Ghanaian Time

Time in Ghana doesn´t exist. At least not in the same way time exists for us in the “western” world. Time is an abstract concept which is intangible to the senses and is therefore insignificant to the Ghanaian mind. Time is faceless and because of that lacking image, Ghanaians seem to completely ignore it.

A culture and religion professor, a serious man, whom I recently interviewed didn´t hesitate when he acknowledged that in Ghana they “play with time.” Our interview was scheduled at 11 a.m. yet we didn´t meet until 12:30 p.m. Not one word was mentioned about the delay, perhaps because I was the only one who noticed it.

The idea of rushing to an appointment is a foreign concept for Ghanaians who like to live a stress-free/hurry-free type of life. Things get done here, but at a different pace. If the water doesn´t work in the morning, then you just wait until it works in the afternoon. If someone said they would call you today and they don´t, they will probably do so tomorrow.

Time is trivial. An hour is just an hour, as a day is just a day. All can be done in an hour; nothing might get done in a day. Like anywhere else, Ghanaian time goes by at a steady motion—4, goes after 3, which is after 2, which is later than 1. However, if things get bumped later (never earlier), you, for lack of a better term, just go with the flow.

Take for example my morning today. I had scheduled an appointment with Women´s World Bank to go around Makola Market interviewing some of their clients. I was told to be at their office at 7:30 a.m. I did find it somewhat strange that I would interview people at the market so early, but I figured maybe this specific market opened earlier than the rest. I went to bed early last night, woke up at 6:30 a.m. and was at WWB by 7:20 a.m. Obviously the market was closed, and my reporting was rescheduled for Friday, at 10 a.m. This was an honest mistake that could have happened anywhere, even at a place where time is valued. However, it´s the nonchalant attitude what defines Ghanaian´s relationship with time--Oh, you woke up early today and couldn´t get you work done, well, then you can do it tomorrow and if not the day after that.

Under certain circumstances, like the one this morning, their approach to time is rather irritating, to say the least. It´s hard to get things done in a place where everyone works at different schedules and where time and punctuality are meaningless words. But in most cases, Ghanaian time philosophy is, if anything, admirable. No one here is constrained to follow any schedule and if they couldn´t make it to an appointment, well, they just couldn´t make it. Their stress in minimal, their life is more free. Ghanaian time fits Ghanaian life, where it´s never too late or too early to do anything and where time is not of the essence.

Stories

The following are news feature articles that I have written for my class while in Ghana.

EDUCATION IN GHANA

When he grows up, Frank Sackey wants to be an airplane pilot. The glare in his grey coal-colored eyes proves that this fearless 15-year-old won´t let anything interfere with his plans for the future. With an innocent smile he reveals that, while he has yet to step foot on a plane, he has been intrigued by them since he was 6 years old. Frank recognizes that in order to achieve his goal of one day becoming a pilot, he must first finish his high school education at the Li Yahoushua public school in Accra.

In Ghana, where schooling is seen as a luxury rather than as a rite of passage as is frequently the case in the USA, most children share Frank´s attitude, fervently valuing their education.

“I like school because that´s where you get your knowledge and you need knowledge to succeed,” said Victoria Togbe, a 16-year-old student at Li Yahoushua school. While waving at her classmates, who are walking over the sewage walk-way which serves as the entrance to their school, Victoria said she deems herself lucky because “kids that don´t go to school are suffering because if you don´t study you can´t go anywhere.”

For some of the less privilege kids in Accra, going to school is not an option. Even though Li Yahoushua is a public school and classes have no cost, some cannot afford to buy books or the proper uniform that is required.

Francis, a 13-year-old boy, is one of the fortunate ones who can meet the expense. He takes advantage of his privileged position because he believes that “without school you can´t be someone in the future.” Francis hopes to become a doctor.

Michael Sackey was one of the less fortunate ones. Now 29, Mr. Sackey works as an engineer to help his nephew, Frank Sackey´s, dream come true. While he hopes that Frank will one day become a pilot, he believes that his nephew must educate himself first: “learning will allow [him] to teach other people in the future.”


