I was just talking with a group of my friends up on the 7th deck over a round of icecream about how hard it has been to write about Africa. We write down these words that relate what we did, but how do you even begin to describe the ways in which it impacted you? I can relate to you my stories of the schools I visited and the kids I played with, how I did this and went there and saw that, but how do I explain what it truly meant? How do I go about describing the horrifying realization that comes along with actually experiencing something that you've only ever heard about? Parent's always chide their their kids to finish their plates by saying "There are starving kids in Africa." But does anyone really know what that means? Of course not, we have been sheltered in wealth our entire lives. And don't get me wrong, I most definitely will not pretend to know what it means after spending a mere five days in Ghana, but I do know that we have no idea. As I told you yesterday, we watched a little girl gnaw a chicken bone until it was completely clean. I went without access to drinking water for a night (that story comes later), something that many people back home would never consider could happen, and yet it is not uncommon here. I don't really know where I'm going with this, just that as I relate my experiences, know that they are so much more than that.
I woke up to the cock-a-doddle-doo of a rooster (I kid you not) on a piece of foam covered with a dirty blanket. I'd tossed my pillow aside at some point during the night because it was worn and musty and lumpy and just much more comfortable without. We had been told that we should be up at a certain hour, but of course in African time, we didn't actually get going until a couple hours after schedule. Breakfast consisted of three large slices of white bread, covered in eggs, which were incredible (I can't help but wonder how often they actually get to eat eggs though).
The plan for the morning was to hike Mt. Gemi. So we walked back to the town center to meet up with our other group, drop our bags off on the bus, and fill up on water. I don't believe I've mentioned yet about the water. They sell water in these little square, sealed, plastic bags. Since these bags are drinking water, we just automatically assumed that they were safe. After drinking them the entire trip though, our guide had informed us the night previous that they are not actually all safe. There are some companies that package the water that don't properly purify it. You have to look for a seal that the government stamps on the bags to make sure it is actually safe to drink. So at some point in the first couple days, I likely drank contaminated Ghanian water. On with the story. We set off on a path that led to the edge of town and up the mountain (which by Colorado standards really hardly even qualified as a hill). The view was phenomenal though, with Amedzofe down below, and winding dirt roads in the distance, and the entire green hilly landscape. At the top of the mountain was a large green cross, which ironically enough was actually a secret telecommunication devise used by the Germans during World War II. I never even knew the Germans were located in Africa during the war.
After our hike we said goodbye to the townspeople, piled back on the bus, and began the drive towards the waterfalls. I really couldn't tell you how long any of the bus rides were during our trip. I spent most of them napping. Along the way we decided to stop for lunch. Our guide ran up to the first restaurant to see if they would be able to accommodate our large group but no luck. You have to remember that we were in the middle of subsaharan Africa. There are no fancy large restaurants with half a dozen chefs in a large kitchen. A restaurant consists of a room with several tables and chairs, and a little cooking area out back where one woman prepares all the food. We stopped at a second restaurant but that one didn't work out either. Finally, on our third attempt, our guide came back to the bus and said he'd found a place for us to eat. The name of it was Virgin Lips. As we all crowded in, the woman who owned the place was there to greet us all with a beaming smile. I ordered red red, a traditional dish that consists of beans and fried plantains. While we waited for our food to arrive (it takes a long time to prepare over 20 dishes) we decided to go explore the surrounding area. There was a school nearby, and we waved to the kids over the fence and asked the teacher if we could come in. She agreed, and we went to greet the kids. Such a thing could have never happened in America. The police would have been called. But there we were, a complete group of strangers going to play with little kids and no one payed us any mind whatsoever. These kids were so adorable. I don't even have words to describe it any more.
After we left the school we went to a few of the little shops/stands, bought some local snacks, and then, hidden amongst the little stalls and stands selling fabric and spices and other ordinary, everyday purchases, we found one stand decorated with these beautifully tie-died hand painted t-shirts hanging out front. There is no end of artwork to be encountered in the markets in Ghana, and when asked if the salesperson is the actual artist, they will all respond in the affirmative, which you will want to believe until upon closer inspection of the canvases you will realize that none of the paintings actually bear the same signature. This place was different; the artist was standing right there working with his latest piece. Everything was bright and textured and just bursting with color. From first walking up to the shop I'd had my eye on a purple and yellow tie-died t-shirt with an elephant on the front. It's a really sweet t-shirt. We browsed around, and shopped, and talked to the artists, and finally decided that our food would probably be ready soon and headed back to the restaurant.
It turned out to be quite a while longer before lunch actually made an appearance, but it was worth every moment of the wait just for the fried plantains alone. Between Brazil, and Ghana I have become simply obsessed with fried plantains. They are divine. Sometime during lunch two very obviously non-native white girls strolled in and we learned they they had been backpacking all over West Africa for the past month. As it turned out we were heading in the same direction, the waterfalls, and so we offered them a ride on our bus which they gladly accepted.
