Leilah's blog

My study abroad experience was absolutely incredible. My only fear is that I may have had the best year of my life too soon. Is there anything to look forward to after this? In a word, yes. What I have to look forward to are all the things in my life that will occur because of this past semester. There are so many things that I have learned during my four months in Ghana that will affect my future. To start, I learned so many things about travel and I gained the confidence to travel on my own. In one week I am leaving on a three-week trip around Europe entirely by myself. I’m ending the trip in London, where I will study abroad next semester. I cannot be more excited for what the future holds. I plan to travel a lot in my life, but now I am even more excited to come back to Africa. I definitely plan to revisit Ghana, but I want to visit many new countries as well.

I’m sure any study abroad experience is life-changing, but I think that my semester in Ghana was particularly different because of its location. Everyone should experience Africa once in their life. No matter how I attempt to describe my semester abroad I never seem to do it justice. Towards the end of our semester, the NYU in Ghana admin held a workshop on readjusting to the US. One of the things we discussed in the meeting was how when we get back to the States no one will really understand our experience abroad, no matter how much we talk about it. So far, that seems to be true. Although my family and friends are all willing to humor me when I go on and on about the differences between the US and Ghana, they don’t seem to really care or understand.

The Art of Travel Class has been great because it has given me an outlet, a place to talk about my experience abroad, but I still do not feel that I have accurately explained my time in Ghana. Another reason for this may have been the insufficient amount of time. I was always late writing my articles because I was too busy actually experiencing the country I was in. I was off exploring markets, visiting villages, riding camels in Burkina Faso, etc. The amount of things I did that I would want to write about is so huge, that I find it hard to write about any of it. I think study abroad is an important experience for anyone to have for exactly that reason. If you want to experience the world you have to go out and experience it. You can’t live vicariously through other people’s writing because no one can accurately describe it. Just get out there and do it.

(Photo taken by me in the Sahel Desert in Burkina Faso)

Saidiya Hartman’s Lose Your Mother: A Journey Along the Atlantic Slave Route is a tough reminder of the history of this country. Sometimes it is so easy to forget about slavery when you live in Labone in a fancy house, and all the Ghanaians love you because you’re American, and the Ghanaians themselves don’t often talk about or think about slavery. “What is it we choose to remember about the past and what is it we will to forget?” (p.15) Hartman has chosen to focus on this heartbreaking history. Although I don’t base my life around this particular issue, as many others do, I will never forget the lessons I have learned here.  

I volunteer at City of Refuge, an orphanage for trafficked children.  My friends and I decided to make a documentary about child trafficking in the Volta Region of Ghana, and it begins with a quote from a sign at Elmina Slave castle: “In Everlasting Memory of the anguish of our ancestors. May those who died rest in peace. May those who return find their roots. May humanity never again perpetrate such injustice against humanity. We, the living, vow to uphold this.” In order to keep my sanity, I need to not focus on the painful history that exists here at all times, and I don’t think it would be helpful to anyone for me to do so, but I always keep this quote in the back of my mind. The fact that human slavery still exists in various countries all over the world is not just a sad fact, but it is something that we need to fight against in order to uphold this promise.

The impact of seeing Elmina castle in person was more than I could have imagined. As a group it was clear that we cared about this country and its past, as we walked in silence around the castle. Some were crying, others were simply deep in thought, but everyone was affected by the power that this building held. Hartman talks about the Ghanaian perspective on historical slavery and how it is so far out of thought that it seems no one even cares. This was clear to me at the slave castle, as tour group of Ghanaians were running around the castle, laughing and talking like nothing was wrong, like they weren’t in the presence of something horrible. I think that Ghanaians themselves have more to learn from the past than outsiders.

I cannot speak for Ghanaians, or anybody else, but for me the experience of living in this country was, at times, very close to Hartman’s depiction. The tragedy of visiting slave castles and slave camps, and the Volta Region where child slavery still exists, will stay with me forever.

(Photo taken by me at Elmina Slave Castle)

(This photo of my crazy fam was taken by me)

