbe, which was the busiest. All the kids followed us in a trail, begging us to take pictures of them. The adults wanted to talk to us- to tell us the history of their lives and their village. One man, Sylvanus, offered to take us on a hike up the nearby mountain, promising an amazing view of Togo and Ghana at the top. Given our previous hiking performance, we were hesitant but he promised it was short so we said ok. We all trailed through the village to the trail- Sylvanus with his three year old daughter on his back, Mawuli, another man from the village, his two sons, and us four, in rainbow sandals, skirts and carrying our purses. They led us straight up- it was really steep so of course Andi and I brought up the rear, panting and laughing uncontrollably, causing Mawuli to turn around frequently and say, “I’m so sorry! Are you alright?” which just made me laugh harder. Our cosmopolitan group finally reached the top, and it was SO worth it. There was green as far as I could see, villages interspersed with the greenery, and on all sides we were surrounded by massive, majestic mountains. Then we saw the rain. It came towards us like a thick sheet, advancing quickly, so we turned around and started back down the mountain. The rain hit hard, pouring and monsooning, completely drenching all of us. It was definitely harder than any shower pressure I have experienced thus far in Ghana. And just when I thought the rain would let up, it would pelt down even harder as we slipped down the mountain in the mud. It was so much fun, traipsing down this crazy steep mudslide by a crazy barefooted village man, all of us trying to get down together.
We finally reached the village, and were met by screaming children welcoming us back and celebrating the obrunis’ triumphant survival. Sylvanus led us to his modest hut, where he presented us with towels and insisted that he help us wash the mud off our clothes and let them dry for a little while. In the meantime, we asked Sylvanus about his life- his mother is Ghanaian, his father Togolese, so he is a citizen of both places. He prefers Ghana because of their advanced democracy and modernization. Togo still has some problems with democracy to work out. He told us about his religion, that he is Christian and is not appalled when we told him we are not exactly religious as most Ghanaians do. Instead, he assured us that “God is in your heart” and that you don’t need a church to believe. He believes that his ancestors are always present, and that certain aspects of them can be reincarnated in young children. After the rain finally slowed down, Sylvanus made us promise we would all meet again someday, and we exchanged contact information. Walking back to Ghana was even more beautiful in the late afternoon post-rain sun shining on everything glazed with rainwater. Again, we had a parade to see us off back across the border. We were all tired but really happy.
We crossed back over the border to Ghana, and Mawuli took us to a nearby lodge run by a German couple- the Waterfall lodge, only 250 m from the tourist center. The four of us were shown to a four-bed rotund yurt-like hut, which we were ecstatic about. We said goodbye to Mawuli, thanked him endlessly for being our protector and hanging out with us for the day, and insisted that he visit us whenever he comes to Accra.
It was the most amazing experience I have had thus far in Ghana, and one of my favorite memories of my life. I love the humanity of it all, of meeting people at random and feeling so welcome, of forging unlikely friendships with people so different from yourself, and of the exquisite and humble beauty of rural Africa.
As we were driving back to Accra yesterday, leaving the green, I remembered a quote from the movie American Beauty: “its hard to stay mad when there’s so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I’m seeing it all at once and it’s too much. My heart fills up like a balloon that’s about to burst. And then I remember to relax and stop trying to hold onto it. And then it flows through me like rain and I can’t feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid life.” That’s how I felt in Togo. It was so simplistically beautiful, and I felt I could not take enough pictures to do it justice. I wanted to remember it, to cement it into my mind and was panicked when I couldn’t. When I relaxed and just enjoyed the day and felt humbled, happy and fulfilled, I knew that I had.
this is a really bad tro-tro
We waited for about half an hour before we left for Wli. When we approached the tro-tro after paying our fare (1 ghana cedi), the very backseat of the van was facing outwards like in old Volvo station wagons. Andi, Heather, Grace and I screamed in delight when we realized we were going to be able to sit backwards! I remember being young and wishing so bad that my mom would buy a Volvo JUST so my sister and I could sit backwards; it was so different, new and exciting! Our own little space in the back of a car! Our excitement really confused the Ghanaians, and as the driver went to turn the seat back around to its normal position, we urgently stopped him. The four of us piled into the van, sitting backwards facing the market. Ghanaians laughed at us as they walked by and were so confused as to why we were so excited to sit the wrong way. I get the feeling a lot of times that Ghanaians see us as children, unaware of cultural customs and often breaking taboos. But we are earnest and well-intentioned so they just laugh, half amused at us and half embarrassed by us.
