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.