GHANA

When Americans speak about countries such as Ghana, after visiting or merely researching, it is how we cannot believe it’s really there. We cannot believe that so many people don’t have running water. We cannot possibly fathom how a relatively “well-off” citizen lives on fewer than three dollars a day. We say all this in disbelief that it exists; however, I have realized that it is instead an incredulity that it is in the same universe as the nation in which we are pampered. There are so many differences between first and third world countries, from continent to continent, and from one country to the next. It is immediately obvious how unfortunate many aspects of the lifestyles in Ghana are, but if you look hard enough, there are just as many factors that are more advanced than those of US citizens. I don’t know if it is just the culture, or that poverty and continuous drawbacks have made Ghanaians so appreciative and positive. Everyone smiles. They smile at each other, they smile at visitors, and they smile just to smile. They also wave- their need for human contact and mere recognition is extremely different than our culture’s. It is at times unnerving but nonetheless so impressive because they recognize the importance of umbuntu- everyone living together and sharing positive, loving energy. America is definitely a diverse melting pot but even when we see people that are clearly visiting from another country, we do not wave or go right up and say hello. In Ghana, it is custom to wave and smile and ask questions. Ghanaians also speak very highly of their culture, they love to explain their flag and the peaceful, happy, respectful nature of the country.

Day 1: Our port was in Tema, a town right outside of Accra. The port is a busy one, active with cargo and many people, which makes it dangerous. The regulations and safety precautions are minimal so having common sense walking to the entrance is crucial. Upon exiting, three friends and I got a taxi and bargained for a reasonable price to the hub and market of Accra. We wandered the streets, looking at all the carts of colorful jewelry and carved wood, searching for food that wouldn’t make us sick. The street merchants are good at what they do. They are extremely friendly, asking for your name and showing you around. Then, they seem to disappear, only returning a half hour later with a woven bracelet that says your name. They are extremely adamant that you buy it and anything else would be disrespectful. My first lesson in Ghana was to be slippery- to slide through the group and past people trying to hustle you. If you spend too long with anyone, they’ll expect something in return. There are many exceptions to this because talking to the locals is what is going to maximize your experience. Finding those that will not hassle you is key, so we did just that. There were two women with a little stand on the side of the road selling jewelry. Neither of them pulled on us or waved us over like we were a cab. They just smiled and waved. I liked their hard-to-get game and decided to play. Walking over, they just held out a hand and introduced each of themselves. We ended up staying and talking for a little while. There was a young boy and girl in the makeshift room behind the stand, both of whom were under the age of five. The boy was incredibly skinny and the girl look like she had a horrible cold. Heartbreaking. We bought jewelry from them and they tied a string of colorful beads around our hips for good luck. They gave us the real price, instead of doubling it for white tourists like most merchants do. So I gave them double, because they didn’t ask us for it or try and cheat us out of anything. We proceeded to lunch at a semi legitimate looking restaurant. After pounding Pepto Bismol, we realized that time was going to be the same here as in Morocco. The waitresses walked extremely slowly from table to table, stopping to chat and not taking our order for a very long time. This would not fly at the Beachcomber- let me tell you. We also went to La Pleasure Beach, a beautiful beach outside of Accra. It has little cafes on the sand with wooden tables to relax after a semi-stressful day. (Dad- it’s just like Playa Avellanas in Costa Rica). After a long day of haggling and bargaining, we made our way back to home sweet home on the ship in Tema. We showered and got ready to go out and see what Tema had to offer at nighttime. Most kids on the ship were going to a bar on the other side of Accra but we wanted to stay close to the ship because we had to be up super early for planned trips and the stories of the taxi drivers drinking from flasks as they drove scared us a little to much to count on getting a cab late at night. Immediately when leaving the ship, a local named Ben came up and helped us find a taxi. He bargained to get us a good price and took us everywhere we wanted to go. Those skeptical of Ben couldn’t figure out what his motive was but he ended up going with us every day in Ghana and never asking for anything. He just wanted to hang out with Americans and make sure we didn’t get ripped off. Anyways, that first night was very fun. There were about twenty Semester at Sea kids at the bar we went to, as well as locals. We learned that their country’s beer “Star beer” stood for “sitting, talking, and relaxing”, which seemed to be congruent with the country’s culture. We went dancing and had a lot of fun all night. Too much fun- that I paid for the entire next day.