SO excited
We arrived at Wli, and went straight to the tourist center where we paid to visit the falls and climb the upper part, which required a guide. Alex was pretty excited that he got to lead four obrunis through the rainforest, and he stopped often to show us native plants and animals- there were colorful butterflies everywhere! As we neared the lower falls, we could hear the roar of the water. After a 40-minute walk, Alex signaled the turn off point to the steep upper falls hike. We changed from flip-flops into tennis shoes when we saw the narrow vertical trail and proceeded with enthusiasm and determination. It’s pretty safe to say that it was the HARDEST hike I have ever attempted in my LIFE! The trail was barely wide enough for one person and so steep that Alex outfitted all of us with long, smooth walking sticks to keep us from falling backwards down the mountain. Just to make us feel even more inadequate, Alex sprinted up the hill in long jeans and cheap sandals. As we panted up the overgrown trail, we tried to justify our slow progress: it was late in the day, we hadn’t eaten since breakfast, we are white?? Finally Andi and I fell so far behind and were so delirious with laughter that the other three had to stop and wait for us. We emerged from the green brush, sweaty and crying from laughing so hard, and Alex promptly informed us that he didn’t think the two of us “were fit to continue the hike”.
Cool, thanks, Alex.
Anyways we all agreed we would all be much happier swimming in the lower falls’ pool and taking pictures of how small we looked against the backdrop of the tall waterfall, so we somewhat reluctantly turned around and practically slid down the mountain as the rain came down. The canopy of trees completely protected us from the water.
Wli Falls
That night at dinner we decided that since we were so close to the Togo border (Wli is a border town), we should go there for the day. The next morning, we packed our things and took a taxi to the border, which consisted of a set of mud-walled houses painted bright colors on the Ghana side and two wooden posts with a string tied between them to indicate the physical border. We walked into the most populated office, weighed down by all our backpacks, to five doubtful looking Ghanaian immigration officials. We earnestly explained our desire to visit Togo for the day, and all simultaneously spit information at them about how we were students at the University of Ghana, from California, trying to impress them with a few Twi words, our Ghanaian names, dances, anything that would help us convince these straightlaced officials. They erupted into laughter and played our game with us, quizzing us on aspects of Ghanaian culture and indulging our showy performance before solemnly telling us that without passports we were definitely not going to Togo. We explained the problem: the US Embassy has our passports because they are in the process of granting us a six-month Multiple Entry Visa, and we did not have our passports back yet. I was pretty sure at this point that there was no way they were letting us into Togo. Finally after some begging, one officer got his superior, who summoned the “leader” to speak with him in his office (the other room of the office, separated from the main room by a lacy, mangled curtain). We pushed Andi into the other room, trusting her ability to charm almost any Ghanaian with her candid humor. Heather, Grace and I kept our conversation alive with the other officers, learning that some of them went to college and studied Political science, and that others had been trained and employed by the army and were placed at the border for a few years. Andi emerged from the curtain triumphant, later telling us that the man wasn’t really allowed to let us into Togo without passports, and that it would cost us 10 cedis each, which we gladly paid. He asked Andi leading questions like, “So, I hear you’re a student. Are you doing some kind of project in Togo?” (raises eyebrows meaningfully) To which Andi answered, “Ahhhh, yes, we are all students studying the cultural differences between Ghana and Togo.” (raises eyebrows back at him) We were to be smuggled into Togo! We would meet the “secrecy service” at the Togo border and we were not to speak, just smile and pretend we were visiting our friend in Ghana, who wanted to show us Togo.
Finally, we passed over the string border and into No Man’s Land! The four of us followed our assigned immigration officer, Mawuli, like little ducks. We trailed behind him excitedly, half expecting some kind of sign that we were about to cross into another country- like a time warp, or a ceremony at least. There was nothing of the sort- just a normal looking man on a motorcycle who shook our hands and welcomed us into Togo under another string border. Togo is absolutely beautiful. Just like the Volta Region of Ghana, it is green, lush and humid. It’s really a part of the Volta Region, but arbitrary European borders made it a different country. At the border there was a village with thatched roof huts, people sitting outside cooking and waving at us, and children staring at us. There were goats, turkeys, chickens and roosters everywhere making various noises. The rainy climate creates a golden, healthy glow over everything. Most people in Togo speak Ewe, the native language also spoken in the Volta Region, but they also speak French! It was the coolest thing to converse with the people in French- it really made me feel like I was in a different place, whereas in Ghana we speak English all the time. We walked through two more picturesque villages, all with equally beautiful scenery and people.
