What I Did in Africa, Part III

Oh yeah, I really should start writing before I forget everything about my vacation!

So after getting to Ghana and yelling at our cab driver, we check into our hotel and the next morning we go to the Air Senegal agent and try to change our plane tickets, since we wanted to spend as little time as necessary in Dakar. We had two days scheduled, but could only move our flight up one day, which we did. After changing over some money, we decide to go to Cape Coast, three hours away via bus.

As we’re sitting on the bus (what a surprise, it doesn’t leave on time) we spot a PC helix driving around the parking lot, and joke about the long arm of PC. As the bus is leaving Accra and stopped at intersections, vendors would come running up selling water in plastic bags, ice cream, fried banana strips, phone cards and whatnot. Quite a sight to see as people ran up with things on their heads in the middle of traffic.

The ride to Cape Coast is uneventful, until near the end, when the bus pulls over, the driver dinks around in front for a while, tells the passengers something, and then jumps into a cab. Praise Allah we were in an English speaking country, so I could ask what was going on. Turns out the bus was out of brake fluid and the driver had to go to a store to buy more. A lot of the host country nationals were seriously pissed at this, though I just found it funny. Well, it would have been less funny if we couldn’t break while going down a hill, but since that didn’t happen, I decide to classify this event as funny.

The driver rolls back to the bus, of which some passengers have already gotten off and found other ways to get to Cape Coast. He puts in the brake fluid, and we’re off. We get to the bus terminal, haggle for a cab ride into town, and check into our hotel. That night, we just walked around and tried to find some street food, which I braved, and the chicken was oh-so-good.

The next morning, our plan had been to go to Kakum National Park, which is about 45 minutes away by tro-tro. We spent way too much time trying to figure out exactly which tro-tro park was the correct one to be at, so it got to be late, and we decided not to go. Then Some Girl and I sat down in the market and had a little talk, since ever since we arrived in Cape Coast, I perceived her to be in a very pissy mood, and could not figure out why. So, we got some things out, related to our very, very, very (very) different travel styles.

Following that, we headed back to the hotel where Some Girl napped, and I sat in their lobby, trying to catch up on journaling (if my lags in blogging have not been an indication to you, I’m a bit behind the curve on these things). That afternoon, we visited the Cape Coast Castle, which is the main attraction in the city. It was a castle built by the English (with stone transported from England, no less) and then which traded hands various time as colonial powers fought over it because of its strategic importance.

This was also a departure point for slaves, which was a bit emotional to see. We stood in these holding areas where they squeezed hundreds of slaves into, with three small holes cut into the wall for light. I remembered how annoyed I’d get being squeezed in the Metro during rush hour, and thinking that I surely would have gone insane being stuck in this crappy room. This was also the first time slavery was made “real” for me, since I’ve only really read about it in books. But standing there in that room, staring out of the door of no return, it seemed hard to believe only a few hundred years ago, human beings were marched through these doors in shackles to be sold off when reaching the new world.

After that tour, we went to their museum, which focused more on Ashanti culture, and had a section devoted to African-Americans in the U.S. (the latter exhibit seemed to be donated from another museum or something). We spent a fair amount of time there and then as we were leaving, we heard drumming from the artisans area. There were a bunch of people there doing a group dance. We watched them for a while. At first I thought they did this every day for the tourists, and I felt bad that they were whoring out their culture for pocket change, but then I realized they were some sort of dance group just practicing a routine.

That night was uneventful as we tried to find two restaurants listed by LP, but both seem to have closed. I ended up eating at the rooftop restaurant and Some Girl got some bread in the street, since the place didn’t seem to get the concept of vegetarian means. We then went to bed early so that we could get up at the crack of dawn to grab a tro-tro to Kakum. We made it there at a decent time, got a discounted entrance fee because we were PCVs, and looked at their museum exhibit as we waited for more tourists to show up. Two more did and we were about to head off, when a bunch of taxis pulled up, filled with German tourists. So, I did what any normal person would do when meeting Germans; stare at them and wonder how old they were around, say, 1943.

So we were off. We were told by the tour guide it was a 15 minute walk to the actual canopy walk area. As we were walking, and stopping to admire the trees, we were viciously set upon by ants the park ranger affectionately called “fire ants” because of their amazingly strong bites. Me wearing Chacos did not help matters. One actually made its way up to my crotch, and I reached down the front of my pants to pull him out. It was great.

