Sandrina, Alayna and I just returned from a 5 day trip through Togo and Benin. We just got a taste of the countries, but it was enough to have great times and remark upon some major differences.
Our trip did not get off to a great start when we arrived tired and hungry at the Togo border at 8:30pm only to encounter a very disgruntled border official. It was the most ghetto border I have ever witnessed: the man was seated at a wooden table on the side of a shack and light was provided by another man shining a flashlight on the table. The border guard was furious that we had come so late to buy our visas (the border closes at 10pm) and began barking that we had to leave and come back in the morning. Thankfully a few passersby pleaded with the man on our behalf and after two hours we were finally through. He was angry because he had so many passports to process but the frustrating part was that he was moving so painstakingly slow!! The Togo visa is a multi-step masterpiece, but instead of licking 3 stamps and placing them in our respective passports at the same time, he would lick one, place it ever so carefully on one passport page, then the other…and so on. Finally, passports in hand, then a marriage proposal later, we got a ride to our hotel and collapsed into bed.
The most challenging element to our stay was mastering the currency. All the denominations were so big! One Canadian dollar is 486 CFA so for example, a long taxi ride was 2000 CFA, our hotel room 10,500 CFA – it was just so hard to conceptualize the value of things without a calculator in hand. We got used to it eventually though and quickly learned the right prices for things. One of our tricks was to ask the other passengers in a shared taxi how much they were paying to ensure we wouldn’t get ripped off. Saturday morning we went to a fetish market – I’ve never seen anything like it before. There were heads of every African animal imaginable, (leopard, hippo, monkey, dog, cat, etc.) bones, feathers, skins… apparently people who practice voodoo frequent this market to cure their ailments. Once the skull of your chosen animal is purchased, it is ground into a powder, mixed with some other things and then injected into your body. Interesting…
We stopped for lunch at a street-side Togolese establishment – I delved into a delicious plate of couscous, potatoes, peas and egg.
We spent the afternoon perusing the market – I made my first fabric purchase which was very exciting for me. I dithered while my friends bought up the store – I was worried it was too “out there” – but I took the plunge. I guess we’ll see, I dropped the fabric off to be made into a skirt this morning (4$ for a custom-made skirt – how can you go wrong?).
Sunday morning we made our way across the country admiring the beautiful shoreline, palm trees everywhere – gorgeous. We also went through the industrial area and noticed many public service billboards along the way, mostly regarding HIV/AIDS prevention.
The border at Benin was a much more positive experience – the officials were pleased to see Canadians and and we were thrilled to have yet another beautiful visa adorn our passport pages. There were no buses or tro-tros to be seen, so we shared a regular-sized 4-door to a place where we could catch a ride to Ouidah. They really know how to make the most out of their vehicles– we were 4 in the back, and 3 in the front (one was a child on a lap), not including the driver!! Sandrina, Alayna and I mastered the technique of sitting on one hip and then rotating in unison every hour. We got dropped off on the side of a 6-lane dirt highway with cars and motorbikes coming in every direction. Our taxi driver said that that we could catch our ride on the other side of the road. “But how does he expect us to make it across that road alive?” I wondered aloud. No traffic lights in sight and an endless stream of cars and trucks coming from both directions…the situation looked hopeless. I noticed a huge truck turning across the first 3 lanes so I grabbed Sandrina, yelled NOW! And we darted across unharmed. Thank goodness we did this trip at the peak of our physical condition because I doubt my heart could handle that crossing in 60 years. While we were sitting in the 30-passenger van waiting for it to depart, I noticed a lady on the side of the road spreading guacamole between two fresh slices of baguette…Alayna and I looked at each other. This was definitely against doctor’s orders – unsanitary in every way but we couldn’t resist!! It was our favourite meal of the trip and, knock on wood, no negative repercussions so far.
In Ouidah we visited a Python Temple – I am petrified of snakes (even rubber ones send shivers down my spine) but the lululemon mantra “do one thing a day that scares you” rang in my head and not only did I enter the Indiana-Jones-like temple full of slithering pythons, I even agreed to have one placed around my neck! We also visited an extremely well-assembled exhibition on the role of women in Africa coincidentally funded by CIDA. It portrayed the challenges African women face such as the many roles they must fill (land labourer, cooking, cleaning, caring for the children and husband…a typical workday begins at 5am and ends at 10pm). It seemed as though the women were at the epicenter of the household and yet all the real power resided with the man.
