Rachel's blog

Deciding what to write for my last blog entry for this class has been incredibly difficult. Ever since I hit the one-week left mark I’ve been debating on a topic and have even written an entry on the values of blogging that I have since scrapped (not entirely, just for the purposes of this particular entry). Its hard, if not impossible to sum up a semester’s worth of experience in a foreign country in just a single blog entry. There is no way that I can do my experience in Ghana justice. But as I think back on all of the things that I’ve experienced here and deal with the extremes of the mixed feelings that I have as our day of departure rapidly approaches I still don’t know, as I write this third blog entry draft, days after the deadline, what to write about.
 
Living in Ghana has been nothing short of a wild ride. I definitely hit each and every one of the “stages” of cultural adjustment—at times thinking Ghana was the best country in the world and at times wishing I was anywhere else. I’ve grown tremendously by learning about a vastly different culture and being weaned off of some of our “1st world” amenities and luxuries. I’ve made great friends (both Ghanaians and Americans) and had incredible, once in a lifetime experiences.  I’ve gone across bridges over the canopy of the rainforest, played in the base of a waterfall, stayed in a rural village, “backpacked” through other parts of West Africa, gone to Ghanaian night clubs, balanced mortar on my head, worn traditional African clothing, sang my national anthem in front of a bunch of Europeans, implemented a grasscutter project, eaten foods that I’d never heard of before coming to Ghana and so many other wild, bizarre and fun things.  And as I am getting close to the end I’m panicking a little bit (and at the same time wanting nothing more than to leave), feeling like, even with all of the great things that I did, I still didn’t do or see enough. At the same time, I can’t help but hear the Twi phrase yɛbɛhyia bio —“we will meet again.”
 
When I lived in Mississippi was not at all aware of the opportunity that I had there. The fact that I was getting an entirely unique experience that would influence and be with me for the rest of my life. It wasn’t until after I had left, disgruntled and frustrated because of the stress cause by my job that I realized how attached I’d become to that small, rural town. I missed Clarksdale desperately after I left and found a way to visit again within my first semester in college. I can’t help but feel, even know that Mississippi has a special pull on my heart (one that has tugged even harder since being in Ghana coincidently enough) and after being just a little bit older and a little bit wiser, I think I can see, even in my adamant disdain for Ghanaian time and this overbearing heat, that Ghana too will have that special pull on my heart. I don’t see myself coming back here within the next year, but truth be told I can’t imagine that at some point in my life I won’t be back. Ghana, I think, has become too much a part of who I am, and even when there are times where I curse the entire country, I think it is a place that I’ve grown very connected to. The reasons for this are unclear to me. Maybe it is part due to the fact that it is much like the American South or maybe it is just because the people here are so hospitable or it might just be because I have actually lived 4 ½ of my so far very short life here, but I think it is safe to say that Ghana is now very important to me. I know that back in the states I will be cooking Ghanaian meals, listening to Ghanaian music, wearing my Ghanaian clothing and nostalgically looking at my Ghanaian photographs wishing I could go back. It’s too early now, to say for what or how long I will come back to Ghana, but I feel like based on my experience here in addition to my goodbyes, I can confidently say, “Ghana, yɛbɛhyia bio.”

(This image is one of me and my rural homestay mother and father...this was definitely my favorite weekend in Ghana and I think it is in part representative of why I want to come back!)

I really don’t like giving advice and so for this particular entry, thanks in part to the wonders of social networking , I surveyed my other people in the program to see what tips and advice they thought that I should give to students entering the NYU Accra program (or just coming to Ghana) in the future. The string of “comments” on my “status,” and answers to my questions at the dinner table gave all different kinds of tips, some practical, some serious, some joking. Some suggested bringing tubes and tubes of anti-itch cream for the inevitable rashes and bug bites, others insisted on American snacks and comfort foods due to the difficulty in finding even close substitutes for the junk foods that we love and a few girls suggested bringing a fake engagement or wedding ring to ward off the unscrupulous marriage proposals.
 
What the diversity in these “tips” revealed was how even when we were all together in the same country, the same city and usually the same house, we were having fairly different experiences that warranted vastly different advice. (This as you can imagine was a bit of a shock to me considering this class seems to have revealed that those studying in Europe, South America and Africa are all having somewhat serious experiences). All these different sets of advice, some situated around comfort, and others around adventure (you must go to Togo!), revealed to an extent my fear about giving out advice in the first place. We all come from different places in giving the advice and receive from equally different places. Even forty girls who live, eat, sleep and study together in Accra can’t agree on what is most important for people to know who are coming here, how could I do that alone? So instead of giving tips, or advice to future NYU Accra students I will share with you a few things that I wish I had known before I came. These are all based off of personal experience and I have been compiling this list ever since my highly unpleasant incident with Doxycycline. Though there aren’t an explicit tips and it is my own personal list hopefully it can be helpful in someway to someone else.
 

