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Europe: What Next?


Ghana, Milana's Solo Adventures



April 15, 2000- Europe! (Or where have we been in the last months?)

Some of you may have been wondering what we've been up to in the past few months. In our last entry we were back in Toronto for 3 weeks, celebrating Christmas with our families. Daniel wrote the final entry, mentioning my impending trip to Ghana, and his travel uncertainties. So now its mid-April- what happened?

As you may have guessed we are both in Germany right now. Daniel came over in January to visit his family here, and then decided to stay. He has started up an Internet company with his cousin, Micheal, and a friend, and is happily living and working in Hannover. I think he is all travelled-out for now- although at the moment he did go for a weekend "business trip" to the Canary Islands. Apparently island life makes you a more effective business person.

What have I been up to? Unfortunately, I had to leave Ghana early because of medical reasons- I got bitten by a Tumbu fly which lay its eggs in my skin. I am going to spare you the details (email me if you are really interested!), but I am healthy and healed now! Later, I hung out with Daniel and his family, spending a lot of quality time surfing the net, reading and daydreaming.
Sadly, my grandfather (who also lived in Germany) passed away at the end of February- since then I have been mostly in Leer (close to the Dutch border) dealing with estate issues. My mom and my brother are here at the moment as well, and when we finish things up I will move to Hannover with Daniel.

Are we ever planning to come back? The answer is 'yes' for me, and 'maybe' for Daniel. I have decided to stay here at least until June, hanging out in Hannover, and improving my German. Then, I guess I will have to come back and start figuring out what I want to do (still!). Daniel is definitely staying for awhile, time length still undetermined. We'll see, I guess..

I guess this is it for our WHEREAREWE travel journal- for this trip at least!. Honestly, I have definitely lost the travel bug here in Europe, leaving me not much to write about. Museums and art galleries just don't cut it anymore after the novels of Ghana and Asia.
This journal has been a lot of fun. Thanks to everyone who read it and especially to those who sent us encouraging notes and comments along the way. It's been a great trip- one we'll remember for the rest of our life. If anyone has any questions about any parts of our trip, feel free to email me or daniel. Goodbye!

Milana
 

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Milana's Adventures Without Daniel in Ghana
with the companionship of my mother and Alison

Ghana is not your usual African destination- far away from the tourist hubs of Kenya, Tanzania and South Africa, and even those of Senegal and Mali in West Africa, Ghana sees only a very small percentage of tourists to the continent. Which is a pity, because Ghana is probably one of the friendliest and most laid back nations around.

I came to Ghana with my mother and Alison. My mother has some good friends, Sophie and Egya, who have grown up in Ghana and always wax eloquent about their homeland and its people. They promised us a wonderful time- "Ghanaians are the friendliest people on earth" they said. "Everyone will make sure you have a great time." They was right.

We arrived on January 16, the beginning of the dry season, and one of the more pleasant times of the year to travel in the region. The weather is hot, hovering around 30 Celsius everyday, all day. January is low season, when the few tourists who make it here are even fewer. This turns out to be a good thing, making room reservations unnecessary, and visiting tourist sites a crowd-free experience.

We started our trip in Accra- Jumbled, ramshackle, lively Accra is Ghana's capital. Like many African cities, it's not the plethora of sites (or lack of them) that makes this city, but rather it's 'feel'- and Accra has a very pleasant, relaxed 'feel' to it. It's a great city to just walk around in, taking in the atmosphere. We walked a lot; hopping over sewer trenches, dodging erratic traffic, breathing in the dusty air, waving our hands and saying 'hello' over and over to all those friendly smiles that greeted us.

We were staying with Erajewa, who is Egya's sister, at her house in Tema, a suburb of Accra. Erajewa is a wonderful woman with two funny kids, Amonua and Morad. Erajewa helped us out a lot, setting us up with a driver, Sammy, and generally being all around helpful with information and whatever else we needed.

There's a lot to see at the side of the road in Accra- at one junction we saw giant wooden carved fruits; bananas, grapes, almost the size of a compact car sitting at the side of the road. Behind the fruits lay a red wooden Mercedes, complete with tinted windows, and a huge, rainbow coloured fish. What were they? I asked Sammy, our driver- some sort of street side art collection? He shook his head and laughed. "They are coffins, made to order".