ELMINA CASTLE

In the dark dungeon, light became the enemy - vomit, excrement and dead bodies were best kept in the shadows. Rape and the lack of food and water propagated suicidal thoughts; neither the body nor the brain could endure more inhuman treatment. The few who survived the hardship were sent to faraway lands to continue with their ordeal. Black African slaves were never to come back to their homeland. The last they saw of Africa was the Door of No Return inside the white walls of the Elmina Castle.

Enslavement of black Africans has long ceased. Today, the Door of No Return invites people from all over the world to remember the tragedy. Once feared by West Africans, the 527-year-old Elmina Castle is now one of the most visited sites in West Africa.

“It’s important people do this tour because it’s important people know our history and know what happened,” said Amarteifio Isaac a tour guide, originally from Accra.

Alyssa Amponsah, an African American and a teacher of African Studies at the University of Massachusets, understands the importance of visiting the Castle. As a professor she felt it was crucial for her to experience first-hand this part of history and bring the information back to her students in the USA. Her lineage, however, also played a big role as in how she felt.

“This is a lot more personal when you can connect it to your great great grandparents,” Amponsah said.

The events that took place at the castle were nothing short of a tragedy, with horror stories of women being forced to sleep with white men or the malaria pandemic infecting and killing the already tragically malnourished Africans.

But its with these tragic memories in mind, that Cape Coast, as well as the rest of the country, push for people to visit the castle and understand what truly happened there - as tour guide Gideon Amissah said, “Ghanaians hope that history will not repeat itself.”

Great Day-- afternoon

Later on that day, I visited Women´s World Bank for an interview for one of my final news stories. The interview went great and that´s always rewarding enough to make the day great. After Women´s World Bank, I had lunch on the street (plantain chips and water) and then I headed over to the fortress, which took me a while because traffic was awful. Once back home, I changed out of my black jeans because the heat was now unbearable.
The day was beautiful and Julia, an NYU friend, needed to interview some musicians, so a couple of us went with her to the Accra Arts Center which is hands down one of my favorite places in the city. Shacks full of masks, stools, necklaces and other crafts are hanging around everywhere you look. Their specialty, however, is drum-making. Men are sitting on the floor carving tree logs, while animal skin lies out in the sun to be dried and later tightened with a metal strap to the top part of the drum. The drums are first sand and carved with African designs, they are then polished to make their bases shine. Most of them have color, but others are just plain wood or black. Regardless all of them are amazing. Our friends at the shack also showed us what they call a “tourist drum”—a drum made from wood of poor quality and wrapped with leather at the top that will never deliver a good sound. Basically, the tourist drum should be solely used for decoration.
The four of us, Elana, Julia, Allie and I, got to play real drums. We played for a long time and besides the blisters in my hands, I discovered that drumming is perhaps the closest I will ever get to being “good” at playing an instrument. Too bad this discovery was so late in my life.

Great Day-- morning

The day was great from the start. I woke up at 7 a.m. to take advantage of the morning because there is nothing like an African morning. The noise in the street is minimal, the bargaining hasn´t begun and the sun welcomes you, without choking you, as it does in the later hours of the day.
No one from the fortress (NYU housing) was up yet so I figured I would visit Rosemary and her sister Joyce at their food stand by the alley.
Joyce, who is 22 years old and has braided hair and was wearing a shining pink top, is the wild child. With her loud voice and her always present smile, this free spirited soul, a self-proclaimed “city girl” told me that she can´t wait to travel around the world. She didn´t know exactly where Colombia was (actually she didn´t know it existed), so I drew her somewhat of a map and she said that, although Ghana is her favorite country and she loves Accra, she would come visit me someday.