Monday, on to Abomey we went. There were no car-type taxis so we all had to hop on the back of motorbike taxis. It was kind of scary but so fun at the same time! I definitely wasn’t the most graceful passenger – when I mounted, the driver said “doucement, doucement” – but it’s hard getting on a motorbike in a long skirt when you are not accustomed. In Abomey we toured a voodoo village – very cool. It was the first time I felt we were seeing an authentic, remote, rural, village where barely anyone spoke French – there was evidence of animal sacrifice everywhere and we had the chance to consult the Oracle. We met the voodoo chief who was tiny! He performed some voodoo chants in front of us and then asked us to send him copies of the pictures we took of him (lol). We toured around some Dahomey palaces and called it a day.
Random observation: there are so many banana varieties in Africa. The bananas I eat here actually taste like bananas – so sweet and flavourful. Their peel is paper thin and the best ones are short and stubby.
The major differences we noticed between Ghana and Togo/Benin: the superior service in Togo, the presence of sidewalks, the lack of public transportation, the majority of people dressed in traditional African attire as opposed to western, and the ease of communicating with people in French in Togo/Benin compared to being understood in English in Ghana.
We left Abomey at 6:30am Tuesday morning and arrived in Accra at 6pm. Three countries in one day!
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
A Day in the Life...
Since I didn’t travel anywhere last week, I thought it may be interesting to recount my typical day in Accra for you. I leave my “house” at 8am and walk 10 minutes to the nearest “bus stop” where I catch a tro-tro heading for “37 Lorry Station.” I always try and snag a seat nearest the window because then I avoid having to get up every time someone alights before me. Usually all the passengers sit in silence but occasionally I see someone reading (this morning a lady next to me was going over some passages from the Bible) and most of the time the radio is blasting the day’s latest debate. Radio here has a much bigger presence than it does back home which makes sense: it’s accessible to everyone (no literacy required and it’s free to listen to). More so than in the newspapers, the radio is the forum for discussion of what the government is up to and what issues are relevant to the community. Recently I heard a debate on whether or not cell phone use should be banned in schools which I found amusing – that is a question that could equally arise in Canada.
Once I arrive at the madness that is 37 Lorry Station (there are tro-tros entering and exiting, people selling everything from hair elastics, to pirated DVDs, to food and watches, preachers preaching over the loudspeaker, etc…) I carefully jet across a 6-lane street (there are barely any traffic lights here so you always have to J-walk which still makes me nervous) and walk to another “bus stop” where I await the tro-tro headed for “Estate IPS”. This week has been rather unusual as far as tro-tro experiences go. Today I saw my third foreigner in my tro since I arrived and twice this week two young women engaged me in conversation which barely EVER happens. One was taking courses to become an accountant and the other was completing an internship hoping to attend law school the following year. It is very common in Ghana to exchange phone numbers so even though we had only spoken for 5 minutes and there was no clear purpose as to why we needed each others numbers, I acquiesced to their request. One custom I have come to notice is that Ghanaians often call just to see if you are ok. It’s really quite sweet. Case in point, last night, Eben, who I met in the tro the day before, phoned me to see how my day was and if I was alright. Nothing more.
I walk in the doors of CEPIL at 9 am and have breakfast with my coworkers. I learned early on that it is customary to say “you are invited” or “minsaka” (in Twi) if you are about to eat. A typical Ghanaian breakfast is tea with bread or bread with porridge (but not the oaty kind – this one has more of a grey soup-like texture). I get some funny stares as I munch down my yogourt topped with muesli and banana slices.
I then set up my laptop in the conference room which I share with Sandrina and two Ghanaian interns from the University of Legon Law School. Three of us are working on the same project: the human rights impact of the soon to-be-exported-for-the-first time oil industry. I am currently focusing on revenue management which I find fascinating. Everyone here desperately wants to avoid a Nigeria-like situation where a few corrupt officials pocket a massive amount of cash while the population reaps little if any benefit from the resource exportation. Ghana has a few obstacles to overcome in this regard:
- Firstly there is already a conflict surrounding who owns the Jubilee oilfields. A Dallas-based company, Kosmos, made the discovery in 2007 but it made the move to sell its share to Exxon Mobil recently. The Ghanaian government is up in arms about that because they insist that as the host government, they should have been offered first bid. (The Ghanaian government currently owns a 23.5% share)
- While they sort that out, there is the whole issue of managing the revenue that will shortly pour in. Ghana’s oil and gas exportation will be relatively short-lived (20-30 years) but seeks to earn the nation a significant 20 billion dollars. The question is how to avoid the resource curse plaguing nations the world over. From what I have read, (particularly in Oil Policy in the Gulf of Guinea, Security & Conflict, Economic Growth, Social Development edited by Rudolf Traub-Merz and Douglas Yates) two views dominate regarding the causes of lack of economic development in resource-rich countries:
o Rentier theory: the state’s mismanagement of resources. When the state can replace tax revenue with oil revenue it is no longer obliged to listen to civil society. i.e. typically taxation = representation. This allows room for the development of autocracies and the robbing of citizens’ leverage to instigate change.
o Dutch disease: foreign currency pouring into an export economy contributes to an increase in consumer demand without an increase in the corresponding supply – the price of the good then goes up, import prices decrease relatively to this crowding out locally-produced goods. This causes more dependency on a booming oil sector and neglects the local manufacturing and agriculture sectors.
