Junie's Online Thoughts
Saturday, January 04, 2003
Last night we went out for fries at Ryan's Irish Pub (good beer, crappy chips). Then onto Bywel's for their drama night. The play was "Hit and Run." It began with a group of men and women at the Hit and Run bar, dressed in short dresses and going-out clothes. They took turns singing songs to celebrate the bar's third year anniversary. Everyone left except the barkeep who flipped through some notebooks and sat at a table with only four nearly empty bottles. One by one the customers came back. They asked for certain liquors only to hear the answer, "It is finished. No we dont have that." (Welcome to Ghana.) A few customers would interact, then leave. For the most part, I couldnt figure out what the hell was going on. A cop brought in a lady who stole his cellphone and he got mad and didnt pay his bill. A girl came in alone and left with some guy singing about how a lady is a shadow and a man is an arrow. Two thieves came in to smoke and leave. A cop came in and said he was investigating the thieves. A woman came in to wait for a guy. Another woman came in. A Rasta man came in and started to smoke a joint. Everyone covered their mouths and started coughing and shunned the Rasta man until he left. A deaf guy came in and everyone started to make fun of him and wanted him to leave. He kept hitting on a woman who basically acted like he was a leper. Finally he left. (More on this a bit later.) A guy came in and asked the barkeep what sort of woman came to the bar. "Four types of women come here. Runaway girls. Runaway wives. Decent women. And hard times women." Ha ha ha, they laughed. And the man chose one of the hard times women to schmooze. He bragged about his business. Asked her her name. He invited her home. She said she was being kicked out of her apartment and needed $200. Could he give her the money? He had a stack..about half of what she wanted..he would give her the rest when they went to his house. She refused and said she would come tomorrow. He got mad. SHe got mad. Then the barkeep suddenly remembered that this was the girl who had come to his parent's house when he was in Senior Secondary School and claimed that he had gotten her pregnant. He was pulled from school and his parents had to beg to pay her. Then she revealed that he really wasnt the father and disappeared. He demanded his money. The sleazy customer demanded his money. The woman ran out of the bar. The barkeep said, "I know where she lives. Lets go to her house!" They rushed out. The end. Uh.......WHAT? What the heck just happened?
About the deaf thing: There seems to be a real and publically accepted form of disdain for those who are deaf or disabled. Even in the movie that we saw on the bus to Tamale, the wanna-be chief killed his brother, who was suspected of being mad and had some sort of problem with his leg, because it would affect his chances of becoming a chief. Part of this is that madness of any sort is seen to be heredity, and chiefs cannot have such imperfections in their family line. When Jeremy was here in 1994, his host mother, a nurse, told him that people really shunned those with mental problems, leperesy, deformities and the like because it somehow reflects poorly on the family. Although this does not apply to little people, who arent seen as handicapped. In fact, there are a number of midgets/little people in the popular soap operas and movies. Which leads me to the second act.....
After the "Hit and Run" episode, two men appeared, one tall and one a little person. They carried three big metal pans and put them down before dancing near the stage. After a little breakdancing, a little shaking the booty, the little person stood in the back and clapped while the regular guy did flips, handstands and other contortions. He switched with the little dude, who danced around for a while. Then the big guy put the two metal pans together and did a handstand on top of them, twirled them on sticks and put them in his mouth and other circus-ey tricks. He stood in the back while the little guy brought out the flaming sticks, which he proceeded to rub against his arms and back, then stick in his mouth to put out the flames. Then the big guy did some sort of trick, where he poured water into a newspaper, waved it around and poured the water into the pan. They danced around some more and finally passed around one of the pans for dashes and tips. By now, I was thoroughly confused.....this was not what I was expecting at Bywel's....what an interesting diversion.
Our friend, Tim, played DJ for a little while, but everyone took off when the two guys stopped dancing and doing tricks. Soon we left for home and went to bed.
Today has been lazy. Got up. Worked out. Sat around. Ate lunch. Sat around. Took a tro tro to Busy Internet. Sat around. Whew! What a life!
Tomorrow we are going to the beach. I cant wait. Watching the ocean. Getting a little sun. Swimming at the hotel pool. Ahhhhh.......what else sound better on the 5th of January?
Friday, January 03, 2003
Hot day today. Tried to find the guy from the bus company to get our refunds but he wasnt there. Went to Makola for veggies and a few kitchen items. Good walk, but very sweaty. Looking for lunch now....
