expectations... stories... of Hohoe and the tourism that wasn't

Last weekend was a full and total exercise in Things Not Going to Plan.  J and I resolved ourselves to be content nevertheless - and we succeeded.


The Plan:
Spend a long weekend away doing a couple of touristy activities, relaxing in a chill hotel at night run by rastafarians.
Leave early Friday morning; take public transport to the hotel near to Hohoe, about a 4-hour ride away.  Possibly have enough time to hit the lower part of Wli Falls during the day.
Wake up EARLY Saturday to see the monkeys at Tafi Atome monkey sanctuary.  Then maybe to Wli Falls, or maybe back to the rasta pad to chill.
Sunday: wake up early if we didn't do so Saturday, and see the monkeys.  Return to Accra on public transportation so J can catch his flight at 8:15 Sunday evening.


First.  We tripped a fuse in our house at 7:30 in the morning when I shorted out the electric kettle.  There was water in the wrong place on that one.  We checked every fuse we knew in the house and downstairs from the mains.  Thinking this could take a long time to figure out, I called the hotel to cancel our booking.  Eventually we had to call the landlady, who had to call in an electrician - who came an hour later, unlocked a separate part of the house and flipped on the fuse easily.  If only we - or the guards - had known there was yet another set of controls in yet another locked part of our building, we'd easily have been able to save that time.

It's 10:30 and we decide we can juuust make it before dark.  I call the hotel again to un-cancel and we head out the door.  Catch a taxi to Madina, where there's a station for departing tro-tros to such destinations as Koforidua, Kumasi and Hohoe.  The taxi took 30 or 40 minutes; it was two hours before we were in a tro-tro.

It's 1:00 PM and we decide that if no car has come by 1:30, there's no way we can make it to the place in time.  Ten minutes later, our car comes.  On the way we sit next to a nice woman who shares some of her snacks with us - white kenkey, which must not be fermented, tastes like solidified grits and is served in a corn husk - with salt, I think.  Not half bad!  We also stop on the way for some freshly boiled corn cobs, dunked in coconut water and wrapped in a plastic bag.  The cobs are so young, they've still got tender baby-corn tips.  Corn is back in season!  Mangoes are ripening on the trees.  I've never seen a mango tree so loaded with huge fruits as I did on this ride.  Can't wait.  They'll definitely be ripe by the time we get back from our Christmas & New Year's vacation in Germany.

It's a 2 1/2-hour ride to Peki, which we think will be a little town near Hohoe.  Peki turns out to be a couple of buildings in the middle of nowhere.  But the people at Roots are really nice, the food's ital (vegan menu) and we have a nice time chatting with the parents of the lady of the house - who are here on their annual visit and are farmers back in the UK.  Another of their daughters runs Green Turtle Lodge, which is a buzzword in expat circles around here.  Thanks to the in-house book swap shelf, I spend a couple hours reacquainting myself with I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, which I haven't traipsed around in since high school.  J finds a book on happiness coauthored by HH the Dalai Lama.

It's chilly in the mountains!  Our bed is provided with only a sheet.  I wake up freezing in the middle of the night, and as a blanket I grab the towel which I turned back to fetch as we were leaving home.

Saturday morning was not for the monkeys.  We decide to have breakfast and head to Hohoe, to get a taxi to Wli Falls.  We know this should be a five-hour hike so we start waiting for cars around 9:15.  Many cars pass; all are full.  Finally around 10 one stops to let us on.
Half an hour later, we thought we'd already be in Hohoe.  we have no phone reception and thus no idea where we actually are.
An hour into the car ride, we pass Tafi Atome, the monkey sanctuary.  J gets phone reception and realizes we're halfway to Hohoe.
So much for a half-hour bus trip.  We also decide that we can't do the monkeys on Sunday, either - waiting for a tro-tro, traveling an hour to the monkeys, seeing them, traveling an hour back to the lodge, then waiting for another tro-tro back - when J wants to be back in Accra by 3 or 4 latest.

