Ghana Snippet!

So in July, I led a group of 40 high school students on a community service/cultural exchange trip to Accra, Ghana with AFS.  I stayed with a "host family" - Sammy, a banker in his 30's, also a soccer enthusiast, and a new fan of The Wire (proud to say I got him hooked).

The trip had too much in it to be able to describe in just one post, so I'll throw out some snippets from time to time.

Like this one:

July 5, 2008

In Ghana, 22% of all fatalities of children ages 1-5 are a result of Malaria.

Up at 5:45 this morning to get dressed for Sammy's 6:00 football training (read:  "soccer practice").  We met in a yard, a mixture of grass and dirt and rocks (not in any sort of definable way); it was very uneven, but the ground was soft, where it wasn't rocks.

I was the only white person, and the only girl.  I was also the only one wearing a baseball hat.  The rest were fit Ghanian men ranging in age, I'd say, from 13 to 45.

The majority of them didn't look at me twice--the ones who did asked their

 friends in Twi who I was, and then they'd turn to me and say "You are welcome," in English.  They say this not like we respond to "Thank you," but in the literal sense.  Anyway, I was able to keep up.

Sammy took us to town later, and I feel like I understand how the trotros work a little better.  Trotros are rickety old vans packed to the brim with passengers.  There are no schedules, no maps, no tickets, and they'll often blast either highlife or hiplife (I love hiplife), which both provide an up-tempo soundtrack for long, sweaty, dusty rides into town.

When going into the center of Accra, trotro "mates" lean out the bus and point forward repeatedly, yelling "Accrá Accrá Accrá Accrá"  the "a's" blending together into one long "aah" with "cra's" in the middle, so it's more like "Accrácrácrá...".  To get to the Circle junction, get on the trotro with the mate who leans out and yells, "Cé cé cé cé cé cé cé" sticking his hand out like a claw, and turning it back and forth, as if twisting a jar open really really fast.

Accra reminds me much of Brazil, with

out the drastic contrast of a visible upper class.  It makes the poverty seem more appropriate.  There are wealthy ones here, for sure, but they're not as many, and not as obnoxiously visible as they are in Salvador.

The market is every bit as frenetic and overwhelming as I thought it would be.  Today, I bought a towel for 6 Ghana Cedis (=$6, these days), seasons 1 and 2 of The Wire for Samuel (Baltimore in Africa, bootlegged all the way from China) for another 6 Ghana Cedis, 2 mangos, and like a million oranges for 2 more GCs.  I ate two oranges tonight.  Oranges are green here.  I told Sammy how funny I think this is.  He goes, "Why?  What color are yours?"  The mangos probably won't be ripe until Monday or so.

I saw the ocean this morning, and will see a prettier version of it tomorrow, when we go to the beach.

After getting off the trotro that took us back to Adenta, our neighborhood ("Adentádentádentádentá..."), walking back down the dirt road that already kind of feels like home, Sammy bought us both grilled ears of corn from a wrinkled woman sitting behind a simple barbecue.  We ate them (tough, and more like popcorn than our sweet, 4th of July cobs...very texturally satisfying to chew) and walked home, tired, through the piles of stones and dirt, until we hit our house, its branches of small magenta flowers hanging over the gate.

Goodnight, bullfrogs.