The canopy walk itself was ok. Basically, to better study the ecosystem of the forest, researchers strung up rope and boards many meters above the earth in order to gain another perspective on things. So, this was turned into a tourist attraction. It was neat to see the different perspective of the forest, though Some Girl was really hoping to see some wildlife, which there was none around.

Coming to the park, we simply hopped a tro-tro heading north. I knew getting back would be a bit tougher, since we’d basically have to flag one down as it was going back into Cape Coast. We decided to walk down the rode as we flagged down a tro-tro, since tro-tros would be passing us no matter if the stood there or not. So we walked, walked, walked and walked some more. We must have walked for at least three hours, as at least 20 full tro-tros (and a few passenger buses) passed us on the way to Cape Coast. It was a paved road, but the sun was beating down on us, host country nationals were laughing at us, and there was no water to be bought at any of the little shacks that we passed by. Though the walk was amusing for the first hour for me, after that, I became a bit annoyed. Finally, finally, tro-tro passed us that had empty seats, and we hopped on. Though we were super close to Cape Coast by now, they still charged us the full price from Cape Coast to Kakum, but I didn’t care. I thought I was going to die from thirst and finally when they dropped us by the bus station, was I able to buy some overpriced water. It was about 40 kilometers from Cape Coast to Kakum, and it feels like we walked a good chunk of it. If we hadn’t gotten the ride, it would have taken the rest of the day to get back to Cape Coast.

So we checked the bus schedule, and were going to take a late afternoon bus to Kumasi, a town to the north, that was said by LP to be the cultural and artistic center of the country. We limped around town for a bit, and ended up having some Fanta’s at this kiosk type place, and talked with the two girls behind the counter, who were about our age. They told us about school in Ghana, and we told them a bit about the States. After going back to the hotel and sitting, we decided that we could leave now and take a tro-tro to Kumasi, which would save us some time, instead of waiting till late afternoon for the bus. Though a bus is always more spacious, we really had nothing left to do in Cape Coast. So we get to the tro-tro park, and after waiting around for a while, finally left.

The ride isn’t uncomfortable though this old guy keeps falling asleep and leans into me. He wakes up a few times and apologizes and we start talking. Turns out he’s a university professor in Kumasi, has done some traveling outside of the country, has heard of PC and is always happy to see tourists in his country. We talk for a while, and then he tells us he’ll help us when we get to Kumasi, since it’ll be dark when we arrive and we still have to get to the PC sub-office on the outskirts of town.

I was very happy that he made this offer, because when we arrived at the market area in Kumasi, it was dusk, and it was chaos. Everyone was leaving the market to go home, tro-tros and taxis were driving around like crazy, everyone was trying to get everyone else’s attention and people running around everywhere. If this guy hadn’t helped us, we really would have been lost. So, we went with the guy, who had found two other people on the tro-tro who he said were a “brother and sister,” (meaning, I think, that they were from the same ethnic group as him) who were going the direction we were going, and would help us. So after walking around for a few minutes, we found the correct tro-tro, which if not for them, I have no idea how we would have found it.

It’s a bit crazy right now when I think about it, we didn’t know this guy at all, and end up just getting into whatever tro-tro he said we should, in the hopes that it would take us to near the Kumasi sub-office. So we ride for a while, and the lady signals we should get off, and find the sub-office and make our way inside. There are a bunch of PCVs already there, most who are passing through to their COS conference in Accra. We talk with them a bit and get settled in.

Their sub-office was pretty cool, it is basically a big house, with a separate room for the PCV Leader, who is a 3rd year who lives there, and is in charge of running the sub-office. It sounds like a sweet job. They have a big kitchen which is stocked with food (PCVs pay when they stay) and two big rooms for people to sleep in. They also have a computer with a bunch of DVDs and a huge living room. Very different from the Praia Transit House. It was nice to see that at least in some parts of the PC universe, they seem to have a bit more trust and respect for their PCVs.

The next day, we caught a ride with the PCVL into town (they get assigned a car and driver for official use, since the sub-office also serves as a medical hut) and me and Some Girl ended up hanging out with Not-Jeff who showed us around the market and helped us get lunch. In the afternoon we went to a cultural center, which was like this big park with a lot of artisans selling things. We, walked, talked and window shopped.

We went back to the food section of the market at the end of the day, and as I was trying to decide if I should buy a watermelon, there was this young guy, must have been in his mid-20s, dressed up as a woman, and going around and dancing, gyrating on various people as he was being followed by a crowd. I am not quite clear the cultural significance of it, but it was a sight to behold.