Some time after that we pass the scene of a horrific head-on car accident.  A body has been lain facedown on the side of the road and from the shoulders up is covered with leaves.  As we pass, many of the passengers on our car whistle quietly or cluck their tongues.  What a shame, they are saying.  How horrible.  I can't begin to think about it - but I do.  And then I start freaking out about mortality, and realize exactly why people cling to God.  It's very comforting to me to think there's something bigger out there which decides (or has already decided) my time to go - and that my time isn't now.  Reassuring myself that my time isn't now, even though we are seated in the front seat and probably most likely to be injured in the case of an accident, I am able to reassess the day's plan with J.

Arriving in Hohoe at noon, with darkness falling around 6 PM, there is no way we can do the full five-hour waterfall hike.  Even the lower falls, which are an hour's hike, would be a big stretch.  Do the math: arrive at the falls at 1, hike there and back until 3, drive back to Hohoe and arrive at 4, then we'd be pushing 6 to get back to Peki if the tro-tro left the instant we got in.  And that doesn't include any time for lunch.

So we resolve to hang around Hohoe and lament not having brought the travel guide this once for guidance on where to eat.  We see a sign for the Hotel Geduld (German for "patience") and take it as a sign.

Lunch is tasty.  As we sit down to eat, the carabiner lid of my water bottle shears off and breaks.  There's a hole left in the lid so I can't keep any water in that bottle any more.  And my touch phone's keyboard program realizes there's an update available and won't let me type until I install it.  which I can't do without an internet connection.  Which means no Swyping for the next 24-plus hours.

The owner of the Geduld advises us to check out the festival that's going on this weekend, so we dutifully trek over there, planning to get out of town around 3.  We park ourselves tantalizingly at the edge of a shade tent and watch the speeches, performances, and attending local chiefs under festive umbrellas.  In some ways boring, but in other ways fascinating people-watching.

15 minutes in, J realizes some chocolate has melted all over the inside of his backpack.  When I bend to help him wipe it with my handkerchief, we are both distracted and someone snatches my point-and-shoot camera from his pocket.
He'd been borrowing mine until Christmas, when he'll pick up a replacement for the one which was stolen in South Africa in September.

We head for home.  I've been shaken so many times this day and haven't gotten to - and won't get to - see anything I hoped for.
J says he's having a nice weekend, anyway, spending the time together despite every setback.
We get into the tro-tro at 3 and are assured it's leaving "right now."
It leaves at 4.  We reach Roots half an hour before nightfall.

Back at Roots, we make the most of the relaxation.  J reads that people tend to return to a baseline level of happiness no matter what.

We have plantain chips and guacamole, then deliciously spiced tofu kebabs on top of garden egg (eggplant's cousin) stew.  We're given a second and third sheet for the bed; the third one turns out to be a tablecloth.  Roots's Head Man realizes that they should think about offering blankets when the weather turns chilly.

Overnight we are toasty under our sheets and tablecloth.  In the morning we eat toast with peanut butter and honey (him) and scrambled tofu (me), washed down with a spicy soy-milk chai, and begin the wait for a car back.

Inside Accra, tro-tros will smush four passengers to a row of seats - which is the closest you can get and remain marginally comfortable, not to mention legal.  On every other ride this trip we lucked out with three to a row.  The car that stopped for us has already got that.  J squishes in as the fourth in a row, and so do I - so the mate (fare taker and signaler to the driver of when to stop) wedges my knees between his legs and rides backwards sitting on a ledge.  And we get pulled over at a police checkpoint.  The mate is berated, within earshot and in English, about the impression they are making on "those foreigners" - that Ghanaians are ignorant or lazy.  I have never had that impression from a packed tro-tro!  I can only assume these guys dashed the policeman (out of the foreigners' sight, clearly) and headed out.

The route ends in Kpong, where there's a big station for tro-tros and we are able to catch a car to Accra.

From there it's a hot ride that's over soon enough with the help of a nap.  We get out at MaxMart and do some shopping, and arrive home at 2 PM.