Day 2: You haven’t experienced true pain and humiliation until you spend a four-hour bus ride on dirt roads infested with potholes, puking multiple times throughout the day in front of all your peers and teachers. Anyone who has ever been carsick and/or hungover knows what I’m talking about. I rallied and had a lot of fun in between the episodes of drama and disgust. I went on a SAS trip that went to the Cape Coast and saw the slave dungeons and castles. Years and years of social studies classes, learning about the slave trade and hardships that Africans had to go through, did not even remotely compare to what I learned and got out of this day. The dungeons were the size of about three or four of my freshman year dorm rooms- and housed one hundred men for months. In school, we are always taught about what happens to them when they reached the American Atlantic coast, and the ship conditions are touched on- but how they are captured and brought to the dungeons on the Western coast of Africa is never discussed. In my opinion, it looks like it was the worst here, before the journey even started. Even fathoming what that would have been like is extremely hard for me. The facts and figures are mind blowing but the actual feelings of what it must have been like don’t fully penetrate. Listening to a ten-minute talk inside each of the dungeons with one-fifth of the amount of people that once were held captive there was uncomfortable. It definitely put me in line. I had been aching and complaining all day, but the magnitude just didn’t even compare- and mine was self- inflicted. The Africans that told us about the history and what went on there discussed it with such a sense of truth and acceptance. In situations such as this, I think that it is easy to feel embarrassed as an American. However, they did not expect you to look at it like that. They approached it, in my opinion, correctly- that we were now all on the same page, all coming and grieving from the perspective that we’re all people and we all are horrified by what happened. We drove through small villages and saw neighborhoods and families of people whose lives are so different from ours. For some reason, there were a lot of times in Ghana that made me think about the same thing: I kept wondering why certain people are born into different circumstances. Everyone is born to different parents, in different countries, in different levels of poverty and lack thereof. Why are certain souls (or whatever you want to call it) given all the opportunities in the world while some starve before they reach the age of three? It’s a puzzling concept to me. I am not willing to accept that our entire lives are based on luck or coincidence. Our lunch was at a beautiful resort; the area was blocked off and looked like a wedding reception right out of magazine. We then headed back to the ship, escorted by police because we were clearly too good to sit through traffic. The general feeling of a lot of these organized trips was starting to get to me by now. I love how they’re organized and you see a lot of cultural things that you might not be able to if you tried to go about it on your own. However, they’re beyond pretentious. It probably would have been far more fun to pack lunches and walk the streets, talking with locals, then to have a pristine beachfront white tablecloth lunch with a snazzy buffet. And the police escort was hardly necessary. I would understand if it was for safety, but it was just to get us through traffic. As we passed through, they stopped all local cars so that we didn’t have to stop for lights, or heaven forbid, other cars. It’s such a phenomenon when Americans are in town, that we were even on the local news. Various taxi drivers as well as street merchants mentioned that everyone knew we were coming way ahead of time. All that day I said that I was going to stay on the ship, recover and go to bed early. That didn’t happen. We came home and had 45 minutes to eat and get ready. We took a taxi to La Palm Royal- a hotel right next to La Pleasure beach, where we had been before. A few friends of ours were splurging and got a huge villa with their own private beach and butler. A little extravagant for me but I was completely up for mooching off them. There was about forty SAS kids that just hung around at the bar and restaurant but it wasn’t exactly what my group was looking for. We can hangout and party with American kids any time back at home- but when are we going to be in Ghana again? So, with Ben’s help, we walked next door to La Pleasure beach where a huge Reggae festival was going on. It was packed with locals and set up to be a great night. Another thing about Ghana- most local women at bars do not have wholesome intentions. There are tons of prostitutes and if you try and innocently talk to them, their pimps will come ask you for money later. Beware! We headed back to the boat to get a few hours of sleep.