Another topic of regular discussion in the media is transparent revenue management. This is at the core of eradicating corruption in resource-rich countries. Ghana is a candidate country of the Extractive Industries Transparency Initiative (EITI) which is an agreement in which countries and companies commit to publishing their oil revenue earnings – an independent body then reviews the data. One must be approved by the EITI as a candidate by meeting a strict series of EITI standards. Once a candidate, the country has two years to reach compliancy status by meeting further criteria. Ghana has yet to achieve this, and has been accorded numerous extensions. Weaknesses of this agreement are apparent: it is voluntary, has no time frame, and the company’s payment information is pooled together at the national level so citizens cannot distinguish individual company payment disclosures on a country-by-country basis.
Henry Parham, coordinator of the Publish What You Pay campaign, calls for an international regulatory framework making it mandatory for companies and governments to disclose what they pay and earn respectively. He insists that voluntary disclosure methods are not effective and suggests among other things, that international financial institutions and donor countries should not relinquish aid without ensuring that recipient countries are transparent in their revenue reporting. This should be a condition for the provision of oil-backed loans as well. Host countries should also make it compulsory for any company operating within its borders to disclose their figures and finally, companies that wish to be listed on financial markets should be required to report regularly on the state of their finances. One major snag: there is no point in forcing governments to disclose their revenue if the oil company is not willing to cease production should the host government fail to uphold its commitment to revenue disclosure.
Another thing to keep in mind is that strong legislation is not necessarily the solution. Chad drew up some revolutionary laws when it committed to spending 80% of its oil revenue on social projects. While this law has extraordinary intentions, implementation is another matter altogether.
Also, how far does corporate social responsibility stretch? How much responsibility do oil companies have to support the local community? It’s the government’s role to provide social welfare for its citizens but if it fails to do so, can and should the communities turn to the International Oil Company?
So for those of you wondering what I have been up to – there’s a snipit!
After lunch (usually a salad and some pineapple for me, shocker, I know --- a typical Ghanaian lunch would be Wache which is essentially rice, beans and some type of meat covered in a very spicy sauce) I return to my research and take off at about 5pm. I catch the tro to “37” and walk for 15 minutes on a sidewalk of all things to the gym. Even though I am thrilled to be able to use a sidewalk (very large roads have them) I still have to concentrate very hard on where I am walking. I have a bad habit of texting while I walk in Canada which would be almost deadly here. Bits of concrete lie everywhere and there are many holes exposing the gutters below (and the occasional scurrying rat! Eek). Once I get to the gym, I very much enjoy the eclectic workout led by Ben – it’s a combination of kick-boxing, step, free weights and Abs. The music is great and loud enough that I can sing my lil’ heart out without too many people noticing. Back to ‘37’ I go which I now have to navigate in the dark – organized chaos- and home-bound for dinner which could be a variation of eggs, pasta or corn on the cob depending on my mood and what I have in stock. The evenings I don’t go to the gym I spend frolicking around Accra, whether its trivia night at this bar Champs, salsa lessons at the Coconut Grove Hotel, Jazz concerts, reggae night at Labadi beach or eating out with friends. This weekend we are off to Togo and Benin – our last major trip. It will be cool to speak French again and see where France has left its mark (rumor has it the supermarkets sell amazing chocolate croissants). On va voir…
~~
Oh and I must mention that I hosted my first dinner party last week! That is a sign of me feeling truly comfortable in my environment. It was definitely my most challenging dinner party so far from every angle. Firstly, deciding on a menu that was feasible ingredient-wise, do-able in my kitchen, and not too foreign for the Ghanaian palate was my first obstacle. I settled on ratatouille with penne, a green salad with homemade honey balsamic vinaigrette and fudge brownies topped with vanilla ice cream for dessert. The guest list was set at 8 and the time for 7:30. As soon as I began cooking, the fuel decided to run out so I had to run back and forth to the kitchen downstairs to check on my sauteing onions and baking brownies. By 7:30 all food was ready, the table was set with mismatched plates and cutlery and all that was left was to await the arrival of my guests. As I have mentioned before, there are no addresses or street names here so I had to ask my friends to meet me at a nearby landmark and I would then lead them to my place. The problem was not all of them found the landmark that easily and they all arrived at different times obliging me to make the trip repeatedly. Panic ensued when the first batch of guests arrived with uninvited friends in tow! Little did I know that the party I planned for 8 would turn into 15 – my other invitees showed up with friends as well! Then the security guard began shouting at me for not informing him that I was having a party (who knew that was in the rule book?) but a few brownies later and he was my best friend again. The pasta was rubbery and cold by the time we began eating at 9:10pm. I didn’t even mind at that point. I had resolved to let the chips fall where they may. All in all it was a wonderful evening, my Ghanaian friends loved the food much to my relief and everyone mingled nicely. The next party will be definitely be a potluck – I am too curious as to what people will bring!