We ordered some omelettes, bread and tea for 1000 cedis (20 cents) from a street vendor. We sat at a little table by her stand and ate our meal. The tea was strong and sugary, the bread puffy and sweet and the omelette delicious. We munched our meal in silence and watched the people on the street. People came by selling hardware kits, knife sets, lemon drops. All the goods were in big metal bowls balanced on top of their heads. We wondered how they carried them without the bowls toppling over- years of standing tall and erect I guess. Little kids came by with smaller bowls on their heads, practising their technique.

We walk around for awhile, looking at the furniture for sale at the side of the road. Sofas, beds, mattresses, drawers, you could furnish your whole house here. We inspected the rattan furniture closely. Three seaters, loveseats and armchairs- all nicely made, with strong frames and colourful cushions. Rattan furniture is a Ghanaian speciality, the wood native to the area. Rattan furniture can be found in nearly every Ghanaian home. A sofa vendor tried to sell us some of his products, imploring us to try out his comfortable creations. We laughed, how were we to carry them home? "You take it on the airplane with you." he says in all seriousness.

Spots are where it's at in the evening in Accra. A spot is usually outdoors- a place to drink, chill, talk and listen to music. There are spots all over Accra with names like 'Jesus Loves You Spot', 'The Sun Doesn't Go Down Spot', or 'The Wife's At Home Spot', painted in big, bold letters on home-made clapboard signs. One night Erajewa and her friend Francis took us to Friday's, a large spot in Tema. Saturdays are apparently the big night here (contrary to the name), complete with live music, crowds and drunken dancing. Today was a calm Wednesday, it was half empty with a Bob Marley CD playing in the background. We polished off some cold Star beers, the local brew, and ate Guinea Fowl kebabs, a delicious local delicacy, as we sat, chatted and swatted away the flies on that hot, humid night.

Accra is not known for its museums, but Ghana's monument to its first leader, Kwame Nkrumah, is a decent enough spot to while away an afternoon. It is a sprawling park of sculptures and grass that seems a tad out of place in the chaos that is Accra. Kwame Nkrumah was Ghana's first leader after independence from Britain in 1957. His presidency was and still is controversial: Many agreed with his socialist leanings and his agenda of a united black Africa, while others focused on his dubious democracy and his tendency to stifle opposition. He was overthrown in a coup in 1966 while away on a visit to China. I wandered around the attached museum a bit, checking out pictures and artifacts from Nkrumah's life. Pictures of Nkrumah with various world leaders take up most of the exhibit. Some pictures of Nkrumah with Fidel Castro catch my eye. I also notice pictures of Nkrumah with China's Chairman Mao, pictures taken, I assume, while the opposition party seized his power away back in Ghana.

We took a day trip to Kokribite, a village a few kilometres outside Accra, with Amonua and Morad. Kokribite is the home of the African Academy of Music, an institute which promotes traditional performance arts such as dance, drumming and singing. The academy is located on pleasant grounds right on the shore, with a hideaway cove to boot. We eat a picnic lunch in the cove, and contemplate the ocean before us. Like along the rest of the coast, the waves here are fierce, huge-- we fantasise that they come all the way from south America. The cove, however, minimises the force with which the waves break, making it possible to wade in the warm, salty water, which Amonua and Morad do.

The Academy gives public performances every Saturday and Sunday afternoons. At 3 o'clock we gather up our picnic and head up to the outdoor performance area. There aren't too many people there yet, two backpackers, a few families. We sit down and watch the singers and drummers take their positions. They begin with a steady rhythmic drum beat, and join it with other instruments and their own voices. The piece they are performing is from the Gaa, one of the many tribal groups in Ghana. We watch spellbound as they beat their drums and sing. The performers are concentrating intensely on their music, sweat is pouring down their faces, their bodies are gyrating along with the beat. We are enchanted. Soon the dancers come out and form a circle where they dance to the beat, wiggle their hips and stomp their feet, in an infectious manner that makes us want to jump in and join.

