When I finally decide it’s time for me to crack down and learn a few phrases in Twi, I will of course make sure I’ve ascertained eye clinic outreach competency, with familiarity in basic ophthalmologic terminology and abilities to direct money exchanges and visual acuity screenings. I will also make sure I know how to ask the following questions and comprehend all of their possible responses as if they were tattooed on the back of my hand. Is there adequate oil? Is there an adequate supply of petroleum? Why is the windshield cracked? Does the car’s transmission, eh, work? How about the windshield wipers and defrost? Could you describe in full detail the route you will be taking to bring us to our destination?
If these questions had been addressed and responded to appropriately, we may have had a different and more pleasant turn of events yesterday.
All we wanted to do was go to the beach. A nice beach. Not one that has trash all over it, or one where I will be attacked by people who want me to buy their things. We made it to that beach. It was called Bojo Beach. It should have been a forty-five minute ride both ways. In total I think we were on the road for five and a half hours. The six of us didn't think our taxi experience could have been worse than the ride there, during which we squeezed six passengers into a car that could only fit four passengers (I sat in the trunk) and kept the windows open for some ventilation and breeze in exchange for exhaust and soot from the filthy roads infiltrating and polluting our lungs; the driver refused to admit to not knowing that Bojo beach was actually a place or where it was located, and so he spent at least a half hour circling back and forth on the same highway until he stopped in front of a Chinese restaurant and insisted that this was, in fact, Bojo Beach; and then, since we refused to leave the car, the cab driver had a conversation in Twi with at least five people he found on the side of the road to help him navigate his way to Bojo Beach.
We eventually got there, and, thankfully, the sun was still shining and the people were still inflowing. The beach was great! It was a private beach at a resort. To get to the beach area we rode on a steamboat to the sandbar, which had clear sand and beautiful ocean water. It wasn’t crowded. We wanted to play volleyball but the workers there told us we would have had to pay 10 Ghana cedis. I was skeptical of their intentions because a few hours later we saw a group of obibini (black people) who tried to start up a game but were quick to give up their volleyball because they had few participants. 10 Ghana cedis is about the American equivalent of 6.66 dollars at an exchange rate of 1.5 Ghana cedis to the 1.0 dollar. I would never throw away 6.66 dollars in an instant like that! So we figured they tried to get money from us because we are obroni (white people). It’s really funny when people see us and they shout “obroni!” They do it all the time. We are also stared at a lot. I never feel unsafe, though. People who look at us aren’t looking to hurt us. They are just curious and have a different concept of personal space. They touch a lot, and I’m not really used to that, but I kind of like how trust is the standard here.
I made some friends with the locals! I did a flip on the beach just to see if I still could. A few minutes later I saw a group of Ghanaian children who were flipping as well! I think they were doing so to invite me over or to show me up. They were good! So I went over to them and spotted a few for some backflips. I was able to teach the most talented one how to do a backflip sans hands. J Then we flipped together! Then a police officer made his way over, and the kids scattered. They weren’t doing anything wrong! I also felt one of the side effects of the Doxycycline malaria prophylaxis pill… again. This time it was sensitive skin. Apparently it is common for anyone on the Doxycycline medication to burn easily. I think the combination of my paleness and falling asleep in the sun while reading The Man Who Lives With Wolves and the African sun and the Doxycycline was a deadly one, for I am burnt. I was wearing a bathing suit with metal ringlets in it, and today I have spots of burns in the formation of my bathing suit. Pleasant.
There were also naked people getting into boats. I was entertained. And I saw this as a photo opportunity.
INSERT NAKED PERSON IN A BOAT PHOTO HERE!
We left the beach to meet what we never would have imagined to be our worst nightmare: our taxi and its driver. We squeezed 6 into a 4-person car, but this time no one in the trunk because the trunk was dirty and rusted. I was one of two people in the front passenger seat. It was terribly uncomfortable. I was on the left side (Ghanaian cars are American-style: they drive on the right side of the road), so half of my back was pushed up against a seat and half was in the air space above the gear shift. The cab driver said he knew where our destination was, and we were inclined to believe him because the ABC junction in New Achimota is supposedly a well-known spot, but we really should have been prepared to give him directions after what we had experience during the ride there. For that mistake I cannot forgive myself. I can, however, forgive myself for not expecting a car that had no oil, no petroleum and a popped tire, and for not beating the thunderstorm. It’s raining here season in southern Ghana, and it often results in cars breaking down, as was the case during our outreach trip on Friday. We had to push the car (like they do in Little Miss Sunshine!) to get it going.
The roads were full of traffic and they are hardly lit, and I was terrified for my life because the driver was visibly anxious and agitated. He continually expressed his worry that he’d be caught with a car of too many people by the police and he kept pointing over to where New Achimota was. We had assumed that he had meant that he knew he’d get us to that destination. We had assumed incorrectly.
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OK, I’m cutting this short because I’m getting in my car to go to Takoradi for this week! I will get back to this entry as soon as I can. The place where I’ll be staying does not have wifi all over the place. I’d have to hit up an internet café to get back here. We’ll see what happens.
