Ho ho ho! We’re in Africa!

Joanne, Jessica (a new volunteer at work), and I decided to take advantage of the time off work before Christmas by traveling. We read in our trusty Bradt Guide that the Volta Region was great for outdoorsy adventure, even if the availability of transportation was questionable. We got tickets for the 2pm bus to Ho (the capital of the region & the most Christmasy part of our trip). I know that transportation doesn’t leave when it is supposed to in Ghana, but I didn’t expect to leave after 6pm. The wait was made particularly painful by the lack of washroom facilities and a drunk man (a rare site in Ghana) who wanted to converse.

As soon as we passed over the Volta River and into the next region there was a change in the air and I knew it was worth the wasted afternoon. A woman from the bus told us what options we had to get back to Accra and offered to drive us to the YMCA hostel that night and to the tro tro station the next morning. She and her husband were so nice and helpful we almost felt bad. The hostel was a little scary; the hallway smelt like urine, the linens were questionable, and the windows were the first ones without bars I’ve seen since arriving. I offered to take the single room which ended up better than the double with very vocal and early rising roosters and goats outside the window. Thanks to our new friends we were easily shoved into a car and were off early in the morning.



Amedzofe is the highest altitude town on the second highest mountain in Ghana. It has a well-established tourist centre due to a series of Peace Corps volunteer placements. We got a clean room with our own washroom (unfortunately no running water – dry season) in a Christian guesthouse. A boy from the tourist office took us down to the waterfall about half an hour from town. I was happy to hear that someone from small town like this was working to get money to go to university for agriculture and return home with his knowledge. We made our way through rainforest-like terrain with the help of a rope which saved me from injuring myself and my camera. The waterfall, at about 300 m tall (or something tall), was beautiful. We were told that it’s ten times that size in the rainy season; however I can’t imagine getting down there with mud. On the way up I realized how out of shape I was from two months of carbs, inhaling exhaust, and no exercise. Climbing to the top of the Mount Gemi seemed insignificant after that, although the sun was strong and hot. The German missionaries who crashed the town in the 1930s erected a cross at the top where we stopped for lunch. It was really refreshing to be in a town that didn’t make a big deal of three white girls wandering around. Most people greeted us with “You are welcome” or “How are you?” Hopefully it’s their way of showing appreciation for the development our tour money provides. Two currents examples are erecting streetlamps and planting rubber trees. The townspeople even invited us to the wake for an elder who just died. We didn’t stick around for long after we discovered the celebration involves lots of palm wine and riffles. Another refreshing surprise came at night when the temperate actually dropped below 25 degrees and the wind kept all mosquitoes away. I went to sleep wondering why I was working in choked Accra. Then I realized how different my life would be living in a small town with not one computer, sparse transportation, and no running water.

We were up with the sun the next morning and hiking down the mountain before 7am. Once every 15 minutes we would stop, look up and around, and realize it’s two days to Christmas and we’re hiking down a mountain in Africa. It was amazing but my quads are definitely punishing me now. When we hit the main road it was easy to find a taxi to Tafi Atome. This tiny town housed a monkey sanctuary for Ghana’s only population of mona monkeys. The chief has played a critical role in preserving the forest, thereby increasing the number of monkey tribes. As soon as we started our tour, before we even got into the forest, a tribe found us and our bananas. We probably saw at least thirty monkeys in the trees, about ten (including the sizable leader) were brave enough to jump around the tree above us and a few ate from our hands. Shortly the leader cried out for the tribe to retreat into the shade of the woods and we went for the rest of our hike. It was short and sweet; I was so happy to finally see monkeys up close.