Lose your New York sense of time. Lose your expectations. Lose your inhibitions. Ditch the sunscreen - get tan instead. Wear bug spray. Stock up on tampons before you leave. Know that getting sick is inevitable. Be comfortable talking about your bowel movements - for the first month or so, it will be a common topic of conversation. Learn how to pee in “piss boxes” without splash back … Or just pee in a gutter instead. Always put a smile on your face and be prepared for a lot of attention. Say hello to everyone you pass on your way to class. Accept that the word “Obruni” practically defines you. Mention President Obama and everyone will love you. Mention Kwame Nkrumah and they’ll love you even more. Learn your Ghanaian name and introduce yourself that way. Learn just enough Twi to get by. Travel to Togo, Benin, or Burkina Faso … with friends who speak French, preferably. Leave things to chance sometimes - you can’t expect everything to always go the way you planned. Take some risks. Drink water sachets. Drink gin sachets. Eat FanIce and FanYogo at least once - although I promise you’ll want them again. Learn to love coconuts and learn how to eat them. Bargain with taxi drivers before you get in. Try your best not to get annoyed when taxis stop for you and honk every two seconds. Don’t stay out late - it’s dangerous. Screw the rules and stay out late anyway. Go dancing, but skip reggae nights (I’ve heard it’s an Obruni trap). Always have a male friend around who can be your husband when you need it. Prepare a ridiculous back-story to avoid marriage proposals. Speak slowly - remember that you have an accent too. Ride in tro-tros as often as you can. Volunteer - it might be the most rewarding thing you will ever do. Don’t get too caught up with schoolwork. Steal water from the water cooler at the academic center. Ignore the sign that tells you not to. Drink a beer at Central Point at least once a day. Don’t go to the Accra Mall - the culture shock is unbearable. Befriend Marjorie, the seamstress, and make a lot of clothing. Watch Ghanaian movies. Eat pineapples continuously. Enjoy the mangoes too. Buy a phone and memorize your number. Don’t give your number out to too many Ghanaians. If you do, expect proverbial text messages on a daily basis. Buy MTN credit off the street. Buy snacks off the street. Buy things off the street even if you don’t know what they are. Experiment. Go bat-shit insane. Take the shortcuts to class, but don’t fall in the gutter. Buy egg sandwiches from Doreen, even though they’re overpriced. Play with the children. Play with the kittens. Get used to seeing goats and chickens as much as you see squirrels and pigeons in New York. Learn how to carry things on your head. Go on all of the NYU excursions. Sleep on long bus rides. Bring snacks. Bring a pillow. Bring a bathing suit. Form a new circle of friends - you might even call it a family. Immerse yourself in the culture as much as you can, but remember that occasionally it’s okay to stay inside the NYU bubble. Throw themed parties at Church Crescent and load up on alcohol. Get shit-faced. Kill a chicken. Climb a tree. Visit a village. Dress in local garb. Explore Kaneshi market and buy things you don’t really need. Cook as much as you can. Share food - it’s nice to be communal. Try grasscutter - it tastes like pork. Eat red-red, fufu, groundnut soup, and Waakye as often as you can. Don’t buy groceries from the grocery store. Stock up on Indomie and leftovers instead. Don’t get too mad when the internet cuts out. Don’t rely on Skype to ever work when you want it to. Get used to water shortages, power outages, and broken appliances. Pray that the AC won’t turn off in the middle of the night and leave you covered in sweat. Don’t take classes at Legon - everyone I know regrets it. Make friends with the Rasta’s on Ring Road. Accept the fact that most of the food here isn’t healthy, so don’t get upset if you gain a little weight. Make homemade smoothies. Eat lunch at Ashesi and drink Blue Skies. Go to Green Turtle Lodge or Kokrobite for a beach weekend getaway. Take a thousand pictures - you can never have too many. Keep a journal - there are way too many moments that you won’t want to forget. Accept the fact that the semester will go by quicker than you want it to. Make the best of the time you have here. Ghana is amazing, so plan to come back.

Botton’s chapter, “On Habit,” provides a very clear and indisputable message:  we often do not appreciate our surroundings. We travel to see new things and to gain a better understanding of the world.  Botton suggests that we do not need to travel in order to accomplish these things. Even if we live somewhere for years, there are details that we have forgotten or taken for granted or even never had the chance to notice in the first place. If we simply open our eyes and act as a traveler in our usual surroundings we will find things that fascinate us.
 
This, however, is easier said than done. Of course Botton can change his routine for one day. He can walk to the Underground while taking the time to notice storefronts and people he has never noticed before, but surely the next day he will return to his humdrum routine and the things he noticed the day before will simply be filed into the list of boring things about Hammersmith he already knows.
 
Perhaps there is a necessity to this kind of habitual thinking that Botton doesn’t recognize in this chapter. The feeling of being settled isn’t always a bad thing. Without it, we might never feel at home. Traveling to new places is exciting and exhilarating, but only for awhile. Eventually one must either settle in that new place and stop considering everything to be so new, or to return to his original home. This isn’t to say that noticing new things in one’s home is a bad thing. Living in New York City I am constantly seeing new things and having new experiences, but those things always fall into my already existent understanding of New York City as a whole. I cannot rediscover the city in its entirety. I can only discover new details of it.
 
This leads me to one of the biggest questions in my life – Is it better to know a little about a lot of things (or places) or to know a lot about one particular thing (or place)? Personally, I think I prefer the former. I could easily have stayed in New York this semester rather than going to Africa. I could have explored the many thousands of places in the city that I have never been and know nothing about, but I am glad that I spent my semester exploring West Africa instead. Of course I don’t know everything about New York City, as much as I may act like it. I could spend all my time in New York and become a real expert, but I would much rather get to know a little bit about many other places. I know a little bit about Accra, Tamale, Cape Coast, Tema, and Elmina in Ghana and Po, Ouagadougou, and Gorum-Gorum in Burkina Faso. And by the end of the year I will know a little bit about Rome, Florence, Vienna, Budapest, Szeged, Prague, London and many other cities as well. I will never regret this year of travel. 