Thursday, January 02, 2003
Rats! Happy late birthday to Chris! I thought your birthday was on December 31st, but my address book said January 31st. Argh! Happy birthday anyway!
I have the world's most blotchiest tan ever. Something went horribly wrong in Mole, where part of my shoulder that was already brownish turned white, other parts turned bright red, others turned dark brown. Ug. Next week we are going to the beach so I can even my poor shoulders out. Yeesh.
For those who are wondering, the personal mail bag doesnt look too hopeful. The post office here is terribly corrupt. For me to get my own bag, I would pretty much have to bribe the postmaster, and then I wouldnt even be guaranteed a box. If I got one, I would have to bribe the workers again for any packages I would get. Nina told us stories about how she had to start giving the post office people parts of her Christmas present that her mom sent because they wanted her to pay them some outrageous amount in tariffs. She pulled out a shirt, "Wouldnt this shirt make a great gift for your family? How about these chocolates?" She still had to pay 50,000 cedis and lost a large part of her gift package. Erik told us about how his friend had to wave 50,000 cedis in the air while shouting, "What would it take for me to get a post office box here?" They didnt see the key to the box for nine months and had to ask at the desk for any mail that arrived. Some boxes made it (which they could get by either bribing the workers or paying a tarriff) and many other boxes mysteriously disappeared. In other cases, Erik and his friend weren't notified that they got boxes, and since they didnt pick them up in the seven day period, they were either returned to sender or shipped off to Post Office Abyss (read: someone at the post office got some goodies.)
We are meeting Tim tonight for supper and I will ask him if we can have a few boxes shipped through him for our birthdays and such. I havent heard if he's had troubles....so if its not too much trouble, things can be sent through him, although I would probably suggest waiting for special occasions. When Erin comes back from her travels, she offered to receive any regular letters for us (but nothing that costs more than 37 cents!) because her mail goes directly through the Embassy. It sucks, but I really dont want to be part of the corruption, you know? I dont want to line the pockets of the postmaster, who probably does pretty well for himself, and besides, I dont know the first thing about bribing anybody. I cant even dash the orange seller properly...and thats only 50 cedis.
Otherwise, its the first day of my New Year's routine. Out of bed by 9:30 (thats good for me, I swear!) Worked out. Did the hard yoga book (I did a headstand...with the help of the wall). Have a loose schedule for the rest of the day and the next few days. I feel good, albeit sore from this morning. My neck and back will grow stronger, right? I wont snap in two doing the Locust, will I?
Wednesday, January 01, 2003
Afe hyia paa! [ Happy (New) Year's (m/gr)eetings!]
Ok, Julie has asked me (Jeremy) to do a guest blog on new year's.
It's strange to have such a different context for familiar celebrations. This year we had Christmas in Mole with the elephants and new year's in Accra on the roof with our house-mates and a few others. We were having a pot luck dinner so after some discussion and debate we decided that I would make lentil dahl and rice to bring. We started cooking around 7 after confirming timing with our compound-mates. Julie wore her tie and die wrapskirt and tshirt combo and I wore the tailored batik shirt that she got me for Xmas. It was pretty mellow. Just housemates up on the roof chatting, drinking and munching on this and that. Erik and Morton had the coal barbeque going again and made kebaabs. When we arrived several folks were hacking at coconuts. having borrowed the dullest machette in Ghana they were reduced to sawing away with a hunting knife. The coconuts were to be used later as cocktail holders for amixture of coconut water, pineapple juice and rum. We brought the whiskey that Julie had given me for Xmas to share and a couple of litres of coke to mix with. A few guests from different connections to the house showed up for various lenghts of time but mostly it was house folk. We got to hear about Pernille and Mark's trip to Benin and Morton and Erik's return from Mole. (They had travelled with a family of Danish doctors and had enjoyed a dinner conversation in Kumasi about all the different parasitic infections that you could catch in the North -- the favorite one apparently being this thing that gets into your lungs and begins to consume them causing you to cough up bit of them and them, most likely, swallow them which in turn spreads the infection to your stomach. Fun!) Tim had to go and spin at Bywell's and so left around 9pm. The original plan had been to move over there at some point, but everyone seemed pretty content sitting up on the roof where there was food and the beers were already paid for. Around 11 Julie and I went over there to show our support and danced our way into the new year (Tim counted it down from his watch). There was hardly anyone in the place and the only one dancing besides Julie and I was Tim's girlfreind Zakpa. New years in Ghana seems to be a big church holliday, something I wasn't expecting. The Baptist church next to our house was full to capacity up to around 12:30. Apparently some people go out after church, so hopefully Tim got a good post Midnight turn out. We stayed for a little bit longer and then made our way back to the roof party. The one bottle of champaigne had finished and one of the fireworks had already been shot off but there was one left and we hung around chatting and watching fireworks being set off over different parts of Accra until around 1:30 (something f an achievement, especially for Julie). There was talk when we left that they might make they're way over to Bywell's-- I think in part because the rooftop beer was finished -- but we took our tired old asses home to bed.
