B-backwards C-K-Backwards C-R

LEADING THE WAY




Imagine "Bokor" only the ‘o’s are backwards ‘c’s, its one of the few words you’ll see here written in Twi. I’ll come to the meaning in a second, but on this last day here in Ghana, I begin the reflection on what has happened.

Things I will not miss so much.

The traffic. It is actually organized chaos meaning that the cars are driving in one direction or the other, but other than that, every vehicle for itself! Which means lots of honking. I loathe honking. People honk for NO reason here. This is no “honk for Jesus” either. I’ve ridden in a cab four times and every time they honk about every seven seconds. And of course when I’m walking on the road, everytime a cab comes by, it honks. So much noise.

The mosquitos. Bastards gave me malaria, but I think I should use a different word, considering only FEMALES can give malaria. Women, they’re nothing but trouble!

The TV. I cannot deposit my frustration enough on the crap people watch here. Sometimes its on in the hostel lobby, but I reached my boiling point on the bus back from Ho. I was feeling sick, it’s 5:30 in the morning, and the bus driver is blasting this awful AWFUL soap opera thing while we’re driving back. After our first pit stop, someone mercifully told the driver to turn it off. The show is one big bickerfest. I don't get it! That’s all they do, argue about stuff you’d normally argue about on a day to day basis. Eating in the street, not cleaning up after yourself, etc. etc. And the people here, they eat it up, watching glossy-eyed at this rubbish where people yell at each other. Not funny, not entertaining, not scary, but people watch. Maybe its just a cult following like “Snakes on a Plane.”

The damned chickens. Ubiquitous and multiplying as ever. Did I mention we killed two last week? I say we, because I got to go around the “hunting party.” You do it by catching them at night, chasing them down and shining a flashlight in their eyes…it freezes, you grab it by it’s neck, game, set, match. But they’re moody, and they “think” (I say this tentatively, because I am as yet unsure, if that word can appropriately attached to this aninmal) it’s a swell idea to make as much racket as possible when they see light in the morning.

Paying for water. I miss being able to go to the sink and not have to think about having to store up on satchets of water…That's the life here though.

Things I will miss…

The greetings: If you say hello or how are you to somebody, youre likely to get a response distinct from one you may receive in the US. When greeting people here, I’ve noticed that the responses are somewhat along the lines of…
“ahhh” with a wave – meaning, “im fine”
“im fine” – the most typical response, meaning doing well thank you
“im very fine”- you know, doing super duper.
“yeaa!!” – Gotta love this one, I get this from the guys around the hostel, who always seem to be smiling and affirming things I would normally not deem necessary to affirm…but its great.
“It’s cool” or “Bokor” – My favorite response, so imagine… “how are you” “it’s cool man!” Haha. It kills me, makes me laugh all the time.

I’ve mentioned this before, but people love to say, you’re welcome, instead of hello, especially when returning to your domicile. Which brings me to another great thing about Ghanaian culture. If you live in Ghana, you have a community, and once you’re in, youre in. So when I leave for the day, guys are asking me where I’m going, because when you leave, you leave with purpose of coming back…and people want you to know that they at least care about your return. When people leave for a few moments, they’ll walk out of the lobby and say “I’m coming.” At first, I was quite confused by this, first, because all I could think was no no, you’re clearly not coming so much as leaving, and second, it comes completely without stimulus from someone asking. People like knowing where everyone is and making sure they’re accounted for in some respect. The two British guys worked the home-stay route, and said it was great, but if they went out for the evening, and came back past the midnight curfew, the family (the mother especially) would be fretting anxiously. People attach responsibility, more so than anywhere I’ve been, to those with whom they associate. That’s the only way to take care of each other in this society and developing world.

I’ll miss the people smiling at me, especially the kids, because I look different. They’re hilarious. It makes me happy knowing that they’ve been taught not to hate someone so different, but show kindness and respect. Very easy concept, right? If these people were strolling around some streets in the US 50 years ago, they get maybe physically and verbally harassed…because of the color of their skin. Skin color. Parents in the developed world teaching their children to hate perfect strangers. Thinking about it makes me shudder. The kids just don't care, its all love. It’s like the kids in To Kill a Mockingbird. They don't understand why white people hate black people, it doesn't register in their moral code, it doesn't make sense. People try to explain it, but it still doesn't jive with their desire to hang out and play in the tree house with whomever wants to play. Here, I’m constantly reminded of the inside part of people. Yea, youre different, so what? In fact, since, youre different and you probably don't know much about this place, I’m going to show you the wonderland that it is. Can-O-Corn. Biscuit in the basket.

I’ll miss every day being an adventure. My life will undoubtedly never be as unpredictable walking out the door every day than it has been in the last six weeks. Which is tough sometimes, but its welcoming too. Things go wrong, again, so what? A student was explaining this to me the other day, that everything here is more relaxed. If something goes wrong, as it often will, and business is slowed down, big deal. He enjoys this, but realizes it’s part of the reason that his country is less developed than mine. People often complain about how fast paced and rushed everyone is in big cities in the US, but that’s the price that needs to be paid for moving development forward. But I sure don't mind the pace of things here.

Tro-Tros. I’ll miss bobbing around crappy roads packed in with a bunch of people. I’ve sat next to breastfeeding women, been in a trotro with vomiting children, and of course, had the pleasure of goats serenading me all the way home. But usually, its great and the mates never rip you off. There’s a good amount of bickering that goes on amongst the travelers and the mate, but to me, it’s all entertaining.

Unadulterated Nature. When you get out of the city, nature is just that, all natural. I couldn't get enough of it.

Safety. I always felt safe, always. One thing I hate about the US is guns. Guns frighten me really. They kill things. Nobody has guns here. It really puts the “free” in free country. Police have guns slung over their shoulder, but it looks like Mattel shipped them over. Most of them are half made of wood. I walked around for six weeks and had no trouble. Try being black and walking around six weeks by yourself in Alabama, today, and see what kind of trouble you find. You’ll find something I’m sure. Amendments protecting rights are great, but not when their original intention is to support the local militia from rulers thousands of miles away. I would say get with the program, but it’s too late. Crow Island, Columbine, VT, and it’s only going to get worse. I digress. I just don't understand why people get so attached to things that kill other things.

I’ve augmented some of my skills while here as well.

Walking skills. Gotta learn to walk. I wish I had a step counter to see how many steps I took, but it’s the best way to get around, and have some worthwhile interactions as a foreigner. The more you walk, the more you talk to people, the more you learn about Ghana.

Smiling skills. If you smile, life will be better, guaranteed. People will respond better to you, and hassle will be eliminated.