By this time we had learned that the strategy for traveling with no set route or accommodation was to ask how to get out of town as soon as you arrive. This time we opted for walking 5 kilometres down the dirt road to the junction. It was VERY long, but we made it out before the clock struck midday. Two very full tro tros later (I’m glad I can still pack my stuff into small bags) we made it to Kpando, a mid-sized town near the Volta. The main attractions are some impressive German cathedrals and a women’s pottery cooperative. When we reached the potters’ “suburb”, we discovered that we were crashing a funeral. We had no choice but to approach and try not to attract too much attention (near impossible). Once we found someone who knew what we were talking about, they fetched some of the women out of the funeral. We felt bad for interrupting, but really, funerals are three-day events and happen once a month. If they didn’t conduct business during funerals nothing would ever get done. I think we made it worth their time and we were happy to get some more gifts and support a women’s group.

Back in town we decided to try for a car back to Accra instead of another night in a hostel. We weren’t even at the tro tro station when a car passed yelling Accra. We hopped on the deluxe tro tro (surround sound, individual seats, high ceilings, faux carpeting) and made it home in under 4 hours. It was the perfect end to a perfect, exhausting two days.

♫ Always look on the bright side of life … ♪ dodo dodo dodo dodo ♪

For fear of making my time in Ghana seem full of racial stereotypes and ill communication I have compile a list of the top ten things I’ve enjoyed thus far. They are in no particular order since I long ago admitted that I’m no good at picking favourites.



1. Interesting conversations. I have not only learned a lot about Ghanaian culture from observation, but I have poked and prodded my way into some fascinating talks. Highlights include hearing from two people with very different opinions of their polygamist fathers (and mothers too, I suppose, but it seems less their fault), talking to a female friend about her attitude toward sex (pre- & post-marital, birth control, sleeping around, gender roles) and how her views vary from those of her peers, and learning about the daily struggles (stigma, isolation, inability to work, sickness) of surviving with HIV in Ghana.

2. Transit “system”. I will be the first to admit that I was so intimidated by getting around Accra when I got here. There is a steep learning curve. However the system or lack thereof serves its purpose of getting Ghanaians from point A to B. The tro tros run very frequently, are always full, have so many holes that it’s almost like A/C, know how to avoid traffic (when it’s possible), and reach far beyond the city centre. Many people live very well without a car in and out of the city. And it’s dirt cheap; a day of only riding tro tros would not exceed $3 Canadian.

3. All in the family. Once you get over the initial confusion of thinking that the whole neighbourhood is related by blood, it’s rather comforting. Perhaps I just say this because I’m not old enough to be called Mom by everyone I know. Everyone is sister, brother, auntie, ma, etc. Great bonding comes from sharing a name. Even children are passed around like they belong to all. Now don’t think this means that I’m going to do something crazy like move to an intentional community in rural Ontario. I’m just saying that I think North Americans needs to be less possessive about their belongings in general. This leads me smoothly to my next point.

4. My money is your money. Ghanaians definitely have a different attitude toward money. It is expected that if you invite anyone out (individual or group) you pay. Even on your birthday you are expected to pay unless you specify otherwise (still wondering why I did nothing on Friday :b ). It is common practice to flash (call someone and hang up after one ring if the hope they will call you back) and it works. When someone is eating, everyone is invited to partake. Even people who have lots of money by Ghanaian standards don’t have lavish lifestyles. A storey house and two cars means you’re rolling in the dough.

5. Travel. This is a given. Just look below and you can see what is within a short (and slightly terrifying) bus ride. Although I haven’t been anywhere recently I should have more to report after the Christmas holidays.

6. My Ghanaian grandma. The 70-year-old woman I live with has serious spunk. I still love my biological grandma very much, but this woman has twenty years and Africa on her side. She loves all music which she shows by shuffling her feet and twisting her pointed finger to the beat. She makes being vegetarian in Ghana seem easy. She’s always interested in learning new ways to feed me. This weekend I got guacamole. She couldn’t remember what it was called but it was some of the best I’ve ever had. Every once in a while she’ll turn to me and say, “Akua, are you OK? I mean, is everything alright with you living here?” (N.B. Akua is my Twi name since I’m born on a Wednesday and it’s pronounced Aquia.) She showed up at work one day to take me to the seamstress so she could make me an outfit for my birthday. Too bad the fabric is factory-made mustard, green, and black kente. Did I mention that she has an unhealthy love of kente cloth (true Ashanti woman) and garlic (which might explain the amazing guac)? I have learned to appreciate the wisdom of elders even more and the value of keeping them close to home.