It's nice to have a community of generally funny and nice people to spend the holidays with, though it was strange to so far away from more familiar friends and family.
Today nearly everything is closed because of the holiday and we are pondering what to with our day. Probably we'll just retreat to our house. It's days like this where you yearn for a good jigsaw puzzle or something to occupy you. Oh well. I'm looking forward to 2003 and all of the surprizes that it likely has in store. I hope that all of you are well and that your new years are good to you.
Tuesday, December 31, 2002
Okay...if you are just tuning in...read the blogger before this one to get the complete story. This is part two. So its the second day of travel, we are in Larabanga in a guest house. The Dutch gals decided to stay at the guest house rather than taking their chances at Mole in case it was sold out for Xmas. They went off exploring and we (Jeremy, myself, STacey, Regan and Nina) honkered down with the two guest house owners to chat. They explained the Dagomba chief episode in Yendi in more detail (the previously mentioned uprising where they killed the chief) and ended up in a heated loud debate as each took an opposing side. One claimed that there can never be a resolution as too many high level people were involved. The other cried out for justice and demanded that the instigators were punished. It was great to watch the dynamics between two brothers...amidst the shouting. The older one, Husseini, would say the younger ones name, AL Hassan. Al hassan would stop mid sentence and reply, "yes, Husseini?" and launch back into it.
Finally they sauntered off, we paid a small boy to bike to Mole to ask if they would send a car for us and we ordered various yam dishes from the guest house. Two hours later, the truck arrived, but our food hadnt. The driver, an employee of the park, didnt mind, and soon after our food came. I had ordered mash yam, this thick and gooey concoction with yam, onion, a little tomato and some sort of starch. It was okay, although the texture made it a little hard to eat. Full and fully rested, we thanked the folks at the guest house and headed toward the lorry. The five of us and three other kids climbed aboard the back of the truck with our bags, an old tire and a big gaping hole in the floor. (Watch out jeremy! Dont step in the hole!) We made our bumpy and dusty ride to Mole. Five minutes later, we paid the entrance fee to the park and were dropped off at the Mole Motel. After seeing the dorm rooms (three bunks but no locks and the knowledge that anyone at any time could come in the rooms and use our toilets), we opted for a double and a triple. Jeremy and I landed in R6, by the restaurant and the other gals were in N3, the back corner of the motel where the baboons hung out. Mole was a paradise. A bit pricier than we had paid before ($7 Us per person per night) but it rocked. Big beds with sheets, toilets, toilet paper, towels, soap, fans......ahhhhhhhhhhhhh. All of us felt giddy and gleeful. By now it was after 2 pm and we ordered beers and plopped down by the swimming pool with a clear view of the larger watering hole in the park below us. A few minutes later, two elephants meandered to the hole (200-250 yards away and down a steep slope) for a drink. ELEPHANTS! Elephants! WE got to see elephants! Half of the group was asleep, but those of us who were there watched them with pure joy. With the use of Jeremy's binoculars (Thanks Trish!) we could see their faces and bodies....just walking around in their natural habitat doing their normal elephant things. Hooray!
We met up with Erik (the 6th person in our santa group), showered and met for dinner and our Secret Santa exchange. Everyone did a great job...Jeremy got wine and candy, Stacey got a leather purse and film, Erik got whiskey, chocolate and a toy car (From jeremy), Regan got a stocking with candy, kleenex, a tape and odds and ends (from me), Nina got a necklace and bracelet and I got elephant dung paper from Malawi. (IT didnt smell...it was cool!)
