Obama's Children

5 AM is not my ideal wakeup time. But it is what had to be done in order to make the four hour drive to Wli Waterfall. This weekend our EAP group teamed up with the CSU kids and headed out to one of the ten regions of Ghana- the Volta Region. The drive was pretty long but as always I found entertainment in our Ghanaian student guides. Pamela, the Ghanaian girl sitting next to me, whipped out her phone and started playing the latest Ghanaian hits while Kojo and Jyimah bobbed their heads to the beat. When we arrived at the starting point for the hike up to the waterfall, we were first fed lunch from “Tasty Treats”- basically we ate rice. When Ghanaians tell you that we will be “hiking” what they really mean is taking a stroll. The mini hike was full of photo opportunities as we trekked through the cleared path that was surrounded by lush green plants and trees. At several places you could peak through the greenery and view huge green mountains that resemble Hawaiian postcard images. When we reached the waterfall I was in complete awe. I thought that Wli waterfall was going to be a hyped up tourist spot but this waterfall was point blank, one of the most magnificent I have ever seen (worth looking up on Google images). Although I was wearing my swimsuit, I was hesitant to swim but I wasn’t the first one to make the decision to take the plunge but once one member of our group took the dive, I decided “Hey, I’m in Ghana” and followed their lead. So our American group stripped down and dove in, becoming the public spectacle for all the tourists. It definitely crossed my mind that it is an American tendency to think nature is around for us to enjoy- and I felt a little guilty as we ruined the peaceful water below. However, I have also heard that most Ghanaians can’t swim, so I chose the second reason for why the Africans standing around were not swimming. The power of the waterfall hitting the pool of water below was so strong it created a mist that was so powerful that I could not open my eyes despite standing quite a distance away from the striking center. Plus, one of the guides said not to get to close to the center because A. you can get pushed under by the force and B. there is sinking sand. So in order to make my mom proud, I followed the rules. At one point, my roommate tapped me and said “can you believe this?” I cranked my head all the way back so I was practically looking straight up in order to see the top of the waterfall, closed my eyes and took a deep breath in and thought about the strength of nature. When we dried off after getting out of the water, the sky went dark. I looked up only to see bats, bats, and more BATS- so many that the sunlight was blocked. Too bad I didn’t have my camera as evidence.

When our group found out that we were not going to have time to go to the monkey sanctuary, a few of us had a moment of spontaneity and decided to stay the night. As the bus drove away with the majority of our group on its way homebound to Accra, it hit me “what did I get myself into?” Thirteen of us squished into a bed of a white truck and were escorted around the town of Ho Hoy in a mad hunt for a hostel.  The moment seemed so surreal- despite being packed in like sardines and bobbing around on a terribly paved dirt road in an incredibly uncomfortable position, the mood was full of optimism. After scouting out 5 or so hostels we settled on one just outside of the town. Eleven of the girls were to stay in one room with two beds and the two boys were placed in another room. Random story: At one of the prospective hostels, an older security guard approached us while we were chilling in the bed of the truck and asked where we were from. When we answered the United States, he got a huge smile and said, “You are welcome Obama’s children!”

The whole “Obama’s children” thing was a little too ironic because it was one of the girl in our programs birthday and for her big 21^st we ended up at a bar and restaurant that was named none other than “Obama’s,” with an American flag in its logo. Obama’s ended up being an incredibly expensive bar with only fried rice and pizza on the menu for a ridiculous price. So I hit the street and found an egg sandwich stand for the US equivalent of sixty cents. It was a fun night but I headed back to the hostel early to get some rest for the next day. I slept in a bed with six girls until I decided that I was so cramped that I ended up on the floor using wet towels as blankets. 

The next morning we woke up bright and early at 6AM with the intentions of going to the monkey sanctuary…until we realized it was Sunday and the sanctuary was a 2 hour drive out of our way. Since Sundays basically mean that nobody is working, we figured it was in our best interest to head back to Accra. So we bought egg sandwiches again and loaded up a tro-tro for our journey back to Accra. Some of us had mini panic attacks because we have been instructed not to take tro-tros long distances because of their unreliable nature, but there were no buses running on this day so I was forced to jump aboard. Tro-tros are absolutely insane! Basically, they are vans holding on by a thread, driven by strangers who maneuver the bumpy dirt roads like racecar drivers. They are cheap methods of transportation but they stuff people in and drive like they are invincible. Being in a tro-tro made the beauty of the scenery come alive so much more than the air conditioned bus we had been chauffeured around in previously. Finally, I felt like I was out on my own adventuring through Africa. I survived my first tro-tro ride and made it back to Legon in record time…but when I got home I crashed with exhaustion and slept till the next morning.

Random stories:

Despite schools starting a week ago, I have only had one actual lecture and my music and dance classes. What’s funny is the only class I did have, European history, was taught by an American professor who kept making jokes about American football- the Ghanaian students seemed incredibly lost.

The format of my classes is that I only have each class once a week for 2 hour lectures. Most of the classes are dictated using the British style of education and students are expected to teach themselves.

My xylophone class is intense! Even though I signed up for Music 013, which is the beginning class, I was placed with students who have been playing for ten years. Instead of helping me learn the basics, the teacher (who is super cool) expects me to keep up with the musical geniuses. It is humiliating being pointed out in class enough as it is being a foreigner but considering I am not musically inclined, I get called out all the time as the “slow one” who needs to practice. So my experiences in xylo have left me with private lessons twice a week with the teacher who thinks my name is extremely funny because he has read the book Heidi. I still consistently get asked to recite something German or Swiss.

Food wise, I have decided to name myself a “carbovore.” All I eat are carbs. Rice, bread, beans, pineapple, mango, red-red, plantains, bananas, and water make up my diet. I recently discovered yogurt in a cup- I can’t decide if it is safe to experiment with. I bought cooking gear with some of the other girls and hope to try and even out my diet ASAP.

Tonight I just got back from my history class titled The Black Diaspora. When I walked in, I immediately noticed that I once again had another foreign teacher. The class was absolutely chaotic: my teacher, a fresh out of grad school white American woman, was eaten alive by the Ghanaian students. As she tried to read through the syllabus, a roar from the audience made it impossible for her to speak. My best guess is that they were upset that a white American is teaching a class on the Black Diaspora. Nonetheless, my professor almost broke down in tears as she said “I have never been treated in such a horrible manner.” In the next two minutes she gathered her papers and walked out. She left a number of copies on the table up front and the Ghanaian students pounced on them. Some students grabbed ten or so copies, holding them up and attempting to sell them for five cedis (like 3 US dollars). I ended up leaving with a deer-in-the-headlights look and without the required reading for the next week. I just don’t know if this professor is going to be able to gain the respect of the Ghanaian students now that she stormed out…I will keep you posted.