Rosemary, on the other hand, who is only 16 years old, was more quiet and gentle, but exuded an aura of maturity and genuine kindness. She is perhaps not a wild soul like her sister, but she carries a golden soul. She told me that her favorite food is meat, but that she is fine eating it only on Christmas Eve because she knows it is too expensive and her mother cannot afford it every day.
After talking with the girls for a while, my stomach was rumbling so I went ahead and bought a pineapple juice and chocolate wafer cookie. The cookie was surprisingly good. Cookies here tend to be too dry for my taste, except for Hob-Nobs, which NYU provided for our house at the beginning but which we devoured shamelessly in one week and have not been able to find them since. The pineapple juice on the other hand has become one of my great addictions in this trip. Other addictions include, Orange Fanta, fried plantain chips, both sweet and salty, plantain slices and cubes, and Ghanaian dishes that I hope to write about soon.
Back to the great day. While having my breakfast I asked Rosemary and Joyce to tell me about their own eating habits. When they realized I hadn´t tried Kenkey, their everyday breakfast, Rosemary ran out and bought me some so I could eat. Kenkey is a traditional Ghanaian dish which is prepared by boiling fermented cooked maize and mixing it with raw maize. The final product is then wrapped in corn leaves. While it was still hot, it was actually pretty good, a little tasteless, but good nonetheless. Then, it started cooling off, its texture disappeared and I realized the amount of Keneky was massive. I really couldn´t eat more than a quarter (picture below), so I took it back with me. Rosemary and Joyce refused that I paid them back for the Kenkey, repeatedly saying it was “a gift, a gift!”Already this had made my day.
Once I got back to the “fortress” I wasn’t feeling too well and my assumption that it was because of the Kenkey was reaffirmed after Sam, one of our drivers, laughed while telling me that “Kenkey is very very heavy.” He knew what he was talking about.

Transportation.

The way public transportation works in Ghana represents pretty much how the country works as a whole. It´s hard to tell how long it will take you to get to one place—one day it may be 15 minutes, other days it might take an hour. Traffic is slow and rowdy, but at the end of the day, you get wherever you need to get.
The most common form of public transportation within the city is the Tro-Tro, a small bus/van, similar to a “buseta” back home. Tro-Tros come in different sizes and different colors, but they all have one thing in common, they are ALWAYS packed. You will usually find a seat in the Tro.Tro, but rest assure that it was thanks to a kind woman who instead of seating comfortably, she seats with two of her children in her lap. This woman, however, manages to smile and will engage with you in a conversation. When the Tro-Tro stops, everyone from the front rows gets off to let the passengers in the back step outside. It´s the Ghanaian way—everyone helps everyone. Everyone, happily, helps everyone.
Before hoping into a Tro-Tro, you should make sure it´s going in the direction you need, because the bus/van does not have any sign that indicates where it´s going and you might end up in the wrong place. Instead of having a sign, boys who sit in the front seat swing their arms out the window making different shapes which, apparently, let you know where the bus is heading. For example, if they´re motioning a circle you know they are going to the Kwame Nkrumah circle, so if you are going anywhere in between where you are and the circle you hop on that one. If the guy has his arms raised and is shaking his hand back and forth in a straight line, you know he´s going to one neighborhood, if he´s simply waving his hand, the Tro-Tro is going somewhere else. It´s a simple system, all the locals understand it and they like it. Ghanaian life is simple, it does not have too many complications and people love it. I love it.
Tro-Tro´s are also used to travel between cities. Everyone tries to get a seat by the window because it tends to get hot and a little breeze is always good. There are no bus schedules and the buses only leave once every seat is full. This can take hours, so patience is a requirement when travelling in Ghana.
Besides Tro-Tro´s, cabs are also commonly used. This is when the art of bargaining really comes in handy. If a cab driver asks you for 5 cedis, you must go in for 2 cedis; you will probably get your ride for 3 cedis. If the first cab driver didn´t lower his price, you have to be patient; chances are you will get a better deal with the next. The cab situation is like playing a game, one in which the tourist always goes in losing. But if you play well and pretend like you know what you are talking about when you ask for a better price, you might just get lucky.

