The National Museum is like many other tourist sites in Ghana, it seems like it was built 30 years ago and hasn’t had much love since then.  It holds a nice collection of Ghanaian artifacts and exhibits but it could use much better signage and upgrades.  It’s also not air-conditioned so the upstairs area is freaking hot. After spending an hour or so there, we enjoyed the fresh air at a nearby cafe.  It is actually amazing the difference in temperature when you are in the shade with a breeze.

Enjoying the fresh air outside of the National Museum

We walked on the busy, tree-lined streets towards the Makela Market, listed in the guidebook as having beads and textiles without as many tourists and hassles for sales. It was a sprawling place with just about everything you can think of for sale but we didn’t see many beads. I love visiting markets when I travel because you really get to see how people live, eat and what they like to buy.  It was truly organized chaos with each type of product occupying a certain area in a maze-like system.  There was a structure and roof in some parts but it was primarily outside and quite steamy. All in all the hassles were minor in the grand scheme of the typical market experience.

We wanted to go towards the areas of James Town and Ussher Town noted in the guidebook as being the “real Accra.”  I should really learn those terms usually mean crowded and easy to get lost in.  We headed in the direction of the ocean towards the areas the map indicated.  We stopped to get money from an ATM at a bank and we asked a guy where Ussher Town was and he had no idea what we meant.  I should have known.  Clearly, this was a place marked on a tourist map and listed in a way no local knows. We continued walking on until our blood sugar ran too low and the heat was too much. The area we turned around in was very busy and the “sidewalks” were narrowed by tons of stuff for sale on the streets. In this area, for the first time, we heard the word obruni, or white person.  We had been told we would hear it often but that hasn’t been the case.  It isn’t a big deal, basically someone is confirming the obvious: you’re an outsider.  Rob was called “white man” a few times as well.  I wanted to turn around and say, “Clearly, your vision is good.”  I was also told the lovely comment: “he’s not giving it to you good, I will.” Wonderful.  I’ve always wondered, do people really think catcalls and comments like that work?

After wandering in circles, we finally made it back towards the market and copped out with a lunch at the posh Novotel Hotel in the city center. I was nice to be in AC and to have access to a washroom.  Our feet were nasty with all the dirt we walked through on the sidewalks and our clothes were coated in sweat.  We looked like ragamuffins wandering in.  I did have a cappuccino—a wonderful treat after Nescafe every morning. After lunch, catching a cab to the W.E.B. du Bois House and Museum proved more difficult than expected.

Many cab drivers don’t know where tourist destinations are as there aren’t all that many tourists in Accra, so you need to know other landmarks around the area where you want to go. This can prove difficult if you have no concept of where you are. We told the driver it was near the Benin Embassy and we knew the street address from the guidebook.  But, street addresses are pretty laughable here as street signs are a rare occurrence. After driving around and around and asking 3 different people where to go, we finally stumbled across the museum.

Du Bois was invited to live in Ghana by President Nkrumah to work on his pan-African research and policy initiatives.  We visited the house he lived in from 1961-1963 when he died.  It’s a small but interesting place to see some of his personal items, old books, and awards.  His body and the ashes of his wife are interred in a gazebo-like structure next to the house.

W.E.B. du Bois House and Museum

The museum is close the enormous US Embassy complex.  The place takes up an entire city block and is surrounded by armed guards. I think this is the largest US Embassy in Africa and formidable structure it is (no pictures allowed)!

Getting back to our hotel proved to be another interesting experience. We idiotically did not know hotel’s address and it is a pretty small place so the first 2 cab drivers we spoke to had no idea where to go. We knew the museum and the hotel were in the same vicinity so we walked a little bit before asking an apartment complex guard.  He pointed us in the right direction and we were able to catch a cab and the driver knew where to go from there.  We made it back safe and sound although grubbier than we’ve been in a long time, if ever.

Exhaustion!