(Photo taken by Jess Trane)

My thanksgiving in Ghana was one of the best I’ve ever had. I began the day at City of Refuge, the orphanage I work at. Stacy and Johnbull, the founders, organized a thanksgiving dinner for everyone. Stacy is from the US and they both lived there for some time, so they wanted to share Thanksgiving with the kids. We played with the kids for a few hours before the food was ready and then feasted on a mix of American and Ghanaian food. The children each stood in front of everyone and said what they were thankful for and then Johnbull prayed over the food, as they do at every meal. We ate turkey, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, and green bean casserole, as well as goat kebabs, rice, and fufu.
 
After the delicious meal, we got a ride from Johnbull to a tro-tro station. We got on a tro-tro and headed for home. We made it home just in time for me to skype with my family back in the States. All of the Magiers were at my dad’s house, so I got to say hi to everyone and wish them a happy Thanksgiving.
 
Then it was time for the Thanksgiving meal that NYU organized. In the courtyard of Church Crescent, the dorm I live in, there were fancy tables set up with lights and a tent and a DJ with an excellent taste in music. Everyone got dressed up. Scrambling in front of the mirror just before the meal began, I squeezed myself into a dress that I had made here. That’s one of my favorite things about living in Ghana – the ability to custom tailor clothes made from fabric that you buy at the market for a very low price. Mine was a white tube dress with gold dots and brown and orange flowers. I felt like I was going to prom, with my hair slicked back, my heels on, and my make-up done just right. Of course, that didn’t last long. The moment I sat down the zipper on my dress broke. I quickly ran to change, and made it back just as the microphone was being passed around for us all to say what we were thankful for. Mostly we all talked about the amazing semester we have had together in Ghana. There were some touching moments where I thought I might cry, but in the end I held it together. The meal was excellent. We had turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, and an assortment of desserts. My friend Sam and I had made a peach and pear cobbler the day before to add to the collection.
 
After dinner the DJ pumped up the volume and everyone (including the program director, the CRAs, and even the bus drivers) got up to dance. My friends and I had added a few gin sachets (yes, even gin comes in sachet form) to our drinks during the meal. It was my friend Kate’s birthday, so after about an hour or two of dancing we went into her house and crashed on the couches. We drank, we relaxed, and we played with balloons. The best part, however, was the slumber party. Because it was Kate’s birthday, and it was Thanksgiving, and we were all getting sad about leaving in 2 weeks, we brought four mattresses out into the living room and had the best slumber party of my life. After a day of food and dancing, what could be better?

For one of the NYU excursions towards the beginning of the semester we did a weekend homestay in Accra. My friend Sam and I were placed in the same home and the whole experience was just bizarre. We were staying with our host mother and father and their three year old son, Sammy. The first night, our host dad took us out for our a few drinks and the conversation we had was enlightening in so many ways.

Samuel Donkor is a very quiet man, and Sam and I felt the need to fill the silence in the car with small talk. We asked him questions about his family, his job, his life. When we ran out of things to talk about we started just pointing out things that are different in the US than here. He has never been outside of Africa and was particularly confused about the concept of a stroller. Here, the women all carry their babies on their backs, wrapped in cloth. When we got to the bar we sat in silence for a few minutes before Samuel started asking us questions. The first question he asked us was if we were married. We both were a bit shocked. Of course we’re not married! We’re only 20 years old. We have our whole lives to live. He told us that in Ghana, however, it’s very common to get married and have children very young.

We got into a very long discussion about relationships and how different they are in Ghana than the US. Samuel explained his belief that the man needs to be in control of the relationship and we explained our concept of equality. His beliefs are very typical of Ghanaian men, which is one reason it’s so hard to connect with people here. He said that it is because of equality that the divorce rate is so high in the US. He said that if both partners in the relationship have the same amount of control, there will be many more fights and it will likely end in divorce.  We argued that in Ghana there are more women stuck in unhappy relationships because of inequality and because divorce has such a stigma. I explained to him that my parents are divorced and that they are both much happier now than they were when they were married. No matter how much I tried to explain that often divorce is better than staying in an unhappy marriage, all he kept saying was, “no, no. Divorce is bad. It’s not good to get divorced.” We found out later that his parents had gotten divorced as well.

In many ways, Samuel Donkor is not like most Ghanaians. His parents got divorced, something very uncommon in Ghanaian culture. He got married late in life and only has one child. He lives with just his wife and son, whereas most Ghanaians live with a much larger extended family. In many other ways, however, he is a very typical Ghanaian. His beliefs are so traditional that he is ashamed of everything in his life that makes him unusual by Ghanaian standards. Overall, the homestay experience was an interesting look into modern Ghanaian life.

