Can't Spend a Day Outside Without Adventure!

Sunday, June 16, 13

            No matter what time of day or where you are in Ghana, you’re bound to run into something strange, exciting, or unsettling – however, it always seems to work out.  Last night, I was awoken at the first light of day by a meaty cockroach.  At first I thought, in my dreamy, malarone induced state, that the dark lump on my bed was my USB internet stick…until I tried to pick it up.  YIKES, the twitch freaked me out, and I slapped him off the bed.  After calming back down, I slept for a little while, and was pleased to see the little guy on his back with his legs up when I finally woke up for the day.  Note, I’m averaging a little less than one cockroach crawling on me in my sleeper week (to my knowledge).

I REALLY hope he was the only one sharing a room with me...

After a good breakfast, I set off for the Church next door.  Four years when  first arrived in Ghana, the building was nothing more than a roofless cement skeleton, and two years ago, it had finally opened.  With some free time, I figured I’d check it out.  To my surprise and contrary to the information I received at the hotel, it was a Catholic church, with the pastor and his staff decked out in ornate robes and Kente scarves.  I’ve actually never been to a Catholic church service, and this one was a nice one to witness.  The church was a simple covered hallway – there were no bibles, no hymnals; some people brought their own, but most just learned the words and lessons from weeks of attending.  Contrary to the Catholic churches back home, this one was pleasantly simple, unembellished, and quite humble.  I sat with several small boys and girls who LOVED someone to distract them from the multi-hour service.  The finale was my favorite part of the service – the “Father of The Year” award.  Apparently, the congregation had voted on the best father who attends the church, with baseline criteria of “a stable marriage, economic prosperity, and good, Jesus-loving children.”  The recipient seemed to be an important man – a US educated bank owner and generous parishioner, and after accepting the award, the pastor ordered all “fathers or potential fathers” to come be blessed.  Quite a lively service.

The Catholic Church - View of the graveyard next door

There’s a saying I once heard that goes something like this: “The best way to get to know a city is to get lost in it.”  For me, there is little merit in the statement.  Note: the following is a fairly disjointed chronicle of my day in Accra – It’s confusing because I was confused.  I decided I’d spend the day reading my book on the shores of Labadi Beach at the suggestion of a good friend.  To get there, I was told to take a trotro to Kwame Nkrumah circle and catch a trotro to La and be light at the beach.  No problem, yeah? 

My trotro to the city was simple, uneveltful.  I got out at circle, and asked for directions where I could catch the La car.  I was told to head down the street to a trotro station I’ve never heard of.  While walking down the narrow street, two groups of 20 something year-olds were yelling and pushing eachother.  As I approached, a fight broke out, and I was pushed forward, nearly losing my balance.  I recovered, and made it out of the braw.  Ghanaians don’t like fighting, and onlookers quickly broke up the fight.  However, the push I received from the back seemed to have been a pickpocketing attempt, and my small zippered patch with my phone and map had been completely opened. Nothing I had inside was taken, and from then on I wore the backpack like a Kangaroo carries its young in front.  

This is the area known as "Kwame Nkrumah Circle"

At the trotro station, I asked drivers where to catch the car.  One told me to go deep into the market – another told me to head to a different station and take a Nunguar car and get light at the beach.  I took the pedestrian walkway across the main street and made it to the location of a third trotro station.  I was pointed back to a fourth station, and after a lot of confusion, boarded a car to Nunguar.   

What a normal trotro station looks like - this was my 4th one of the day!

I was dropped off at the beach, and immediately regretted my decision.  In Ghana, indeed in a few countries I’ve visited, the beach is used as a giant toilet and dump site.  As my feet touched the ground, the stench of raw sewage and garbage nearly overwhelmed me.  I walked down the sandy roadside seeking a taxi or something to get me away from this beach.  I hadn’t spent more than five minutes before a trotro heading to Nunguar dropped someone off and offered me a ride.  I was so thrilled to leave this smelly place.

Inside the trotro, I handed the mate 1 Cidi.  Paying for a trotro is quite fascinating.  Everyone boards, and once the car is on the road, the mate simply says “yes” and points at people, asking them where they’d like to be let off.  From there, money travels from person to person up to the mate, as does the change from large bills back to the customer.  Because the trotro that I had initially disembarked cost 1 Cidi, I expected change.  And I got it – 40 pesewas.  Perfect – All I need to do is ride this to this unknown town, Nunguar, and hop on a trotro headed the opposite direction. 

We made several stops, some people got off, a few people got on.  This happened maybe 7 times until I was one of three people left in this 25 person car, and the two other people had recently entered.  I looked confused.  So did the mate.  I’d obviously passed Nunguar, so I explained my case, I wanted to go to Accra, to Circle.  He stared blankly; he spoke no Brofu, no English.  Oh boy.

I decided I’d just ride the car until he kicked me off.  After all, how far could 60 Pesewas (30 cents American) get me?  Ten, twenty, thirty minutes passed.  People got on, people got off.  I recognized nothing – no town names, not even much Twi (people also speak Ga in greater Accra).  I finally asked some ladies in nice church garb to help give me directions to Accra.  They didn’t speak much English too, but more than the mate, and I gathered “Roundabout” was a good place to get off and find some new ride.  After maybe an hour in this car, I decided to follow these ladies off at the stop with the  non-descriptive  name of “roundabout.”  I asked several people, in English, in Twi, and in simple words like “Accrac,” and “Kwame Nkrumah” where I could catch a trotro back to town.  I gathered that down the road, across some busy highways, I could find some cars.  I played frogger across these 2 highways, and flagged down a trotro at the bus stop down the road.  “Accra, Accra! Laswaaa” the mate shouted.  I gladly took my last spot, and half an hour later, made it back to circle, walked to Amasaman station, and hopped on a trotro heading north.  So much for a relaxing beach day!