This was the final full day for Rob and I on our travels and I’m bummed. I have a dinner with the Maymester group tomorrow night and he will be off to find a place to watch Manchester United and Barcelona play in the UEFA Cup.  On Thursday he is heading towards a few coastal towns west of Cape Coast and Elmina where we were a few days back.  I know once the lectures begin and we focus on our service-learning projects, I will be enthusiastic again but I have so enjoyed our adventures together.

Hydroelectricity production at Akosombo Dam

On our way west towards Accra, we stopped at several little villages for Ernest and Sam to pick up things for the families.  One town is especially known for making pillows with some type of fluffy, cotton-like plant, so there are little pillow stands everywhere.  Sam also bargained for yams for his wife and mangoes for his boys.  It was quite fun to all this go on.

Pillow production and sale in Juapong

Outside of Accra in the mountains is a beautiful and serene place, the Aburi Botantical Gardens built by the British in 1890 for medicinal plant cultivation.  It’s now a space where lots of different trees and plants are grown and where people come to enjoy the open space.  The temperature is remarkably cool at the top of the mountain. In fact, after a heavy rain overnight and fog in the morning, the coolness and humidity combined with being among the trees felt remarkably like Portland without all the white people. Among the various tree species were a cinnamon tree, an allspice tree and a bay rum tree from which we get bay leaves.  I thought it was odd that I had never actually thought about the type of plant these spices are from, so it was fun to see the source.

Inside a strangler ficus at Aburi Gardens

On the way into Accra, we drove through the University of Ghana campus in Legon, just outside of the city center.  They campus is a collection of lovely white buildings with red tiled roofs.  Many of the main halls were designed by a Japanese architect and you can easily see the Asian influence in their design and surrounding gardens. Ernest asked us if we wanted fast food, not lunch but fast food.  Our blood sugar was definitely ebbing so we stopped at the Osu food court which is not really a food court by American standards (fried chicken, ice cream, sandwiches), but they did have a pizza shop and eating melted cheese was something I hadn’t done in 2 weeks.

The Kwame Nkrumah Mausoleum in Accra is the resting place of Ghana’s first president, a man who had tremendous influence on the push for independence from Britain.  Once he was in power, he initiated many public works to benefit the people and he was a Pan-Africanist in he push against colonial rule for all African countries.  Everyone always refers to him as “Dr. Kwame Nkrumah” and it’s easy to see the reverence people have for him today.  Unfortunately, the mausoleum site needs some serious tlc. It was built in 1992 and it seems like not much has been done to maintain it since then. The stone monument over his gravesite is supposed to look like the trunk of a tree but, honestly, it looks like the Atari symbol.  There are various trees on the grounds with plaques that mark the world leaders who visited and planted them.  Robert Mugabe’s is looking small and sickly—definitely representative of the man.

Kwame Nkrumah statue and mausoleum

We stayed the night at the Mahogany Hotel, the same place we stayed the first night. We have come full circle.

A stop at the Volta Hotel overlooking the dam and lake

The cruise was nice enough but about 2 hours too long in the heat of the day. There was an energetic band on board and many people jumped at the dancing opportunity, including the pasty white, middle-aged German tourists aboard. Rob and I did not dance.  I don’t usually do such a thing in the middle of the day, not without a lot of alcoholic beverages to loosen my sensibilities, at least. I did finally try Malta Guiness, a non-alcoholic malt drink made by the famous beer company. It was horrible.  I can’t describe it really, kind of like molasses gone bad.  Apparently the barley is good for you and it’s fortified with vitamins.  I guess it is an acquired taste that I doubt I will ever acquire.

About half-way through the 5 hour trip, we stopped at an island that seemed to be right out of the Lord of the Flies.  There were little children everywhere welcoming us by grabbing our hands as if they were taking us on a tour we didn’t need.  We walked the path us to the top of the small hill in the hot sun. People could board wooden canoes to travel around the area with guides, although they had warned us on the boat not to do so—I guess the little islanders can’t be fully trusted to keep you high and dry. We looked around and headed back on the ship. 