Bubs and I go to Church.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X_WhmY6v4ag

Church.

Elana, a friend from NYU, was invited to attend a Sunday service at the Pentecost Church of Labone (our neighborhood church) by Rosemary, a girl who works at a food stand in the alley near our house. I decided to tag along. Before I begin you must first know that Ghana is a very religious country-- politics and religion usually go hand in hand and Christianity shapes Ghanaian culture to the extent that many locals engage in unprotected sexual intercourse because the church rejects the use of condom. When you ask people on the street how they´re doing your most common response would be “By the grace of God, I am doing fine.” Islam is practiced in the northern part of the country, with around 10% of Ghanaian population labeling themselves as Muslims. Beside Christianity and Islamic influence, traditional religions are still very dominant within Ghanaian society. Religion is a central part of their lives and we were lucky enough to have been able to participate in one of their many celebrations...

On Sundays everyone makes the effort to go to Church. Services that can last up to 5 hours, as did ours. Their church group is like their family and far more than a religious duty, going to Church is a spiritual encounter with God which is celebrated beside their loved ones.

When Elana and I arrived to the Pentecost Church, we realized that before praying and chanting, we had to attend Sunday school with the rest of the locals. Classes were divided into four fractions depending on age and the language. Classes were given in either in Twi, Ga or English. Thankfully for us, Rosemary´s class was in English. The students read passages from the New Testament and were questioned about their own perception of Evangelism. A lot of emphasis was put on “the purity” and “virginity” of girls, with the teacher insisting numerous times, that girls should not visit men´s house on their own. Once the lecture ended, men and women were separated into different aisles and the actual service began.

The service was held in Twi and Ga, so aside from the few instances that Rosemary translated for us, the words were impossible to understand. The one thing I did understand, however, was when, in the middle of the service, the priest stopped his sermon and asked for “our two white friends to raise their hands and wave.” We did as instructed and everyone cheered as the priest went on to say that he was "very happy” to have “the white friends visit” because it meant that “The Church of Pentecost at Labone is becoming international.”

What happened during the couple of hours was something that I had never before seen in my life. I am not a religious person, but this service certainly moved me. In the most humble location, in a Church that is merely a building under construction, with a couple of benches and no walls through which the sun creeps in, women sporting their most elegant dresses, with fabrics of all types of colors full of African designs and men wearing their long sleeved shirts, a community came together, to honor God. Music took over the room. As children danced, women and men sang; the eldest came up front and danced in a circle while playing instruments; the priest waved his white cloth around the air with a permanent smile on his face. He went around the circle of women and danced with them, occasionally closing his eyes making it clear he was thanking God for allowing him to direct this celebration. The rest of the people raised their arms welcoming God into their Church, their voices soaring out onto the streets, and the music kept playing.

As if the singing and dancing wasn´t enough, Elana and I were granted the opportunity to participate in the commemoration of Samson Mofu, a church member who had passed away on Wednesday night after a health complication linked to typhoid. Members of his family walked to the front and thanked the church for giving them the money to cover the expenses of the funeral. His brothers, all wearing black and white, and his sisters, most of them in red and black, chanted and sang in their brother´s name. One of them even made the crowd laugh as he delivered a speech that said farewell to his brother. The celebration left me speechless. Samson´s tribute is just merely an example of the way Ghanaians treat someone’s loss. Instead of mourning death, Ghanaians celebrate that person´s life and celebrate that person´s time to rest and go to the heavens, as explained by Rosemary.

(If you want to see the video click on the link above)

Reggae Story.

Bob Marley would have been proud if he had met Niikoney Obom. Sporting his dreadlocks down to his shoulders and a drum wrapped around his waist, Obom, a member of Ghanaian reggae group United Abbysinia, prophesizes about the idea of one love as he sings to visitors at the Labadi Beach in Accra.