(Photo taken by Kim Fuerth)

What can I possibly say about Central Point? It’s a slab of cement under a tree with a table and some plastic chairs. I know it doesn’t sounds fancy or exciting, but it is one of my all-time favorite places in Accra, and it happens to be right around the corner from the NYU academic center … and they serve beer!

You can find me and my friends at Central Point any day of the week, any time – in the morning and afternoon, In between classes, before dinner, after dinner, you name it.  Across the street from the slab of cement is the storefront. All they have are sodas and beers and a few snacky items. I always buy a Club beer and a bag of small fried snacks similar to Chinese noodles. One beer costs two cedi and one bag of snacks costs fifty peswas, that’s less than two dollars in total. Sandra and Mary, the two young girls who work there, sit in front of the store everyday waiting for us rowdy NYU students to come by.

I walk out of class and immediately head to Central Point. Even if I am by myself, there is a 75 percent chance that some of my friends are already there. I grab a chair and sit down. In the US, hissing at someone is a no-no, but here in Ghana it is simply a way of getting someone’s attention. I hiss at one of the girls to come over and I order a Club. In a few minutes she brings out my beer. After awhile of drinking and chatting I have to pee, so I walk a few feet over to the piss box. The piss box (I didn’t make this up – that’s actually what they’re called) at central point is the best. Most piss boxes are like little cubicles, usually with no roof. They’re just four walls and a drain. The one at central point however, only has three walls, but it comes with a lovely view of the academic center! A few feet away from Central Point is our shortcut home. We always walk that way after we pay for our drinks. It’s a very narrow dirt pathway next to a very large gutter – not a great combination if you are at all intoxicated. I’m amazing that no one has fallen in … yet.

One reason I love Central Point so much is because of the simplicity of it. In fact, that’s one of the reasons I love Ghana altogether. A slab of concrete, a plastic chair, some beer, and some company are all I need to be satisfied.

(Photo Taken by Madison Graboyes)

Finding the “back regions” of Ghana has not been as tough as I originally thought it would. I think the reason for this is that Ghanaian’s love Americans. I keep reading in everyone else’s blog posts, particularly from those studying in Europe, that people react negatively towards them because they are form the US. Here in Ghana, however, we are treated like celebrities. I know that might sound extreme, but I’m serious! Whereas in many others countries it might be hard to find an authentic experience because the locals put up a barricade to block intruders, in Ghana I get invitations to visit people’s villages almost as often as I get marriage proposals.

The most recent “back region” experience I had came when we did a homestay and build in a rural village for a weekend with NYU. On the bus ride there Christa, the associate director of NYU in Ghana, told us to expect a warm welcome. She also warned us that the welcome ceremony might seem fake, or planned, or exaggerated because we’re American tourists, but she assured us that ceremonies like that are a normal part of Ghanaian life. If I had not already been in this country for months (and witnessed something just like this already) I would have thought she was lying. But the truth of the matter is that Ghanaians celebrate anything and everything. We were entering into their village to paint a school and build a urinal and boy were they ready for us. We walked down the dirt road into the village and suddenly there was music. Everyone in town came to greet us. They swarmed us with song and dance and plenty of hugs and kisses.

We spent the entire day building in the heat, shoveling, and carrying giant bowls of cement on our heads. At the end of the day we went with our host families. I stayed in a small brick house – just one bed, no lights, a desk, and a mattress on the floor for me – with my host brother. My host mom, who didn’t speak English, cooked us Fufu for dinner, a local dish made of Cassava and plantains that you eat with your hands. The next morning she decided to dress me up for church in an entirely traditional outfit. When I got to church I quickly realized that everyone else’s host mothers had decided the same thing. If it weren’t for our pasty white skin, we would have looked almost normal there.

As a foreigner, you are never going to find a “truly authentic” experience because you are not from the country you desire to experience. Being in that village I ate the food, wore the clothing, and went to church, but it was only for one day and of course I was still treated as a foreigner. But I have to say, I think we came the closest we possibly could. And the most amazing part is that this was not the first truly Ghanaian experience I have had here. I hope it’s not the last.

(Photo taken by Kate Stockhecker)

The second half of my fall break was wildly different than the first (see blog post #10 for fall break part 1). I must admit that trying to squeeze all that happened during those 8 days into one blog post will be quite the challenge. This article might get a little lengthy, but the stories are worth it. I promise.

Let me begin by mentioning that we knew before we left on fall break that we would be spending much of our time in transportation, mostly in tro-tro’s, which are basically overcrowded vans, the main form of public transportation here in Ghana. So, just to keep things interesting, I decided to keep a tally in my journal of the hours spent in transit. The final count? Sixty-nine and half hours. That’s almost three full days. The second largest chunk of travel time came the day we left the Volta Region. The trip to Tamale ended up taking 12 hours. Our bus broke down about eight times, at least. We all piled out of the bus to buy some water and stretch our legs in these small villages in the middle of nowhere while the driver tried to fix the vehicle – yet again.