Day 3: My favorite day on Semester at Sea thus far- a SAS trip called “Mona Monkeys and Waterfalls”. I got on a bus and we started the trek towards the mountains. After a bumpy three hours, we stopped in a tiny village to start the hike. With a big group, whenever we reach the destination, there’s always a little lull where everyone stops and gets organized. People take pictures, use the restroom, and buy water bottles. If you know me at all, you know that I’m not the most patient of people. So I decided to skip this part and do a little on my own. If you know me, you also know that I’m nowhere near brave- so this was big. I left the group and walked into the little village to check it all out. Everyone was so friendly and welcoming and told me that no one usually stops to say hello- they just keep going to the trail. So, I just hung out and played with the kids for a while. No one had ever seen a camera before, let alone used one, so I let them take pictures of themselves and then turn it around and look at the product. They were extremely excited about this. I would lift the kids up and then spin in a circle until they laughed and screamed with joy. They started making a line and I just went through it, showing them how to high- five. Their mom asked me if I was married and when I replied in the negative, she just kept saying “Good mom, you would be good mom. Best mom” over and over. Five minutes later she made me promise not to leave and ran off, returning with her son. She introduced us and told me that I should marry him and take him back to America. He was great, but it was a short-lived relationship. I hugged everyone and made my way back to the group, who luckily had not left yet. We hiked up the trail, over footbridges through what was hands down the most beautiful scenery I have ever seen. There were centipedes and spiders galore but it was all so peaceful and majestic that the three-inch long spider didn’t even scare people too much. We made it to the waterfall and couldn’t believe it. It was huge, with a perfect pool at the bottom. There have already been so many sights such as this one that have made me think that everyone should be entitled to, and mandated to see them. One rule that we were all told upon arriving in Ghana: Do NOT swim in fresh water. You will probably get worms. They even showed us gruesome pictures of kids who did not heed their warnings and came back to the ship very ill. But come on- when are you going to swim in a waterfall in Ghana again? So… a few brave souls went for it. We changed and swam up to the fall, getting knocked over and slipping many times but just laughing and smiling the whole time. This experience was unlike anything I’ve ever done. I was completely aware at how dangerous it was and didn’t even care. It was totally outer body and thoroughly invigorating. We were aware that not very many people in the world could say that they have done this. I was lucky enough to have brought sandals in case my hiking shoes gave me blisters so I wore those in the waterfall in an effort to minimize contact with the wormy rocks. They flew off when we got close to the fall but magically floated and reappeared at shore. I will never forget this- ever- ESPECIALLY if I get tapeworm. We hiked back, soaking wet but smiling ear to ear. When we got back to the bus, I snuck off real quick to give a pen to one of the children I had met. I had heard that their favorite gifts are always pencils or pens and I had absolutely nothing else to give- except for the camera, which I definitely considered. The little girl was about seven and didn’t even know what a pen was. I wrote on my hand to show her and I have never seen anyone so amazed or happy. She shyly took it and ran to show her mom. Her mom thanked me over and over. Again, everything is relative. I lose pens frequently at school and don’t think twice about it but this cheap pen from Target was a monumental gift to them. We got back on our Indiana Jones bus and made our way to the monkey reserve. We got off and hiked through another village to a place where I thought we were going to see some monkeys. We saw a few. And then we saw five. And then ten. And then twenty. And then they were swinging from the branches to sit on our shoulders. Another rule SAS tells you: Do NOT touch monkeys. None of the monkeys are fully tamed and if they bite you, you are at a high risk for rabies. But c’mon- when will you hold a monkey again? The branches were swaying back and forth from their body weight as they leapt from one tree to the next, stopping to perch on our shoulders and arms. We were all given bananas and we held them out to the monkeys so they could eat them. They peeled them themselves- and quite politely. I was a little scared by the monkeys’ forwardness and didn’t feel too comfortable with them coming out of nowhere and making themselves at home on my arm but after awhile, I let a baby come sit on me and have a banana. (Mom- remember when you asked if the camels were cute? Camels are not cute. MONKEYS are cute.) We came back to the boat late that night and didn’t go out for the first time in a port. Most of the kids did but I stayed home with a friend that got food poisoning. I had no urge to go out- I had just had one of the best days of my lives and was more than content relaxing and going to bed while feeling this good.

