Talk about culture shock. The Ghanians don't use their left hand for anything important, they speak English sometimes but with a huge dialect—so much that I cant understand them a lot of the time which creates a language barrier. I walked off the ship into what felt like a different world. In some respects it was. We got a shuttle from out dock to the main area of Tema. We thought it was going to take us into Accra, but instead it dropped us off on the side of the road right outside the security checkpoint into a swarm full of hagglers. Confused and disoriented, we (me, Melissa, Colleen, Mik, Ryan, and Cam) got a taxi to take us to our hotel for the night, Ramada Resort at Coco Beach. The drivers in Ghana are out of control. Since the roads from Tema to Coco Beach are only paved in certain sections, they have to kind of drift when they drive. The cars are mostly manual so it reminded me a lot of when they drive in Fast and Furious Tokyo Drift. We kept asking the driver questions about where we were, but he wouldn't answer. Maybe it's customary to not talk when driving in Ghana? Or did he just not understand me?
We arrived at the hotel and had some issues checking in. We wanted to get the family room so we could fit more people, but those rooms are reserved specifically for parents with children. I was tempted to go rent a child while we checked in. Defeated, we reserved two double rooms for one night. Once the hotel was figured out, we took another taxi into Accra. The cab was the oldest, most unsafe car I have ever been in. There was no key in the ignition, wires coming out of the steering wheel, and the speedometer and other gauges did not move. This was just the beginning of the many times I said to myself "What am I dong here? What have I gotten myself into?" The taxi took us to Barclays Bank, the only ATM on Columbus Street that accepted our debit cars. Most of Semester at Sea was waiting to get money out when we arrived. The hagglers knew we were there, and did not leave us alone. They were selling bracelets personalized with our name, painting that they claimed their brothers painted, wooden masks, mancala sets, necklaces, and more. I was very overwhelmed by the whole situation. I couldn't walk away like I am used to doing because I had to wait in line to get money out of the ATM. They asked everyone's name and would make the personalized bracelets without telling us to. Luckily, I got away before I had to pay for any unwanted goods.
We asked someone where to get lunch and he said he would take us there. Not satisfied with his answer, Mik went into a jewelry store and asked the only white person where we should eat lunch. He pointed us toward a restaurant/hotel named Frankies. It was very clean and modern with flat screen TVs and edgy lines. The menu was extensive, but no 'local' Ghanian cuisine. I had some kind of Turkish sandwich and chicken skewers. It was excellent. To top off the food, I had a few bottles of Star, the Ghanian-brewed beer. I haven't been able to figure out where the actual brewery is, but it is brewed as a Conglomerate of Guiness. Ghana also bottles Guiness and the Ghanian flag is incorporated into the label. There are many billboards advertising Guiness, so I'm assuming it is pretty popular. There's also a Malt Guiness that's different but I'm not sure how. After the full stomach and slsight buzz from Frankies, we walked around the market and shopped for souveniers.
The prices they quote you and the prices they will actuall sell it to you for one insanely different. Melissa was quoted 170 cedi (about $100) for a mask with an alligator on top. She walked away only spending 40 cedi. I bought a gold plated (or at least it looks like gold) giraffe as well as an alligator bottle opener. Everyone that we talked to but didn't buy something from started following us. We couldn't escape them. No matter how many times we said no, they persisted. We took refuge in an outside bar, where I ordered a large Club beer that tasked very similar to the Star beer—very light. The hagglers continued to trickle into the bar to try to sell us their products. Once we finished our drinks, we took a taxi back to the Ramada.
The drivers have distinct honks—one for each action they are trying to portray. They honk to say hi, to let someone in front of them, to warn the other car to not go, and to tell the horrible traffic to get a move on. They very rarely stay in their lanes and sometimes drive around traffic. Cutting someone off is very common. They never yell at the other drivers—honking is the only form of communication.