Lake Volta has very little built on its shores.  Very little—like a few small thatched structures here and there and that’s about it.  It is lovely to see all the green-covered hills around but there is not much to look at beyond that.  We saw the random fisherman on his wooden boat and a few interesting birds, but we primarily used the time aboard to read.  Lots of other people on board seemed to be with their families from Accra, and they definitely enjoyed the selection of beer and Smirnoff Ice, but we don’t do well with alcohol and heat, so we just looked like nerdy bookworms among the revelry.

Fishermen on Lake Volta

Tiny village on the lake shore

Ghanaian police officers seem to be an interesting breed—lots of pomp and marching around. I don’t think there are enough officers to patrol areas like they do in the US, so they set-up stopping points. These random police stops are in various towns all over the country and they typically look for the sticker of insurance and the weight and origin of the load you’re carrying.  Most of the time our van was waved through without issue, but today, at 2 different stops, our driver’s license was checked.  I guess we looked suspicious this Sunday morning.

Another odd sighting are the random although infrequent billboards advocating safe sex and condom usage. We have seen the following signs during our travels:

• Always wear a condom
• Abstain, have faith, use a condom (I like this one—it’s realistic)
• Say no to sex. Virgin power, virgin pride. (clearly the Palin doctrine)

Mommy and baby Mona monkeys

Grooming

So there are a lot of people around the world who are willing to exist in their own stench.  I am happy to be among compatriots that like lots of deodorant, perfume, cologne, smelly lotions and such.  While in Ghana, we have come across a few people here who couldn’t raise their hand if they are sure, but generally it hasn’t been too bad even with the intense heat and humidity.  That is until we met Eric, our young teenage guide to the Wli waterfall.  The trek is about 45 minutes from the village to the very beautiful falls and during the entire nature walk we had to experience Eric’s natural and very stinky scent.  If only every few days he dipped himself in the pool below the falls like lots of other people, I think it would help. On the walk back, we were happy there was another villager carrying a bag of charcoal just ahead of us so that the smoky smell helped mediate Eric’s rankness.

The Wli falls are just at the border with Togo among very lush hills. Lots of people were enjoying the spray of the falls and the pool below with their families.  In fact, many of them stripped down to their skivvies, some quite scandalously, to take a dip in the water. Along the rocky walls surrounding the falls are colonies of enormous fruit bats with their constant chirping and random flying about. Although it was difficult to determine from the distance we were standing, I would say they are the size of a cat.

Wli Falls

Once we returned from the falls, we stopped to buy beads and an ebony mask from the local craftsmen.  One trinket stopped me in my tracks: Carved wooden penises.  They were made of light colored and darker colored wood (whatever your preference) and in various sizes but they were definitely penises.  After we left, I sheepishly asked Ernest if they were fertility symbols or something fairly benign and he said no, in a rather mysterious way.  Not sure I want to question him further.  Maybe they’re just good conversation starters.

We had dinner again at the hotel and while we waited for our food, we watched all the people around for some kind of conference/meeting/reunion. They seemed rather wealthy with really nice clothes and cars, and many of them were noticeably more overweight than most Ghanaians who are typically quite tall and very narrow. I am not sure if this is true, but I think Ghana is a country where weight=wealth.

Midway in our route from the more western city of Cape Coast to the eastern Volta Region, we hit Accra and all of its traffic glory. With the 3 lanes of stop and go traffic come all the people walking among the lanes selling anything and everything, like a Wal-Mart.  In addition to the tummy trimmer, my favorite items so far are the large and gaudy framed posters of Jesus and the gold-rimmed mirrors. Perhaps you need super glue, a pen, toys for your kids, or a flag from any country in the world. It really is an eclectic array of stuff.