My favorite thing about this day was the girl who mistook us for aliens. Many of the children in these small remote villages have never seen white people before. Sitting under a tree, we waved hello to the kids in the village. Most of them looked at us with interest, tried playing games or touching our skin (were they looking for scales? It’s a possibility), but one little girl would not stop crying. She seemed as though she was in fear for her life.

Eventually, we made it to Tamale. The whole trip from Volta to Tamale took 12 hours. Exhausted and sweaty and covered in dirt, we met our friends at a restaurant for dinner. After a nice meal and a few drinks, my friends somehow convinced me to get on another tro-tro to Bolgatanga, a city much closer to the Burkina Faso border. We crashed for the night at a Christian Hostel and headed to Burkina the next morning. After getting our vises we went to Po, where we had a few drinks and arranged for a “quatre-quatre” to take us to Ranch de Nazinga, a national park. We all piled into the back of this pick-up truck and headed into the park. It was the bumpiest ride of my life, and the road was so narrow that we had to duck every few minutes to avoid being wacked in the face by trees. It was late at night and as we sped through the forest we told scary stories in the back of truck.

The driver slept in his truck (I think) while we stayed at the hotel and the next morning he took us on a safari. We only saw baboons and waterbuck, but it was still a great trip. When we got back from the Safari we headed to Ouagadougou, the capital of Burkina Faso. The bakeries in Ouaga were amazing.  I had quiches and apple tarts and ham and cheese sandwiches on French bread. After one night in Ouaga we headed to Gorum-Gorum.

The time we spent in Gorum-Gorum was by far my favorite part of the trip. Burkina Faso is a very Muslim country, and most of the inhabitants of Gorum-Gorum are Tuareg people, a nomadic group that live mostly in the Saharan region and North Africa. The jewelry and clothing there was absolutely gorgeous. My friends and I explored the market and had traditional clothing made. We hired a guide to take us on a camel trek into the Sahel desert. We rode on camels in our traditional garb for about two hours as the sun set into the dessert towards an Oasis where we would spend the night. The expanse of the sky in the middle of the desert was humbling.

We came back on the camels the next day and headed back to Ouagadougou for a few nights of relaxation before our 24 hour bus ride back to Accra. After all of this traveling, I have to say, I feel like I can do anything.The second half of my fall break was wildly different than the first (see blog post #10 for fall break part 1). I must admit that trying to squeeze all that happened during those 8 days into one blog post will be quite the challenge. This article might get a little lengthy, but the stories are worth it. I promise.

Let me begin by mentioning that we knew before we left on fall break that we would be spending much of our time in transportation, mostly in tro-tro’s, which are basically overcrowded vans, the main form of public transportation here in Ghana. So, just to keep things interesting, I decided to keep a tally in my journal of the hours spent in transit. The final count? Sixty-nine and half hours. That’s almost three full days. The second largest chunk of travel time came the day we left the Volta Region. The trip to Tamale ended up taking 12 hours. Our bus broke down about eight times, at least. We all piled out of the bus to buy some water and stretch our legs in these small villages in the middle of nowhere while the driver tried to fix the vehicle – yet again.

My favorite thing about this day was the girl who mistook us for aliens. Many of the children in these small remote villages have never seen white people before. Sitting under a tree, we waved hello to the kids in the village. Most of them looked at us with interest, tried playing games or touching our skin (were they looking for scales? It’s a possibility), but one little girl would not stop crying. She seemed as though she was in fear for her life.

Eventually, we made it to Tamale. The whole trip from Volta to Tamale took 12 hours. Exhausted and sweaty and covered in dirt, we met our friends at a restaurant for dinner. After a nice meal and a few drinks, my friends somehow convinced me to get on another tro-tro to Bolgatanga, a city much closer to the Burkina Faso border. We crashed for the night at a Christian Hostel and headed to Burkina the next morning. After getting our vises we went to Po, where we had a few drinks and arranged for a “quatre-quatre” to take us to Ranch de Nazinga, a national park. We all piled into the back of this pick-up truck and headed into the park. It was the bumpiest ride of my life, and the road was so narrow that we had to duck every few minutes to avoid being wacked in the face by trees. It was late at night and as we sped through the forest we told scary stories in the back of truck.

The driver slept in his truck (I think) while we stayed at the hotel and the next morning he took us on a safari. We only saw baboons and waterbuck, but it was still a great trip. When we got back from the Safari we headed to Ouagadougou, the capital of Burkina Faso. The bakeries in Ouaga were amazing.  I had quiches and apple tarts and ham and cheese sandwiches on French bread. After one night in Ouaga we headed to Gorum-Gorum.