Day 4: I was on self- proclaimed wakeup duty. I woke up early, ready to get the most out of our final day and most people were still sleeping… so I called the rooms and told them that the last bus before the afternoon was leaving in a half hour. We hustled and barely made it. We wandered the streets for a little while looking for an ATM and food. There was a restaurant that a girl had told me about the other day that had very local traditional food but that was also clean and wouldn’t make you sick. The combination is hard to come by, so we were on a mission. In getting there, we picked up two local guys who latched on in an effort to sell us bracelets. When we wouldn’t buy anything, they would shout “Fake Americans!”  Apparently most Americans spend a ton of money on trinkets after a little pressure. I had the name of the restaurant and was the one asking for directions and leading the way. Apparently, the Ghanaians had never experienced a female doing this, especially since our group of about ten was all guys, except for one other girl. They kept calling me Alpha Female, which turned into a lot of very inappropriate reasons why they love American women, etc. Let’s just say I have never been happier to be with so many guys. One friend told the two Ghanaians that he was my boyfriend and another said that he was my brother. They made it very clear that they were not allowed to communicate like that anymore. They didn’t go away but they did lay off a little bit. After a series of confused directions, we made it to the restaurant- Asanka Local. The menu was a little hard to navigate but I had heard that the most traditional dish in Ghana is Fufu. I asked what the most local way of preparing this dish was with groundnut soup and goat meat. So that’s what I got. Everyone else got chicken and rice- boring. I’m so glad that I got this because when I did, the locals all came over and taught me exactly how to eat it. It’s basically very spicy red soup with a huge ball of flavorless dough in the middle and two pieces of goat meat. The meat was way beyond my comfort zone and I didn’t have more than a bite of that. For the Fufu, you eat it with your hands, and specifically your thumb and index finger on your right hand. You pick off pieces of the dough from the side of the mound, towards the bottom, swirl it in the soup, and swallow it without chewing. I drank an entire large bottle of water because it was so spicy. By the end of the meal, most everyone had tried my dish. Also, I think that the locals respected us more for trying something that they had all the time. The two guys that had walked with us all the way to the restaurant took all of our leftovers, eating most of it and scooping the rest into a to-go bag. It looked like that had not eaten for days. He made me a bracelet, thanking me for showing Americans what Fufu was. I told him that I didn’t want a bracelet with just my name because that’s what everyone got, so he made one that says “Adwoa In Ghana”. Adwoa is my name in Ghana because of the day of the week I was born on- Monday. I found that a little funny because everyone’s “traditional” name in Ghana is the same as one-seventh of the rest of the population. Our group split up into two- half went to the market and half went to the hotel. I was a little disappointed in myself for going to the hotel but I knew I would spend too much money if I went to the market. I took a taxi with my friends Nick, Austin, & Willy to the La Palm hotel where we relaxed by the pool. The hotel pool is very fancy and Cabo-ish. The pool is circular with bridges and a swim-up bar. It wasn’t that busy so we were immediately approached and asked if we were from outside. The guys stuttered but I, from years of experience of hotel breaking and entering with my father, didn’t have a problem. I made up a room number and asked for towels. He apologized and brought us towels- I felt a little guilty… (but Dad, aren’t you proud?)  In the US, you need a wristband, an ID number, and about twenty other forms of identification to enter a hotel pool. I had taken advantage of how trusting they are here so I definitely did feel bad. We bought ridiculously expensive drinks to make up for it. We swam and talked about how fun Ghana had been for a few hours before heading back to the boat. When getting a taxi, we encountered the same problem that we had many times already. Taxis see your white skin and triple the price on the spot- it’s actually ridiculous. We waved a few on by when we heard what they were asking before finding a driver that one of the guys had been driven by the night before. We were so lucky to find him, and he didn’t rip us off too bad. We took a shortcut to avoid the traffic and went through some more villages, looking out the window, trying to take mental pictures of everything that was going on. We had never seen or imagined any of this merely days before and this might be the last time we see it again. It is so surreal to have experiences like this and I continue to be so grateful for them. We passed a huge party- it was about 4 pm and there were forty people from the ages of five to seventy-five dancing and singing. It looked like a lot of fun, but fairly out of place. We asked the driver what they were rejoicing about and he told us that it was a funeral. Someone had died and they were celebrating his life. This was a last great impression of Ghana, in my eyes. They were turning such a sad thing into something joyous. We told the driver what our funerals were like and he didn’t understand why- he believed that lives should be celebrated and he mentioned that when he passed, he wanted it to be a huge party. Take note: when I die (hopefully not from deadly worms or rabies), you all better be celebrating and partying because after this trip, this life is a damn good one.