Once we got through the traffic, we stopped briefly at a mall—a very odd sight after spending so many days traveling through the villages. This mall in an Accra suburb was small by American standards, but had lots of high-end stores and it was well air-conditioned. I think we saw more white people under the roof of that mall than we had in a week and a half of travel.

Tema, a medium-sized port city east of Accra is not much to write about, but it is considered the center of the world as the Greenwich Meridian passes through it separating the eastern and western hemispheres. The equator is south of Ghana across the Gulf of Guinea, so the actual crossing of the 2 meridians is in the ocean, but it seems that Tema is the closest civilization. Of course, we let Wikipedia be our expert once we got internet access, and we learned the center point on the other side of the world is in the middle of the Pacific ocean.

Shia Hills Reserve is a large area of protected land along the highway heading east. We took the van on the dirt path to see the animals, but it was the middle of the day and not much was visible in the heat.  We did spot a few kob anteplopes and a family of baboons from afar.  The Shia people migrated to the hills from Nigeria and remained holed up in the rocky caves for 100 years, hiding from the British.  We climbed into one of the vast caves among the chirps and smells of the small fruit bats that line the upper rock walls. The temperature difference in the caves is striking and a wonderful respite from the glaring sun.

Shia hills

The Shia Hills cave with our guide, Abraham

While in the Volta Region, we stayed at Chances Hotel—the name sounded quite sketchy to me.  It’s actually quite a nice and sprawling hotel and conference complex that seems to be frequented by just about anyone who visits the area. I was excited for the tilapia and vegetable dish I chose for dinner.  Vegetables are a bit rare to find in Ghana on restaurant menus despite their production across the country.  Unfortunately, I didn’t even think about the fact that the tilapia would come whole.  So head, bones, skin and all I dug through the fish to find the bits of edible meat.  I really don’t like to fight so hard for my food.  It was good but not worth the effort. I really need to get it into my head that fish=bones.

We began in the morning with a fun canopy walk in Kakum National Park, near the city of Cape Coast.  The park is home to many animals but all we saw during the late morning jaunt were a few ants and a spider.  However, we did have lots of fun on all the shaky, wooden canopy ladders hung high above the rainforest floor. We finished the trek off with a freshly opened coconut of which Rob was not the biggest fan. On our way back toward the city, we stopped to buy the locally made and quite alcoholic palm wine from a local man. For 1 cedi ($.75) we got a former Sprite bottle reconstituted as a palm wine container.  It tastes pretty good but it’s initially tough to get past the fermentation smell as you open it. Ernest told us this is the woman’s drink and the men drink the homemade gin.

After eating a really nice lunch at a restaurant overlooking the ocean and right next to Cape Coast Castle (very strange), we headed in for our tour. Cape Coast Castle was constructed in 1657 as the Swedish Fort Carlusbourg before the British overtook it and spent 100 years creating the current stone structure. Our really wonderful guide, Justice, explained that the castle was initially just a castle, used to protect the new colony and store supplies as the British began taking land. Then, it’s horrid history began. This castle, among others that dot the Western African coastline, was used to “house” those enslaved by the British and other Europeans for hundreds of years. After men and women were walked in chains from hundreds of miles away, they were held in disgusting dungeons anywhere from 2 weeks to 2 months before being loaded on to British ships for transportation to the United States, West Indies and the Caribbean.

The separate male and female dungeons are among the largest of all the castles in Africa, and going in is shocking experience.  The very small rooms are dank and dark with only a little light and air coming in from the small windows. At least one hundred men we held in each room at once.  At least.  Usually several hundred were shackled in chains and made to breathe, eat (very little), and sleep in each of the 5 male rooms to total 2000-3000 at any one time. Justice pointed out a line about 5 inches up on the wall that marked an excavation point where in the 1970s archeologists dug out the bones, chains, feces, and other filth that filled the floor at all times. Half the people held there died.  There was absolutely to escaping the grim environment.  I don’t know how to describe it.