When you stop at one of the few traffic lights or you are stuck in traffic, the locals walk around and sell goods. Anywhere from fish, fruit, and beans to toilet paper, large clocks, and sponges. I have not been able to ask a local about these practices because they are not willing to speak to me! Hopefully I will get the opportunity to ask my random questions.
Once we got back to the resort, we sat by the pool and beach and ordered drinks. We got two bottles of nice wine for less than $30. As evening neared, we ordered pizza from the wood-fired pizzeria at the resort. We had one with octopus on it! At this point we were all sufficiently drunk. Semester at Sea really is like a bit of a rehab. Later, Don arrived with 3 girls and about 6 bottles of liquor. We sat by the pool and took shots. At about 3am there was a group of people that were not staying at the hotel and were heading back to the ship. We called a taxi to take us back, but they wouldn't let us leave. The reception told us it was unsafe to leave before 4am. I needed to get back to the ship for my Habitat for Humanity FDP, but there was only one guy going back so we couldn't split up the taxis. I went back to the room to hang out and figure out how I was going to make it back but was unable to make it work so I fell asleep.
The next morning we assessed the damages. I broke two glass bottles throughout the two rooms. One of the rooms had blood all over the sheets, bed, and pillow because one of the guy's hands was bleeding. He definitely should've gotten stiches and we're not sure why his hand was cut in the first place. We bolted out of the hotel and got a taxi back to the ship.
The taxis are pretty cheap for how much time spent—about $5 for an hour drive for the whole car. The traffic is horrible and I was constantly sweating waiting for the car to move at least one inch. The women and men walk around selling bags of water to people stuck in traffic. When I think about how hot it is, it makes me feel dumb. Of course it's hot—it's AFRICA.
After one of the longest showers back on the ship, we took the shuttle back into Accra. I slept the whole two-hour bus ride. We walked around the small marketplace on Columbus Street then went to Global Mamas. IT's a free trade corporation and I'm visiting it again for one of my FDPs on the last day in Ghana. I bought a shirt that is way too big, a colorful blanket/quilt for my cabin, and a Christmas ornament of the African Star. We realized at around 3pm that we needed to go somewhere else but didn't have anything planned. We asked around and decided to go to Markola, the largest marketplace in West Africa. It wasn't a tourist attraction; it was a place the locals shopped at. It was interesting to see how they found certain niches that people buy goods in. All of the women walk around with everything on their heads. Their heads are the showcases for their goods. We definitely looked like dumb Americans with our backpacks in front of us, walking around the market slowly.
We stopped and bought a coconut and jaloff rice from a street vendor. The man with the coconut opened the top with a machete (I really need to buy one of those when I get home), and then we drank the water out of the top. Once we were done with the water, he opened the coconut and gave us the nut part. When we realized that they didn't give us a spoon with the rice, we bought a big wooden spoon. We sat down don a doorstep and ate the rice with the oversized spoon. There was a little boy (about 2 years old) that came up to me and gave me a big hug. He had the cutest smile and was very curious. While I was playing with him and taking pictures then showing him to watch his reaction, I realized people were taking pictures of me. The roles were reversed. We were the foreigners doing something dumb and they found it entertaining because they eat the rice with their hands. They were video taping and taking pictures of us to show their friends and laugh at us.
Before we left our stoop where we were on display, we gave the little boy a jolly rancher. We handed it to him with our right hand and when he grabbed it with his left hand, his mother went up to him, slapped his left hand and put it in his right. I was amazed by this cultural practice. We waved goodbye to the boy and his mother, but not before Colleen helped the mother put her sack back on top of her head. We walked into an alley and bought some lollipops for other children we may encounter.
Our taxi took us back to Frankies and we had our Valentine's Day dinner. After we finished our meal and I had 3 beers, we went to citizen kofi to get the shuttle back to the ship. We were planning on going out to some bars once we got back but the drive took about 3 hours. At least there were music videos on—"Oh Africa" was my favorite. We got back to the ship and I watched Garfield then went to bed. We're gong on a tour to James Town tomorrow. Who knows what we're in store for.
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