7. Time to relax. I don’t really do that much on a daily basis and I’ve yet to be bored. I think I’m normally too preoccupied with keeping up the latest arts festival, seeing indie films, and eating out. Life is slower here and it has a lot of benefits, except when the pace is caused by bottlenecks. I have been taking time to read, write in my journal (even if I’m 2 weeks behind) and on my blog, watch the news, talk to the people around me, and correspond by email (I know this one could use improvement).

8. Horseplay. I have yet to meet someone who doesn’t joke around. No one is too cool for school. People are not only friendly and inviting; they seem to have no concern of what other will think. At the beach or the pool everyone gets their feet wet. The guys race, through around the girls, play with the kids. The best part is that most of them can’t swim so the shallow end is jammed and the deep deserted. Everywhere you go people are playing sports or dancing around, that is when they are not sleeping.

9. My Canadian sister. Joanne and I are very different, but I can’t even express how much I appreciate having her here. It’s great to have someone with whom I can explore and talk to without difficulty. She also makes me observe and ponder things I would have otherwise passed by. She’ll call me stupid assumptions I make, poor communication, and my nerdy remark. I can see a change in how I handle people after working so closely with her on our income-generating project. Sometimes it’s just great to have a buddy to go for a beer with and laugh about the day’s ridiculousness.

10. Work experience. Coming from ridiculous work environments always makes interviews tons of fun. But seriously, the scope of my projects is almost too big. I have been given so much responsibility (to set up a small-scale micro-credit scheme, improve accountability, write and implement financial management policy, to mention a few) that I often wonder how I will get it all done. The biggest challenge will be to ensure the sustainability of projects and create commitment to adherence of policies. I am gaining an understanding of the challenges faced by NGOs, doing business in developing countries, the practicalities and flexibility of micro-credit, and managing in a money-tight, funder-dependent environment. I could go on but I’ll spare those of you who I’ve already lost.

Whew, that was a long one. I wanted to talk about all the music and dancing, but it didn’t quite make the cut. I guess there will have to be a part deux in another few months.

Random Observations

I am constantly amazing by Accra. For the past three weekends I have made my way to different parts of the city to explore. When I was preparing to come to Ghana I was repeatedly told that the country was making a real effort to attract tourism dollars. I read that they had good infrastructure and national parks, at least when compared to other African nations. Since I’m not allowed to leave the country until I fly back to Canada, I cannot comment on the rest of Africa. I will keep you posted on the national park situation (look for a post in the New Year about my trip to Africa’s only canopy walk). After almost 6 weeks I can say something about tourism in Accra.

The public transportation system (tro tros and shared taxis) does not lend itself to strangers. The only way to know how to get from point A to B is to ask three people. I believe the justification for the rule of threes is that you’ll get two different answers and then hope that the third agrees with the correct one. Luckily most people are interested in where I’m going and willing to help. It’s like ice skating; falling is scary until you do it. This weekend Joanne and I got instructions on how to get to Jamestown (the historical fishing town within Accra). When we got off the tro tro and asked where the connecting vehicle was we discovered we were in the wrong place. Little did we know that there are different destinations to very similar sounding routes. The combined effort of at least five strangers got us to the right place. Moral of the story is that not knowing where you’re going seems like it would be intimidating until it happens and you survive. Perhaps this is a lesson that every seasoned traveller already learned, but it’s new to me. There are definitely no maps of the system – there are barely any maps of the city. I shouldn’t be surprised when people on the tro tro ask me why I’m not taking a taxi.