Once I arrive at the madness that is 37 Lorry Station (there are tro-tros entering and exiting, people selling everything from hair elastics, to pirated DVDs, to food and watches, preachers preaching over the loudspeaker, etc…) I carefully jet across a 6-lane street (there are barely any traffic lights here so you always have to J-walk which still makes me nervous) and walk to another “bus stop” where I await the tro-tro headed for “Estate IPS”. This week has been rather unusual as far as tro-tro experiences go. Today I saw my third foreigner in my tro since I arrived and twice this week two young women engaged me in conversation which barely EVER happens. One was taking courses to become an accountant and the other was completing an internship hoping to attend law school the following year. It is very common in Ghana to exchange phone numbers so even though we had only spoken for 5 minutes and there was no clear purpose as to why we needed each others numbers, I acquiesced to their request. One custom I have come to notice is that Ghanaians often call just to see if you are ok. It’s really quite sweet. Case in point, last night, Eben, who I met in the tro the day before, phoned me to see how my day was and if I was alright. Nothing more.
I walk in the doors of CEPIL at 9 am and have breakfast with my coworkers. I learned early on that it is customary to say “you are invited” or “minsaka” (in Twi) if you are about to eat. A typical Ghanaian breakfast is tea with bread or bread with porridge (but not the oaty kind – this one has more of a grey soup-like texture). I get some funny stares as I munch down my yogourt topped with muesli and banana slices.
I then set up my laptop in the conference room which I share with Sandrina and two Ghanaian interns from the University of Legon Law School. Three of us are working on the same project: the human rights impact of the soon to-be-exported-for-the-first time oil industry. I am currently focusing on revenue management which I find fascinating. Everyone here desperately wants to avoid a Nigeria-like situation where a few corrupt officials pocket a massive amount of cash while the population reaps little if any benefit from the resource exportation. Ghana has a few obstacles to overcome in this regard:
- Firstly there is already a conflict surrounding who owns the Jubilee oilfields. A Dallas-based company, Kosmos, made the discovery in 2007 but it made the move to sell its share to Exxon Mobil recently. The Ghanaian government is up in arms about that because they insist that as the host government, they should have been offered first bid. (The Ghanaian government currently owns a 23.5% share)
- While they sort that out, there is the whole issue of managing the revenue that will shortly pour in. Ghana’s oil and gas exportation will be relatively short-lived (20-30 years) but seeks to earn the nation a significant 20 billion dollars. The question is how to avoid the resource curse plaguing nations the world over. From what I have read, (particularly in Oil Policy in the Gulf of Guinea, Security & Conflict, Economic Growth, Social Development edited by Rudolf Traub-Merz and Douglas Yates) two views dominate regarding the causes of lack of economic development in resource-rich countries:
o Rentier theory: the state’s mismanagement of resources. When the state can replace tax revenue with oil revenue it is no longer obliged to listen to civil society. i.e. typically taxation = representation. This allows room for the development of autocracies and the robbing of citizens’ leverage to instigate change.
o Dutch disease: foreign currency pouring into an export economy contributes to an increase in consumer demand without an increase in the corresponding supply – the price of the good then goes up, import prices decrease relatively to this crowding out locally-produced goods. This causes more dependency on a booming oil sector and neglects the local manufacturing and agriculture sectors.
Another topic of regular discussion in the media is transparent revenue management. This is at the core of eradicating corruption in resource-rich countries. Ghana is a candidate country of the Extractive Industries Transparency Initiative (EITI) which is an agreement in which countries and companies commit to publishing their oil revenue earnings – an independent body then reviews the data. One must be approved by the EITI as a candidate by meeting a strict series of EITI standards. Once a candidate, the country has two years to reach compliancy status by meeting further criteria. Ghana has yet to achieve this, and has been accorded numerous extensions. Weaknesses of this agreement are apparent: it is voluntary, has no time frame, and the company’s payment information is pooled together at the national level so citizens cannot distinguish individual company payment disclosures on a country-by-country basis.