A quick taxi ride brings us to a late Sunday lunch at Mamma Mia's with cold Peronis for hot obronis, fresh pizza with zero waiting time, and a calmer outlook on life than has been had all weekend.



I'm proud of us for rolling with the punches.  I'm disappointed that Roots booked itself as "convenient" to Hohoe, Wli Falls or Tafi Atome - it's not, and especially not without a car.  I'm disappointed we'll have to cover all that ground over again when we actually do have a chance, better-informed this time, to do the falls and the monkeys.

Still, maybe we can make a bigger trip of it and visit the Cedi Bead Annex on the way, plus the pottery maker in Kpando and an Ewe kente village.  Maybe we can do all that on a longer trip.  And I did have a nice stay at Roots itself.  Next time, we just need some blankets - and different expectations.



I have a quotation framed in my room back home (at Mom 'n Dad's) which reads: "Most things in life can be summed up as a good time, or a good story."

Hope this story has kept you entertained, at the least.

this one's for Annie

I heard yesterday that Anne McCaffrey, one of my favorite authors, passed away on Monday.

I met her when I was on vacation with my family in Ireland.  Though she'd just taken a fall and bruised her arm and eye, she graciously hosted us for tea at her kitchen table.  She showed me star charts and a globe that fans had constructed of Pern, one of the worlds she created.  All of this on the Fourth of July, which was special as she's was an American, too.

Her books introduced me to my love of fantasy and sci-fi.  She leaves a special hole in the world, having been a pioneering author who was the first-woman-to of so many different places.

She'll be missed.  Local buddy T and I toasted Anne's memory last night before dinner with a special glass of Jameson Reserve.  As a hat-tip to local custom, I plan to spill some on the ground, too, to honor her.

To dragon-riding, Talent-wielding, crystal-singing, ever-journeying Anne McCaffrey - may she pass between and beyond in happiness and rest.

Here's seventeen-year-old me with Anne, hiding her black eye behind a Pern star chart.  This wonderful and unique woman was an inspiration to me and my writing.  Go in peace.

as long as you're still walking...

Yesterday Jens got hit - in the arm - by the side mirror of a van.  Don't worry - he is absolutely fine - there is no bruise at all.  But it would have been nice for the driver who grazed him to have stopped to check.  Instead we had to chase him down.

We were walking down the street when a white van came speeding by.  I heard a soft thump and saw Jens stop short.  The van went a few feet further, paused for a few seconds, and started again on its way.  We yelled and waved, it stopped again, paused to decide, then sped down the road.  We both took off after it, yelling and screaming "STOP!"  Some interested passersby asked what was going on and I told them eagerly before running off again.

In Accra there's a strong notion of "street justice."  A few months ago we heard about a case on the UG campus where a woman accused of stealing was caught and abused by a gang of male students, and recorded on phone video cameras (reported here and blogged about here, for a start).  If two cars bump each other on the road, a screaming match is just around the corner.  So it's no surprise that the driver who hit Jens took off.

What did surprise me is that the onlookers didn't do anything about it.

I was hoping I'd get some kind of crowd following the van or that the word would spread down the street faster than the car.  Instead they just listened to my story and urged me to run.

Turns out the van was headed to a hotel two blocks away.  Jens caught up with it as it screeched into the gated courtyard.

The driver's explanation for his hit-and-run?

• I was in a big hurry to get here.
• You were walking in the middle of the road.
• People get hit with side mirrors all the time.

And the kicker, folks:

• I saw you could still walk, so I knew you were okay.

Anyway, the driver continued, I said I was sorry.  What more can I do?

It's true.  There's not much in the way of auto insurance here.  The police, we are strongly sure, would not have done anything.  Jens's arm was feeling okay right afterwards.  (Today it doesn't even hurt, let alone have a bruise - lucky he didn't get hit any worse.)  It was incredibly frustrating, though.  Had Jens been truly injured, would the driver honestly have thought more seriously about stopping - or been faster to run away?  Is an apology after you try to flee the scene really enough?