The 2 female dungeon rooms are bit smaller but just as dark and horrible as the male ones.  We went through the Door of No Return where the people were led out to small boats to then board the large ships.  It must have been shocking to see the bright sunlight that looked no different than the day we were there. However, their lives only worsened as that were held in equally terrible conditions on the ships across the Atlantic and during their lives in the hands of the their white owners.

We went up to the enormous governor’s quarters several stories above the dungeons.  It’s striking to see the vastness of the space and the air and light coming through the windows– such an extreme contrast to the dungeons.

The most haunting areas include the Cell, where rebellious people were locked in to die– no air, no water, no light– just suffocation, and the church built directly above the male dungeons. This was the first Anglican Church in Ghana and there is no doubt the white worshippers could here the loud noises emanated from below. In fact, there was a soldier’s perch a few feet away from the church door where someone would stand watch over the dungeons. So much for the teachings of Jesus.

Now many of the rooms in the castle are used for offices and storefronts as well as a very good museum and gift shop.  We bought 2 paintings from an artist exhibit in what used to be a court used for several hundred years until the court was moved to another location in the 1960s. It is a strange this to see such regular things happening in such a terrible place, but at the same time you know Ghanaians are taking back something that is such a dark place in theirs and the world’s history.

We spent a few minutes outside of Elmina Castle originally built by the Portuguese in 1482 before it changed ownership to the Dutch and then to the British. Elmina Castle’s history as a slave dungeon and holding ground for transportation is similar to that of Cape Coast. The town of Elmina once was a vibrant fishing village before the invasion and occupation, and since independence, much of the industry has returned.  It was fun to watch the fishermen load their wooden boats with nets to head out into the choppy gulf. Most of them spend the entire night on the water. The town is also known for its salt production in small pools near the harbor. As we watched the boats, we saw a very intense soccer game in the middle of all the market stalls.  Even the smallest village has a soccer field with bamboo polls set up as goals, but this game seemed more official with established teams, goalies and sidelines. They will play anywhere and Rob is itching to join.

Fishermen headed to see for the night in the Gulf of Guinea

As we walked toward Elmina Castle, we were approached by numerous kids selling jewelry, food, etc, but there were several who walked along side us telling us their names and that they are college students. I had read about this specific tactic in the guidebook.  One asked me my name and I told him, but I warned him that I didn’t want anything made and wouldn’t buy anything (remember, we already had bracelets with our names woven on them). Of course, once we headed back towards the van, the same kids approached us with shells coated in phrases about them being our friends and to keep in touch with their email addresses. The shells also had our names on them.  I told the boy who handed me the shell that I wouldn’t give him anything but he told me to take it anyway. He then asked if I would donate to their football club.  I refused, but Rob succumbed to the guilt-tripping and handed over 10 cedis ($7).  I guess both of us were duped in separate occasions and you can tell where our hearts lie—me with education and him with soccer. So, that’s 2 name bracelets and 2 name shells.  What’s next?

The name Elmina is thought to be from the Portuguese word for mine.  Many houses in the town are noted historical sites for their use by the British during the slave trade.  The homes were given to women who once in the female slave dungeon but were impregnated by British soldiers, likely the result of rape. They lived in the homes until their children were born and then they were returned to the castle to work as domestic slaves.  Their offspring were the first Ghanaians offered formal schooling akin to the British school system on the grounds of the castle.  They say that many of the people in Elmina today are the descendants of those born to African women and white, British men, and many of them several generations later have European surnames like Ferguson, Adkinson, and so on, and many are much lighter in skin tone.