Labadi beach is the place to go for a good beach scene. My mom and I go one late afternoon, while Alison tries to check her email. A seemingly endless white, sandy beach stretches from one hazy end to another. In front, lies the ocean with roaring, frothy waves- but beware, before heading straight into the ocean, it is a good idea to heed the advice of locals on water conditions. There is a nasty undertow in these parts and many unheeding tourists have already drowned.
We take a seat at one of the many beach cafes, order a beer and watch the action unfold. An impromptu soccer game is taking place 50 meters away. The players are young and serious, playing intensely. We remark that visions of the World Cup are probably dancing in their heads, the same as aspiring soccer players everywhere.
The beach is crowded. People sitting at the beach cafes, drinking, watching, soaking up the sun. Vendors wander by, selling all sorts of wares. A woman comes to ask if we want to buy a bathing suit. She is carrying hundreds of them, in a rainbow of colours, on her cart. We politely refuse, neither of us need bathing suits at the moment. We wonder though, where one is supposed to try them on. This pondering is interrupted by a drum player, who installs himself a meter away from us and begins playing. Peeved, we try to ignore him, but to no avail, he keeps playing and starts singing to boot. He wins, we listen to his music for 15 minutes and then give him some change.
Meanwhile, all sorts of other goodies are being offered to us, hardboiled eggs, postcards, hats, key rings. The sun is starting to set, a ball of fire over the ocean, the beginnings of another gorgeous Ghanaian sunset. We sit here relaxed, sip our beers' slowly and contemplate our trip.

Cape Coast

We decided to take a local bus to Cape Coast, 200 odd km away. Erajewa accompanies us there, she wants to introduce us to the State bus system. As bus systems go, its pretty good- Its prices are fair, the buses are in good shape and the schedule is fairly reliable. We find out the meaning of 'fairly reliable' as we wait at the bus terminal. An hour and a half later, the bus turns up. We crowd in with the dozens of others in a chaotic heap in front of the door. The fact that all seats were reserved made no difference, this was the quintessential Ghanaian line-up.

Cape Coast, as the name implies, lies on the coast, east of Accra. It is a crumbling old colonial town, picturesque yes, but with a sad, tainted history. This town was once the focal site of the slave trade for the region, the Cape Coast castle a holding centre and main administrative point . Here slaves were kept before being shipped off to the Americas. This castle is only one of the 29 that dot the coast of Ghana, what was once nicknamed the 'slave coast'.

We head over to the castle first thing in the morning. A guide greets us at the reception and invites us to peruse the museum upstairs before he gives us a tour. The museum is, surprisingly enough, well designed and informative. The history of the slave trade and its impact on Ghana are explained and related artefacts are displayed. A group of French nuns are the only other visitors this morning. They are teary eyed as they walk through the museum. So are we-- It's hard to stay unaffected as the horrors of the slave trade are explained to you.
After the museum we head down to the reception to start our tour of the castle. Our guide begins in the men's dungeon-- a connecting set of dark dank rooms with a set of shallow troughs running through. A musty scent, heavy with the tragic history fills the rooms. Our guide points out the sole window, a tiny opening where food was thrown in once a day, and the only source of fresh air. He nonchalantly tells us that we are stepping on decayed human carcasses and excrement, which make up the top layer of the floor. As we go on to the women's section, the guide tells us the history of this slave castle. It began as a small trading post in gold and other precious commodities in the 16th century. It became a British possession in 1664 and a headquarters for both the slave trade and the colonial administration.

Lastly, our guide takes us up to the top floors of the castle, the governor's residence. The rooms are large, and the view onto the ocean gorgeous. It's hard to believe that any normal human could have lived here, a mere two floors up from this human tragedy and not be affected. The guide shows us the lookout from where the governor could see onto the women's section, and pick out those that he desired for his amusement. We are all utterly disgusted. We leave the castle a little wiser, a lot sadder.

We are staying at Sammo's guesthouse, a relatively clean, very cheap place in the centre of town. It is definitely the travellers centre here in Cape Coast. Sammo's guesthouse has a rooftop bar, a nice spot to sit, have a chilled Star beer and contemplate the crazy streets below. Here, life takes place on the streets- vending, buying, selling, cooking, eating, washing, cleaning and just plain hanging around. Things happen on the streets here, the action is always outside. Life happens, love happens, possibilities arise. You walk down the street here and children run up and greet you. "Hello!" they wave. "Bruni, how are you? I'm fine, thank you!" chanted endlessly in a singsong voice. People are friendly and eager to talk- men come up and offer you rides in their car, innocently of course. Everyone wants to know where you are from, where you are going.