Blinking skills. It’s unbelievable dirty, dusty and sandy in the city to the extent where I find myself blinking more forcefully and rapidly then Magglio Ordonez with the bases chucked. Oh Mags.

I like to think Ghana has toughened me up a bit. I mean, I walk everywhere, eat local food, take cramped smelly transportation, got malaria, come home take a cold shower, bang a little on my chest, and I’m good as Ghanaian with the bleached skin. Nuh uh. Even at $12 a night here at the hostel, I was living the high life over here. I don't know how else to say it, people have it rough. They sell goods atop their head, wading through traffic hoping to grab a customer, all through the summer heat and humidity of equatorial Africa. Then they go back to the outskirts of the trotro station and sleep alongside of the rest of the vendors on cardboard, on sidewalks, on rocks…Oh and the mosquitos are keeping a nice watch on them as well. It’s awful really, and that's what a good percentage of the city dwellers do here. Dudes man trotros, and chicks place goods atop their heads. There’s a picture of a little boy who, when saw me confused in the station, asked me where I was going. He took my hand and led the way. He’s getting ready to drive trotros one day when he’s old enough. They do their best at what they do, but almost no person here is given the shot I have been given at life. Almost nobody. People over here would do anything for education and when I say I’m here doing research, they get excited. They want more flow of knowledge in Ghana. They know their country has the resources; they just need to get the support to tap them. Yet when I see the signs, posters, t-shirts (I have one) and billboards all celebrating the 50 year anniversary of its independence, sometimes I wonder, what are they celebrating? The barren eyesore that is Independence Square (a place solely used for celebrations) on prime location in Accra, is perfectly indicative of Ghana using its resources to celebrate at the cost of its people. I look at people using wells, residing in mud huts and living off their farm land and I think, was this exactly the same 50 years ago? More importantly, will this be the same 50 years from now?? Probably. Life in the city is becoming increasingly business friendly, but you venture outside and you go back to 18th century lifestyles. From an aid standpoint, Bill gates said it best (thanks Dad), “We can make market forces work better for the poor if we can develop a more creative capitalism – if we can stretch the reach of market forces so that more people can make a profit, or at least make a living, serving people who are suffering from the worst inequities…If we can find approaches that meet the needs of the poor in ways that generate profits for business and votes for politicians, we will have found a sustainable way to reduce inequity in the world. This task is open-ended. It can never be finished. But a conscious effort to answer this challenge will change the world.” It can happen, private and public sector support programs alike. It can happen. I hope I can make it happen. I’ve learned how tremendously difficult it is though. Costs are high, especially when reaching those most in need. Money often gets misplaced in the still corrupt government here. Infrastructure, health care, more outreach. It’s all needed. Maybe, if we’re smart, we’ll do something to help.

This last day here has been surreal. Which reminds me, I can't wait to get off these malaria pills that have me waking up feeling like Joan Miro just used my brain as his canvas. So much has happened in six weeks, I'm ready to come home, but I will be forever grateful that this oppurtunity fell into my lap. No regrets.

Malaria falciparum, and a bacterial infection to boot

Malaria Falciparum with a bacterial infection to boot.

Feeling well enough to take the trip up north, I board a bus and head up to Ho, stay at the YMCA for $5 and wake up to see some large animals. After a nice nature walk with no sighting of animals, I head back feeling pretty good about being out of Accra on my last week here, but the night consists entirely of severe stomach cramps, diarrhea and a trip to the clinic at 3:30. On to the 5:00 am bus a couple hours later back to Accra and to the Legon hospital to see a doctor who tells me that the malaria I contracted, was the uber-bad kind that often has complications…Thanks for telling before. I am now taking antibiotics for the bacterial infection that he thinks is causing the cramps and runny stomach. Quite a hectic week it’s been, but a couple days of rest and reading will do just fine until the trip home.

How different would this picture look 50 years ago? Electricity...Nope. Water...out the pump.

My guide George. What's the gun for? My protection he says, although I imagine that if he had shot it, the only thing coming from that gun would be a pop and a white flag that would pop out reading 'bang'.... And for the picture below, New Jersey, its everywhere...unfortunately.

NothingButNets.net

Matthew Henneson, Age: 27.

The stream of consciousness begins…

I’m sitting having a conversation with the manager of the credit department of ProCredit, a meeting which I have been looking forward to (permissible use of preposition at end of clause, right Mom?) and I am struggling to concentrate. The issue is, I’m not sure why, my head feels fine, not nauseous, but something’s off. I end the meeting on a decent note with Mario and he tells me to keep him informed on my research and to let him know if there is anything he can clarify, etc.etc. I feel pretty light headed, but again not too bad and try to take down some water, but it’s as if my body doesn't want it. Weird. A miserable hour trotro ride later I’m back at the hostel and struggle up the stairs to my room. I don't have malaria though, I mean I’ve gotten honestly no more than 9 mosquito bites since I’ve been here and they have all come when I haven’t noticed. I sleep under mosquito netting, I take my antimalarial meds on time, and I use bug spray. This comforts me. I’m thinking it was probably the Waadkye (pronounced wa-jee consisting of the beans, rice, veggy, spice combination described in a previous entry). I decide to try and walk it on out, but am growing weaker by the minute and the manger of the hostel, probably noticing my odd behavior asks if I’m alright. I say, uhh, not really and describe the weakness, muscle soreness and the overriding feeling that my body is beginning to ossify. Each movement has some form of struggle and he says, ok, I’m taking you to the hospital. ‘Ok, thanks, but I can just grab a’… ‘no’ We are going now to the hospital, if its malaria, you should be treated right away. He brings me to the “Accident and Emergency center” wherein I experience the nadir of the entire process. At this point, I feel like someone else is behind the wheel of my body. The people waiting are, obviously, feeling some sort of misery as well waiting to be treated, and the waiting room is a square shaped open-air hot bed that seats 20 people. It’s my first time in an African hospital and as such the scene, coupled with the disease makes for quite the foreboding experience. There are people lying in stretchers in the hall and there is one room where they could fit 10 patients. The manager of the hostel waits with me an hour and a half until a doctor performs an evaluation, but before I enter I can’t help but notice that the two doctors strolling around the place look like their doctor robes were made for the Incredible Hulk. I mean they were dragging all over the place and drooping down their arms, and all I can think about when one of the doctors is walking towards me is that he’s a long beard, wand, and a Michael Jackson’s disease shy of introducing himself as Albus Dumbledore. Ok, which is fine, because at this point, I’m willing to take any potion that will help the cause. The doctor takes my temperature, 104, takes a look…”yep, you probably have malaria.” Then it’s off to get my blood sampled and in to a hospital ward to get the treatment. Although the fever made me feel terrible, receiving treatment by these people was comforting knowing they’d done it a zillion times. They stick an IV in me (by the way, I got three shots and everytime I flinched all the nurses start whispering “sorry sorry sorry sorry” as rapidly as possible, which is kind of funny as I try to mutter “don't worry!” to every one of their sorry’s) and then comes the comic relief moment that can be summed up…

Emergency Trip to the hospital: 50,000 cedis ($6)

Injections, Blood Test, antimalaria pills and IV: 420,000 cedis ($45)

Lying in a hospital bed with a 104 fever and seeing the look on the young nurse assistant’s face when she’s told by the IV injecting nurse to take off my pants to administer the injection: mmmmmm priceless.