Elmina Castle, built in the 15th century by the Portuguese

Door of No Return

After a very intense day, we were happy to head back to the hotel where we had our first alcoholic beverages of our trip—an amazing pina colada for me made from the freshest of coconuts and pineapple, and the locally brewed Star beer for Rob.  The beer is about 40 ounces and cost all of $2. No wonder American college students come to Ghana and help the nation’s economy by consuming vast amounts of it, and it tastes much better than the cheap beer you get in the US. There was a small conference opening at the hotel and the organizers brought in traditional dancers and drummers from Accra.  We were invited by their very friendly p.r. man Francis to sit and watch and think about how we can help him promote the group.  We’re thinking about hiring them for Rob’s brother’s wedding next year.  I think it would be an interesting mix—Scottish kilts and African drumming. Sort of Last King of Scotland-esque without the maniacal dictator. It was fun to mooch off the conference festivities although we didn’t partake of their open bar.

So, a few of the hotels we’ve stayed at have 2 twin beds pushed together, not a foreign concept in Europe or on cruise ships, however our bed at the Coconut Grove took it to a new level.  There were two beds in separate bed frames with a 4 inch gap between the frames.  The strange thing was it didn’t seem like you could separate the beds further to actually make 2 distinct beds. Instead, they were made up like one big bed with this gap between. Rob dubbed it the “romance gap.” I won’t elaborate any further.

This morning we spent time learning about the Ashanti people of central Ghana and the Asante kingdom’s history and governance at the Manhyia Palace and Museum and the National Cultural Center.  Although Ghana is a parliamentary democracy with a president, regional ministers,etc,  there are numerous kingdoms in the country with kings and lower level chiefs who lead the specific clans and villages. The Ashanti people consider themselves peaceful warriors and liken themselves to porcupines when it comes to defense. They were the primary gold miners of the country—Ghana used to be called the Gold Coast– and adorn their kings with lots of gold jewelry.  It was very interesting to hear how the kings related to the British colonists and how their relationships formed.  At one point, a king in the 1920s refused to give the British Governor (leader) of Ghana his golden stool, literally a golden stool that symbolizes the power of the kingdom, so he was exiled to the Seychelles for 21 years. The Ashanti people were also merchants or middle men during the slave trade.  They would buy or help Europeans buy slaves from the northern villages and take them further south for their transfer to the British, Portuguese, Dutch and others who colonized Ghana.

Along the way to Cape Coast there were several examples of typical southern Ghanaian cemeteries with ornate, casket-length stone tombs and big tombstones often with a photo of the deceased on it. Ghanaians often save for years to produce the elaborate funerals with events for one person held on Friday, Saturday and Sunday. It is a striking picture to see a cemetery with all the ornate gravesites just beyond a village with thatched roofs and roaming livestock.  Ernest explained that there is a push to limit the size and cost of such events so that the money is spent on the person while he or she is alive. It seems like a logical thing to me!

Before arriving in Cape Coast, we stopped at Assin Manso, a village where the remains of 2 former slaves, one from the US and one from Jamaica, were re-interred in 1998 during Ghana’s first Emancipation Day ceremony.  There are monuments for the graves as well as a wall where people can purchase space to write their names as symbol of returning to their homeland.  Assin Manso was a stopping point along the slave route as people were walked for months from Mali, Burkina Faso and northern Ghana to this point. What really caught me was walking the original path made by the slaves as they were chained and taken to the nearby river for their “last bath” and physical before being walked to the coast to be jailed in the Cape Coast and Elmina Castle dungeons and then shipped to the “New World.” The physical was actually a look at their teeth to determine age and a review of their strength to determine what price to ask for each person.

At the river’s edge is a carved path to the water where chained slaves were dragged into the water by their captors.  It was an emotional experience being there with the water running and the trees blowing, knowing all were sounds the people would have heard 400 years ago. I kept shaking my head.  What humanity can do to humanity is dumbfounding.

As we arrived in Elmina where our hotel is, we drove past Elmina Castle, the first structure built by the first European invaders, the Portuguese, in 1471. Although I’ve seen photos, it is an amazing and stark site in person as you see its enormous structure in all white perched just at the edge of the coast overlooking the Atlantic.  We will be touring it and Cape Coast Castle tomorrow—I look forward to it with anticipation and dread.