Henry Parham, coordinator of the Publish What You Pay campaign, calls for an international regulatory framework making it mandatory for companies and governments to disclose what they pay and earn respectively. He insists that voluntary disclosure methods are not effective and suggests among other things, that international financial institutions and donor countries should not relinquish aid without ensuring that recipient countries are transparent in their revenue reporting. This should be a condition for the provision of oil-backed loans as well. Host countries should also make it compulsory for any company operating within its borders to disclose their figures and finally, companies that wish to be listed on financial markets should be required to report regularly on the state of their finances. One major snag: there is no point in forcing governments to disclose their revenue if the oil company is not willing to cease production should the host government fail to uphold its commitment to revenue disclosure.
Another thing to keep in mind is that strong legislation is not necessarily the solution. Chad drew up some revolutionary laws when it committed to spending 80% of its oil revenue on social projects. While this law has extraordinary intentions, implementation is another matter altogether.
Also, how far does corporate social responsibility stretch? How much responsibility do oil companies have to support the local community? It’s the government’s role to provide social welfare for its citizens but if it fails to do so, can and should the communities turn to the International Oil Company?
So for those of you wondering what I have been up to – there’s a snipit!
After lunch (usually a salad and some pineapple for me, shocker, I know --- a typical Ghanaian lunch would be Wache which is essentially rice, beans and some type of meat covered in a very spicy sauce) I return to my research and take off at about 5pm. I catch the tro to “37” and walk for 15 minutes on a sidewalk of all things to the gym. Even though I am thrilled to be able to use a sidewalk (very large roads have them) I still have to concentrate very hard on where I am walking. I have a bad habit of texting while I walk in Canada which would be almost deadly here. Bits of concrete lie everywhere and there are many holes exposing the gutters below (and the occasional scurrying rat! Eek). Once I get to the gym, I very much enjoy the eclectic workout led by Ben – it’s a combination of kick-boxing, step, free weights and Abs. The music is great and loud enough that I can sing my lil’ heart out without too many people noticing. Back to ‘37’ I go which I now have to navigate in the dark – organized chaos- and home-bound for dinner which could be a variation of eggs, pasta or corn on the cob depending on my mood and what I have in stock. The evenings I don’t go to the gym I spend frolicking around Accra, whether its trivia night at this bar Champs, salsa lessons at the Coconut Grove Hotel, Jazz concerts, reggae night at Labadi beach or eating out with friends. This weekend we are off to Togo and Benin – our last major trip. It will be cool to speak French again and see where France has left its mark (rumor has it the supermarkets sell amazing chocolate croissants). On va voir…
~~
Oh and I must mention that I hosted my first dinner party last week! That is a sign of me feeling truly comfortable in my environment. It was definitely my most challenging dinner party so far from every angle. Firstly, deciding on a menu that was feasible ingredient-wise, do-able in my kitchen, and not too foreign for the Ghanaian palate was my first obstacle. I settled on ratatouille with penne, a green salad with homemade honey balsamic vinaigrette and fudge brownies topped with vanilla ice cream for dessert. The guest list was set at 8 and the time for 7:30. As soon as I began cooking, the fuel decided to run out so I had to run back and forth to the kitchen downstairs to check on my sauteing onions and baking brownies. By 7:30 all food was ready, the table was set with mismatched plates and cutlery and all that was left was to await the arrival of my guests. As I have mentioned before, there are no addresses or street names here so I had to ask my friends to meet me at a nearby landmark and I would then lead them to my place. The problem was not all of them found the landmark that easily and they all arrived at different times obliging me to make the trip repeatedly. Panic ensued when the first batch of guests arrived with uninvited friends in tow! Little did I know that the party I planned for 8 would turn into 15 – my other invitees showed up with friends as well! Then the security guard began shouting at me for not informing him that I was having a party (who knew that was in the rule book?) but a few brownies later and he was my best friend again. The pasta was rubbery and cold by the time we began eating at 9:10pm. I didn’t even mind at that point. I had resolved to let the chips fall where they may. All in all it was a wonderful evening, my Ghanaian friends loved the food much to my relief and everyone mingled nicely. The next party will be definitely be a potluck – I am too curious as to what people will bring!
Monday, July 12, 2010
Where to start...
