Monkeying Around

Happy Thanksgiving! I honesty cannot believe that it is the holiday season. I guess when you are clear across the Atlantic Ocean where it is steaming hot it definitely doesn’t match up with the cool fall weather and changing leaves that I normally associate with Thanksgiving. Despite my sadness over not being to spend the holidays with friends and family I am genuinely happy to be here.

Thanksgiving in Ghana was a smashing hit! Our program put on a huge feast with a live traditional African band that was held in the Volta Hall Gardens, right above my dorm. The night was lit up with bright lights hanging around the perimeter of the courtyard and the catchy drumming kept people on the dance floor all night. We kicked off the night with a prayer, American style, and then we poured libations to our ancestors, Ghanaian style. The table that I sat at with twenty other girls from the University of California got up and sprinted to the food table (like the classy ladies we are). The first food table consisted of Ghanaian dishes- jollof rice, fried rice, plantains, yam balls, and fufu with groundnut soup. The jackpot table was where the mother lode was located. Turkey, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, corn, green beans, quiche, and lasagna covered the table (sound familiar to your dinner?). My plate was piled sky high by the time I made it through the line. The most hilarious part was that Miriam, our girly Ghanaian student guide, was in charge of cutting the turkey. She laughed when I asked her if she had cut a turkey before. “No…do I look like I have?” she said while keeping complete focus on the task at hand. The butchered turkey provided all the evidence I needed. I had only eaten half of my plate before I was sent into a food coma. And that was prior to the cutting of the apple pie, cake, and ice cream. After only ten minutes of digesting, the band started playing the traditional songs that correlate to the dances I had learned in my Traditional African dance class. The Ghanaian dancers got into position and a few of my fellow international students and I joined in on the fun. It was an unconventional Thanksgiving but will definitely be one for the memory books.

This weekend, Ariel and I got back from our big solo adventure. On Friday morning we took a tro-tro to Madina in order to find a tro-tro that would be going towards Ho-Hoe in the Volta Region. After thirty minutes of being pointed in different directions we found our ride and embarked on our journey to Tafi Atome Monkey Sanctuary. I was squished in between a cute little boy on my left, Ariel on my right, and my backpacking bag on my lap. Thanks to the lovely breeze coming through the window, I didn’t suffocate. I got very little sleep as we bobbed around for the next four hours, crossed the Adomi Bridge and entered the Volta Region. We knew things could not go this smooth the whole way- and we were right. The mate (or assistant) of the tro-tro spoke very poor English which resulted in us getting dropped off in the wrong town. As our tro-tro sped away we asked a local if we were in the correct location- nope. So there we were, stranded in a rural village too far away from our final destination to walk. Luckily, we made a friend who helped us hail a new tro-tro for the remaining distance. When we got off at Logba Alekpeti, a small town off the main road to Ho-Hoe, we were instantly swarmed by Ghanaian men who wanted to be hired as our ride to the village. You see, Tafi Atome Monkey Sanctuary is actually located 5 km off the main road. What did we have to do? Hop on the back of a motorcycle and ride through the forests bumpy dirt road to the village! My motorcycle driver, Emmanuel, was a couple years younger than me and was born and raised in Tafi Atome. He took all the turns nice and slow (you are welcome mom)…for those of you who were wondering. However, he promised to teach me how to drive the bike on our way back the next morning- an offer I was sadly unable to take him up on. After a ten minute drive, the vegetation opened up to a small town. Many of the houses were formed of clay with thatch roofs but a more modern school was recently built. Our guest house was set right up into the back of the forest. The room was surprisingly nice: complete with a fan, two beds, and mosquito nets. As our guide, Michael, walked away he jumped out of fright, turned back towards us and said “don’t be afraid of the monkeys...they are around!” Ariel crashed in our beds for a few seconds until we heard a barking noise outside our window. There he was, Mr. Monkey, plopped on the ground barking right outside our window. As Ariel napped, I took a plastic chair and set it up on our porch. Over the next hour I watched as monkeys flung themselves from tree to tree sometimes dropping to the ground right in front of me- sending me squealing into my room. At 6PM Michael led us to dinner in the pitch dark. We passed groups of goats tied to stakes, chickens roaming, and little fearless children who have no problem walking up and saying “hi” despite being only two or three years old. Our dinner was held in a clay hut where a pot of rice, tomato sauce, and boiled eggs were waiting. We wolfed our food down and walked back to our room where we were pleasantly surprised to meet some other foreigners. I introduced myself and they informed me that they were from the Netherlands and volunteered with a medical group in Accra. At one point, we had to hail Michael because a huge spider that seemed like the type that would kill someone was right above my bed. Michael walked in and said “WOAAAH,” got all serious and killed it with a broom. As Ariel and I chatted away in our room we heard a series of knocks at the door...it instantly put me into a Blair Witch Project mindset. The voice on the other side of the door said “we are children come play with us.” The next two hours, three little boys harassed us by making loud animal noises and opening our windows to peek inside and whisper pleads for us to come outside. The best line was “we are not witches, we are children.” When they finally left, Ariel and I quietly darted to the washroom. A lizard and the hugest spider I have ever seen awaited our arrival. This place truly has the type of bugs you only see on the Discovery Channel. After cleaning up we walked back to our room, flashlight in hand, only to find the three little boys blocking the entrance. I felt bad as their puppy eyes signaled that they were lonely and only wanted to play with the deflated balloon they had. At that moment the Dutch guys came out and decided to work off the kid’s boundless energy. That night I felt my first twinges of chill due to the fact there were no sheets.