We ended the night with a nice dinner at the Coconut Grove Beach Resort restaurant outside overlooking the water.  Unfortunately, Rob’s stomach was still unsettled so he had a sandwich, but I greatly enjoyed my grilled lobster with garlic butter and vegetables. Hopefully tomorrow he will feel well enough we can share a bottle of wine or a pina colada, It’s not right for me to drink alone and I will probably need it after the intensity of the castles.

Nevertheless, we decided to make the drive to Kumasi and see what he left like then. I asked our driver, Sam, what he travel time would be and he said about 3.5 hours—it actually took 6 (its that Africa time thing)! As we began our journey in the morning traffic of Tamale, Rob asked to pull over and he got down on his hands and knees and vomited into drainage ditch on the side of the busy road with locals watching. He called it a very humbling experience. I think Ernest realized that this was a bit more serious than minor digestive issues. We stopped and bought Sprite and water and headed from there with Rob sitting in the front seat of the van for more air and stability.

The drive took us from a fairly dry savannah landscape to a more tropical area filled with pineapple groves, cocoa trees, and many other crops. After the long journey from the northeast to the more central Ashanti region, we were ready to stretch our legs at Ntonso, the Adinkra trade village outside of Kumasi. Adinkra is a tree found in the north that’s ground with a mortar and pestle into a fine powder and then boiled repeatedly in very hot cauldrons until it forms a black sludge. Hand-carved, wooden stamps in all sorts of designs and philosophical meanings are used to stamp cloth, and the cloths are typically used in funerals and ceremonies. I got to try my hand and stamping a scarf and I chose symbols that mean humility and service. I was also (kind of) involuntarily wrapped in an Adinkra cloth skirt and headpiece by the villagers with the repeated words of “you look beautiful.” Needless to say, their flattery did not persuade me to buy.

We then drove to the village of Bonwire, home of the famous Kente weavers to visit a workshop. All the young weavers were eager to show us their work, and quite amazing stuff it is. They have single, double and triple layers of the weave, each requiring increasing skill levels, and all the patterns have different meanings, such as “knowledge is power,” “two heads are better than one,” and “there is power in unity.” There are specific weave designs solely used for the Asante kings and other specific ceremonial designs. After much thought, I finally decided to buy a scarf of the “first lady” design, although I did do some hard bargaining on the price. We had the odd experience of having one of the young male villagers ask us our names and then how to spell them. We were ignorant of this bait and switch technique to get our names and make woven bracelets while we were doing other things. Then, just as we were getting in the van to depart, one of the guys came to me with a blue bracelet with “Lauren” in the middle. It’s cool but not anything I need. There was a time in my life when I could have used something to remember my first name by, especially on the streets of Spain at 3 am, but I’m good now. I gave the guy 50 cedis (about 30 cents) for it and he seemed disappointed. The same thing happened to Rob the next morning, so we now have matching bracelets just in case we suffer amnesia simultaneously.

After the long and exhausting day, Rob was glad to see the sign for the hotel as we neared Kumasi. After ordering room service, rice only for him, and listening to the thunderstorm and driving rain outside the window, we called it a night with the hope of better health in the morning.

Our drive from Tamale to Paga on the Burkina Faso border took about 2 hours. Unfortunately a bird flew into our windshield and died—not a great way for me to start the morning. After shedding more than a few tears for the bird, I collected myself to see the sacred crocodiles of Paga. Their sacredness has a sketchy history but basically some guy a long time ago thought the crocs were a blessing because they helped him (not sure how) cross a river and begin the settlement so he deemed them sacred. The town has protected them every since. They claim there are now 500 crocs in a fairly small pond and brag about the children who swim there. Sacred or not, my butt wouldn’t step foot in that water. Anyway, a few villagers walked us out to the edge of the pond with a small, live chicken in hand. They feed the chickens to the crocodiles as incentives for willingly participating in this odd theatre. I had asked them not to feed the chicken while we were there—I had already witnessed enough dying birds for the day. I know they thought I was weird but they obliged and just let the chicken chirp in their hands to entice the crocs out of the water with the noise of the poor creature. Side note—I know in many parts of the world animals are just there for utility’s sake and there are many greater problems at hand than worrying about their treatment, but I am a huge animal lover so things like this really bother me and even hearing the chirping of the chicken near the crocodile pond practically gave me a panic attack. Sure enough 4 crocodiles quickly emerged as we neared, one being the granddaddy of crocs, and we commenced with the oddly posed settings of:  human sitting on croc, human holding croc’s tail and human petting croc photos. It was an weird experience.