BACK ON THE BOAT: NEPTUNE DAY!

Neptune Day is when we pass over the Equator. We knew that we were going to be passing over the 0 degrees line, but Ghana had been so crazy that it didn’t really occur to anyone that the day after boarding the ship was Neptune Day. Everyone was looking forward to sleeping in because this was the first non-port, non-class day to study and recover. Not so much… We were awoken by loud whistles and music at 8:00 am. We scurried up to the top deck by the pool for a ceremony that was clearly a big deal. The Captain (a very large, respected man) was wearing next-to-nothing and had painted his entire body green. The crew and staff were wearing toga-like getups and hats made of foil. There was a brief speech that consisted of us having to pay respect to the God called Neptune that apparently resided over the oceans and lived at the Equator. Afterwards, we stood in groups of four and got “fish guts” (that weren’t really fish guts) poured over us. Then, we jumped in the pool and climbed out. We had to bow to the King and Queen and kiss their rings, and then kiss a fish (that was very much real… and dead… and smelly). One out of every group was pushed into the pool and had to do the whole thing over again. Of course, I was the lucky one. Afterwards, the ritual we had all heard about began- the shaving of the heads. I’d say 80% of guys on this boat are now skinheads and 25 girls shaved their heads too! (I’ve worked on my mane far too long to get caught up in the moment and watch it drop off the side of a ship…) A few girls who previously had longer hair than I do and are now bald already look like they’re regretting it. There were a lot of tears. Afterwards, they turned the massive speakers up and we all danced for a few hours- students, teachers, deans, life-long learners- everyone was having so much fun.

If anyone’s reading this that knows someone in college looking to study abroad soon- DO THIS. It’s a money suck but it is hands down the best experience for someone our age. There’s nothing cooler to hear someone relive what they did in port or what they’re looking forward to doing in the next port. We talk about how lucky we are but I don’t even think that we fully understand. This ship and the ports and the students are all so amazing, that this blog will never do it justice. It’s only been two ports and I already know that travel is going to be much more important to me after this trip. The concept of saving up for clothes and cars is semi ridiculous to me now because I know that I’m going to be saving up for more experiential things like this.

Tonight I’m having dinner with my “extended family”. They randomly put together a group for you and mine is made up of four students and one lifelong learner- the students are all so different, which makes it awesome and our “Mom” is amazing. Three of her daughters went on this voyage a while ago and she’s always wanted to so she’s been trying to convince her husband for years. She finally just did it without him and is so happy she did- every time I see her, she is overjoyed and loving every minute. She hugs all of her “kids” whenever we run into each other and is constantly excited, as we all are. The energy on this ship is unreal and infectious. I have two tests and a presentation in the next two days in classes I have done zero reading for so today and tonight might actually have to be productive. OR I could go upstairs, read others’ journals, listen to stories, and look at pictures from all the villages, etc. Which do you think I’ll learn more from? Interesting, eh?

P.S. I think that I’ll have free internet in South Africa, so I’ll try to upload pictures and videos to facebook & my blog there.