I went to the doctor today with a coworker (this relates, I promise) - she has tonsillitis, I have an ear infection, and now we both have antibiotics - and she was saying that doctors here don't listen as much when white people complain.  They think we exaggerate every pain we have.  So when she told the nurses the blood pressure cuff was squeezing her arm too tightly, they told her it only hurt because she was speaking while it was measuring.  Though she had started to speak only after it started hurting.  There wasn't any acknowledgement of her pain, or that something might truly be wrong.  There was only the need for blame to fall elsewhere.  And if she was still able to talk, presumably, they thought she was okay.

There's no question that obronis in Accra often have more wealth, possessions, and opportunities than a vast majority of the people they interact with every day.  That doesn't mean, though, that each of our experiences is less worthy - or that our words should have any less impact.  Being able to afford an extra cedi or two for each taxi ride doesn't mean I should be required to pay it.  

I heard of a friend who was overcharged 10 pesewas (cedi-cents) on some fruit she bought, and when she brought it up the vendor looked at her earnestly and said, "I need it more than you."  Does that give the fruit vendor the right to take more money from one person than from another?

A culture clash, indeed.

sick, again

I'm home sick today!

It's the second time I've been sick since getting this job.  Something's going around; I know of at least four people in my section of the office alone who've been under the weather this week.

My nose is running so much I think it's training for a marathon.

I'm keeping the A/C off to preserve humidity (for my sore throat) and heat (to help me sweat the bugs out).  I'm glad for once it's the natural state here, rather than having to create it like in Ireland.  But it's still not comfortable.

Today I'm gonna watch some movies and make myself soup.  Throw potatoes, rice, bouillon and veggies into a pot with water, boil it up, and voila: sustenance.

I really, really hope this does not become a pattern (yet again, like in Ireland).  I vow not to go out with my hair wet and I might go see the doctor for allergy testing to make sure there's not some mold in the A/C, despite assurances that the machines at work are serviced regularly.  And I've actually been here both times they've come to service the machines at our house, so I know that definitely goes on every three months.  What luck we had, finding a landlady who is so worth her salt.

Poor crispy us!

Over the weekend, BF and I made a quick getaway to nearby Kokrobite (koh-kroh-bee-tay) Beach. It's about 20 miles from Accra, a very doable drive apart from a mile-long stretch through a little town called Aplaku, which hasn't seen a surfaced road in who-knows-how-many years. It's funniest because the road's in good condition both before and after the bumps and holes.

Also making the drive less doable: insane traffic out of Accra which kept us barely moving for a full two hours! On a Saturday, we were not prepared for this.

Arrival at the Kokrobite Garden hotel/lodge/inn was a breath of fresh air. This little place really lives up to its garden name! Bougainvillea and fiery flowers whose name I don't know, palms and umbrella trees, and even a stand or two of bamboo ensure the premises are always green.

There are rooms for about ten people, plus a mostly-Italian restaurant which brings in other tourists looking to escape the reggae vibe and ages of waiting at nearby Big Milly's Place.

The cabin we were in was supplied with a fan, a double mattress (thin, but new and manageable), and an ensuite bathroom with a switch-on pump when you wanted to use the water. It's an adorable sloped-roof construction with a charming slanted floor. For 25 cedis, we were very satisfied! It was far enough away from Big Milly's that the din of reggae night didn't keep us up, and the vibrant plants led to a relaxed and friendly ambiance.

We spent the night in the Garden, then on Sunday morning were woken up by church music from behind our cabin and The Three Tenors from the restaurant in front of us.

Ants found their way overnight into my bag, where I had stored some plantain chips for snacking. I got my first ant bites ever while cleaning them out of my bag! Those little things sting. J was incredulous I'd never been bitten by ants before.