            At 5:30 AM Ariel and I woke up for monkey tour. We lathered our mosquito lotion and sunscreen and set out. Our guide, Emmanuel, (not the motorcycle driver) led us to the edge of the forest where around twenty monkeys were hanging out. Emmanuel brought out the bananas and the monkeys went crazy. He taught us how to properly hold the bananas and then let us loose. The monkeys would literally pounce off a tree or the ground on to your arm and just sit there and tear pieces of banana off like pros. Of course, I was a little hesitant but I stepped up to the plate and just my luck, two monkeys decided to have a way over my banana…while standing on my arm. I closed my eyes until I felt the final pieces of my banana snatched away. My second attempt landed the coveted monkey picture (see below). When we were done, my arm was covered in mud, and the calm said that it was a calm day. Apparently, the monkeys usually smash bananas on the visitors. I guess they just liked me. We proceeded to do a mini hike of the forest where we learned all the historical facts about the sanctuary. The ancestors of the village migrated to the area 200 years earlier from the Brong Ahafo area, bringing with them fetishes for the monkeys and tortoises. This taboo protected the monkeys for quite some time but their numbers began to dwindle by the 1980’s as a result of the replacement of the traditional beliefs by Christianity. With the help of the Peace Corps, Tafi Atome has now turned into a community based ecotourism project centered on the monkeys. There are now around 400 Mona monkeys (the only population of that species that exists in Ghana) due to conservation efforts. All of the money made goes towards the sanctuary that was officially established in 1993 or towards community development. After the tour, we ate breakfast (bread and tea) with our Dutch friends and then set out. As I drove away on the back of my motorcycle I couldn’t help but feel like I had fallen in love with this little village. We caught a tro-tro back to Accra, stuffed our faces with egg sandwiches and pineapple and crashed. Mission accomplished.

            I had my first written final today. I used every last minute of my three hours and even had to be told to put down my pen (it may be surprising that I can write even more than I do here!) For those of you who care the three questions I had to answer were: (I took my test sheet out of the test by accident)

1.      What kind of relationship existed between Indigenous Slavery and the External Slave Trade?

2.      Give a brief description of the economy of Ghana up to 1800 A.D.

3.      “The story of the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade is not a pretty story, nor an uplifting one” (Patrick Manning). Do you agree with this assertion?

Other than that, my hand is severely cramping from writing so much today and in preparation for my final. One down, two more to go! 12 days till Israel! Bon voyage!