The time we spent in Gorum-Gorum was by far my favorite part of the trip. Burkina Faso is a very Muslim country, and most of the inhabitants of Gorum-Gorum are Tuareg people, a nomadic group that live mostly in the Saharan region and North Africa. The jewelry and clothing there was absolutely gorgeous. My friends and I explored the market and had traditional clothing made. We hired a guide to take us on a camel trek into the Sahel desert. We rode on camels in our traditional garb for about two hours as the sun set into the dessert towards an Oasis where we would spend the night. The expanse of the sky in the middle of the desert was humbling.

We came back on the camels the next day and headed back to Ouagadougou for a few nights of relaxation before our 24 hour bus ride back to Accra. After all of this traveling, I have to say, I feel like I can do anything.

Photo taken by Kate Stockhecker


As I mentioned in an earlier post, I volunteer at an orphanage called City of Refuge. Stacy and Johnbull, the directors of the orphanage are two of the most kind-hearted people I have ever known. He is Nigerian and she is from South Carolina. They met in college and now they dedicate their lives to saving Ghanaian children who have been sold as slaves and forced to work for no pay.  

At the beginning of the semester they invited us to the Volta Region to speak with slave masters and chiefs and learn more about the issue at hand. Around the same time we were working on an idea for a documentary for our NYU class “Documenting the African City.” With Stacy and Johnbull’s permission, we decided to take cameras to the Volta Region with us on fall break and film interviews with the slave masters and chiefs. The experience was incredible.

We left Tema at one in the morning. The members of the trip included about ten NYU students, and Australian couple who had been volunteering at COR for about a week, Stacy and Johnbull, and their staff. The drive was long and bumpy, but eventually we made it to Krachi where we took a ferry across the Volta Lake. When we got to the house we had a few hours to relax before we headed out for our first interview.

We first met with the parliamentary chief, who explained his views on the issue. He seemed to be aware of the problem and very willing to work towards change. Next we met briefly with the chief of a small village in the area. Stacy and Johnbull had spoken with this man many times before. He continually denies the existence of child slavery in his village even though they have proof that it happens there. Immediately during our interview he became defensive, saying that all children go to school and that child trafficking does not exist. Unfortunately, the sun was going down so we had to pack up our cameras and try again the next day.

The next day we were actually able to talk to a child who was sold into slavery in that village. We rented a big boat and went out onto the lake looking for him with his master. Stacy and Johnbull have been working with his master and they are negotiating to free him. We conducted an interview with Godfried, the child slave, and his master. It was clear that Godfried didn’t want to answer some of our questions because his master was there. When we asked him if he wished that he could go to school, he simply nodded. It was heartbreaking.

After that interview, we went back to talk to the chief. Yet again, he denied everything. He didn’t know that we had footage of Godfried’s master admitting to it all. He said on camera that he had purchased Godfried from his parents when he was very young. He even told us how much he paid. Meanwhile the chief just sat there, sweating, nervously telling us that every child in the village goes to school. The footage was amazing. The experience of talking to all of these people and filming it was absolutely incredible. Our weekend ended at 4:00 AM while we waited under the starry sky for a hired tro-tro to come pick us up to begin the next leg of our fall break. I was amazed with what we had accomplished and excited for what was to come next – Burkina Faso.

(…to be Continued)

A visit to the Arts Center in downtown Accra is an overwhelming endeavor. The first time I visited the Arts Center was during the NYU in Ghana orientation. After my first visit I swore I would never go back. Between the handicrafts I didn’t need or want (and could find for much cheaper elsewhere if I did) and the aggressive nature of the shop keepers, I felt no need to visit the Arts Center, one of Accra’s biggest tourist traps ever aga. Well, as they say, never say never. My family came to visit me this past week and my dad was looking to buy some traditional Kente cloth. We asked around at the market and it seemed that The Arts Center was the only place to buy it. So I took a deep breath and got in a taxi.

Of course anywhere in the city, such as Osu or the market, people will try to get your attention and show the items they are selling in the hopes that you will be interested, but nowhere is the competition between sellers so great as at the Arts Center. We got out of the taxi and before we even got through the entranceway sellers were crowding us. Alex, the first person to get our attention and guide us inside, gave us his spiel.

“Oh! You’re from America! I love America. I have a brother there. Yes yes, Bronx! So you come to the Aht Centah to buy some drums yah? I am a rasta, see? Peace and love, peace and love. So, you know, everybody wants your business, wants you to buy paintings or sculptures, but I was the first person who met you at the gate. Yes. My shop is over here, okay? You come and look at my drums, take home to America.”Our “friend” wouldn’t leave us alone until we promised to come see his shop. The next five people did the same thing, and this was all before we even entered the gate.