We then drove from Paga to the hills of Tongo. Tongo is a village around this strange and unexpected outcropping of hills. On the hills lie huge granite boulders, and the people believe a deity exists at the top of the hill among the rocks so they’ve created a shrine. We trekked through the maze of small adobe homes and near small patches of land where people, mostly women, were tilling the land by hand to plant millet. This was midday so the sun was pounding on us and sweat was erupting from our unaccustomed American pores. We finally reached the shrine but Rob and I opted not to go in as the perquisite is rolling your pants to your knees and removing your shirt. My dear husband decided to stay with me and my modesty instead of climbing in to the shrine, but Sam and Ernest gleefully removed their shirts and spent a few minutes in it. Afterwards, we took a few photos from the top of the chief’s house of the family housing units below. They are amazingly intricate mazes of walls and circles, and we were told that 300 extended family members live in one of the groupings. Interestingly, although the cost of 2.5 cedis ($1.75) per month is too expensive for most people there, several houses rent solar panels to help supply electricity. This makes great sense with so much sunlight. 

After spending several hours romping among the rocks and hills, we headed back towards Tamale. We stopped briefly to walk about the market and look at the making of the woven smocks worn in the upper region, but we were absolutely spent by the heat, so we headed back to our hotel to call it a day.

Sam and Ernest drove us around Tamale where we got to see the goings on of the very busy open street market.  I could have done without the cow heads, though! 

Because it’s Sunday, many of the shops and tourist options are closed so Ernest asked, half jokingly, if we wanted to see a Ghana Premiership football game. I said yes and Rob said YES, so we headed to the very large and new Tamale stadium. In one of the guidebooks it notes that the stadium was built in 2008 for the Africa Cup competition at a cost of $80 million (US).  We purchased the more exclusive seats at a cost of 3 cedis each ($2) and Ernest adeptly barged us through the various guards, police, and crowds to our seats at midfield. Side note– there were a lot of random officials with guns who seem to like to advertise their power without much weight behind the air of authority—I think is it worldwide phenomenon at sports stadiums.   The stadium was quite empty but still lively.  The home team, the Real Tamale United handily beat the Berekum Arsenal 2-0.  While in the stands, our driver Sam bought us FanMilk vanilla ice cream, a really nice treat and served in a typical Ghanaian way— you rip open the edge of a bag with your teeth and suck out the contents. Bags of water are consumed this way, too.

A few rows ahead of us in the stands sat the regional minister who was greeted by many well-wishers throughout the game. The fans were fun and energetic with lots of yelling, clapping, screaming taunts at the competition and random dancing. I can now say I have a habit of attending foreign football matches (Spain, Scotland, Ghana) and I highly recommend it as a very unique cultural experience and not easily comparable to pro sporting events in the US.

As we left the stadium we made our way into the field and, for one brief moment, Rob’s professional football star dream came true. Too bad his wife is twice the size but much more pleasant than Victoria Beckham!

Inexplicably, many restaurants in Ghana, especially those in hotels, serve Chinese food.  I haven’t found a reason why as we haven’t come across any Chinese people.  At any rate, we partook of the opportunity for a few vegetables in our meals and went for this foreign cuisine. Unfortunately, during dinner my stomach problems returned.  Hopefully Imodium will do the trick. I don’t feel bad otherwise so I think it’s due to my adventuresome eating.