Most of the sights that I’ve visited have been quite anticlimactic. The Osu Castle (presidential palace), Jamestown (fishing village), Usshertown (former colonial centre), Independence Square, Kwame Nkumah (first president) Circle, even Makola Market. I get there with some amount of difficulty, I look around, I refrain from taking pictures for fear of having my camera confiscated or stolen, and I leave. This is not to say that there isn’t value in exploring the city. The attraction is more the people and the variety of living/working arrangements. Jamestown could have been exactly the same 50 or 100 years ago yet it’s witnessed so much history and is surrounded by development. Osu Castle is hidden behind a low-income neighbourhood with maximum security. We followed the fence to the beach and accumulated at least 20 miniature body guards to get a look at the modest building. The beach was less palm trees and sunbathers and more piles of garbage and pools of sewage water used for bathing, playing, washing, and probably drinking. I was permitted to enter one building and look around: the National Museum. I felt that it didn’t do a very good job of showcasing the artefacts held, although there was an impressive collection of stools (which made it worth the trip for me). Some old exhibits were pushed to the side (literally) to make way for one on Ghanaian crafts and another on involving youth in traditions. The craft exhibit attempted to comment on the outside influence but often did so with photos of local crafts. I see more authentic pieces at the markets. I can see the value of visitors who doing have the opportunity to leave Accra. There was also some really interesting art for sale in the back of the museum. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not becoming Mel Lastman. I believe that a city can survive without doing everything possible to cater to tourists. It’s unfortunate that there is supposedly an effort being made, especially with the upcoming 50^th anniversary celebrations, yet no results are seen.

On the long weekend I had my first Ghanaian church and swimming experiences. I went to a wedding at the church of a friend from work. She told us to meet her at 11am (the program had a 10am start time). When we arrived she was still at the salon which is really just a woman with a lot of chemicals and a hair drying chair under a canopy behind Joyce’s house. An hour later we made it to the church before the service had started. Church in Ghana is loud and lively. The major differences were multiple musical groups and even more preachers, more of a focus on marriage than the couple, communion was exchanged, and guest dance to the front to give their offerings. On Farmers’ Day I went to a resort just outside of the city. I must admit I’m not sad that people don’t swim in the ocean. There was a mix of locals and foreigners at the pool. Although the place was packed, there was always room in the deep end. Most people have never learned to swim yet love fooling around in the water. It’s quite amusing to watch.

I think I’ll wait for a dedicated post to comment on Ghanaian television.

The Journey of the White Woman

I live with a host family in the neighbourhood that looks like Dzorwulu, but sounds like Jolu to my Canadian ears. Every morning and most nights I walk between my house and my work in the next neighbourhood (it’s called Roman Ridge … boring). Both are upper-middle class residential areas that are much more interesting than those in Toronto or Vancouver. I travel down my street, over the river/giant gutter, through the Presbyterian school’s yard, over the train tracks, past some small vegetable plots, cower away from the barbed wire fences, monitor the progress on numerous partially-completed mansions, wave to some coworkers’ houses, cheer on the football teams, and finally pass through the big blue gates to work. All of this must be done while navigating eroded dirt roads, gutters, honking vehicles, livestock, children, and interested bystanders.


Work ---------------------------------------------------> Home

I have now adopted the approach of walking on the worst part of the road since the cars are more likely to avoid potholes than me. Every taxi honks, although never at night when I want one. Most private cars either ask or wonder why the white girl is walking. The school kids are always cute in their uniforms with their shy “obruni” calls. I turn a blind eye and sing happy songs to myself when I pass at line-up time and the teachers have their canes out. It is encouraging that people can get farmland in the city and provide for themselves and the local economy. That is until you think about the water supply and soil contamination. I also come across goats scavenging in garbage, chickens playing in the gutter, and one giant turkey that will probably eat me for Christmas dinner. Good thing I’m a vegetarian and Ghanaians cook the heck out of their vegetables.

The houses going up, probably owned by foreigners, are massive by Ghanaian standards and seriously fenced. Each house in Accra has a cement fence painted white (side note: the bottom three feet of most trees is painted white to fit in) with protection varying from security guards to broken bottles to high-voltage wires. I often see men I think are soldiers with prisoners knocking on doors and doing tasks outside of the inhabited, modest houses. I’ve asked friends in the neighbourhood; I’ll let you know if I ever get a clear explanation. And men urinate everywhere – in the gutters, on fences, into bushes. Whenever the urge strikes they unzip their flies or lift their short legs (that was a new one on me).