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Arrived in Takoradi. No internet access here. This post is being written on Sunday night, but will probably not be posted until Friday or so. Sharing an air conditioned room in a remote area for 45 cedis/night, which ends up being $15/night for me, which is stellar. This is an upgrade from the other rooms with fans only. I am enjoying the comfort of this room. Though there are lots of bugs to keep on the lookout for. Mosquito net is up and bug spray is applied. I’m ready for the wild.
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…Continuing from before. When we had reinformed the driver that we needed to get to New Achimota again, he said “no no I drop you off here.” It was the middle of a highway. It was pouring. During the ride he kept turning the ignition on and off, used a towel to wipe off the defrost, continually articulated his worry about the no oil and no petroleum, and all the while was blasting music from his cell phone. Like the driver who took us to the beach, he kept insisting that he drop us off where he felt like it because he wouldn’t make it to New Achimota. He kept stopping and saying “ok, you go here.” Eventually he stopped completely because his car broke down. Yes. The tire popped. We stayed in the car as he replaced the tire and we called our Ghanaian reference person Jerome who works for the Crystal Eye Clinic and is in charge of all of the Unite For Sight programs in Ghana. We had hoped that he would come and pick us up. But he didn’t. :( He instead spoke to the driver in Twi, who had told him he’d be able to take us back, apparently. Seeing that the driver was feeding our reference poor information, we got out of the car and were hitchhiking two taxis to bring us to the ABC junction in New Achimota in the torrential rain. Sadly, I saw this as a photo opportunity, and I snagged a few shots. We took two cars back and made it safely to the Telecentre. Hoorah.
I was exhausted and burnt. It was wonderful to return to the Telecentre, which has started to feel like a home. The ladies who work here know all of our names and are so and sincere. I am so humbled by their kindness and willingness to make our stay in Ghana as smooth and pleasant as possible. When we tell them we’re hungry, they’ll ask us what we’re interested in eating and they’ll suggest a place, give us the directions, and offer to call someone at the restaurant to meet us halfway. They help us find taxis and talk to the drivers in Twi for us so we are not ripped off. They do our laundry! They feed us breakfast. They gossip with us when we are watching television in the guest room. They are great people. Magdalena did my laundry and listened to our rants when we came back from the beach. I guess this is what we dub “southern hospitality” in the States, except I don’t feel as though the women at the Telecentre are living a slow-paced life. I like their balance of pace and willingness to pause. It’s a great harmony.
I made it to bed at 9:45 pm that night. I was incredibly exhausted.
Friday was an outreach day. It was my first day of research, and it was well played because Sophia and I are the two team members collecting data and we are splitting up from now on as of this week to maximize our data. We needed a day to figure out a spreadsheet for data collection and to figure out how to optimize our survey questions so that they only take long when we need them to. She is staying at the Telecentre this week and I am at a different about five hours away from her. I’ll see her again this weekend.
I ate at a Chinese restaurant on Friday night! It was deelish. I had leftovers for Saturday night. During dinner I had announced four of my minor goals for my trip here. They are 1) pick a coconut from a coconut tree (DONE! Thanks to the beach. Yay. But apparently the coconut I picked was the wrong color. You are supposed to pick the green ones, not the brown ones); 2) have a person on the street teach me how to carry buckets and stuff on my head; 3) buy something while in my car from a street person; and, 4) pet a stray dog or goat (because I got my rabies shots and I feel that they should go to good use).
Goal #3 was accomplished while on my trip to Takoradi today! And it was a great achievement, for I purchased a Manchester soccer ball for 12 cedis. Apparently the person who was trying to sell me the ball was talking to my driver in Twi and saying to him “man why are you helping out the white girl, you know she can afford more than that!” And puahaha. The Unite For Sight guy said he would have paid the same as I had. The seller wanted 25 cedis for it. The Manchester soccer ball is pretty cool to me because apparently the team name is Chelsea. On the Chelsea team is a Ghanaian player, and people in Ghana are obsessed with that team because of him. So people here don’t forget my name when I tell them what it is! Their eyes light up and they ask me if I know about the soccer player. I might just start following ‘football’ this summer once I get home. It’s the only sport I see on tv here, and people gather round in ‘spots,’ which are sort of like bars except outside and less belligerent, to watch the games.
We had some interesting conversations in the car about spiritual upbringings. God and Jesus are very ubiquitous here. On the road you see Jesus and God bumper stickers, on storefronts you’ll see phrases like “He is all mighty!” and in conversations you,b’ll hear “God bless you” and on Sundays you’ll see people dressed up and ready to go to church, storefronts closed, and the sounds of big church pastors from miles away. One of the volunteers was talking about his Mormon upbringing and how much it has brought to his life. As a non-spiritual person brought up in a non-believing household, I wonder if I’m missing something that I can’t even conceptualize. I don’t desire it. It’s just interesting to wonder about how things might be different for me if I had a higher belief system to which I subscribed my heart and soul. Am I less whole because I am missing a certain non-tangible thought process? Am I capable of as much happiness as someone who is spiritual? I’ll never be spiritual because I simply don’t desire it. But it doesn’t keep me from wondering.
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