One Week in Accra

Tuesday, March 2: arrive in Accra with aforementioned Catholic sisters, eventually get to Volunteer Abroad house, meet the indefatigable Poppo, go to bank, resist urge to kill slow teller. Am surrounded by exposed legs, in sharp contrast to majority Muslim Burkina Faso where only children and nasaras show skin below the knee. I can see why the missionaries chose Ghana for their HQ: their work here is done.

Humidity is 75%; my hair feels like a limp blanket. Sweat pours from areas that have never sweated. The VA house has wifi!!!

Wednesday, March 3: go to bank again because they can't cash all my traveller's cheques on the same day. Drop by Kyle's gym (Kyle is the Canadian VA coordinator) and drool over the air conditioning and hardwood floor (so good for dancing salsa). Have best smoothie of life at gym resto-bar. Get one week free trial pass and promise to return the next day.

Go to Reggae Night at La Badie Beach with Kyle, Poppo and volunteers. Reggae Night is a bohemian expat dream come true: a stage set up on the sand, live reggae music, a cool breeze off the crashing surf a hundred metres away, cheap and delicious local food, and enough pot smoke wafting around to make me feel right at home.

Thursday, March 4: Thursday is gospel day in Accra. Self-styled preachers prostletise (in Twi) through megaphones to anyone who might be able to hear. Some of them stay put and attract small crowds, while others prefer to walk the streets blaring the Word.

Go to gym with Kyle and undergo my free training session with Kyle's personal trainer, Foster "Serious and Wicked" Twum. He chose those middle names for himself after I informed him that my middle name was "Danger." After the session I suggest that he substitute "Sadistic" for "Wicked," and he readily agrees. Am sore for four days and do not go back to gym, not even for the smoothies.

Friday, March 5: get my hair braided (relief!) and do my laundry by hand (pain). In evening meet Boris Zida, Mama and Papa Zida's second child, who is here studying English.

In afternoon went to bank to cash final traveller's cheque. All my transport within Accra is by public transit, which means tro-tros. Tro-tros are rickety, stripped-down minivans that travel fixed routes at speeds suitable for Nascar rallies. They are emblazoned with stickers and decals, most of which say something Jesus-related. However, I did see a tro-tro with "Harry Potter" written in stickers and another that said "FEAR WOMAN." Feminists, make of that what you will.

Saturday, March 6: Ghanaian Independence Day, the country turns 53. Accra is jumping. I go to Independence Square with the volunteers. We arrive at 11 am, just in time to see everyone leave. This must be the one Independence Day where they started and ende on time. Apparantly we missed a lot of marching and the Presidnt's speech.

While walking around Square, got informally interviewed by Ghanaian journalists who ask if I think Ghana is truly independent. I say no, but that no country is truly independent under globalization and that eco-footprint analysis shows just how dependent the neo-colonizers are upon the neo-colonized, blah blah tied aid blah blah political corruption etc. They laugh and give me a high five.

Ghanaians do not respect one's personal space like Burkinabes do, and nowhere is this more evident than in a crowd. They do not grab anywhere inappropriate, but they grab often and determinedly. One overzealous young man grabbed my elbow after I ripped my hand away, and then he kissed it. Weird.

We walk to a beautiful beachfront bar about 20 minutes away, passing random groups of rollerbladers skating the streets in tight formation. I get sunburned despite SPF 60. The humidity just melts the sunscreen right off.

At night I stay home and nurse my sunburn, but Accra is thumping all night long.

Sunday, March 7: am awoken at 6 am by the church across the street, where people are speaking in tongues over the PA system. I do NOTHING all day. Except read Paradise Lost and hang out with Boris.

Monday, March 8: International Women's Day passes without much fanfare, which surprises me a little because they've been preparing for it in Burkina for over a month. But I guess preparing for Independence Day is enough work by itself.

I go clothes shopping in Makola Market with Patience, the sassy girlfriend of Michael the building manager. Makola Market is a sprawling warren of densely packed stalls selling everything from cabbages to King's Hair Pommade. The clothing vendors are found on the streets surrounding the actual market. Patience and I wander through mounds of second hand clothes shipped from developed countries and I get a new, humidity-resistent wardrobe plus a skirt for Patience for under $25.

We go home and I wash my new acquisitions by hand (pain).

Tuesday, March 9: go to Kwame Nkrumah Memorial Museum and, after a long, circuitous walk, also visit the National Museum in the morning. After lunch go to La Badie Beach Resort and pay the 15 Cedi (approx $12) fee for an afternoon of poolside bliss. I am writing this blog from there.

Tomorrow I leave for the coast and I'm really excited to get out of the city. I'll write to you again when I next have Internet!