Sammo's is also the best place in Cape Coast to watch the magnificent African sunsets. A fiery golden ball, like a gigantic, juicy, ripe orange suspended in the sky. The sky and sea are shades of grey, a pink light cast on old colonial buildings, crumbling under the weight of their disrepair. The building colours are pastel- pink, yellow, blue, beige, white, tall coconut trees stand erect between the buildings, sometimes in clusters, sometimes alone. I close my eyes and imagine this town in its heyday- shiny, pretty new buildings, bright colours, clean streets, a big white fort. A picture perfect facade for a place that aided in one of the greatest evils of mankind.
Large exotic birds, with white beaks, black bodies, white stripe, glide around, resting on the weathered brown rooftops and slice through the dusking sky. The sun gets larger, brighter, lower- until it disappears gradually behind grey clouds deep into the horizon.

The next morning we take a taxi to Kakum National Park, about 30 km north of Cape Coast, and home to the famous canopy walkway. It's a slightly overrated 350m of suspended walkway above the trees. You can look down and watch the birds and foliage below as you walk along. We have to be careful- the bridge sways as you walk on it and you have to stay a very straight course if you don't want to lose your balance. There are six sections of bridge that are linked together by 'tree houses'- rest stops along the way. The views from the tree houses were nice, however the nature walk we did underneath the forest canopy was much more interesting (and much less expensive). In this walk, we hiked around with a guide for about an hour and had the various tree species explained to us. The guide told us about the various uses of the trees, the medicinal value of Mahogany and the building uses of ebony. Unfortunately, since it was afternoon we didn't see any animals, apparently they are only visible in the early morning.

Later we stop off for a late lunch at 'Hans' Botel', a guesthouse with a restaurant that floats on a crocodile pond. It is somewhat of a tourist highlight in Cape Coast, not only for its food, but also for it's crocodile watching possibilities. We sip cokes and watch the crocodiles swimming around the pond. For fun we throw some bread into the pond to feed the fish. They are catfish, and nip at the bread eagerly and quickly. A crocodile lazily watches the fish feeding frenzy, and at an opportune moment opens his jaw and goes for the kill. Lunch is served to all.

Off to Kumasi

From Cape Coast it takes us 3 ½ hours to get to Kumasi, Ghana's second largest city. Kumasi is different than Accra is many respects- first of all it lies in a green belt, meaning that their are more trees, more flowers and a milder climate than that of the coastal region. Second, it is the capital of the Ashanti people, Ghana's largest ethnic group, who have a long history as powerful players in local politics.

Sprawled across about 2km of the Kumasi central lies the dusty, gigantic market. Enthroned as the largest market of the land, it has thousands of vendors selling everything under the sun- fruits, vegetables, soap, new clothes, used clothes, shoes, furniture, cloth, hardware, household items, kitchen items, religious books- being sold in stalls, on tables, spread on newspapers along the ground or in large baskets balanced on the heads of wandering vendors. In some parts of the market the density of vendors is low- vendors line up along the main arterial roads or spill out into the streets. Buyers and vendors with their goods laden on their heads- stacked high in large metal bowls, jostle onlookers for the remaining sidewalk space. People climb around dusty parked cars, and cars stopped in traffic- crumbling Peugeots, ancient minivans filled to the brim, their passengers leaning out, haggling, yelling.

Other parts of the market are dense, winding, narrow alleys of stalls, tables, where we climb up stairs, over drains, ditches and sewers, walking behind people, around people, always endless people. And everyone is selling; the man walking behind us with a bowl of sponges on his head, the women in front of us with a platter of coconuts, the stalls on the left selling washing detergent, the one on the right some colourful cloth. Everyone smiling at us, wanting our business, wanting our money in order to break even at the end of the day.
And it is dusty, the dust swirling around, obliterating the sun, the sky, and anything more then 25 meters away into a musty haze. And the hot, searing sun, beating down, as we pick our way through the market chaos on this typical Kumasi afternoon.

We go back to relax on the veranda at the Presbyterian guesthouse, a ramshackle colonial building with gigantic shaded verandas and lots of character. The rooms have high ceilings, passable beds and creaking ceiling fans. We decided to put our mosquito nets up, as the place was buzzing with them. Lots of interesting people were staying at the Presbyterian tonight- Church members, business men from Burkina Faso, three Canadians, a few Germans and a Dutch couple. In the evening, we meet up at the picnic table on the veranda right outside our door, played cards and compared travel stories. A mellow evening, after a tiring day of sightseeing.