Off come my pants, in goes another injection and now all I need is rest + time. Maybe it’s just me, but when I get a high fever like this, I don’t get delirious, but my thoughts get kind of wild and I think about what is actually happening inside my body. For some reason my mind wandered to those “The Magic School Bus” books and specifically to the one where the Bus goes inside someone’s body and they cruise around the red blood cells. I think about those doughnut-shaped red blood cells and now I imagine these malaria dudes pretending the blood cells are basketball hoops and slamming malaria nuggets down them and turning them black. Another surreal, but real nonetheless, moment came when I came to dispose of my first IV bag and was sitting at the nurses desk, feeling not to swell and waiting for the nurse when I turn to the TV. And guess who’s on TV?…Oprah. And I mean why not, she always makes you feel good, right? Well tonight she’s reporting for the first time in US history, 51% of women (I assume eligible ones) are single instead of married. Great, thanks Oprah. Isn’t her show supposed to be something along the lines of How to Save the World: For Dummies? Malaria, Ghana, Oprah. I’m confused.

Anyhow I had two roommates who were great and when their families came to visit them, they always checked to see how I was doing. I spent the night, my fever went down, and I was out the next morning.

Today is Monday and am feeling much better and plan on taking my trip still up to the Volta Region making sure to take it as easy as possible.

Malaria. I am a relatively healthy 21 year-old who received proper treatment and care within four hours of my first symptoms. The illness escalated like nothing I have ever experienced and brought me the highest fever I believe I’ve ever had. Now that it is mostly over and I can stop thinking about my own health, I can only imagine what it must be like for a 2 year old malnourished child with no hospital, inadequate shelter, worm-infested water and no medicine. About 3,000 people die from this disease…a day. Over a million a year, consisting mostly of these poor children, who, upon acquiring disease, have little chances of surviving it. So here is my shoutout to http://nothingbutnets.net. It’s a great way of getting bed nets to those in need. Even one of my favorite sports columnists, Rick Reilly, recently took a trip to Nigeria to distribute some nets. Here is his short three minute video…http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z7pUtkjYuE4, and here is his article http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/2006/writers/rick_reilly/04/25/reilly0501/ just in case you want to have a look.

I’m glad its over and I hope there are many more great experiences to come in the week I have left in Ghana.

Boti Falls

On Saturday I headed to the Boti Falls to see some more water fall methodically into more water, yet somehow I'm entertained by this? This was a completely different waterfall experience than last week because this one was about 6X as big and this time the water fell into more water, which allowed for some swimming. So not really a completely different experience, being that they both times it was water + gravity. When I stepped off the trotro towards the nature area, I met two British guys who were taking six weeks off work and had come to Ghana to volunteer coaching soccer (can it get any better?) and take the weekends to travel around. These guys were completely nutters and we're in such a rush to get to Ghana that they forgot to leave the crazy pills at home. Which made them seem like normal human beings...only in 45th gear the whole day. It was great though, and a nice change of pace as they talked enthusiastically about their home stay, traveling and one's desire to purchase a goat, bring it back on the trotro, slaughter it, and feed themselves for four days straight, "just for the laugh of it." Who wants in? Darren's idea comes much to the chagrin of the older James who compares such ideas to David Beckham playing ball in the US. They were talking about how they decided it would be a swell idea to take a bus to the Burkina Faso, one of the poorest nations in the world, starting from Accra. The journey was set to take a day, turned into three, and by the time they reached the border, decided they had to turn back. They wanted to try again, but they heard of a bus on the same route that was raided by armed highway robbers and they asked the guy at the bus station how often in happened? Oh, you know, one or twice a month. Once or twice a month! An indicative statement of the bordering nations that are rife with instability.
We toured around finding Umbrella Rock, a palm tree with three necks, and the mammoth falls. The book said the water was swimmable so it was down to my underwear and into the water. I took the camera along for the ride, but most of the pictures will have to wait as uploading them over here takes about 3 goat years. It was crazy though, the closer I swam to the falls, the harder I got propelled away as if it were two similar sides of a magnet. Only two weeks left, up next is some loan distribution on Thursday followed by the adventure up to the largest man made lake in da world.

Food, music, sounds, rural banks, and the local monikers

Once this kid got a look at me, it was locked on for almost the entire half hour ride.

Just some more observations on the nuances here for the people in USA...

I supremely regret saying anything negative about the food here, because my first experience wasn't exactly, oh I don’t know, um, solid? Sorry for that, but this week involved a sit down every day at a chop bar where they serve all kinds of local preparations (fufu included). On my first return to a chop bar, I only did it because I nice young lady greeted me with a wide grin and an awesomely typical Ghanaian attitude and said, come eat some food. I was hungry, thought about it for a couple seconds but was taken in too much by the greeting to refuse. A serving of beans and rice cooked together, tomatoes, onions, garlic, green peppers, a hardboiled egg, pepe (the typical spicy sauce) and 50 cents later, I was loving life. There’s nothing like getting great food for 50 cents.

Moving on, as I was riding home today I thought about how stellar the music is on the tro-tro. And when I say stellar, I mean in a way that you can’t get anywhere else that I know of. It’s the happiest Reggae music ever made…multiplied by a factor of Jesus. If I haven’t mentioned it, Jesus is everywhere. He’s the name of your local shop, hanging from almost every taxis rear view mirror and his words are plastered on every, tro-tro’s back window. But the music, you can’t beat the music.