When we were talking with the vendors, this was also when some of them started called me “brown man” which I found a refreshing change of pace from “chines.” After deciding against buying a watermelon, we caught a ride back to the sub-office but I ended up going back out into town that night, since a bunch of people went out to celebrate a PCV’s birthday. We went to an Indian restaurant, which was great!

We had to take two cabs, and the other PCVs had problems with their cabbie, who ended up coming into the restaurant twice yelling about how he was getting scammed since he thought they had agreed upon a different price. And there was this guy with him, who just happened to be on the street when they all started arguing, and he just jumped in on the side of the cabbie. So he came in too with the cabbie and was saying nonsensical things like, “do you know what happens to foreigners like you, they die!”

Some of the PCVs wanted to pay the difference, just to shut him up, but others were saying if they did that, then it would just give him license to scam other foreigners. The owner of the restaurant eventually came over and said he would pay the difference, in order to shut the cabbie up. So, that was nice of the restaurant owner, though I am sure he did it just to avoid having this scene in his restaurant.

So the rest of the dinner was uneventful, one of the PCVs was from a small town in Minnesota, so we had that in common. Hearing more about their programs in Ghana, it was interesting how different it was from Cape Verde. So we headed back to the sub-office without incident, and I ended up going out to a local bar (called a “spot”) and had some beers with Not-Jeff and talked about life at site.

The next morning me and Some Girl, along with three other PCVs, were off to Accra. The tro-tro ended up dropping us off short of the city center, even the PCVs didn’t know where they were. So, we had to take another tro-tro into the city, got into an argument with the mate (the guy who opens the door, and handles the money) since we were told a price by the PCVs, which was the price we shouted out to the mate and he signaled his agreement. But then when we paid, he said it wasn’t enough. We went on and on for about 10 minutes about it. I tried to keep it light, and then everyone in the tro-tro got involved. In the end, this random lady ended up paying our difference, and we tried to pay her back, but she wouldn’t take our money. I think what actually happened was that the PCVs didn’t realize how far from Accra we were, so they gave us a lower price than what it was really going to cost. But at this point, I just assumed that pretty much every form of public transportation was trying to scam us, so backing down wasn’t really an option.

We got dropped off at the edge of the market, and started the search for our final hotel in Ghana. The LP directed us to some hotels that were closed or a bit too ghetto. At this point, I was more than happy to go to an ATM, take out a lot of money, and just have a nicer hotel to stay in for the weekend. We finally cabbed to a neighborhood farther away from the Market, called Asylum Down (I just love the name) and found at hotel that wasn’t too outrageous, but was nicer compared to other places we’d been staying at.

Then we went ATM searching. We ended up finding one, but Some Girl couldn’t remember her PIN, and didn’t want to try too many different combinations, since she didn’t want her card eaten. We got totally lost on the way back, since I had been relying on Some Girl’s always good sense of direction. It was getting dark, but we found a police station, and first they told us we should cab back, but then when we said we were fine with walking, they got us a ride with two cops that were heading up our way.

As we were pulling out of the station, we realized that we had walked all the way back to the market, which was very far looking on the map. The cops were nice about helping us, and when we were thanking them, they went on about how it was nothing, that they were there to make sure we had a good time while in Ghana, etc. They didn’t exactly know where the hotel was, so they tried called the place, but no one was answering. When we got to the neighborhood, then they just started asking around and were able to find it. So, embarrassing for us, but very good of them to help.

That night we went to a Western-style bar for dinner, which was pretty good. I had a Long Island Iced Tea, which I haven’t had in ages. The next morning, I went with Some Girl as she withdrew money (she contacted her parents to get her PIN) and then we split up as she went to get her hair braided, and I went to the market to try to get some shopping done. Earmuffs had wanted me to try to pick up a cloth only found in Ghana, so I went searching for that, as well as cheap DVDs for me to take back.

One area of the market was filled with clothing stalls, but they were all selling textiles, which I guess the kind of cloth I was looking for was not. It was interesting to see people’s reactions to me. They’d always look surprised to see me enter into their store, and then their faces would change a bit when they heard my English and realized I wasn’t a Chinaman. For example, one time I went into this more upper-class store that sold drapes and things, and the two women sales associates saw me come in and just started laughing. These changed to looks of shock on their faces when I started talking and when I turned around to leave they started laughing at me again. Another time, when I went into this little store, I showed the girl this piece of paper with the type of cloth written on it, and she laughed at me and said something about her not being able to read. Of course, since she can’t read, the joke is actually on her, too bad she doesn’t realize that.