Well first things first, my birthday celebration was lovely. The fun began on July 1st when all the friends I have made so far assembled at this outdoor terrasse-type bar that plays awesome African music. It was such a great mix of people: the other CLA interns plus two Americans we picked up along the way, our friends from the beach that we met our first week here, my gym buddies and the lovely Alima and Kofi whom we met at the theatre. On my actual bday, we headed to Kumasi which is the second biggest city in Ghana. We made it just in time for a very exciting Ghana vs. Uruguay match – it was too bad that Ghana’s WC journey had to end there but that’s football... Kumasi was so different from Accra – it felt more modern – right away I noticed that there were sidewalks AND garbage bins! We spent the next day winding through the hectic market, visiting the National Cultural Center, and a traditional Ashanti house. We had heard from our guide at the slave castles in Cape Coast that the Ashanti chiefs had actively participated in the slave trade, however, when we asked our guide at the Ashanti palace if he knew the extent to which the chiefs were involved he replied: my research does not go into that area. Hmm…
After a couple of nights we headed to Tamale, another 6-hour drive away. Traveling by bus in Ghana is quite different than back home. First of all, you cannot count on a roadside McDonald’s to rescue you when nature calls. The bus stops on the side of the road and whoever so desires may pop a squat right next to the bus! Women on one side, men on the other. Needless to say, we became very skilled at dehydrating prior to long bus journeys. Secondly, I remarked on our journey home that we were the only ones reading. Out of 65 passengers, one was listening to music and all the rest were simply staring out the window or dozing. I couldn’t help but wonder why. Was it because they could not afford books, had no interest in reading or couldn’t find books in their local language? But it wasn’t as if people were chatting or knitting or doing cross-word puzzles either. Then it occurred to me that perhaps I was so over-stimulated back home that the thought of spending 16 hours on a bus journey with nothing to do was terrifying but shouldn’t necessarily be. Thirdly, one of my favourite bus customs is that if you feel the need to stretch your legs, you can just stand up. I tried to imagine myself standing for an hour on a Greyhound bus journey in Canada – wouldn’t people look at me funny? Would someone ask me to sit down? And finally, I simply LOVED the fact that you can purchase food out of the window! I was not at all worried that on our long journey home I had no food with me – the bus stopped at toll booths just long enough to allow for the purchase of a loaf of bread, some hard-boiled eggs, peanuts and a banana. Everything a girl needs to make egg sandwiches and a makeshift peanut butter and banana sandwich. I was as happy as the day is new.
That night we arrived in Tamale and had a fabulous Indian dinner of all things. I had one of the best Paneer Masalas ever - Tamale again was so different than anything we’d seen so far. Most people were driving bicycles and scooters and it had a very trendy laid-back vibe. By some crazy stroke of serendipity we ran into a French-Italian couple on the street that we had met 2 weeks prior at the Green Turtle Lodge. We invited them to come with us to Mole National Park – our bus was (supposedly) departing in 2 hours which was just enough time for them to get organized. This was the most challenging day of the trip for me. I was already feeling under the weather with tummy issues and a full-blown cold. Our bus was scheduled to depart at 1:30pm so we arrived at the station at 12:30 just in case but our bus did not leave until 5:30pm! I didn’t want to eat or drink due to the lack of washrooms on the 5-hour route so the wait was quite painful. I uttered ignorantly to my friends: this is my low-point of the trip. Little did I know that it was about to get lower… first it began to pour with rain so everyone huddled under a small holey tarpaulin for shelter – at that exact moment our bus finally drew up and there was a MAD dash while everyone clamoured to embark. It is still unclear to me why we had assigned seat numbers – I could not figure it out - it could not be to count how many tickets have been sold because 15 ticket-holders on our bus had identical seat numbers to those already seated. One of those lucky 15 happened to be me. I was relieved to have Sandrina and another woman separating me from the furious and ominously large woman shouting at me to get out of my seat. She kept telling me to go see the conductor but I was in the right seat so I “stood” my ground (or rather Sandrina did for me). I felt badly because she had paid for a seat just like I had but obviously not badly enough... Then as if things could not get worse, the rain developed into a raging thunder and lightning storm and as we rocked and rolled along a very hairy road, I did wonder if we’d make it to Mole. At a stop en route, an inebriated knife-wielding man entered the bus through the back door. At the time I was completely oblivious as to what was occurring because everyone was shouting in a language I didn’t understand but afterward a friend filled me in: a passenger wrestled a 3-ft machete out of the man’s hand whose intention was to rob the bus. Just great. They took his knife and let him off in the middle of nowhere. Once we did arrive, alive at our destination, we discovered the kitchen had shut at 8 – off to bed without dinner. Everything from then on went smoothly.