We stopped at the third village, called Yikpa Dzigbe, which was the busiest. All the kids followed us in a trail, begging us to take pictures of them. The adults wanted to talk to us- to tell us the history of their lives and their village. One man, Sylvanus, offered to take us on a hike up the nearby mountain, promising an amazing view of Togo and Ghana at the top. Given our previous hiking performance, we were hesitant but he promised it was short so we said ok. We all trailed through the village to the trail- Sylvanus with his three year old daughter on his back, Mawuli, another man from the village, his two sons, and us four, in rainbow sandals, skirts and carrying our purses. They led us straight up- it was really steep so of course Andi and I brought up the rear, panting and laughing uncontrollably, causing Mawuli to turn around frequently and say, “I’m so sorry! Are you alright?” which just made me laugh harder. Our cosmopolitan group finally reached the top, and it was SO worth it. There was green as far as I could see, villages interspersed with the greenery, and on all sides we were surrounded by massive, majestic mountains. Then we saw the rain. It came towards us like a thick sheet, advancing quickly, so we turned around and started back down the mountain. The rain hit hard, pouring and monsooning, completely drenching all of us. It was definitely harder than any shower pressure I have experienced thus far in Ghana. And just when I thought the rain would let up, it would pelt down even harder as we slipped down the mountain in the mud. It was so much fun, traipsing down this crazy steep mudslide by a crazy barefooted village man, all of us trying to get down together.
We finally reached the village, and were met by screaming children welcoming us back and celebrating the obrunis’ triumphant survival. Sylvanus led us to his modest hut, where he presented us with towels and insisted that he help us wash the mud off our clothes and let them dry for a little while. In the meantime, we asked Sylvanus about his life- his mother is Ghanaian, his father Togolese, so he is a citizen of both places. He prefers Ghana because of their advanced democracy and modernization. Togo still has some problems with democracy to work out. He told us about his religion, that he is Christian and is not appalled when we told him we are not exactly religious as most Ghanaians do. Instead, he assured us that “God is in your heart” and that you don’t need a church to believe. He believes that his ancestors are always present, and that certain aspects of them can be reincarnated in young children. After the rain finally slowed down, Sylvanus made us promise we would all meet again someday, and we exchanged contact information. Walking back to Ghana was even more beautiful in the late afternoon post-rain sun shining on everything glazed with rainwater. Again, we had a parade to see us off back across the border. We were all tired but really happy.
We crossed back over the border to Ghana, and Mawuli took us to a nearby lodge run by a German couple- the Waterfall lodge, only 250 m from the tourist center. The four of us were shown to a four-bed rotund yurt-like hut, which we were ecstatic about. We said goodbye to Mawuli, thanked him endlessly for being our protector and hanging out with us for the day, and insisted that he visit us whenever he comes to Accra.
It was the most amazing experience I have had thus far in Ghana, and one of my favorite memories of my life. I love the humanity of it all, of meeting people at random and feeling so welcome, of forging unlikely friendships with people so different from yourself, and of the exquisite and humble beauty of rural Africa.
As we were driving back to Accra yesterday, leaving the green, I remembered a quote from the movie American Beauty: “its hard to stay mad when there’s so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I’m seeing it all at once and it’s too much. My heart fills up like a balloon that’s about to burst. And then I remember to relax and stop trying to hold onto it. And then it flows through me like rain and I can’t feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid life.” That’s how I felt in Togo. It was so simplistically beautiful, and I felt I could not take enough pictures to do it justice. I wanted to remember it, to cement it into my mind and was panicked when I couldn’t. When I relaxed and just enjoyed the day and felt humbled, happy and fulfilled, I knew that I had.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
traveling the volta: day one
five-day weekends mean one thing in ghana: travel. this time, andi, heather, grace and i set off on thursday afternoon for the eastern Volta region, named for its proximity to the Volta River. We took a tro-tro there, arrived at 9 pm at Taste Lodge in Hohoe (pronounced ho-hoy)where a seemingly friendly family got us situated into two rooms. The next morning, during breakfast, the large and somewhat intimidating mother/owner/manageress sat down with us at our table and asked when we were planning on leaving. we told her we intended to stay two nights, and she said, "well, that's going to be a problem." it turns out even though we had reserved two rooms for two nights she had more important guests coming who needed our rooms and we needed to leave within half an hour.