After stumbling around for hours, I didn’t what Earmuffs wanted, but I was able to pick up some DVDs for cheap, though the Al Pacino collection only works on a computer, and not a normal DVD player. I head back and find Some Girl, who was still getting her hair braded. A few hours later, she was done (she had basically been sitting there all afternoon and into the early evening) and we went out dinner next to Champs, though the service really sucked.

When she was getting her hair done, I checked my email at the Internet café attached to the hotel. I ran into an American guy there doing some business in Ghana and when I told him I was a PCV in Cape Verde, the first thing he asked me was if it was true how beautiful the women there were. I answered yes (clario!) and we discussed that for a bit. He also said PC was the “…only U.S. government program worth a damn” and I should be sure not to be like the Ugly American.

As I was checking my email, I tried to check out my FSWE results, and was able to download the form, which had this promising sounding title like “entrance letter” or something. But of course, the computer I was on didn’t have a PDF reader, so I was pulling my hair out over that for the rest of the night.

My plan was the next morning to go to the PC/Ghana office and check the letter there, but when we woke up, it was down pouring and so the desire to leave the comfy hotel room was severely lessened. I sat around as Some Girl checked her email, and actually saw the Wizard of Oz on TV. It still freaks me out after all of these years. Those flying monkeys…

We were supposed to check out of the hotel at noon and then wait around for a few hours before our flight back to Dakar, but the night before, we decided to get some of our clothes cleaned by the hotel, and it wasn’t ready by the time of checkout, so we ended up staying at the room until we left for the airport. I also used the opportunity to run to a big supermarket, where I stumbled around for a while, looking in awe at their selection.

After returning, we checked out and made our way to the airport where we waited around for a while (of course). Finally getting on that Air Senegal plane was like stepping back into this world of luxury, which I enjoyed to the utmost, before landing in Dakar.

As I may have said before, I hate arriving in cities at night. Pretty much all of the cities that we had arrived in during our trip was at night, which was really annoying, since I was more disorientated than usual. But landing in Dakar was especially nervous for me, since I hadn’t had that much fun the first time we were there, I also had heard stories about cabbies robbing tourists at night.

So we land, clear customs and then head out to the taxi stand where we negotiate the price with this young dude who agrees to take us, but then he passes us off to this older dude, which is fine, whatever. This other young guy helps us load our bags into the taxi, and then he comes to my window and says something. I ignore him since I think he’s just asking for money. The cabbie then gets in and we start driving away and Some Girl asks me in Kriolu if I heard what the kid said, which I respond to no, and she says that the kid said that the driver has a gun.

Of course, the driver could have had a gun. Or Some Girl could have misheard the kid, who wasn’t speaking English, but seemed to get his point across to her in French. He could have said it, but only have been screwing with is. I’m not sure what to do, since I’m not sure how much to rely on the word of some kid putting our bags in the trunk.

However, the cabbie solves the dilemma for us by turning off of the main road into this enclosed area just outside of the airport. At this point, Some Girl wants out, and opens the door and tries to get the driver to stop. She even pops him one on the back of the head. I also have the door open and am shouting at the guy, who is screaming back at us, as we drive toward this group of young men sitting on the ground.

Finally he stops short of the group and we jump out, grab our bags and hightail it back toward the airport, where we decide to revert to plan B, which is just stay in the airport till morning and then catch the bus into town. Upon further reflection of the incident, though I am not clear about the gun thing, I think it was more than likely that the cabbie was going to get gas, and the young men on the ground were just the people who were going to fill up the tank. It seems unlikely that if the cabbie was going to mug us, he would do it so close to the airport, since we it only took us about two minutes to walk back to it. You’d think if we were going to get robbed, he would drive out for a bit, because it is a long drive from the airport to the city center.

But, unlucky for him, he picked up two tired, slightly paranoid PCVs who were not exactly in the mood for whatever it was he was up to. So, back at the airport, where there aren’t any comfortable chairs in the ticket counter area, we sit and around and read, journal, and walk in circles until the sun comes up. Then we get the bus into the city, check back into the hotel we had previously stayed at, and Some Girl goes to bed, whereas I decide to take the opportunity to do some shopping. I run around for the morning and afternoon to the market and other areas, looking for stuff to buy. I end up at a grocery store, among other places, and pick up a few goodies.

Then after a late lunch at this Lebanese run place, it’s back to the airport, where our flight is, of course, delayed. We sit around for a few extra hours, talk with a few snobby French girls who are coming for vacation, and finally, finally get on the plane and return to home sweet home, Cape Verde.

Next up, Reflections! :-)