Waking up in Mole National Park was amazing. We bumped into two warthogs on our way to breakfast and on our morning hike we saw tons of monkeys, baboons and most amazing of all six elephants!! They were chomping on grass mere feet away. It was truly spectacular. We then spent our afternoon taking in the fresh air, stunning vistas and lounging by the pool. At 4am we caught a bus back to Tamale and then another one straight on to Bolgatanga.
Our first week in Accra we met a guy from Bolga at Labadi beach who said he’d show us around if we were ever in the ‘hood. So we kept in touch and 6 weeks later here we all were having lunch together. He was such a great host – he took us to Tongo to visit an animalistic shrine, to Paga to see the crocodiles as well as a camp where they kept slaves who were in transit to Cape Coast, to Sirigu where there were huts painted in a special style, and to his drum shop called “No Food 4 Lazy Man” (a common Ghanaian saying). The north of Ghana was again very different. The people have marks on their faces distinguishing one tribe from another; many people live in legit clay huts with grass roofs, and the landscape was lush, green with rolling hills.
Funny story: when we were greeted at Tongo, we were handed an eloquently written letter informing us that if we desired to enter the shrine, we would have to do so in the traditional ancestral manner. Sure, we agreed, thinking it must be something like: shoes off, two steps to the right, bow your head and move on. We began our hike up the mountain and at a certain point our guide asked us to remove our shoes. Okay, done. Then he said, remove your tops. What?! Turns out the traditional way to enter the shrine was topless. When in Rome… we were all a bit giggly but we managed fine – and the men in the shrine didn’t even look twice at us – we were given the opportunity to request assistance with any spiritual problems we had from the powers that be which were represented by a wall of feathers, rope and rocks. The village below the shrine was a maze of clay dome-like structures. There was no power or running water –but I did notice some solar panels on the roof of the chief’s home. Our guide told us they were for his television and satellite dish!
Prior to visiting the crocs in Paga, we had seen a ton of pictures of people sitting on them and holding their tails. I was most intrigued as to why the animals didn’t feel inclined to chomp down on any of the grinning visitors. The man in charge informed me that these were sacred crocodiles and that at the beginning of his rule, the chief makes a promise never to bring them harm. I asked how the crocodiles knew of this promise and he just mirrored the incredulous expression on my face. I ended up taking his word for it and stroked the tail of the first croc that emerged from the pond. Then breathed a sigh of relief as I scampered away both hands intact.
We left Bolga the next day at 7:30 am (the bus was only 30 minutes late leaving! It was a record) and got into Accra just after 10pm exhausted, sick of buses but absolutely thrilled with everything we had seen and experienced. (We decided to skip Ouaga in the end...we didn't really have enough time and the costs outweighed the benefits)
After a couple of nights we headed to Tamale, another 6-hour drive away. Traveling by bus in Ghana is quite different than back home. First of all, you cannot count on a roadside McDonald’s to rescue you when nature calls. The bus stops on the side of the road and whoever so desires may pop a squat right next to the bus! Women on one side, men on the other. Needless to say, we became very skilled at dehydrating prior to long bus journeys. Secondly, I remarked on our journey home that we were the only ones reading. Out of 65 passengers, one was listening to music and all the rest were simply staring out the window or dozing. I couldn’t help but wonder why. Was it because they could not afford books, had no interest in reading or couldn’t find books in their local language? But it wasn’t as if people were chatting or knitting or doing cross-word puzzles either. Then it occurred to me that perhaps I was so over-stimulated back home that the thought of spending 16 hours on a bus journey with nothing to do was terrifying but shouldn’t necessarily be. Thirdly, one of my favourite bus customs is that if you feel the need to stretch your legs, you can just stand up. I tried to imagine myself standing for an hour on a Greyhound bus journey in Canada – wouldn’t people look at me funny? Would someone ask me to sit down? And finally, I simply LOVED the fact that you can purchase food out of the window! I was not at all worried that on our long journey home I had no food with me – the bus stopped at toll booths just long enough to allow for the purchase of a loaf of bread, some hard-boiled eggs, peanuts and a banana. Everything a girl needs to make egg sandwiches and a makeshift peanut butter and banana sandwich. I was as happy as the day is new.