We ate, shared some of Erik's whiskey, heard the gals story of the baboon papaya party outside of their hotel window and went to bed. The next morning, we awoke early for the first hike. At 6:30 we left with the park ranger guide. Armed with a gun to shoot any animals that might attack us, we travelled through the trees and grasses to both watering holes and back up the hill to the hotel. We saw a few monkeys, many antelopes and water bucks, warthogs, birds and a crocodile. NO elephants, though...that was okay. We paid (10,000 cedis each), and ate a delicious breakfast of oats, french toast with honey, juice, coffee and milo (hot chocolate). Yum!
Around lunchtime, we noticed a huge commotion by the observation landing overlooking the watering hole. Elephants! A special tour developed and we joined the other ten Ghanians in our quest for elephants.
Midway there, one Ghanian guy freaked out about the antelopes and elephants and wanted to turn back. It was strictly against the rules to walk through the park without a guide, so we coorced him back into the group. We emerged by the smaller watering hole to find six elephants taking a bath and watching us. (About 50 yards away.) WOW! We passed around the binoculars and tried to calm the same scared Ghanian guy when he commanded that we had seen enough and should return to the hotel. We also took lots and lots of photos. Returning to the hotel content and tired and hot (the morning chill had long since burned off), we ate lunch and chilled.
Later we met up with Erik and two peace corps girls stationed in The Gambia (by Senegal.) It was fascinating to listen to them talk about their two remote villages...with hard languages and mud huts and no electricity and a real caste system and the villagers superstitions (of dwarves and aliens and dragons and curses from medicine men that make men's penises disappear.)
We agreed to leave Mole the next morning as long as the bus returned. (The bus had broken down on Xmas eve when the brakes went out. People had to throw sticks and rocks at the tires to make it stop.) The next morning, after we realized the bus never showed, we found a ride from the hotel manager to Damongo, just past Larabanga and near the junction to Tamale. That day, we had nothing but flow---we immediately found a bus to Tamale when we got out of the car. In Tamale, when Jeremy and I found out that the next bus to Kumasi didnt leave until the following night, we joined the girls on a jaunt to Bolgatanga, a quaint town known for its leather making and baskets. Immediately we found a trotro to Bolga. Four hours later..and after listening to the driver's mix tape of old country songs by Dolly Parton, Kenny Rogers, Loretta Lynn and others, we landed in Bolga. What a great place!!!! Small and kind, very relaxed compared to Accra and super friendly...we fell in love with Bolga right away. We followed the two gals to St. Joseph's hostel ($3 US per person per night), dropped off our bags and walked through town. Bolga was different from Accra in both the climate and scenery...but striking just walking down the street. Gone were the armies of honking taxis, chickens and goats. Instead we had pigs and bikers and very little car traffic. We found a few shops and tried to find some food after dark. St. Joseph;s only had fried rice, so we asked for directions to another restaurant. Led first by a woman, then by her brother, he said, "We will go to Sankara...it is not far." Not Far is also a relative term....and we walked for 20 minutes through the tro tro park, through the New Market, through fields and deserted areas until we found it. Sand Garden Hotel. "Ive been here before" said Nina. "I thought he said Sankara!" We bribed our guide with dinner so he could lead us back to town and entered the restaurant. Crowding around our patio tables, we ordered a feast of salads, soups, pasta and rice. EVerything was soooooooooo good and relatively cheap. We all ate until we nearly exploded. Following a brief argument between Nina and the server (who had charged us 1,000 cedis for bread when we didnt specifically order bread...I was happy paying that extra 12 cents...but she had to argue on principle), we returned to the hostel and slept.
During the night, the two peace corps girls ditched us for a bus to Burkino FAso, but no matter. The five of us headed out to find the Old Market full of handicrafts. Unfortunately we were too early, so instead we ate a yummy breakfast of eggs, toast and coffee. Later we found a few stalls, the girls went nuts and bought tons of purses and we only bought a few things (a box, a straw chicken and a kick ass gift for my sister's fiance.) We packed, said our goodbyes to the girls (who were on their way to Burkino FAso and then onto Mali) and Jeremy and I tried to catch transport back to Tamale to catch our 6 pm bus to Kumasi.
We quickly found a tro tro to Tamale for our journey. See, the thing about travelling long distances by bus or tro tro, you have to be really careful about what you drink and eat. If you do too much of either, you have to be uncomfortable with a full bladder or use one of the scary public toilets. Ive done both and instead, as unhealthy as it was, chose the route of dehydration by eating and drinking as little as possible.