Lastly on the observations, the friendly monikers over here are hard to beat. An older man is “father” (pronounced fada), an older lady sister (sistah), if youre a young dude you’ll be called brother…but also hugo. Hugo? But last is my favorite, if you see a young woman you can go ahead and call her mommy. Man, that kills me every time. “Hey mommy, you forgot your change.” It’s not demeaning it’s just how it is. Ghanains additionally make two of THE most annoying sounds known to human beings. It’s either a) a cross between a hiss and a whistle that I still cannot do myself or b) the most awful sound that can only be described as identical to the noise you here when you’re walking around in Europe and those people are trying to sell you these balls that they throw up in the air which makes a sound of which only Lloyd from Dumb and Dumber and could be proud…And yet they make it hear all the time, with their mouth. I’ve tried reproducing it, but it’s impossible.

On to the work…Today, Friday, was another productive day on the research front speaking with a rural bank and the apex of the credit unions. Getting to speak to rural banks is awesome and by the time I leave I’m always giddy. Meetings with them always give a special excitement to the research I’m doing. It’s like when you’re at camp (like High Five sports camp for example, great camp, even better logo…should’ve been called High Entire Forearm camp) and the counselor comes along and is giving out popsicles…and you get the red one. Getting information from a credit union, yea its more like getting the green one, you’re a little bummed because you got the worst color, but you’re still psyched…I mean, it's a popsicle, right? I’ve really only struck out twice with blind refusals of my research and both times it’s been at the hands of credit unions, but speaking with someone at the Credit Union Association today still proved that there is much to offer in their strictly member-run and elected organizations. The reason the rural banks are so great is that it’s always tough to get to them, hence them being rural, but it has always been well worth the trip. They’re unbelievably welcoming to someone attempting to learn more about rural banks and when I ask questions, they’re always willing to expand. Today, the manager gave me a more hands on tutorial of how it’s done, how claims are processed, applications for the overdraft, account statements, the works. Oh, and the first thing he said we met with a big smile (which a bunch of people say here when I get back from work). You’re welcome. Nothing makes me feel more welcome here than when someone actually says ‘you’re welcome.’ Rural bank operations are not easy going, especially with the lack of adequate infrastructure in rural areas of Ghana, but someone has to get it done. Rural banks have come a long way since their true genesis in the early 60s, but by attempting to address the needs of the rural farmers, they only found banks mobilizing savings in rural areas to satisfy the needs of the urban economy. A decade later the Bank of Ghana grabbed a hold of the process establishing formal financial institutions (with a formal apex, ARB Apex) which were made autonomous to the mobilization of urban sector savings. Lots of improvement in hopes to reaching those most in need. We’ll see if it works.

Wow, this has been a post with no pictures and I imagine a bit too much platitudinous text. Many Apologies.

More on microfinance, energy and Ghanaian skills

As I make my way through the process of uncovering the behavior of microfinance institutions, I begin to realize how difficult it must have been to have created the Grameen Bank as Dr. Yunus did in Bangladesh. I think the word is clairvoyant. To possess the acumen recognizing that the poor will almost always pay back their loans is truly remarkable. Restoring confidence that there are investment opportunities in impoverished nations is an important one that help these nations help pull themselves up by the bootstraps into competitive free market democracies. I once heard that if you are able to make it alright on minimum wage, then you shouldn’t be getting minimum wage. Well here the institutions do their best to make sure that their monetary (and usually more than just monetary) illiterate clients know how to put the little capital bestowed to them to efficient means. In order to understand more of the process, I set up meetings today with two of the more apex institutions responsible for training and allocation of government funding. Both of these institutions received initial funding from the US and were pleasantly rewarded with a doubling of the amount as the Ghanaian government agreed to match the US’s donation in 2005. The African Development Foundation provides loans to small and micro enterprises with 0% interest and zero collateral to be paid back over five years. They provide money, technical assistance, but of course perform the due diligence to make sure that the client’s business is capable of earning a profit, that the product will replicate and that they create a positive social impact of generating income and jobs. One of the arguments against microenterprise is that it too infrequently creates new avenues of wealth as individuals remain with the self-employed handiwork and food selling businesses that will rarely lift them out of poverty. The ADF hopes to improve societies through successful SMEs that will involve augmentation of wealth and job opportunity in new market sectors…and that, is important.

When I was waiting for my meeting, I picked up the daily paper to read about the impending crisis dealing with expiring dam providing much of the country’s power. The government’s action seems more of procrastination than any formal plan to obviate crisis. The levels of the dam have reached all time lows and energy pundits are fearing the worst even as the energy council has decided it will take decisive action only when it gets below a certain point (although they have already had to shut down one of the four turbines). They need solutions, and not palliative ones that will only delay the crisis for a couple months. They have been lucky with the rain so far this year, but trouble is inescapably on the way if new ways to harness energy are not explored and employed.

The last commentary on the day has to do with the continued amusement I get from the Ghanaians. First, one of the stereotypical things I imagined I would see before coming to Africa is people carrying all kinds of things on their head all the time. Well, as it turns out, it’s kind of true. Plaintain, water, yogurt, crackers, towels, pastries, watches, chicken kebabs, fried potatoes and yams, eggs and sauce, fish, apples, CDs, books on how to learn English, you name it. The thing is, you really could name it and it’s probably been done. Before I came I emailed a friend of a friend who had been here and he maintains that he once saw a woman who had three baby goats fasted to a basket atop her head…I’ll believe it when I see it. Who knows, but I have seen a man carrying one suitcase in his hand and the other on his head with his second hand swinging freely. It’s almost as if they want to carry things on their hand. I mean this was a legitimate suitcase, not enormous, but a suitcase balanced on a person’s head, while moving. Impressive. If they had an Olympics of the book-balancing-on-your-head relay-race like we did in fourth grade, no doubt Ghana takes Gold, Silver, Bronze, Copper, Aluminum, they’d take it all home. Secondly, their friendliness continues to amaze me. Coming home from the meetings today I stopped at a roadside vendor where a lady was cooking some spiced potatoes which I decided to try. I sat instead of taking it away being that I was in no rush, and a good thing to, because there was no way I was getting out within a half hour. I sit down, some school children come over (a side note: It’s always great to see children in their uniforms, because every time you see them trying to sell sachets of water in the middle of crowded intersections, it’s a little upsetting knowing that they should be in school, so this put me in a good mood from the start) and start asking me all these questions, because, you know, I’m so wildly different, when all of a sudden the lady running the operation plops her child right in my lap! Ok, so I’m talking with these kids, waiting for some frying spiced potatoes while babysitting…yes, literally sitting with baby. It was cool at least knowing that I wasn't alone in my state of confusion as this baby and I shared the common bewilderment of what exactly it was doing sitting in my lap. No complaints on my end though, and no crying on hers…and of course the kids thought all this was hilarious. Well the potatoes were excellent as getting used to spicy food has been a slow yet enjoyable process.