The Ashanti leader is a king, and he lives at Manhiya palace in Kumasi. It is not possible to visit the current king's palace, but it is possible to visit that of the former king, which is on the same premises. The palace is not what your expect one to be. Grand it is, for Ghana that is - it is a large, 2 story colonial home, decked out in fifties style furniture. We go in and take a tour, which starts with a 10 minute video presentation on the role of the Ashanti King. The knowledgeable tour guide then takes us through the house, and explains the significance of each piece of furniture and each picture. The rooms are done in browns and beige and are all slightly dusty. We find the furniture is more interesting as examples of fifties fashion, rather than as example of palatial grandeur. We look at some wax replicas of the king sitting on his favourite chair, and stare at some 'state' presents. Everything seems a tad shoddy, but we feel bad admitting it. The guide, however, is excellent, and really delves deep into the history of the Ashanti King. We leave feeling enlightened, but skip the gift shop on the way out. None of us feel the need for Ashanti key rings or T-shirts, at least not today.

Thirty kilometres south of Kumasi is Bosumtri lake, the largest and deepest freshwater lake in Ghana, formed by a meteorite. The lake is considered sacred by the Ashanti- they believe the spirits of their ancestors live on the lake. We shared a taxi with Christoff, an Austrian guy whom we had met at the Presbyterian guesthouse.
Our taxi was met with much fanfare at Abono, the biggest village by the lake. The village elders were on hand to explain the significance of the lake, and to pocket our expected donation. They wanted 5000 cedis for each of us "to improve their village". A group of youths surrounded us, clamouring to talk and find out where we were from. We were hungry, so they offered to make us boiled eggs, tea and bread which we ate picnic style on the ground. They watched and asked us questions as we ate. Another elder came, he showed us the book he had written about the lake. He wanted us to buy a few copies-- we did. He told us his plans for the area, maybe a tourist centre, a campsite and a restaurant. He wanted us to promote it for him. We suggested the Internet, he didn't know what it was. We clumsily tried to explain it to him. How do you explain the Internet to a man living in a village with one phone line and no computer? After breakfast we went for a walk along the circumference of the lake, through two villages, admiring the Baobob trees and flowers along the way.

The lake shimmered beside us, its reflection mirroring the grey-blue sky above. The lake was still, so was the wind. We stopped at a point beside the lake and talked to some local children. They tried to teach us some Twi, a local language, and we amused them by practising Twi pronunciation. One little boy carried a baby brother on his back, his little legs straddled around his brothers legs, his little arms grasping the neck. The baby looked at us expectantly with big wandering eyes. His brother said that he had never seen white people before. We smiled at him, cooed and waved. He slowly smiled back, a slight, shy grin expanding on his face as we played along.

We decided to head back and retraced our steps through the villages. "Bruni! Bruni!" they yelled as we passed. A group of young men lounging outside a hut shouted something else. The guide boy with us told me that they were yelling "I love you". I was flattered, I guess.

Back in Abono we were accosted by another group of youths. They wanted to marry Alison. She giggled and said she was already engaged. We paid our guide a tip of 1000 Cedis and got into the taxi again. It was scorching hot and we wanted some lunch.

Later in the afternoon I went to a football game at the Kumasi stadium. The African Cup of Nations was on, and a game was being played between Algeria and South Africa. Two Canadian brothers, Ashley and Richard, from the Presbyterian guesthouse accompanied us- they had come to Ghana just for the African Cup and shuttled between Accra and Kumasi for the games. The tickets were 5000 Cedis (just over a dollar). "Who are you rooting for?" the stern gatekeeper asked me as I entered the stadium. I made a quick decision- "South Africa" I said. He smiled, shook my hand and let me through.

The game was exciting, but more exciting for me were the spectators. A band rooting for South Africa played through the entire game, some of the members dancing continuously to the music. The crowd was friendly, nobody (except the players) seemed to take the action on the field too seriously. Rather, a lot of socialising took place. The beer was cheap, and snacks were aplenty. The game ended in a tie, but nobody really seemed to care. I was confused about the apparent apathy until Ashley told me both teams had already made it to the semi-finals-- "neither of the teams has to win" he told me knowledgeably.

I just noticed I've written about 6 pages, and I am not quite sure anyone is still reading this far. There's a lot more I could say about my trip to Ghana, but I guess I'll keep it for another day. I'll finish by saying that Ghana was definitely the biggest eye opener of my trip- much more than any part of Asia. My mom is considering retiring there, and I will definitely go back!

Until next time!

milana

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go back to our main page or check out our travels in China and Hong Kong, or South East Asia.