The ride to the falls was relatively short. I actually had no idea when I was packing that we were going to waterfalls. The updated itinerary including that information seemed to have missed me, and as such I had not thought to pack a swimsuit. Plus, we have these "fright night" pre-port presentations by Dr. Bill about each and every disease, bacteria, and overall medical horror that we would ever have to worry about while in that particular port. For Ghana, we were told to avoid swimming in fresh water because they have these parasites... I'm not even going to go into detail. So swimming was out of the question. We ambled off the bus into a little area with a dozen or so little shops, waited for everyone to change, and then began our hike through the beautiful lush mountains. I love hiking at sea level. It's such a breeze. We came out into a clearing after about 30 minutes to find a breathtaking waterfall towering high above us, all the way down into the pool before us. I couldn't miss out on that. Bathing suit and parasites aside, I went in fully clothed, stood under the waterfall, and enjoyed the crisp, clear water after the hot sticky atmosphere we'd become accustomed to. It was perfection.
Being in no hurry to leave, I waited until the last minute possible, until all the rest of the group had started the hike back down, and finally left with our guide, Emanuel. Emanuel actually lives in the monkey village where we were heading to next, and I spent the hike asking him about his life there, the languages of Ghana (everyone is multilingual and speaks at least four languages), and every sort of cultural question about himself and Ghana in general that I could think of. It was really nice to have the chance to talk one-on-one with a local. I love the experience of traveling with friends, but at the same time, I feel like some of the experience of immersing yourself in with the local people is lost. Of course five days is not enough time to do that anyway, but it was nice to break away from the pack for a little bit. Emanuel was extremely informative, and told me everything I could have wanted to know and more. We reached the shops at the end of the trail where we had stared, I bought a handmade bad that I bargained down to ten cedi, and we loaded back onto the bus for the umpteenth time. Next stop: Tafi, at long last.
I'm sure you've realized by now that Tafi Monkey Village was always the overarching goal of this trip. A local village inhabited by monkeys, what could be more fascinating? Once again I just napped the entire way there, and by the time we arrived night had fallen. This was not like the previous village though where everyone went to bed with sundown. I don't actually know if the festivities were planned just for us, or if they were a common evening-time occurrence, but either way, Emanuel assured us that we were in for a late and fun-filled night.
Once off the bus, we were split into groups and led to the places where we would be spending the night. Some people stayed in extra rooms in people's houses. My group stayed in the local "hotel." I say hotel for lack of a better word. There were three little brightly painted huts with a couple rooms apiece and a padlock on the door. Lizzie and I walked into our room to find a concrete floor covered with a sheet of wallpaper, a severely water-stained ceiling, and two beds (pieces of foam on a wood frame) with actual mosquito nets. I have tramped all over the Caribbean, the Amazon, and now Africa, and here in this little village was the first time I had come across an actual mosquito net.
Once we had dropped all of our belongings, we reconvened and made our way to the village center. There, beside a completely unlit building (actually the entire village was completely unlit) a circle of plastic lawn chairs had been set up for us. We all found seats and an old storyteller proceeded to tell us the traditional village stories, many of them relating to the legends of the monkeys that live there. Emanuel sat next to him and translated for him. After a few of these stories, the drums began, and we were entertained with traditional African dance, which was incredible and unlike any dancing you've ever seen before. Several dances later, we were all invited to join in, and danced around in a giant circle, led by the dance troop.
When the performances came to an end, Emanuel informed us that we were going to the bar where they had prepared a party for us. What ensued what exactly the same scene you'd see at a bar back home, except we were in Ghana. Men in Ghana are exactly the same as men anywhere else in the world, they have a few drinks and can think about nothing but picking up girls, except here they are slightly more formal and actually give you a marriage proposal. One of the dancers spent the entire evening proposing to me, which I tried to brush off lightheartedly at first, and when that didn't work, started making up fake boyfriends back home who were football players and giants and would not be happy with him at all. He still was not convinced and spent the remainder of the evening holding my hand and refusing to let go. I was relieved when the first of our group decided to head back and turn in for the night. Goodbye dancer. Sorry it didn't work out.
Also, the water story, after a drink or two I headed back to the bar to buy a bottle of water, not wanting to get dehydrated. The bar informed me that they didn't sell water. I found Emanuel and asked him if there was anywhere I could find water. He pointed out one of the locals, to whom I gave 2 cedi and asked for water. He hopped on his bike and was gone. A good ten minutes later he returned. Sorry, no water in the village. What do you do when you are in the middle of subsaharan Africa with no access to clean drinking water?
After we headed back to our rooms, we stayed up for a while talking, watching as giant bugs landed on the mosquito nets and lizards ran up and down the walls, until even the fear of swallowing a spider during the night was not great enough to combat sleep.
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