Akuapem Hills and Asenema Waterfall

The plan was to head to the hills on Saturday, but as it has every Saturday, it was pouring, only this time it started early and didn’t seem to be letting up…Which made the trip today even better as a waterfall was on the schedule. Sunday it was then for the trip which began with an hour and a half tro-tro ride up the through the hills and about 30 km past Aburi to a town called Adukrom where the journey began. The guide book mentioned that the Asenema falls were 5km north of the town and of course when I asked directions from a taxi driver, he told me it was far away. How far away I ask…200km. Taxi drivers are great, one with no customers will never fail to honk at me on the road, stick his hand out the window and ask where I’m going. And they exaggerate distances so that you think it’d be faster to walk to the moon and take a taxi instead. I thanked him for his terrific estimate and began the walk. Walking is awesome only because I get to do more interacting in places where people, let alone white people, pass by on foot. It turned out to be a beautiful hour walk down the hill where the waterfall was situated off a signed footpath. When I first approached, it looked as though smoke was billowing out of the trees, only it was the violent spray coming from the base of the falls. The landing area for the water was indented rock that flowed down the river, but since the water was flowing straight onto rock, instead of a pool of water, it created a huge spray of water and wind that soaked me when I got within 20 yards of it. I was the only one there which made it easier to roam around and take the camera with the video option up near the falling water. The closer I got, the more I felt like I was going to be blown over by the tremendous amount of wind that swirled within the hollowed out rock. It was one of the coolest experiences with nature that I’ve ever had and I think the fact that it poured yesterday made it an even stronger flow of water. Although I only got within 10 feet of the water I was soaked all the way through which was a refreshing way to reward the long hot walk down.
On the walk up, I became a bit bolder with the use of the camera and took some pictures of some small communities of people living in mud and bamboo houses yet who were enjoying the beautiful Sunday afternoon. Every time I walk by a bunch of kids they come to side of the road waving, right, but this time I whipped out the camera and immediately as that happens, they all freeze. I threw them another wave and got them to wave back for the picture, which shows how happy these people are.
Exhausted after the climb back up the hill to the station I hopped in a tro-tro to head back to Accra. As one of the last in the car I headed towards the rear to await the drive home only this trip was not restricted to humans. Oh definitely not. Right before we leave, as is customary, the trotro driver (called the “mate” – prounounced more like miet) opens the back and sticks the goods people are transporting into the small space the car offers. Only this time, as the mate was helping a lady insert her luggage into the cabin, I felt something furry brush up against my leg. Before I could even think of what it could be, I heard it…the baaaaing of a goat! Awesome. Along with my 20 Ghanaian friends, we headed home with TWO of the Adukrom town goats. Oh man this was a trip. I got a short video of it, as the two people to my right started yelling at the mate and bailed. The funniest part was the mate thought he could get away with literally stuffing the goats in untied, but at the behest of the two aforementioned passengers, they hogtied these poor goats and then stuffed them under the seat. I thought was hilarious and quite an experience…at first. Imagine, for the next hour and a half there were two squirming baaaaing goats, and the worst part about it was the woman who owned the goats was sitting in the very front! Maybe she thought the white man would enjoy this experience. What a crazy day with three weeks to go.

Cape Coast

Sunday brought another trip two hours west of Accra to Cape Coast wherein lies one a castle that harbored thousands of African slaves before being shipped off to the Americas. The experience was appropriately chilling as I imagined it would be, yet still unnerving when entering the dungeons where hundreds of humans were forced into the darkest, dirtiest, disease-ridden chambers one could imagine. The museum in the castle was fairly interesting and I learned some new things about African culture that appear all over the world. For example, Rastafarianism is named after a Ghanaian leader, Ras Tafari, who, ironically, gathered a following professing a return to the ways of the Old Testament (which forbids the cutting of hair, hence the long dread locks). Oh man, go tell a Rasta looking dude that he should look no longer to the joint in his hand for his “roots” so much as the Bible.

Faces, pronunciation, energy and the gardens of Aburi

Goat
Women lugging sticks up a hill, I offered to help, they refused...naturally
BIG tree
BIG spider
BIG wormy guy
The kids

Almost two weeks of Ghanaian culture and a couple things continue to fascinate me the more I try to get to know these people. First, I have noticed that in about one in three people have a peculiar scar(s) right below the cheekbone sometimes multiple and on both sides of the face. It is not the scar of a cut, but more like a separated indent of about three cm long and one cm tall. Once I know what this is about and once I get a close up of it, I’ll share the knowledge. Also, I’ve found myself beginning to pronounce words like the people here, due to the fact that almost every time I ask a question or begin a conversation, I get the pardon me and puzzled look right back. This means pronouncing all ‘o’s like home…So when we talk about the hostel instead of ‘hastel’ like I would normally say it, it has become ‘hoestal.’ Clear? What’s really working better is picking up on the local language, as some of the workers around the hostel have been teaching me. One dude passed me on a bike yesterday and asked me how I was doing in the local Twi, and it took me a couple of seconds to get the gears going, but I eventually responded in kind, and he threw me a thumb’s up and ‘that's very gooood.’ People like it here when I know something about their country whether it be words, history, politics, or economics and they try the best to welcome me even more. In fact, on my way back from today’s adventure, I had a conversation with a chemistry student and he was psyched that I was over here studying finance and the trouble it has encountered. After being preoccupied with how I excited I was that I was finding good and useful information, I’ve realized how inefficient credit programs here can be. This guy was talking about how hard banks are on people and complaints are coming from the bottom of the social ladder all the way up. Loan rates are usurious in most cases, and collateral is egregious…Facts I was hoping to find to the contrary. Credit institutions are trying to become more financially and operationally stable and the way they do that is raising interest rates and collateral, while narrowing the depth of outreach to the poor. The institutions loaning to the extreme poor are staying afloat only by donor groups, and insufficient capital is being provided by the government, notorious for its corrupt allocation of resources. Right, so I asked him what kind of career he was planning to pursue and he brought up the impending energy crisis that is beginning to worry many Ghanaians. They’ve been supplied with power from a single dam that was built during the tenure of the nation’s first president 50 years ago. I originally thought that the three days power on, one day power off thing was limited to my hostel, but turns out I was way off and in fact is applied to the entire country. They’ve divided the sectors so that everybody doesn't lose power at the same time, but the other day when Accra didn't have it, generators filled the streets and made for an extra smelly, loud and contaminated day. This guy was telling me how this dam is starting to wear down and the government had originally envisioned it lasting 40 years and they are now beginning to scramble. Solutions I ask? This student is hoping to work in/develop/increase solar energy…Booya. The sun, yep, they have that. Loads of it. It of course isn’t that easy, or at least until foreign enterprises start investing in this country.
Today though, I took my first solo trip out into the nature of Ghana to a place called Aburi north of the city. Our tro-tro wound up the side of the mountain to a small town wherein lies the 65 hectare gardens of Aburi. In said gardens I saw the largest tree, worm and spider I have ever seen in my life. There was a myriad of footpaths and I descended one down and out as far away from the people I could get and popped out meeting a group of six children hanging out under their “roof” (composed of some bamboo and big leaves). They gave me some directions, but I didn't want to leave without getting a picture of the oldest boy and his Bulls shirt. Theirs tons of Bulls shirts and jerseys over here, but this one, noting that the Bulls were established in 1964, was my favorite. Right after I whipped out the camera, the other kids ran over to join, all except the crying one in the background. Lots of children, no shoes, tattered clothes, no real home…That’s the story all too often here, and you can see the boy has a machete in his hand that he uses to help his father cut down the brush. I trounced a while and headed back during the torrential 15 minute rain shower that came. I walked back through town where there was a funeral (during which all the women wear black dresses and the men huge thick black robes) and took the tro-tro back home after an exhausting day.