The streets are lined with container shops. The most common offerings are candies and drinks, prepared food, telephone units, telephone usage, sewing services, and hair styling. As a result everyone here is well-fed, well-dressed, well-groomed, and in touch … except me. Yet I still make all sorts of people to talk to on my journey. Many people are interested in what I am doing in their country and their neighbourhood. Some want me to go to events (ie. a child’s birthday party) because lots of money was required to get me here. One guy walked right up to me and asked if I was Canadian. This was particularly surprising since most people here guess 10 countries before the give up and I tell them. He works at one of the libraries started by Hamiltonian Kathy Knowles that now spread throughout Accra. Most are male and want to be my friend. This neither flatters nor scares me. The requests are innocent and the neighbourhood is like one big family. Plus I am constantly sweaty and dirty so the interest comes from my skin colour only.

Always Knock on Wood

In the continued spirit of Ghana Time, within three hours of arriving at work last Monday I was planning a trip to Kumasi in the afternoon. The head of the clinic attached to WAAF, Dr. Naa Ashiley Vanderpuye, was giving a talk on the basics of HIV/AIDS to a group of Ghanaian educators. Somehow tagging along fell under the volunteer advancement part of our internship; Joanne and I were happy to play tourist in the middle of the week.

Kumasi is the second largest city in Ghana and the capital of the Ashanti region. It is only about 250 km from Accra but the journey took roughly 5 hours (longer on the way home), after the 45 minute departure delay. I think the weekend acclimatized me to Ghanaian driving as I could barely stay awake. Jo, on the other hand, spent the entire time gripping her water bottle and staring in fear/astonishment at the road. Many near-head-on collisions and a body on the side of the road later, we arrived at the house of Elizabeth and Eben. The next day, our educational segment was over before we knew it and Elizabeth arrived to play tour guide. We explored the Cultural Centre, essentially a road lined with traditional gift shops, that is supposed to be better (ie. less aggressive) than the Accra version. The Manhyia Palace is a modest building on a huge piece of land in the middle of the city. It was donated by some British dude three kings ago. There is something about the type of artefacts on display at the museum that makes me chuckle. First off, one of the most holy symbols in the region is the golden stool. Ghanaians love their stools. Every kitchen has multiple and many buildings take on the form. Each new king is blindfolded in a room full of the past kings’ stools and given the name of the one he choses. Stools! I can’t get over it. Other highlights of the palace include the first TV in Ghana, very lifelike effigies of the last three kings and their queen mothers, rings full of golden keys to symbolize importance, and a war gown that makes women barren (the tour guide wouldn’t let me touch it).

At lunch I was boasting about how well my stomach has been handling raw, unpeeled fruits and veggies. Even as I ate the slightly sketchy salad laden with some sort of mayonnaise sauce, I neglected to see how I was tempting fate. Big mistake. Within half an hour I was wishing I had knocked on wood, especially with the washroom out of order. I definitely appreciate sweating out most of the liquids I consume in this country as the state of public washrooms is frightening. I will spare you the details of the facilities and my runny stomach. The most fortunate part was hiding out at Elizabeth’s work, the music school at the Calvary Charismatic Church. (Yes, I took refuge in a church. Desperate times call for desperate measures.) I even got to see a performance of Ghanaian songs with a local xylophone and numerous drums.

Since I’m stubborn and don’t like my body controlling my life, I adopted the strategy of not eating so I could continue to travel. Ghana contains many small towns that specialize in a traditional craft. Bonwire, just outside of Kumasi, is renowned for its kente cloth. Once we got rid of the horde of boys trying to sell us cheap bracelets, we happened upon The Master Weaver. This old man has sat in his hand & foot loom (see picture) everyday for 50 years weaving and teaching over 200 other weavers. It takes him a week to set up the loom, three weeks to make a strip, and four months to make a man’s complete piece of fabric. Yet I bought a strip for 30,000 cedis, approximately $4 Canadian. Eight hours of travel later I was home stuffing bread into my angry stomach.