We got off at Tamale with four hours to spare......suffered a terrible lunch of red red with chicken bones....fought a bit because we were both tired and thirsty and sick.....and ended up sitting in a bar until 5 ish. The bus was late, but while waiting we met up with Gizale, the boy who had helped us find that first bus to Larabanga on Xmas eve. He had a bit of a crush on Nina and asked about her as he directed us to our bus. Sweet kid--studying to be a doctor and good company while we waited. Jeremy and I again boarded the bus...it was nice, though. No aisle seats....big windows. And travelling at night seemed to go faster...although it was impossible to sleep. We heard rumors of a 2:30 am bus to Accra and when we got off, we trudged through the station to find it. It turned out to be a farce...the next bus wasnt until seven and the ticket office didnt open until 6 am. At this point, we had two choices. Stay at the station for 6 hours or try to find a hotel to sleep at. We chose the second and tried to find the Presbyterian Home. We passed completely deserted streets and did find the HOme....locked up tighter than a drum. Oh well....we tried...and returned to the STC station with the other folks. Welcome to Wooden Bench City. Yup. We slept on small hard wooden benches, rather we tried to sleep. It sucked. Uncomfortable. Freezing cold. (Thank you wrap around skirt!) Morning came and we missed the 7 am bus because it was already full. Instead we bought tickets for the 8 am bus and watched bad Christian music videos at the station.
The bus for Accra left at 8 am sharp (a miracle!) and we were homeward bound. About an hour out of town, I heard some of the other passengers start to yell. I looked up to see the overloaded semi ahead of us pull over to the side of the road, then into the ditch, then flip over and over again in the ditch. Our bus stopped, everyone stood up and yelled ("Thank you Jesus!" or something in Twi or Ga) and some folks ran to the semi. A crowd had gathered and I guess the driver was fine. He had packed his car too heavy in the front and it just couldnt hold the weight without flipping when he pulled off the road. Soon everyone was wide awake and back on the bus headed for Accra....we were very lucky. If our driver hadnt stopped or had been folllowing too closely, we could have easily been hit or flipped as well. Soon Accra appeared like a vision.....we caught a taxi home.....took a much needed shower.....gave our laundry to Antoinette (who had been waiting for our return).......and ate noodles before taking a nap. It was good to be home to our stuff....although I really had a great time overall and sure did LOVE that cold morning air in the north. We're back to constant heat and constant traffic and constant Accra life again...its a mixed bag.
My ankles were soooo swollen from the dehydration. When I took off my socks, the elastic had cut into the skin. So we started chugging water right away, knowing our bathroom was only twenty steps away. Didnt do much that day. We found out that we had misplaced a bunch of money....had to pay rent.....sat around. Today is also lazy....we have a new year's eve party on the roof, then our friend, Tim, is spinning at Bywel's, the bar by our house. We just have to decide what to make for the pot luck dinner...and get a few groceries. Jeremy starts working after the new year...I need to call Vicki to find out about this school stuff and find myself a routine.....its all good. So that was our trip! Whoo hoooo! Here's to a great New Year's Eve to everyone......more later.
Monday, December 30, 2002
Whew! Im here.....The xmas holiday began at 4 am on Tuesday morning, nearly a week ago. We met the rest of our posse in front of Papaye (fried chicken place in Osu) at about 5 to take a taxi to the STC bus station across town for our 6 am bus. After our painful drive (the taxi driver had a loud religious channel on the radio blasting our sermon for the morning), we asked where we needed to pick up our bus. Over by the canteen.....so we hauled our crap and sat. Six am came and went...and still no bus to Tamale. By then, I was a bit nervous, so I walked to the main bus ticket office and asked the manager if we were in the right place. She snarled at me, and as I walked away, a man asked if I was waiting for the OGR air conditioned bus. Yes, I replied. How much did you pay? 180,000 cedis. Yes, he said. I am the manager and there is a delay with the bus station. The bus is over there (he pointed to another part of the station), but it wont be leaving until 8 am. Ok....but we're in the right spot? Yes. I returned to the other 4 people and recapped my conversation. Meanwhile, Nina had asked around and discovered that everyone else waiting for the bus had only paid 100,000 cedis and they all knew it left at 8 am. WHat gives?? She went hunting for the manager man....while we lounged about in confusion....trying not to get too annoyed at the onset of our trip. Nina didnt find him...but 7 am rolled around and we were directed to the bus to board it directly since we were the "special passengers." It was SWEET. No joke. Plush seats, no aisle seats, air conditioning, a toilet in the back, free drinks and cookies, tvs....at that point, we didnt mind the waiting...we were the only 5 people on the bus! Whoo hoo!