Microfinance

A picture I took in a small village outside Winneba. This is a young girl who lives with her family on the side of the road. On her right leg she has a fairly large infection where it looks like worms took their toll. You see it all the time here, but you don't get used to it...

...And hopefully places like this can help.

Today was quite the successful day as far as the networking and microfinance aspects of my stay are concerned. Since my first meeting last friday with my main contact here, Mr. Abbey, I have met with three microfinance institutions and will meet with another tomorrow and the more I go along, the more time I feel I need to meet with all the names I have been getting. Which of course is a good thing, but it can be overwhelming too. Today I met with the microfinancial manager of the Women’s World Banking Savings and Loan Company and it went as well as any meeting could have gone. Working under the auspices of Mr. Abbey and throwing around Mr. Abbey’s name, which I do liberally upon his recommendation, has truly brought me into contact with some legitimate institutions willing to give me some of their time. The one interesting thing I have noticed about the location of the institutions is that they are always outside the cities in poorer areas in order to, I suppose, more easily reach those in need. Which means I walk by blocks of impecunious city dwellers into an office of tailored suits and bosses scolding their employees for too much facial hair (yes, a man grabbed a worker’s tuft on his chin and told him to get rid of it). Anyhow, the man who met with me today was as prepared as he could be with his laptop at the ready to regurgitate statistics upon my request and he was happy to help. Just to give an idea of what these meetings are like I’ll give some of the details so apologies if this gets a bit dull.
My research focuses on the five major avenues of microfinance, them being financial NGOs, Rural and Community banks, Savings and Loans Companies, Credit Unions, and Susu Collectors (A more rural practice where people can save their money without having to travel miles to a bank). My first goal is to acquire information about one institution of each category. Information I’m hoping to collect includes but is definitely not limited to interest rates, ratio of women to men borrowers, average loan size, depth of outreach, ratio of active savers to borrowers, % required savings, % of staff composed of credit officers, and repayment rate. A little profile on Women’s World Banking shows that, ironically, only 60% of members are women, the average loan is $1,500, 8:1 savers to borrowers, interest rates run from 21%-36%, repayment rates are up to 99% (although they’ve upped the ante on collateral more on that later), and two out of seven staff members is a credit officer.
The institituion previously relied strictly on donor funding, but as of January, when many things changed, they have become an independent commercial institution relying on no outside funding. As is customary among MFIs , they require that their members be trained on the terms of their institution and how to handle their money appropriately. Unlike the RCB and FNGO of last week, WWB ensures that they finance working capital, meaning they are shaping what their money is being used for. When they loan out money, they make sure they know exactly where it’s going and how they are going to be repaid. They require in some programs that 25% of the loan be saved in order to promote good financial strategy for the borrower. The collateral is an important issue, because the crux of Dr. Yunus’s Grameen Bank (and what eventually one him and the bank the Nobel Peace Prize) is that you can dole out uncollateralized loans to the poor, and through efficient strategies, they will pay back…97% of the time! WWB is adding the social pressure to collateralized loans by threatening to seize assets (vehicles, closing shops) so that the community will see that a certain individual is not running a trustworthy business. In January they addressed their loan portfolio which had 80% of borrowers at risk of finding themselves in arrears. It seems that their strategy is working for them, but it doesn't work out so well for the poor. This methodology means that those who have the least stability (the illiterate, poor) are charged the most usurious rates, which doesn't aid in the alleviation of poverty…which we hope microfinance can do. Anyway, the guy was quite knowledgeable and helpful and at the end when I asked if he could refer me to other institutions he gave me names addresses phone number and directions to three of them, one of which, ProCredit, is high on my list of institutions.
A note on MF…As I am studying the varying techniques of MFIs in rural and urban settings, the five categories previously described exist under the umbrella of microfinance. Although, as the rural bank manager described to me last Friday, they cannot make loans over 10 million cedis ($1,000) because it lies outside the domain of “microfinance.” Sure enough, after my meeting I was directed to ProCredit (an institution often mentioned under microfinancial terms) where there brochure reads “Loan amount rage from GHC 10,000,001 – GHC 99,000,000.” This means that to be recognized as an official RCB, your loans must not exceed GHC 10,000,000 and those involved in S&L must loan out at rates greater than GHC 10,000,000.