On Saturday we were off to another traditional craft village, this one outside of Accra, known for its wood carving. I was pleasantly surprise when the sales approach was less forceful, on the condition that you visit every shop in the compound. The variety of craftspeople made for a diverse selection of unique pieces, along with the typical African souvenirs, religious symbols, and wholesome mother/father/child ones. I now have proof that I’ve been to Africa; I am the proud owner of a slightly scary wooden mask. The town itself was very picturesque, old buildings built on steep hills. We also encountered at least five funerals (you can always tell when it’s a Saturday in Ghana). I still haven’t figured out the entire funeral ceremony but I do know it spans many days, involves a lot of shiny black (and sometimes white or red) material, and everyone is invited, as long as you bring a donation.

Cocoa, Pawpaw and Pear! OH MY!

Before I traveled to Ghana everyone warned me about “Ghana Time”. I have learned that this mentality not only manifests itself in start times but in the act of planning in general. Activities are planned very last minute and executed by the seat of their pants. I would say that I am doing very well at adapting. In the first few days I had perfected the skill of getting up, getting ready and going back to sleep until others arrived. At the end of last week I called Kate & Andrew, other NetCorps people who are now working in northern Ghana. Before I knew it I had plans to visit a cocoa plantation and go on a boat cruise. Andrew grew up in Ghana; he still has lots of family and connections here. His background and interest in history made him the perfect tour guide.

Now I must admit that I expected something quite different from what I got at the "plantation". Silly little Canadian girl shows up with shorts imagining rows of cocoa trees, some living quarters, perhaps a barn for storage. In reality, we were going into the bush with a variety crazy (to me) flora & fauna. We drove down a very rough dirt & rock road to a sizable village where we parked the car. The locals immediate showed interest; cars rarely visit, let alone one with two Obrunis. With our audience watching we covered ourselves in bug spray and descended into the bush. A 20 minute walk brought us past two more villages, some bright red chickens, a plant that smells like southern Ontario and then we were on Andrew's uncle's property. There is no discernible division between pieces land - no fences, no change from one crop to another. Just plants everywhere. From walking around for a few hours I can now identify (by sight and taste) cocoas, pawpaw (aka papaya), plantain, banana, sugar cane, Ghanaian spinach, pear (aka avocado), mango, coconut, coffee bean and palm nut. Most of the harvesting is done by chopping fruit from trees with machetes, piling them, gathering to dry/extract/mash, then carrying the end product on your head out of the bush and down the dirt road. These people have a way of life that is so separate from mine, yet they seem to have all the necessary modern tools (a well, a phone, a school). All in all an amazing experience thanks to Andrew and his family. And I managed to emerge from the bush with minimal bites & wounds.

On the way back we had to stop to repair the exhaust pipe. Luckily auto repair shops are abundant and I think I now understand why. A few kilometers down the road we pulled over again, across from a capsized freight truck we saw being unloaded earlier, to tie up our dragging muffler. As we were waiting another truck zoomed by exuding what I assumed was just a lot of exhaust (a regular sight here). A few hundred meters up the road the truck swerved into the ditch and burst into flames. The good news is that people came from every direction, running to help the driver. I did my best to keep my eyes closed for the rest of the journey home.

The boat cruise was a lot of fun, but in contrast to the previous day's activities a total tourist trap. All the black people on the boat were workers, Ghanaian who reside elsewhere, or escorts (some shady, some not). We started at the Akosombo dam and traveled up the Volta River, the largest man-made river in the world. Being the little environmentalist that I am, I was very interested to see the effects of human and ecological displacement. I tried my hardest to get a local to say something negative but they wouldn't crack. The dam has allowed the country affordable power and another resource to export. This brings me to the one topic people will criticize: rolling blackouts. On my fifth day in Ghana I discovered that for the last few months everyone in the country has had no lights every three days, alternating between daytime and nighttime. It has now been switched to every five days and only at night. The official explanation is that the water levels are low (I wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't known). The unofficial one is that they've been selling too much to surrounding countries. Damn francophone nations ;) I'm happy that there is a schedule put in place; sometimes the water just stops flowing.