Obom, who goes by Krasta when he´s performing on stage, believes that reggae goes beyond its musical definition. Like him, many Ghanaians interpret reggae as a culture in itself and a way of life.

“Reggae is the gospel,” says Obom with a smile that exposes the gap between his two front teeth. “When you have love issues or mental issues you need reggae,” he says with conviction.

Obom and the other band member, who refused to give his real name, but goes by Rasta Revolution, have been playing together since the 1980´s. They write their own songs, which have been inspired by several musicians including the late Michael Jackson. As of now, music is their only occupation and they are fully devoted to spreading the message that reggae encompasses.

“I like the reggae culture, because they believe in equality,” says Danny Sodatonou, who works as a waiter at Labadi Beach. “They embrace everyone, no matter what religion they are from because they believe in one love.”

“I listen to the words [in songs] because reggae music inspires me,” says Gershon Lumor, a 36- year-old Ghanaian man, who frequents Reggae Night at Labadi Beach on Wednesdays.

Rebecca Philips, originally from Chicago, and a self-proclaimed reggae fan, says that, “most locals like reggae but they don´t like Rastafarians and many times these go hand in hand.” Rastafarians, who have often been stigmatized as drug addicts, are commonly rejected by society.

However, Teresa Kumah, a science student who works at a clothing stand at Labadi Beach, claims that she admires reggae singers because they “talk about truth. They say what they want to say and they say it loudly.”

Labadi Beach and Reggae singers

For those of you who have been keeping up with my blog you have already read about Labadi Beach—reggae Mecca. We spent most of our day on Friday at Labadi, which is kind of stressful and kind of funny. Beach vendors won´t leave you alone, they sit down, try to sell you things and it doesn´t matter how clear or how many times you say “No thank you I am not going to buy ANYTHING. I do NOT want to,” they will persist. A guy carries a snake around the beach and for 10 pesuas (cents) you can touch it. Needless to say, this doesn´t make me particularly happy. Aside from these details and the occasional trash, the beach is fun. On Friday, we got there at noon, by 12:20 I was already sleeping on a chair, just to wake up two hours later to two Rasta men serenading us with Bob Marley tunes. The two artists: Rasta Revolution and Krasta belong to a Ghanaian Group called United Abbysinia, which frequently plays at Reggae Night at Labadi Beach. Krasta told me that his real name is Niikoney Obom. Rasta Revolution, however, refused to give me his real name and when I asked how old he was his answer was—“as old as creation. An ancient man.” He looked like he was in his late 50´s. They prophesized about “one love” and “unity and equality.” At the end, we try to play the drum while they sang in the background…. I´m beginning to embrace the Rastafarian culture.

A Slice of Ghanaian Night Life

Our group split this weekend with some of our friends travelling to the West Region while the rest of us stayed in Accra. I personally found it crucial to stay and explore the city, considering this was perhaps the only weekend we had free from travel. The weekend turned out to be awesome. On Friday night a few of us went to Twist, a bar close to our house which we have gone already several times because of their, um, special treatment for NYU students—Twist membership cards which include two glasses of vodka pineapple for 5 cedis (roughly $3.75) and access to the dj stand/computer where we can basically play whatever song we want. Not a bad a deal.

Anyway, we met our Ghanaian friends at Twist and we headed to Champs, a bar located at La Paloma hotel, which hosts karaoke night on Fridays. The place was packed with half locals and half internationals and some old guys playing pool in the back. Our NYU crowd and Ghanaian friends deemed it appropriate to go on stage and sing the lyrics of “Whenever, Wherever” by Shakira. I think we did a decent job. Too bad there aren´t any pictures of it.