The Arts Center isn’t all bad, though. The paintings certainly do deserve some credit, but I do find it interesting that all of the artwork I have seen is of the same style. The paintings all over Accra, even all over Ghana, that are sold in these touristy shops or by artists at the side of the road are all so similar, down to the brushstrokes and the use of color. They are quite beautiful though, and provide a great way to remember my time here, so I bought one. All in all, the Arts Center is a crazy mess of pushy shop owners, unremarkable handicrafts, and more bargaining than I can handle, but there are still some gems mixed in.

I have a confession to make. Community service was not something that attracted me to Ghana. I came here for purely selfish reasons. I remember reading about the community service opportunities from my apartment in NYC and thinking that I might just be in the minority of students who didn’t do any community service during my stay in Ghana. I was entirely wrong.

Originally I felt sort of pressured to do community service during my semester here. Everybody else in the program seemed genuinely passionate about it, so I felt obligated to participate. Many of my friends have even told me that the community service aspect of the program was what drew them to Ghana in the first place. So, out of obligation and a slight feeling of guilt, I signed up to do community service at an orphanage for trafficked children. I can honestly say that my first day at City of Refuge changed my life. I went with two of my friends who had signed up to work at the same orphanage. We made the hour long commute into Tema and met some of the kids for the very first time. Little Portia, the three year-old firecracker who loves attention more than anything else, was our first introduction. She latched onto me and acted as a reminder of how much I love children. Somehow I had forgotten.

Our meeting with Stacy and Johnbull, the directors of the orphanage, only made me that much more ecstatic for the upcoming semester. They told us about the issue of child trafficking (which I would go on to make a documentary about for my film class) and explained what we would be doing with the kids for the next few months.

Thursdays and Fridays at City of Refuge have since become routine. We show up and the kids are playing games: football, duck duck goose, hand games, tag, and more. Eventually it’s time to wind down and bring them inside for class. I tutor them in reading, writing, and math. And then it’s play time – unstructured silliness rules the building and courtyard. It’s hard to remember being so easily entertained. My relationship with these kids has grown overtime and the bond I feel with them is getting stronger and stronger with every day that I go.

The most significant, eye-opening, and insightful part of this whole experience for me, though, has been making this documentary. Stacy and Johnbull invited us at the beginning of the semester to come to the Volta region to a set of small fishing villages where they save most of their children from. We jumped on the opportunity. Talking to chiefs of the villages, slave masters, and even a child slave in person was a very humbling experience. The issue at hand is vast, and making this documentary I feel that I might be able to actually make a difference.
It is impossible to express in 500 words the amount that this semester and my experience with community service at City of Refuge has altered my perspective. Al I can say is that I have been changed.
 

It’s strange to think that Accra has become my reality. I walk on dirt roads, pee in urinal gutters and buy coconuts off the street without thinking twice. These small details which seemed so significant before I arrived are now so commonplace. A day in the life of Leilah in Ghana begins with an alarm clock, like anywhere else. I wake up on Thursday mornings for my Africana Music and Dance class, a class I am taking from one of the local universities. I walk the dirt road to class, passing by the many Ghanaians by the road who love to wave and say hello, testing me on my knowledge of Twi.

After class my friend and I prepare our usual breakfast. Before arriving home we stop at the produce lady, who has a beard and sells fruit from a stand on the corner. We buy avocados, onions, and many types of fruit, particularly pineapple – lots and lots of pineapple. We walk home and prepare the best breakfast ever – eggs sandwiches on pita with cheese, avocado, onions and hot sauce. We wash it down with a smoothie so delicious it makes everything else taste like tar – a perfect combination of pineapple, juices, ice, bananas, coconut, and ginger.

Granted the water in my house is working (something that should never be taken for granted), I take a shower and get ready for the rest of my day. Thursdays are the days I go to community service. My two closest friends and I work at City of Refuge, and orphanage for trafficked children. It’s a long commute and very tiring, but the experience is well worth it. We leave our dorm at 12:00. We walk to Labone Junction a two-minute walk from where we live to get in a shared taxi to 37 Junction. The shared taxi rate is only 60 peswas per person to 37 Junction, where we get out of the taxi and into a tro-tro. NYU warned us to avoid tro-tros, but honestly speaking they are my favorite more of transportation. A tro-tro is basically a small van that travels between the many junctions. A tro-tro from 37 to Tema costs 2 cedi and 30 peswas per person - a sweet deal for an hour long ride. Once we arrive in Tema we have to hire another taxi to take us to City of Refuge.

The school day is usually coming to a close by the time we get there. We spend the rest of the day playing football (yes, that means soccer) and board games and generally just running around a screaming with the kids. It makes my day. By the end of the day, we’re tired and hungry. We get home just in time for our NYU meal plan group dinner at our favorite restaurant, Sunshine Salads. We all hop in the van and head home, bellies stuffed with samosas, rice, salad, and curry. Homework and drinking make up the rest of my night. Another great day in Accra. 