Akwaaba (Welcome)

Joanne (my fellow Crossroader) and I made it safely to Accra, Ghana (via Amsterdam) on Thursday evening. Although I got all the information I could before I left, I was not prepared for this place. I don't believe anyone could be prepared .... not that that's a bad thing. My senses have been stimulated in a way one could never experience in North America. I'm still busy taking in all the sites, smells (mmm open gutters), sounds (local languages, honking, shouting, hisses), and sun. Currently my vocabulary consists of "Where are we now?", "What did you say?", "So how does this work?", and "What is the plan?" I am quickly learning that appointments are not met on time and plans are not made in advance.

On our first day we learned a story that I think is very indicative of Accra and the culture. There is a hospital in town called 37 because it has 37 buildings (this sort of naming is used throughout the city). Large trees line the property and house thousands of fruit bats. Every night they fly up to 10 kms to find food and return before sunrise. The story goes that the bats followed an Ashanti chief who came to the hospital when he was sick. Even after he died, the bats stayed to morn and protect his legacy. It seems that the locals love to tell this story yet they will curse the bats as soon as something splats on their cars.

I went to the main market (Makola) in Accra on Saturday. I really can't describe this place in words. There is stall after stall, as far as the eye can see, in each section. I would say that there is the equivalent of a city block for the women's section, the men's, the food, the beauty products, etc. Luckily we had a local guide from work, Fiifi, to protect us from the grabbing, pinching, and yelling of "Obruni" or "white". It was a little overwhelming, but a good lesson is culture, how people shop, the stereotypes placed on white people, and navigating the tro tro (the fastest and cheapest way to get around the city, see the white vehicle in the photo).

Departure Set

I'm well on my way through 10 days of travel and training. I have been learning a lot about development, adaptation, HIV/AIDS, living in Accra, and WAAF. The most valuable part of this experience so far has been all the people I met. They all have amazing stories to tell and will be useful references while I'm abroad. Today I got to the point where the excitement outweighs the stress. Yay!

I finally got my flight details. I am leaving at 6pm on Wednesday -- I feel like I have another lifetime (or 2 days) in Toronto. So now I can see my friends/family and maybe even be ready to leave on Wednesday.

Part of my internship involved fundraising for CCI. I was amazed and heart warmed by the generous response from family and friends. Thank you all for your contributions.

However, I have another request. It has come to my attention that there is a limited supply of computers at WAAF. Here is my proposal: I get an old laptop computer from someone here who no longer needs it. I use it at work and home for the 5 months I'm in Accra. When I'm due to return I leave it with the fine folks in the office at WAAF. Please send me an email if you are interested.

In other news, I made this turkey out of veggie pate for thanksgiving. Bask in the glory of my sculpting powers.

The Countdown Begins ...

Thank you for the warm welcome to the blogging world. I will do my best to update with stories of my adventures in Ghana.

Quick Backgrounder:
Although Vancouver has been very good to me, I'm leaving (for now). I'm going to work with the West Africa AIDS Foundation as an Accounting Trainer for 5 months. I am being sent by Canadian Crossroads International and sponsored by NetCorps. The position requires that I work on the organizations financial management systems (I don't know quite when I became a techie) and help a women's support group with income-generating activities. I'm staying with a host family in Accra (the capital).

Me at the top of The Chief.Why am I leaving this place?

Dates

Oct 18 - 22:
Training, Orford, Quebec

Oct 23 - 27:
More Training, London, Ontario

Oct 28 - 30:
Fun & Even More Training, Toronto, Ontario

Oct 31:
FLY TO GHANA!!!

Come back and visit soon!