Winneba and The Coast

Sunday brought about the most interesting day thus far with a trip to a small village outside Winneba on the coast of Ghana. Haruna and I headed out, picked up his friend Isaac in another town and then headed for the sandy beaches. The town going down to the coast was my first look at utter poverty. There is an interesting protocol for taking photos here and I thought it would’ve been inappropriate to take any, but the stench was one of the worst ever to hit the nostrils with garbage everywhere, there places where people relieved themselves in the street, and it was the saddest I have seen people here. We walked up the shore in a boat village towards a river we needed to cross to get to the actual beach and up to the place where Isaac’s family live. The river was too deep to ford the river so in order to spare our oxen, we hired a nice man to help us across the river in his canoe. And this, was the coolest part of the day. I wanted to keep my shoes on, because there is all kinds of crap here you don't want your feet getting in, but again it would have been highly inappropriate and so we waded into the river where the canoe and the canoe man waited. There is a picture below (you may have to click on it to see) of said man taking us across and if you look closely you will see it. Yes, uh huh, yep, that’s a slingshot. Booya. You can have have the numchucks, the sai, the bo staff and the swords…I’m taking the sling shot. I was so amped to see a dude toting a sling shot as his weapon of choice, I forgot to ask what exactly he used it for, so when my momentary shock subsided and I came to, I asked Haruna later what he used it for. Small birds. If I’m a small bird within a 2 mile radius of this canoe man and his sling shot, I would might as well fly my way to bird heaven cause I’d be toast.
Ok so on it was down the beach, and we came upon a beach community doing some group fishing, and if you look at the picture below you can see basically the entire community working on one net. Someone canoes out into the ocean and plops a massive net attached to a long thick rope and then about two hours later everyone comes and heaves on that rope until they get dinner. On we went and stopped briefly for some cocunt milk straight from the coconut. I remember trying to tap into the coconut milk with my friends in Puerto Rico and not having such a great experience, but here we had this 12 year kid who cut (he and his brother also climb the trees themselves and knock them down) this thing like a pro and it made for quite a refreshing $.50 snack. We continued on toward the village where his family lives and on the way we came across a really primitive looking beach village that you can see in the pictures. They all lived in straw huts and we there is where we stopped for some lunch of shrimp, spicy plantain dough, and pepe (onions, peppers, and lots of spice and hot stuff). The shrimp were full on shrimp complete with head and Isaac and Haruna started eating them like chips. I picked one up and said being the foreigner chump that I am, oh so you eat the head too, and noticing my incredulity, Haruna responded saying something like, the blood (pointing to the bulging eyeballs) it makes you strong…Almost as good as my Dad telling me that bustle sprouts would put hair on my chest. On we continued where the madness of being a pale white foreigner only grew more intense. The other day I got a new addition to Obruni which was was Obruni Coco meaning, ironically, red haired white man, or so it was explained to me. Normally I am called Obruni about 5-10 times a day sometimes with people just walking on the street and passing me saying Obruni and that’s it. It’s really odd sometimes, I mean imagine it, it’s like someone saying, ‘white man’ to you and then nothing else. Anyway, as we got to Isaac’s old stomping grounds the kids went nuts. They come out to the edge of the road waving their hands saying either ‘Obruni bye-bye” or “Obruni gayu” which means really really really white man. It was pretty cool seeing how happy these kids were with the sight of a foreigner. I earlier mentioned that people think I’m straight from Mars, but under normal circumstance I imagine that when the aliens arrive, people won’t be running into the street smiling…But maybe these people just might. One of the pictures I have below is indicative of how kids react when I try to take a picture of them. The kid in the front is ready for Hollywood while the kid in the back wants no part of it. It was a sweet day and made for encountering great places, food and people.
Group fishing

Canoe man man man

Ready for Hollywood, one in the back not so much

Dzorwulu, Weija and Fufu

The last 24 hours have been all new experiences filled with happiness, frustration, and a little bit of fear. Last night Haruna took me out to the small town where he lives about 20 minutes drive from the hostel. People seem to have a lot of respect for him since he works outside the village where people either sell goods on the street, or farm the little area of land that they have and as it turns out, he has a wife and a one year old daughter to take care of as well. The people here really stress ideals of pride, honor, love, family, respect, because they absolutely have to. Exiting the womb a Ghanaian is like pulling the shortest straw on life…at least that’s how we see it. Your life expectancy is more than 20 years shorter than that of a developed nation. 20 years. Long time. Of course that’s not how they see it and it seems as though they want to waste none of the time they have complaining, fighting, sulking, or feeling anything but happy to be alive as a Ghanaian. Getting to know Haruna, I have been able to politely prod into how he and his people live and how they understand one another. I am currently reading a book titled, Mutual Aid, by Petr Kropotkin and every day I read I find explanations that appropriately sum up the sentiment here:

“These folk so much identify their lives with that of the tribe, that each of their acts, however insignificant, is considered as a tribal affair. Their whole behaviour is regulated by an infinite series of unwritten rules of propriety which are the fruit of their common experience as to what is good or bad-that is, beneficial or harmful for their own tribe.”

I don't mean to compare this society to that of a tribal one, it just seems that when anyone needs anything in the community, they share the burden and leave no one to fend for themselbes. On our way to his town, Haruna paid for the trip out there (about 25 cents) and I thanked him and said I would pay on the way back and this guy behind us says to me with a big smile, no no you don't understand, that’s not how it works in Ghana. Your friend pays for you, because he his is your friend, and here in Ghana, we may be hungry, but we will always take care of each other. Right, and then this dude with long dreds in the front seat blurts out…Sharing is caring! Haha. And then to cap it off, the dreded man’s friend turns around and points to me and says, and you know the rasta man, NEVER lies. To which the entire trotro strated laughing. Funny people who know how to let people know how to live.

Met lots of people later in the evening and realized that everyplace you go, you meet some people you really like, and some people not so much who seem to be a little standoffish. It’s the same here in Ghana…only minus the standoffish people. The people here are unbelievable. Ok so we walked home through some smaller villages and we came to one called Dame (pronounced dah-may) a place where, as Haruna explained to me, if the husband of a couple dies, the woman must marry the brother of the deceased if such a brother exists and is not already married. Wild.

Another thing I noticed tonight is that few people can actually say my name and it often comes out Mac or Max and when I try Matthew, I realize the ‘th’ sound doesn’t exist in their pronunciation. Haruna has then given me an African name, Kwame, which he calls me because he especially cannot say my name and also because he wants me to be wrapped into his culture as much as possible and has vowed to find me an African woman so as to ensure that I return some day. Seeing that I have been proposed to twice already it seems like that not may be such a large problem…but I cant feel that special considering white women over here get proposed to the same amount as I have in a week, except in about 10 minutes.