Chutes and Ladders

Trying to find your package sent from home in Ghana is like playing a game of chutes and ladders: right when you are two spaces away from the end, so close you can taste the victory, you roll the dice landing you right on top of the slide that takes you all the way to the bottom. That is what I felt like all Monday as I searched around Accra for my missing package that contained none other than a brand new camera. I started off at the Legon Post Office, about one hundred feet away from the dorm. They told me that they do not receive packages so that I must go to the Circle Post Office in Accra. So I hopped on a tro-tro and went into the city. With the help of my Ghanaian navigators (strangers on the streets who are always willing to point a foreigner in the right direction) I found myself in the Circle Post Office. They looked at my information and informed me that my package was at the Accra Post Office’s air section. I once again fight my way into a tro-tro and head into the heart of the city. I was so concentrated on my game of snake, an old-school cell phone game, that I didn’t even look up before my tro-tro slammed into the back of another car. Nobody was hurt but I had to switch tro-tros and continue on my journey. Thankfully, I met a nice girl named Mabel who walked me a half mile to the Accra Post Office through the chaos of the city. The workers at the Post Office point me through a security gate where a bunch of soldiers show me the correct direction to the airstrip. When I reach the office, I am met by a woman who gives me an instant scowl and says “we don’t allow customers back here.” I explain to her my situation and she takes my information and heads back to her boss. They return only to inform me that my package was sent to the Legon post office September 5…two and a half months ago. I stood there with an open mouth and made them swear they were telling me the truth. I wandered the city in search of a tro-tro station and magically found myself at Tema station, my usual home base for tro-tro catching. When I arrived back on campus I instantly headed back to the Legon Post Office. The female worker there informed me that my package had indeed arrived back in September and that they had sent it to the address listed. I continue questioning her until I am sent to the manager’s office. Frustrated and exhausted we have an hour long conversation that takes us nowhere. So basically, my package was at one point merely a five minute walk down the street from where I resided and I was left with no answer of where it could have gone. One of the things that I have realized during my time in Ghana is how much lower the level of customer service is. Whenever a customer is unhappy, Ghanaians tend to deflect attention or simply point the finger another direction. This is not always the case, because I have found that Ghanaians are extremely helpful in different regards. For example, people will stop what they are doing at any moment to help a foreigner when they are lost or offer them food and drink. Today was just one of those frustrating days that makes me appreciate some of the aspects of the U.S.

               

A few days ago, I went on a trip to the Shai Hills, located in the Eastern Region. The steep rocky hills rise up out of the expansive grasslands that stretch as far as the eye can see. When we arrived in Doryuma, we entered a large reserve that heads into the hills. Our bus passed ostriches and antelopes that sprinted through the grass. At one point, we got to hike up some steep rock cliffs to the ancestral caves of the Shai people. It was in these caves that the Shai hid during times of war. At another point, we climbed up a huge rock structure that gave us a 360 degree view of the grasslands surrounding the Shai Hills. It was the most breathtaking view I have discovered since being in Ghana. It was one of those places where the whole world seems quiet you just want to sit down and think about your life. On our way to lunch I was looking out the front of the bus when I spotted an object running in the middle of the road. BABOONS! The baboons were massive and ferocious looking. All I could think was that I was happy to be in the safety of the bus because they don’t look as friendly as the stuffed animal baboons I am used to seeing. After lunch (which took 3 hours to get everyone served) we continued on to a suspension bridge that links the Eastern and Volta Region. Then, we went and saw the Akosombo dam, a source of national pride in Ghana. The creation of this dam resulted in the largest man-made lake in the entire WORLD! Impressive, huh? My day ended with a four hour nap on the way back to campus. I have discovered that I sleep the best on buses. I think I find the bumps that bounce me up and down in my sleep comforting.

Ariel and I decided that we needed a beach day! We took a cab down to Labadi beach where we laid out in the sun for a couple hours, resulting in my most impressive sunburn thus far. We ate our first sandwich in four months sitting on the top floor of a tiki hut with a beautiful view of the ocean. 

         

On the weekend, Ariel and I took a day trip into Accra. We visited The Kwame Nkrumah Mausoleum, Independence Square (or the Black Star Square), and Makalah market. The Mausoleum is a park and final resting place of Kwame Nkrumah, Ghana’s first president. Independence Square holds a memorial to three Ghanaians shot by colonial authorities and is the common site for national festivals and parades. Ariel and I had to do some jeans shopping considering she will be travelling in Spain over Christmas break and I will be in Israel- both of us are completely unprepared for the cold weather. The funny part about shopping for pants is that you walk down a busy street and Ghanaians vendors hold arms full of jeans. You select which ones you like and they pull you off on to a side street for you to try them on. The method for trying on pants is wrapping cloth around your waste and then slipping on the pants- there is no such thing as a dressing room. We ended our day with a FanIce- a plastic rectangular wrapper filled with fake ice cream…but it is delicious! It was a really fun day and we got to explore the major sites of the capital city.

                 

I am now getting into finals mode and Ghanaians study like crazy people for their finals. My Ghanaian friend was banging on my door at 6:30AM because she wanted “to make sure I was not sleeping too much because I need to study.” The funny part is, my final was not for another two weeks. The fact that they study so hard makes me feel like I am slacking so I am going to try and live up to their standards…which means I won’t be writing again for awhile. So Happy Holidays, I love and miss you all!

Make Fufu Not War!!