After breakfast (French toast and fried pancakes with fresh fruit), we retreated to the beach for a few hours. And this is where the real woes start. We both managed to attain some serious sunburns, though we'd been very careful to load up on sunscreen before we left the room. The destruction was horrible. Poor J looks like a lobster up his entire front. I'm marginally better!

It was lovely to get out of the city, just for a night. Definitely hit the Kokrobite Garden if you need a quiet night with a friendly host and tasty food!

posted from Bloggeroid

on magic words and banking

The magic words to unlock any door.

If someone knows they and only they can be the key to helping you out, suddenly rules can be bent, exceptions made, opening times shifted just the slightest bit.

I had a check I needed to cash from a bank.  And banks here as a pretty common rule are not open past 4 (sometimes 4:30).  I dashed from work to the bank right at 4, and arrived about a quarter past.  There were still people inside doing business but the manager was standing in front of the glass door and very purposefully not making eye contact.  After half a minute of standing in front of the door with my best whitegirl puppy-dog eyes and making the local hand gesture for "please," he pointed to the hours posted on the door.

But then, a few seconds later, the security guard comes to unlock the door and stick his face out.  I say, "You're closed, right?"  He agrees that they close at four.  I say, "I only finish work at four and I came as fast as I could... I don't know what I can do."

He relents and the door opens.

Then when they discovered I wanted to cash a check rather than something "simple" like wire money, I hit even more complications.  You see, the check was issued from another branch of the bank and the link between the two branches has been closed for the day.  I don't get how this makes a difference if they can just put it into the system and have it update first thing in the morning - but apparently it does make a difference.

I talked to another manager-looking lady, who asked me some questions such as whether I had an ID on me, and whether I could come in to do it another day as opening hours of the bank were 8:30 to 4.  She didn't get it until the third time I told her that I work from SEVEN-thirty to four so couldn't come in any other day, either.
"Could you get a friend to do it?"
"No, they all have jobs too.  So, you see, I just don't know what I can do."

I started to say I might be able to come in Friday, but before I could finish my sentence she relented!

Seven or eight minutes after walking into the bank, I had my cash in hand.  Whew!


Monday was a holiday for the Canadians (and thus for me), so I spent the afternoon investigating rates and fees and rules at three local banks with good reputations, so I could choose one to open an account with.  At the end of the day I chose my bank and set up a savings account right then and there.  It was painless.  I was pleasantly surprised.
I asked them, "When will this account be ready so I can start depositing my paychecks?"
Their response?  "Oh, no, madame, you cannot deposit checks into a savings account."

What?

How am I supposed to save money, then?

Only by bringing in cash.  That sounds like a GREAT idea, no?

I need to set up a current account in order to deposit checks, and that needs extra documentation - a letter of reference from someone with a Ghanaian bank account to vouch for my "suitability for the purposes of maintaining a current account" - and I just lifted that text directly from the reference form that J filled out for me.  Someone once came to his office and set up an account for him but he wants to close it as they charge fees for monthly maintenance, internet banking, and a hundred other ridiculous things.  So he'll use his account to vouch for mine, then close that account and open a new one at another bank using my own account details.  I love/hate the circular logic of life.

pains and therapy

Guys, I have sciatica!

Some kind of hip pain indeed I do have.  It's caused by a tight muscle in my sacrum squelching one of the nerves that runs through my left hip.  It's also caused some misalignment up my spine.  I'm in physical therapy now, and the therapist is going to cure some of my excess flexibility while we're at it.  It turns out that my being special is actually not gonna be healthy for my hips later on.  While she was pushing and prodding the muscles along my spine she poked at my right rotator muscle and declared it felt "like bubble wrap."  Owwwww!  Goodbye, duck feet; goodbye, creepy flexible-foot-based party trick.

I've also got a nasty cold - my first one since arriving here.  Three days into the new job and I'd lost my voice; this weekend I'm so congested I can't taste anything.  It's really weird!  It feels like my tongue is numb... but it's not.  I can still taste salt, mustard and Nutella.

I'm trying to take it pretty easy today and hope I'll be in working order by tomorrow.