Jamestown

Jamestown is a fishing port in Accra, home to a big population of indigenous people. It is one of the poorest areas in the city, with most people living in shacks or in rundown buildings. Surprisingly, the people were not very welcoming at first. Since my arrival to Accra, people have been eager to talk to talk to me, providing interviews and never refusing to have their picture taken. In Jamestown, the reaction was different… A woman accepted to have her picture taken if I paid her $100 dollars; a man walking by told me “the chief” wanted to see me because I had been snapping photos. I refused to see “the chief” and so the man ordered me to “delete every picture in the camara from Jamestown.” “Obrunni Obrunni” (white person) was shouted to my face numerous times with eyes that told me that I was not welcomed. But then, I walked a little further, away from the main market, and stripped off my terrified face and pretended to be cool with the evil stares that demanded me to get out and the welcoming vibe of Accra reappeared. Men and women missing teeth smiled for the pictures; children with scars that made it clear they were infected by HIV ran for the camera; a group of sisters sitting by their mothers bar asked if they could model, the answer was obviously yes. At the end of the day they were all saying “Bye Obrunni, come back!” I´ll settle with that.

Weekend at Cape Coast.

After the Elmina Castle, we went canopying at Kakum National Park. At first, walking through the hanging “bridges” from one tree to the next was somewhat nerve-racking. You´re standing, literally on tree-tops and the platforms don´t seem to be particularly stable. But once you get past the first one and realize the platform can actually hold you, you can breathe in and enjoy the 300 meter long tree-top walkway.

Weekend at Cape Coast

Today we visited “Elmina Castle”, which was one of the most important epicenters of slave trade in West Africa. According to our tour guide, around 12 million black Africans passed through the castle, but only 4 million came out of it alive. Those surviving 4 million were sent on ships to other countries to work as slaves. They never returned to Africa.

Today the castle stands as one of the most visited tourist centers in the region. The castle in itself is beautiful-- white walls built against a sea of rich blue and blue skies. Waves crashing against the rocks are a soundtrack to the governor´s room. You wouldn´t think people were brutalized and tortured at such premises. But then, as you descend into the dungeons, which served as rooms for the slaves, the putrid stench begins to reveal the real story of Elmina Castle. Dark rooms with no ventilation held captive hundreds of black Africans. Steel balls and chains were used to punish women who refused to be raped. And then, there´s the Door of No Return, where slaves finally stepped into the outside world, where they were forces into ships that would deprive them of their homeland for ever.

Weekend at Cape Coast

The town of Cape Coast is a typical West African beach town with fishermen boats docked by its coast. At times, the city may seem overwhelming with thousands of people scattered around and the heat evading every part of your body. However, the “tropical” feeling that invades Cape Coast makes the experience worthwhile.

Weekend at Cape Coast

Last weekend we traveled to Cape Coast which is the capital of the Central Region of Ghana. It took us a while to get here because the country was pretty much paralyzed with Obama´s visit. However, the long wait was worth it. Once we got to the hotel we relaxed by the pool until our dinner (typical Ghanaian food—spicy and tasty) was ready. After that, we enjoyed palm wine by a bonfire at the beach.

Obama visits Ghana.

The streets were jammed with cars; we were stuck for 2 and half hours in traffic. People were fighting to get closer to a radio; the lucky ones would be able to see this historic moment on TV. And at 12:30 p.m. the city went silent-- President Obama was about to deliver his speech in front of the Ghanaian government and the few lucky journalists (mostly Americans) who were invited to the conference center.

The small sub-Saharan country, once known for its profitable slave trade of black Africans, today can rejoice in its popularity for a different reason--the first African-American president of the United States chose it as his first destination in Sub-Saharan Africa.

His speech touched upon different aspects, including health care initiatives and sustainable energy solution. However, it was his claim that “Africa´s future is up to Africa,” what struck me the most. I saw a new face of the US. It´s still the US that adheres to democracy, the US that defends and pushes for democracy, however, this is a US that respects a country´s sovereignty and supports, rather than intervenes, in a country´s path for change.

Maybe, change has really come to America.

School.