Hallelujah! I survived my xylophone final. It was literally my worst exam ever in my career as a college exam, hard to believe but true. I woke up Monday morning at 5:55 AM and hurriedly got ready for my 7:00 AM final. My stomach was in knots because I was so nervous and had been the entire weekend. I walked down to the Music Department, taking the picturesque route, in order to refocus myself. My friend, Leslie, took a taxi down from Volta hall because she feared she was going to be late. What ended up happening? Well, we ended up sitting outside the xylophone room for a half hour until a random professor opened up the room so we could practice. What time did my xylophone teacher walk in at? 9:30AM. He strolls in with a big smile, failing to acknowledge the fact that he is two and a half hours late. Smooth. He rounded up the rest of the professors and began setting up the testing space. The panel came in and set up the judging table and my teacher informed me that I would be the first victim of the five people in my class. The other students were forced to leave the room and I was the lone wolf sitting behind my xylophone staring at the three male examiners- two Ghanaians and one German man. They instructed me to play two warm-up exercises then proceed with the three pieces we had learned in class (1. Bediako 2. Zoruaw Torime 3. Gandanyina). My hands were shaking like I was sixteen and taking my driving test (the second one after I had failed my first that is). Somehow, someway, I survived. I made a few errors but I did much better than I expected I would. Next came the question and answer portion. Now, this did not go as hot. I fumbled through my use of the native terms to describe the construction of the xylophone…or the “gyil” as it is called in the Upper West Region. I think the judges got a kick out of my pronunciation of the Ghanaian terms but I did my best despite their jeers. I walked out of the testing space and a HUGE weight was lifted off of my shoulders. I discovered macaroni and cheese at the grocery store and ate my first “cheesy” meal in months…It was soooo good! Learn a traditional Ghanaian instrument, check that off the list.    

Happy (belated) Halloween! My Halloween was a little bitter-sweet considering I was recovering from malaria and could not eat any of the delicious food that was prepared for the big Halloween bash setup at the Dance Department. Nonetheless, my friends dragged me out of the room, dressed as a red “spicy salsa” Crayola crayon to attend the party my friend Carlin had organized. Walking through the streets down to the event was pretty hilarious because Ghanaians already stare at us every day but now that we were dressed in ridiculous outfits they would not break their gaze. The party was awesome- it was decorated with typical Halloween decorations all over and had a DJ who played all the latest Ghanaian hip life music as well as popular American jams. All of the international students dressed up and I saw one too many Ghanaians dressed as Michael Jackson. In the end, it was nice to bring a little America to Ghana and celebrate a holiday I love so much.

The other day I went with a group of my friends to the Culture Center in Accra. Since it was the weekend and tro-tros were packed, we had to split up. When three of us were still stuck at the station below campus and about to throw in the towel and bargain for a taxi one of our student guides walked up. Out of nowhere a bus pulls up with two of our other student guides...to the rescue! The driver let us hop on and escorted us downtown for free…I swear things here have the craziest ways of working out. The Culture Center was packed with vendors who were eager for the foreign customers. Rows and rows of jewelry, wood carvings, musical instruments, cloths, leather work, lined the outdoor market. The problem was we were hassled at every corner- people hissing at you and grabbing your hand constantly trying to drag you to their shop saying “don’t worry you can look for free.” One of the best items I spotted all day was a shirt with bold letters saying “Make fufu not war.” Fyi fufu is one of the traditional dishes here. I did some successful bargaining and headed back to campus drained from the day’s events. I ate some jollof rice, plantains, and pineapple from the night market with my friend Victor and crashed when I got back to my room.

Last night I took my friend, Acacia, into Osu for her birthday. We went to the Thai restaurant, Zion Thai, that I discovered a couple of months ago but have not returned to thus far. Acacia got the vegetarian pad Thai and I got the chicken red curry. I would have to say, it was my best meal thus far (and it wasn’t even Ghanaian food). Turns out the restaurants is owned by a Ghanaian man and his wife from Thailand. After, we went to KFC- the first American chain restaurant in Ghana- and got vanilla ice cream cones…delicious. I have realized that my happiest moments surround good food, and this night was no different.

Random facts:

Ghanaians answer cell phones in class and professors do not care at all.

Ghanaian markets NEVER have exact change.

Restaurants on campus close at around 6PM leaving my late night cravings that I can usually satisfy at Silvergreens or Freebirds in Isla Vista, unresolved.

Four lizards have made their home above the door to my room. And a dragon fly the size of my hand has made it a habit to run into my window repeatedly.

Ghanaians do not understand how Americans can eat three meals a day; instead they eat one (sometimes two) large meals.

I am mentally used to only using my right hand now. I purposely will switch a water bottle into my left hand in order to greet someone and ALWAYS pay and receive money with my right.

America= Obamaland.