WHAT??
We were a little shocked and then a little angry but we couldn't really do anything except agree to leave. It didn't help that she kept saying "I feel so so sorry" with a huge grin on her face. So as we were leaving we left a cracker on the bed, took the soap and purposely didn't put the pillows back inside just to show taste lodge that we were not happy that they were kicking us out.
so, the four of us started down the dirt road of Hohoe, homeless and annoyed, in search of a new hotel. we found the grand, which was more central, nicer and cheaper. score.
we took a tro-tro to the nearby small town of kpando in search of a women's pottery co-op we had read about in our ghana guidebook. from kpando, we took a taxi 5 minutes to a village called Fesi. The best thing about the Volta Region is how amazingly green everything is! All the plants look so healthy from the rain and the green color is unlike any I have ever seen before. The village was the first real village I have been to- it had thatched roof mud huts surrounded by green, tangled trees and children ran around excitedly as we arrived. We walked through the maze of huts to a clearing where a woman and three children were sitting. We asked them where the potters were, and the mother motioned for her three-year old daughter to show us the way. it was the funniest sight: four 20 year old girls being led down a mossy, green, tropical path by a local toddler. She led us to another clearing where we saw a huge building with a large porch and a smaller hut next to it. There were about five or six women on the porch, smoothing pots, adding designs to them or molding clay to start their next project. their pottery was absolutely beautiful and every piece is one of a kind because they are all hand made by the 30 or so women who work at the co-op. inside the building was a small warehouse featuring all of their handiwork. Their pieces are a beautiful black color, smooth and almost opal from drying in the kiln and in the sunlight. they are all amazingly talented; creating pots, vases, bowls, figurines, beads. there was a peace corps volunteer at the shed who is there teaching the women how to effectively run a small business- how to save their money and make a profit. I talked to one of the women for a while, and she showed me how she does her work- it is so meticulous! It takes her a long time to finish a small tea pot- because there are so many intricate designs on the exterior of the sculpture and also because she has to let it dry in the sun partially, and then fire it in the kiln. it was a great experience, and i loved getting an insight into the lives of these women and the Fesi residents. It painted a very different picture from Accra and I love it!
WHAT??
We were a little shocked and then a little angry but we couldn't really do anything except agree to leave. It didn't help that she kept saying "I feel so so sorry" with a huge grin on her face. So as we were leaving we left a cracker on the bed, took the soap and purposely didn't put the pillows back inside just to show taste lodge that we were not happy that they were kicking us out.
so, the four of us started down the dirt road of Hohoe, homeless and annoyed, in search of a new hotel. we found the grand, which was more central, nicer and cheaper. score.
we took a tro-tro to the nearby small town of kpando in search of a women's pottery co-op we had read about in our ghana guidebook. from kpando, we took a taxi 5 minutes to a village called Fesi. The best thing about the Volta Region is how amazingly green everything is! All the plants look so healthy from the rain and the green color is unlike any I have ever seen before. The village was the first real village I have been to- it had thatched roof mud huts surrounded by green, tangled trees and children ran around excitedly as we arrived. We walked through the maze of huts to a clearing where a woman and three children were sitting. We asked them where the potters were, and the mother motioned for her three-year old daughter to show us the way. it was the funniest sight: four 20 year old girls being led down a mossy, green, tropical path by a local toddler. She led us to another clearing where we saw a huge building with a large porch and a smaller hut next to it. There were about five or six women on the porch, smoothing pots, adding designs to them or molding clay to start their next project. their pottery was absolutely beautiful and every piece is one of a kind because they are all hand made by the 30 or so women who work at the co-op. inside the building was a small warehouse featuring all of their handiwork. Their pieces are a beautiful black color, smooth and almost opal from drying in the kiln and in the sunlight. they are all amazingly talented; creating pots, vases, bowls, figurines, beads. there was a peace corps volunteer at the shed who is there teaching the women how to effectively run a small business- how to save their money and make a profit. I talked to one of the women for a while, and she showed me how she does her work- it is so meticulous! It takes her a long time to finish a small tea pot- because there are so many intricate designs on the exterior of the sculpture and also because she has to let it dry in the sun partially, and then fire it in the kiln. it was a great experience, and i loved getting an insight into the lives of these women and the Fesi residents. It painted a very different picture from Accra and I love it!
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