But a few minutes later, the bus pulled up the main area and tons of other folks got on....soon it was full and we were no longer the lone travellers. Nina got off the bus when she found the manager and asked him about the price difference. We were the only ones to buy tickets early for the direct trip to Tamale. The bus couldnt travel that far with just us, so they reduced the rates and offered a stop in Kumasi. Everyone else HAD paid only 100,000 cedis and according to the manager, the ticket agent was supposed to have called us and informed us about our 80,000 cedis refund. (But she didnt...and I seriously wonder if he would have mentioned it if Nina hadnt asked him about it.) In any case, we felt fine, the bus pulled out of Accra...and the journey began.
Hours passed....and after listening to the same religious tape three times, the driver finally attempted to play the first movie. When we were still the only people on the bus, we had wondered aloud what the movies might be. Coming from our American-centric position, we assumed the movies were from the U.S. "Maybe it will be Home Alone!" "Or Lethal Weapon..that was a Xmas movie." I offered Rudolph or How the Grinch Stole Christmas. Of course the movies werent American...there were only 7 white people in a bus...and we were in GHANA! (Mental head slap.) Instead, we viewed a strange medley of African films during our trek from Accra to Kumasi to Tamale.
Movie #1: Title Unknown..from Ghana. See, there's this bad chief, right? He lies and cheats and manipulates his way into wealth and power. He repeatedly turned his back on his friends who informed him of the glory of Jesus Christ and started killing people who ticked him off. He favored the pagan dancers and ju ju men instead of the Big Three, and even attempted to seduce a married woman (when he himself was also married.) He did whatever he could to stay in power and assure his health, until one day, the witchdoctor guy told him he was going to die. (The chief had killed about 8 people by now.) Trying to prove him wrong, he visited a spiritualist in a faraway village. When he knocked on the door, he was instead struck by a burning hand and contracted a disease where his legs and body rotted away and filled with maggots. Even in death, he denied Jesus and was thusly sent to hell, which was full of bad fire F/X and lots of itching. He met a priest there (who had let his pagan dancers into the church during his sermon since the chief had given him a lot of money) and forever they burned. The moral is: No Jesus = Hell.
Movie #2: The Anoited (Nigerian). There's this woman who loves sex and money. She's a mistress to a married man whose wife can't seem to have a baby boy. (They have two girls.) The mistress gets pregnant with a boy and becomes his second wife. (Polygamy is acceptable in parts of Africa.) But after some neglect (he prefers his first wife, who is a good Christian woman...do you sense a reoccuring theme here?), she consults her uncle, who is a spell caster and gives her a poison to kill the other two daughters. During the meal, the two girls pray to Jesus, and their poison is miraculously transferred to the boy's food. He pukes, is rushed off and never seen again. Time passes and the man wants a third wife to bore him a son. By now the mistress is old and mean, and has killed the first wife. She wants to kill the husband to prevent him from marrying again and sticks poison in his food. During his recovery, she goes to the doctor and bribes him to poison his husband. The doctor agrees, but after the mistress leaves, we learn that he has secretly taped their conversation. See, when he examines the sick husband, he finds this birthmark and realizes that this man is his long lost father! Of course! One of the daughters confides in the doctor that she also overheard the mistress make death threats about the husband. In a thrilling final scene, the "son" and daughter, both good, honest Christians, reveal the mistress' plans and that the doctor is the long lost son! Wow! Thats fabulous!