For our first reporting assignment I chose to write about high school students. The information I found interviewing was interesting, however it was meeting these students what made this experience memorable. Victoria, a 10th grader, invited me over to her home where she lives with her four older brothers, while Frank, our neighbor, introduced me to his cousins and uncle who at the end of the interview gave me an amazing yellow t-shirt as a gift. Both Frank and Victoria, and Francis and Bright and Samuel and Bismarck amazed me in the way they were eager to talk to me and show me how much they value their education. I believe I had never seen children so enthusiastic about attending school. It really is inspiring to see how, since education is not a given, but rather a privilege in Ghana, no one takes it for granted. Classes start at 8:00 a.m., however, these children get to school at 7:00 a.m. every morning to clean up their facilities and they do so joyfully because school is important to them. For many it´s like a second home, like the case of Samuel who lives in an orphanage and school has become more a family to him. Girls are required to cut their hair off because the education committees’ don´t want girls spending their money or time on their hair, and uniforms, although sometimes a bit expensive, are required in order for there to be no difference amongst students. They all proudly wear their orange and brown uniform.

First weekend in Ghana-- Mount Afadjato

4:45 am. That’s the time we woke up, had breakfast and started our climb up West Africa´s highest mountain—Mount Afadjato. The view was breathtaking... clear skies and green everywhere you looked. Our guide, Justice, was 17 years old and climbs the mountain three times a day. Personally, once will do it for me...

First Weekend in Ghana--Home Stay.

After the African party at the falls we got in our van a traveled for another hour until we reached the town of Liati Wote where we spent the night in a home-stay. Our hosts, “Robert” and his daughter Gifti, welcomed us into their home. Their kindness and hospitality is indescribable. “Robert”, who was around 60 years old, gave my roommate and me his own room while he slept outside on the floor. Gifti, on the other hand, cooked a delicious dinner with the signature Ghanian spicy sauce for the 14 of us. Their home become our home for the night, with “Robert” repeatedly telling us “Akwaaba! Akwaaba! (Welcome! Welcome!) This is all yours tonight!”

After dinner, they had a surprise for us—members of the village came to play drums for us. While the men played drums and sang, the girls danced and accompanied the men with their lovely voices. We were all speechless. Once they were done, they invited us to dance with them. Although we clearly lacked the rhythm … it was an amazing night.

First Weekend in Ghana-- Hohoe Falls

This weekend we decided to venture out without NYU scheduling and planning so went on our own on a trip to the Volta Region of Ghana. We were out of the dorms by 8 am thinking we would be there in an hour and a half as we had been previously told. But, as we have learned in our first week here, time in Africa tends to fluctuate. Meeting times vary—if someone tells you to be there at 2pm YOU have to be there at 2pm, but that doesn´t necessarily mean they will be there before 3.

So, our hour and a half was really 3 hours and a half. Regardless, after a bumpy ride (they have speed bumps every 100 mts or so) and little sleep we were finally arriving to our destination at around noon. As we walked through the deep jungle trying to reach the Hohoe falls (highest waterfall in West Africa), we could hear hiplife music playing in the background. After 45 minutes of walking, we arrived to a true African party and this is what we saw...

Out

Going out on a weekend trip. Will be blogging soon...

Reggae Night

Last night was reggae night at the beach. It´s held every Wednesday in Labadi beach. I didn´t take my camera so unfortunately, I have no pictures to put up. This is a general overview of how the night went… Paid 5 cidis to get in, walk in and the beach is packed with guys and two or three foreign girls, got asked if I had a husband (3 times), danced reggae with all the rastas, met a guy from Bogota (obviously), met more rastas, ate popcorn (they sell it everywhere here), met 60 year old rasta twins, danced with them… I want to live in Ghana.

Republic Day

Republic Day is the day Ghanaians celebrates the day that Ghana became a sovereign republic in 1960. Today is their 49th year anniversary. The presidents’ cup, which is a soccer game held every year on Republic Day, was held in honor of president J.E.A Mills. The two competing teams this year were a team from Accra called the Hearts of Oak vs. The Phobians.

We were practically the first ones to arrive at the stadium...

Then people started coming in and we made friends with all the fans....

Accra Team won...