That night we arrived in Tamale and had a fabulous Indian dinner of all things. I had one of the best Paneer Masalas ever - Tamale again was so different than anything we’d seen so far. Most people were driving bicycles and scooters and it had a very trendy laid-back vibe. By some crazy stroke of serendipity we ran into a French-Italian couple on the street that we had met 2 weeks prior at the Green Turtle Lodge. We invited them to come with us to Mole National Park – our bus was (supposedly) departing in 2 hours which was just enough time for them to get organized. This was the most challenging day of the trip for me. I was already feeling under the weather with tummy issues and a full-blown cold. Our bus was scheduled to depart at 1:30pm so we arrived at the station at 12:30 just in case but our bus did not leave until 5:30pm! I didn’t want to eat or drink due to the lack of washrooms on the 5-hour route so the wait was quite painful. I uttered ignorantly to my friends: this is my low-point of the trip. Little did I know that it was about to get lower… first it began to pour with rain so everyone huddled under a small holey tarpaulin for shelter – at that exact moment our bus finally drew up and there was a MAD dash while everyone clamoured to embark. It is still unclear to me why we had assigned seat numbers – I could not figure it out - it could not be to count how many tickets have been sold because 15 ticket-holders on our bus had identical seat numbers to those already seated. One of those lucky 15 happened to be me. I was relieved to have Sandrina and another woman separating me from the furious and ominously large woman shouting at me to get out of my seat. She kept telling me to go see the conductor but I was in the right seat so I “stood” my ground (or rather Sandrina did for me). I felt badly because she had paid for a seat just like I had but obviously not badly enough... Then as if things could not get worse, the rain developed into a raging thunder and lightning storm and as we rocked and rolled along a very hairy road, I did wonder if we’d make it to Mole. At a stop en route, an inebriated knife-wielding man entered the bus through the back door. At the time I was completely oblivious as to what was occurring because everyone was shouting in a language I didn’t understand but afterward a friend filled me in: a passenger wrestled a 3-ft machete out of the man’s hand whose intention was to rob the bus. Just great. They took his knife and let him off in the middle of nowhere. Once we did arrive, alive at our destination, we discovered the kitchen had shut at 8 – off to bed without dinner. Everything from then on went smoothly.
Waking up in Mole National Park was amazing. We bumped into two warthogs on our way to breakfast and on our morning hike we saw tons of monkeys, baboons and most amazing of all six elephants!! They were chomping on grass mere feet away. It was truly spectacular. We then spent our afternoon taking in the fresh air, stunning vistas and lounging by the pool. At 4am we caught a bus back to Tamale and then another one straight on to Bolgatanga.
Our first week in Accra we met a guy from Bolga at Labadi beach who said he’d show us around if we were ever in the ‘hood. So we kept in touch and 6 weeks later here we all were having lunch together. He was such a great host – he took us to Tongo to visit an animalistic shrine, to Paga to see the crocodiles as well as a camp where they kept slaves who were in transit to Cape Coast, to Sirigu where there were huts painted in a special style, and to his drum shop called “No Food 4 Lazy Man” (a common Ghanaian saying). The north of Ghana was again very different. The people have marks on their faces distinguishing one tribe from another; many people live in legit clay huts with grass roofs, and the landscape was lush, green with rolling hills.
Funny story: when we were greeted at Tongo, we were handed an eloquently written letter informing us that if we desired to enter the shrine, we would have to do so in the traditional ancestral manner. Sure, we agreed, thinking it must be something like: shoes off, two steps to the right, bow your head and move on. We began our hike up the mountain and at a certain point our guide asked us to remove our shoes. Okay, done. Then he said, remove your tops. What?! Turns out the traditional way to enter the shrine was topless. When in Rome… we were all a bit giggly but we managed fine – and the men in the shrine didn’t even look twice at us – we were given the opportunity to request assistance with any spiritual problems we had from the powers that be which were represented by a wall of feathers, rope and rocks. The village below the shrine was a maze of clay dome-like structures. There was no power or running water –but I did notice some solar panels on the roof of the chief’s home. Our guide told us they were for his television and satellite dish!
Prior to visiting the crocs in Paga, we had seen a ton of pictures of people sitting on them and holding their tails. I was most intrigued as to why the animals didn’t feel inclined to chomp down on any of the grinning visitors. The man in charge informed me that these were sacred crocodiles and that at the beginning of his rule, the chief makes a promise never to bring them harm. I asked how the crocodiles knew of this promise and he just mirrored the incredulous expression on my face. I ended up taking his word for it and stroked the tail of the first croc that emerged from the pond. Then breathed a sigh of relief as I scampered away both hands intact.
We left Bolga the next day at 7:30 am (the bus was only 30 minutes late leaving! It was a record) and got into Accra just after 10pm exhausted, sick of buses but absolutely thrilled with everything we had seen and experienced. (We decided to skip Ouaga in the end...we didn't really have enough time and the costs outweighed the benefits)
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