Movie #3: Calamity (Nigerian) There's a family with a dad, mom and two sons. In a series of badly planned and confusing flashbacks, we learn that the mother had been raped after the birth of the first son (David) and due to their Christian rules, she doesnt get an abortion and instead gives birth to the second son, (Louis) caused by the rape. He turns out to be a bad seed of sorts...lying, taking drugs, stealing and coming onto David's girlfriend. Louis continues to steal from the family and when he discovers that his father has made a will that all but leaves him out of the family fortunes, he pours cleaning solvent into the milk. David, not very bright and with no sense of smell, drinks the poisoned milk and is rushed to the hospital. There, Louis kidnaps him and takes him out into the desert. After a moving outburst about how David always is the good guy and Louis is the bad, Louis stabs him and leaves him for dead. The police find his bloody shirt, but no body. Assuming he is dead, the girlfriend finds out that she is pregnant. The father mysteriously dies and Louis realizes he has been bad. He tries to stop drugs (also causing much twitching and itching) and the girlfriend concludes that she may as well marry Louis to keep the family together. (Of course!) Seconds after their marriage, the police converge on Louis, charging him with attempted murder and possession of a deadly weapon. David is alive! Hooray! No one seems too concerned that his pregnant girlfriend has just married his potential killer..who cares! David is alive!!!!
Twelve hours later, we arrive in Tamale. We've long since missed the connecting bus to Mole...and Nina hooked up with these two Dutch gals also on the plush bus. After a failed attempt to find a taxi to Mole (they wouldnt budge from 350,000 cedis for a trip that normally costs 50,000-75,000 cedis), we decided to stay in Mole overnight. The Dutch gals had made reservations for this hostel near the bus station. By then it was near the 10 pm town curfew so we decided to follow them to the hotel, with the help of one of the town's kids. (Sidenote: There has been this huge dispute between the chief's family. Due to arguments over how the power passes--either to brothers or through sons--one side of this family murdered the chief and paraded his head around town on a stick. The government got involved, started an inquiry, and issued a curfew in all of the northern cities with large groups of people from this particular family. Its a very passionate issue...and many current government officials have been indicted in the situation..the last president, the current president, the minstry members....it may never be resolved.) Anyway, Tamale is a mostly Muslim town and much smaller than Accra. We walked a quick five minutes to the Al Hassam Hotel. (listed under "shoestring budget" in the Bradt guide to Ghana.) Indeed it was. We paid 43,000 for a three person room with two double beds shoved right next to each other, one broken table and a bathroom. Shoestring apparently means no toilet paper, no shower curtain, no towels, no soap and no top sheets. When I asked the lazy-eyed and confused conceirge--can we get a sheet? He snapped, "You have sheets! Dont you see the sheets?" Right...the invisible top sheets. Shoestring also means No doorknobs on either the bathroom or front door...although it did have a lock. We dumped our stuff, found a local spot to buy some water and phone cards, and crashed. Luckily, I had brought this wrap around skirt, which we used as a sheet. Before laying down, I called out Walton's style, "Let's hope we dont get scabbies" Good night.
I didnt get scabbies, but I awoke with a line of bug bites on my arm. It was 4 am...which meant we were in search of the illusive 6 am bus to Mole. THe same boy who had helped us last night was waiting for us. He lead us back to the bus station, only to find out it was long since sold out. Again we had no luck with taxi drivers (still stuck in the monopoly of 350,000 cedis-land.) There is another station, he said, it is close. Close is a subjective word here...and he directed us through dark deserted streets, through alleys and past closed buildings, to a smaller dirt paved bus station. The bus sitting there was also full, but another bus was promised when this one pulled out. We got into the queue, still with the boy, and made small talk while eating stale sweet bread and trying not to get grumpy. Regan shared her story of a trip to Zanzibar, which turned out to be a disaster...lasting twice the time and leaving her stranded on a bus for 51 hours...we didnt have it so bad at all.