The next morning was my first day of work and had a meeting at 10:00 am and in order to make sure I wasn’t late I woke up at 6:15 which was a swell idea, because I ran into some serious frustration attempting to find my way around. I backtracked twice and arrived 15 minutes before my meeting all sorts of sweaty. This dude, Charles Abbey, with whom I’m working is an awesome guy and as it turns, well accomplished and well connected…and being close friends with my professor, he is also a big fan of Wake Forest. We first discuss how I’m going to go about getting in contact with the right people and the adequate information and it becomes apparent that he is one of the leaders of promoting economic development and fair trade throughout the country. After he gives me names and places we discuss the state of the economy and society of Ghana and he fears the worst for the pending Economic Partnership Agreements between Europe and underdeveloped Africa due to be signed this December. Ghana, among other sub-regional markets, requires help and it should come from an unrestricted free trade agreement that could devastate, for example, the agricultural sector. In my research today I found out that 90% of the agricultural sector is composed of peasant farmers who would undoubtedly suffer the moust. “We are shouting, we are shouting as loud as we can,” Mr. Abbey explains and it seems he will not stop shouting until he knows the Ghanaian people are safe from corrupt politics. The political system here is brutal. Even though Ghana became independent before any West African country in 1957, their politicians have been craven in their attempts to install appropriate economic measures for its people... At least ever since Kwame Nkrumah, the first president after gaining independence was around. He is the George Washington of Ghana with buildings, universities, parks and city regions named after him. I always try to ask people about politics now and in the past and people, even if they weren’t around then, seem forlorn in the state of politics these days. They blame the current president, John Kufour for acquiescing to the desires of the West for personal benefit at the cost of his people. The politicians are in fact the richest people in the nation and it doesn't make the people feel good when they spend millions on celebrations and little on them.
Anyhow, we talked about how kind Ghanaians are and yet crime is on the rise with the influx of refugees from Liberia, Sierra Leone and Nigeria. After our conversation he set me up with meetings at two institutions in the small towns of Weija and Dzorwulu (pronounced, of course, jurwulu) where I spoke with the managers at a rural bank and microfinance development institution giving me hope for where this research can go. More on this will follow later on in the process, but it was a successful day, before the start of a weekend of travel.

Saturday began with the eating of fufu (with the stress on the last syllable) which we ate right down the road in Medina, consisting of soup, fish and doughy delight. We arrive at the roadside establishment, which is basically a shack on the side of the road to sit in, and a completely open kitchen about 5 meters behind. The pictures really do a better job at describing the experience, but the lady takes the huge wooden rod and pounds the dough until she deems it ready after which you think she’s going to cook it somehow. Instead she sticks it in the huge pot of stew for about 5 seconds, ladles the dough and the soup out into a bowl and then slaps a small fish right on top. I think the guide book described it perfectly saying that fufu is one of the things in Ghana you must try, but you won’t miss upon your return. You sit in the shack with four people and ten times as many flies (honestly, maybe more) and hope that between the time you scoop the food with your fingers into your mouth, flies haven’t already parked it on your food. It was one of those things where I wanted to be careful about what I was eating, but when an African kid takes you to eat with him, eat is what you should do. I felt pretty quesy after and sure enough had the runs by the next morning but it was a good experience and I’m glad I did it.

Observations

The Coast
It's typical in Ghana to promote good tidings to enhance your commercial output. Often times I will see little business called something like "God is love barbershop" and "Christechnology cell phones"
Every once in a while a truck filled with matching people are singing at the top of their lungs. It's a miracle they don't all pop out.
A smaller tro-tro but typical scene. Tro-tros are run by two dudes, one driving and one getting out yelling always with hand signals. Whenever they stop, women with assorted goodies on their head come selling and people shove money out the window in order to get a hold of Ghana's finest products.

The crowded market of Accra
Chicken Farm where I live

As I stroll along on only my third day, my paper is already full of some interesting observations I’ve made. I think the pen and the paper has been my greatest asset so far in Ghana. First, a note on the weather. I have found it decently temperate and sleeping at night has not been a issue as a result of the weather. It gets hot and smelly on the tro-tros, but the weather doesn't get much above 85. On to more interesting things…like begging. And how there is virtually none of it. I remember reading that it is strictly forbidden to give money to a beggar. The one beggar I saw was clearly not, at least by physical appearance, Ghanaian by any means. Perhaps there is an impetus to demonstrate pride and confidence in their country. Everyone here works, at least at something no how unimportant it may seem. There is little to no government cushion upon which to fall back if something goes wrong. In fact when I bought a pot for cooking today for 13,000 cedis (about $1.30) it was wrapped in some Ghanaian newspaper and when I unwrapped it at home I thought I’d give it a read. I think this may reflect some of the frustration regarding ceremony and misuse of funds. The title is “Life at 50 not easy”:

“As the economy smells of hardship and unstable conditions such as flip-flop energy and constant shortage in water supply, so do some areas of Accra smell of hazardous refuse dumps…This appalling stench that residents breathe makes one feel so helpless. Taking a stroll or sleeping in your own house is even more dangerous because the strong and often unbearable stench has so much polluted the air you actually breathe in.

Meanwhile, top government officials drive in sophisticated cars and are spending billions on the celebration of a 50^th independence anniversary that is not reflecting in the pockets of the ordinary Ghanaian and the health of their nationals is not good…The roads are in conditions that make journeying to work and back a daunting task. There have been many promises from the sitting MP but many of them are yet to be fulfilled…Do these residents not deserve the best of environments of devoid of polythene and plastic materials that serve as decorations of their walls and compounds? I wonder what stops city authorities from using incinerators to get rid of the city’s filth, especially in an era where energy crises are the order of the day, and when we are capable of spending a fortune of our scarce resources on celebrations that are of little consequence to our situation.”

I also remember reading an article in The Economist regarding the ostentatious funerals in Ghana that has shown to be a huge waste of resources. Like I mentioned in the last post, the place can get to be pretty smelly and obviously the people are not pleased about it. Even in the largest city of the country, not many people are looking to well off in Accra. The people seem happy, but know there is much to be achieved are tired of corrupt politics that is rampant in Ghana and most of Africa. Ghana is slowly progressing; It was the first country to achieve independence 50 years ago and has avoided serious civil strife since. Yet they are not teeming in opulent resources and need to develop (with help from the big dogs, of course) global markets.

Anyhow, more observations of the interactive variety. As I mentioned earlier, people love to help out, but as also mentioned they can be way off. I had a funny instance of this happening to me today as I searched for a mobile phone store. Every 100 meters or so there are these stations set up comprised of a small chair and a tattered beach tent under which there is a guy selling phone credit. Naturally I asked one dude if he knew of the phone store on this road and said that I would need transportation. I duly explained how much I enjoyed walking and he told me that the store was 20 km away! I had heard this store existed I was however not exactly sure where it was. I timed the walk and needless to say I arrived 8 minutes and 25 seconds later only to find the store closed. 20 km??? Really? As a vendor of cell phone minutes, that is not very sound advice unless his business partner is the kingpin of the tro-tro cartel. However there is still no doubt that people are unbelievable kind, and are surprised to see me walking alone. Not as a matter of safety, but as one 18 year old Muhammed explained, one should have a friend to show them around. Pride reigns and it stresses an importance of taking care of people in your community and leaving no one behind. People want to help, they welcome me here and almost always tell me that Ghana is free. Free to be who you want, practice whatever religion you like (Muhammed and his brother Sidek are Muslim, while their sister is Christian) no matter what color the skin.