I find it hard reading George Packer’s “The Village of Waiting” while sitting in my massive house in Accra, Ghana. It’s a similar feeling to when I read about Ghana from my fancy apartment in NYC.  The book is about a man’s experience living and working in Togo. Togo is a very different country than Ghana and the book was published in 1984. Packer paints a picture of the village as extremely harsh, underdeveloped, and depressing. It’s hard for me to picture.

A lot has changed since 1984. For starters, the development of the country has progressed immensely. A few friends on the NYU in Ghana program have traveled to Togo on spare weekends. Although I haven’t been there myself, I’ve created an image in my head of the country from the stories they’ve told. They told me that Togo is noticeable poorer than Ghana, or at least poorer than Accra. The beaches are still used as an “unofficial public toilet” - human feces are scattered along the shores. My mind immediately contrasts this with the fancy bank buildings and car dealerships located in Accra.                  

I realized reading this book a fact that I already knew but keep forgetting. As Einstein once so cleverly stated, everything is relative. I remember reading about Ghana before I left and having a hard time picturing my what my life would be like. Dirt roads? Open gutters? Year-round heat? Malaria infested mosquitoes? Unreliable AC, water, internet, power and gas? But now that I’m here it’s just life. Certainly I must realize that even in NY I didn’t I have all of the commodities that people in, let’s say, Beverly Hills have, but it never affected me. Almost anywhere in the world you will be “better off” or “worse off” than someone in another part of the world for one reason or another. My current state of living is not comparable to my state in NY, but I hardly notice it anymore. Reading about life in Togo in 1984, it’s hard to imagine that I ever thought life in Ghana might be tough. 

The alarm goes off at 3:30 am and I’m covered in sand.  We’re at the Green Turtle Lodge in Takoradi, Ghana, getting ready for a long journey home after an amazing weekend. Leigh, Kate, and Madison arrived at GTL on Friday. Trevor, Sam, Scott, and I arrived the next day. It’s amazing to me that I have only known them for three weeks. I feel as though it’s been forever.

Our weekend began on the 5:00 am STC bus from Accra. We had to wake up at 4:00 in order to get ready and get there on time. Waiting in line for the bus, I decided I had to pee. Bad idea. The “bathrooms” at these major bus stations are literally open gutters that you pay to stand over and pee in. Needless to say, I held it. The sun rose during our five hour ride and we made it to Takoradi with no setbacks. Takoradi looked surprisingly similar to Accra. But to be fair, we didn’t spend much time there, just enough to grab a quick bite to eat and charter a taxi to GTL. The lodge was an hour away, a drive through a small fishing village. Goats roamed the rough terrain we drove over and little children followed our taxi through the streets, waving excitedly at the four obrunis riding through town.

When we got to the resort we were greeted by the smiling tan faces of our friends, the warm sand beckoning us to lie down, and the soothing sound of the waves crashing on shore. It was entirely unreal. I kept trying to reconstruct how I ended up at a beach resort in Ghana with amazing friends I’m sad I didn’t meet sooner. After a few hours of lounging we decided to take a walk down the beach. A ways down the beach is another small fishing village. As we got closer there were about five little kids waiting to greet us. They seemed hesitant to approach us, that is, until they noticed Trevor’s camera. Immediately they went wild. The children here love cameras. They love to have their picture taken and even more they love seeing their faces on your LCD screen. Within a matter of minutes they grew in number. Suddenly there were at least ten kids for every one of us. Taking pictures, being silly, playing football, and dancing the hokie pokie. Of course they got a little grabby at times, asking us for money or a sip of Scott’s beer, but all in all is was the most fun I’ve had since I was their age.

It was so hard to leave. They wouldn’t let us. Three of them clung to my legs as I tried walking back to the lodge. I can’t even remember how I managed to escape the surprisingly strong grip of their little hands.

The sleeping arrangement at Green Turtle left something to be desired, but was definitely an experience worth having. We slept in tents in a little open hut. The sand and the wind were inescapable and unpleasant to say the least, but the sound of the ocean (combined with the lack of sleep I already had) allowed me to drift into rest … but not for long. The next morning we woke ourselves up at 5:30 am to be ready for a canoe trip we had signed up for. The guided canoe trip through the mangroves was well worth the eight cedi we paid, even though we did not see the monkeys we were promised. The rest of the day was all relaxation and fun. We swam, we drank, we slept, we tanned.  Nothing more was needed.

After the sun had sunk and our bottles were empty, we went to sleep for the second night in our tents.  But again, we did not sleep long. In order to be back in Accra on time, we had to leave GTL at 4:00 am. Two of our friends had left a day earlier, so there were five of us left to cram into a cab for the hour-long ride back to Takoradi. We arrived in Takoradi just on time and got on an MMT bus to Accra. I began to recognize the city as we rolled in. We got in a cab and headed home. I paid the driver, rolled out the back seat, walked through the gate, entered my house, and crashed on my bed to sleep the weekend off. All I can say is that I was satisfied.

(Photo taken by Trevor Cox)