One of the really cool things about the north at this time of year is that its quite cold. Here in Accra, its hot all the time. But up there, in the mornings, there was a 15 to 20 degree difference. It was Christmas day and I got goosebumps for xmas. We didnt bring any long sleeved shirts..so again the wrap around skirt was turned into a shawl. The only thing was, I had to pee. The first bus pulled out, overflowing with huge packs strapped to the roof and the second pulled is as promised. This one was going to Bole, not Mole, but stopped at a nearby town of Larabanga where we could find a way to pass the remaining 7 km. When at the ticket counter, the man said "You are white. You will pay double." Ah, 100% abruni tax...and there was nothing we could do. So we paid 14,000 to everyone else's 7,000 and continued to sit by the bus until they let people on. Finally they allowed passengers and everyone freaked out. "Youre in my seat!" "I am sitting there!" (They FREAK about seats...cant stay in a decent line to save their lives, but dare to sit in their seat and they will kill you.) I didnt want to have to pee during the trip, so when I couldnt find a building to hide behind and pee (still too modest to just hitch up my pants and pee on the road like everyone else), a town gal led me to the "ladies room." I use this term loosely, and at this point in the story, I thought the Al HAssam had an ugly bathroom. Al Hassam was the Holiday Inn compared to this, as the ladies room was simply a concrete buidling with a door leading to four stallish rooms. No seats, no toilet paper, just holes cut in the wood to sit on and do your business. My room had a few scraps of paper ripped from textbooks, should I need to use them, but instead I shook and bolted. Now I worried that I would miss the bus, so I rushed back to the station amidst stares and calls of "why are you running?" The bus was still there...and minutes later we pulled out with the last of the luggage strapped to the roof and 24 passengers in our 26 seat bus (two seats on each side, six rows and two front seats). We chugged through town and the scenery immediately changed. Palm trees and red clay morphed into tall green and orange trees, dark brown clay, savannah land filled with grasses and rounded mud huts with thatched rooves. Soon we came to a small village where we picked up more passengers. Where did they sit? Well, in the aisle, there is a fold down seat. Five or six boarded and we again moved on the dusty and rough dirt road. We stopped at another village to drop off one and pick up more...not we were almost forty people crammed on the bus, two people sharing each middle seat, pushing against the existing people in the seats. The Dutch girls were very confused. "How can this be? We paid for two seats and now we have a half a seat! I hate the driver!" I thought this was all fine--we were out of Tamale and moving toward Mole. That was progress....until I had to pee. Apparently I didnt really pee in Tamale, and didnt drink anything after that, but boy did I have to go. It started out pretty neglible...I tried to ignore it by making up a Ghana version of the Twelve Days of Christmas, listening to the ear shattering rattle of the windows and looking at the cows and huts. Even the driver's mates, who climbed out of the bus, onto the ladder, onto the roof to secure the packages, onto the ladder, across the side of the bus and into the bus....Indiana Jones style....WHILE THE BUS WAS MOVING...didnt work. I had to go. Now imagine a time when you had to urinate really, really bad. So bad that you wanted to scream, to cry or you would seriously wet yourself if you went over one more bump. Now imagine remaining in this state for two hours and going over 2,000,000,000,000 bumps. Nearing desperation, I contemplated how I could pull down my pants and pee into this plastic cup I was carrying in my bag and dump it out of the window without gathering any attention. One minute before I erupted in shrieking and letting go, we pulled into a rest stop village. I was never so happy at the prospect of peeing in all of my life. I rushed off the bus and fled to the "bathroom." Now, this concrete building truly raises the Al Hassam to the level of a five star hotel in New York, London or Paris. This was the single most disgusting toilet I have ever seen. Have you ever seen the movie "Candyman?" Theres this scene where a character is looking for the Candy man in this bathroom and there is shit everywhere and crap on the walls and its dark and you just know that the smell must be vomit inducing. Welcome to the bathroom from hell. There were four stalls...no doors, all open....with shallow indentations where you are supposed to go. Problem was, there was no electricity, no plumbing, no ventilation and people just went wherever. There was shit everywhere and flies and smell and Im trying to block it out as I type this. I moved past the first two spaces because there was no place to stand where I wouldnt be covered in someone else's poo. I opted for the last stall, held my breath, closed my eyes, half squatted and had the most glorious piss of my existance. (If I could shut off all of my other senses, that is.) I ran out of there, past the grunting gal in the first stall, past the flies, to see Jeremy paying the man for our use of the toilets. Good god almighty...we had to pay for that! I hopped on the bus, gobbed on the instant hand sanitizer and truly, all was well with the world. I wasnt hungry, I wasnt thirsty, I wasnt hot, I didnt have to pee, all of my basic needs were met and I was happy.
We continued on the dusty roads, watching the weather grow hotter, until we reached Larabanga. Immediately upon disembarking the bus, we were surrounded by small boys and men asking to help us to wherever we needed to go. One said he worked for Mole and could get us there by car. A second said the first man was lying and he would help us. The second guy turned out to be the brother of a guy we knew in Accra, so we followed him to his brothers guest house in Larabanga where we could wait for a tro-tro and eat some food.
Must run now....will continue later....then you will hear more about: Riding on in the back of a truck! Elephants! Travelling flow! No flow and sleeping in bus stations! Bad red red! The bus ride home with traffic accidents! More later.....the saga continues!!!!