• The recommendation of wearing skirts to your knees isn’t arbitrary. Many Ghanaians only show their thighs to their spouses, so to wear shorts or a short skirt is revealing something very private. (It’s no wonder Americans get so much attention from Ghanaian men.)
•   When they say most people speak Twi, what they mean is that most people speak some version of Twi and while native speakers can understand one another beginner Twi speakers will have trouble in a lot of cases. Even still a tiny bit of Twi can get you a long way with people.
•  In the early months of the year there is a period of time called Harmattan. Which is when, in theory, dust from the Sarhara is covering the sun and makes Accra appear to be cloudy and cooler. You can still get sunburned and even though it is hot then, it gets even hotter later.
•  People use the word Obruoni as if it is your name. They’ll not just call it out as a general announcement but use it to get your attention. If that doesn’t work they’ll start shouting out Ghanaian day names. If they get your attention people will ask you what day you were born on.
• Febreeze can be a lifesaver.
•   Bribing (sometimes known as “dashing”) really happens. Whether or not you choose to participate is definitely your choice, but don’t think you won’t get asked.
•  Doxycycline is a crazy medication. It is only 70% effective (but is the least expensive and can’t cause anxiety attacks like some of the others).  It can make you more nauseated than you’ve ever been in your life if you take it on an empty stomach. And taking it with a full glass of water is not a recommendation it is a necessity (Doxy is HIGHLY inflammatory and not doing so can result in damaging your esophagus and getting chronic acid reflux for the rest of the time you take it.)
• Ghanaians really are the most hospitable people you will ever meet. And there are times when people won’t stop giving you food even if you aren’t hungry.
•  Mosquito repellents are good, but Deet really isn’t necessary (in fact some research is saying that it may be now attracting mosquitoes). No one in Ghana wears repellent but they have some really great less environmentally harmful alternatives to Deet in the pharmacies.
•  When they tell you the internet and power is unreliable at the NYU dorms they don’t mean that it will go off for days (although sometimes it does) what they mean is that at least 10 times a day it will shut off for about 2 minutes.
• Despite Kwame Nkrumah’s controversial record people love him here.
• Ghanaians take dressing very seriously. Often the amount of “respect” that you are given will be based on how you look.
• They take credit cards at some of the big grocery stores but literally everything else is on a cash only basis. ATM’s are sometimes hard to find but are often located in clusters.
• The North is very different from Southern Ghana. And they have the cheapest Safari in the world in Mole National Park. Bus rides can be a painful 12-18 hours but there are also flights from the major cities which if booked far enough in advance could be reasonably priced.
•  Shipping anything larger than a letter internationally is unreasonable.
•  Accra’s airport, though international, is expensive to get out of. Travel Agents are really helpful in Ghana, since there are often times when you cannot charge things on your credit card due to identity theft scares.
•  Kente comes from Ghana.
• Some parts of Ghana are truly a tropical paradise; it just takes a little bit of looking. (Bojo Beach about an hour outside of Accra is a great example).

(This is a picture that I took of a beach in Ghana that is so beautiful and so quiet. I think most people are unaware how beautiful of a country Ghana is and how beautiful of a coast it has.) 

When I think of who I am, what it is that comprises my identity, what never comes up is “American.” Until I came to Ghana the U.S. was just the country in which I lived. It had nothing to do with who I was or what I was like. If other’s identified me as American, it was because they didn’t know me or had no other way to identify me. They way I saw it, for the most part if my house was in China, Chile or Cameroon I’d still be the same exact person. But one of the things that has changed most about me since I’ve come to Ghana, even as I have developed Ghanaian expressions and some body language, is that I have begun to see myself as an American.
 
One thing that I find myself repeating over and over to friends and family back home is “everything here is completely different.” Especially when you go to the rural areas of Ghana, I feel like it would be safe to say that there is no place less like New York City (at least not one that I’ve yet seen) than Ghana. Even observing the commonalities that all human beings share with one another--a love of humor, a search for meaning, a constant toil for survival, value in love and peace and constant cycles of innovation and discontent -- difference between the “American Way of Life” and that of the Ghanaians is clear and vast. So I find myself in the moments when the differences are made so clear identifying for the first time as an American.
 
I see the American in myself throughout my day to day experiences and my confusion about things in Ghana that are so contrary to American “values.”  I get frustrated at the tro-tro stations when people push and shove to get into a car, because I believe things should be orderly and controlled. I’ve found that I too subscribe to the American myth of unbiased and objective journalism when I am shocked by the insertion of opinion into news stories. I can’t possibly understand why the numerous economic opportunities that I see in areas of tourism, micro-livestock, ethnic foods, transportation and waste cleanup are left unexplored. I am surprised and offended by the way the men in my classes poke fun at the women, who through my American lens, I see as equally intelligent and capable as the men. I get excited when things have a standard price and I don’t have to bargain in order to pay a reasonable amount of money. I’ve realized that no matter if I am in Tamale, Cape Coast, rural Ghana or even Togo, I need my morning coffee (preferably not instant) in order to start the day and even though I find it a little bit strange I love seeing the American flag or President Barack Obama’s face on a shirt or notebook in Ghana.
 
In traveling to Ghana I sought to observe and be someplace with a completely open mind and fresh slate. But this, I’ve found is completely impossible. In a Ben Folds song, Fired, there is a line that says “Everywhere I go, Damn, There I am.” And it wasn’t until I was in Ghana, far from nearly everything that was familiar, that I realized how completely truthful that line is. No matter how far away you go from home, you always bring yourself. You bring the culture in which you were raised, the lens through which you see the world. You can’t leave any of that behind. It isn’t that when I came to Ghana the differences made me more American, its just that they highlighted how American I am, how much of my experience in Ghana was actually what I  was experiencing as American.
 
The beauty of all this is, that even in my “Americanness” I am learning to love some things about Ghana that aren’t particularly American, the slow pace of living and working, the clothing and music, phrases and hand gestures and perfectly express things that I’ve been unable to express adequately with American mannerisms. Despite being an American in Ghana now, when I go back to the U.S. in June I will have a little bit of Ghana with me there. I will take some of what I love from here home with me and incorporate it into my identity. Because although at the end of the day, I am an American, “what I am” is comprised of my experiences and adding four months of living in Ghana to that, begins to change the person that I bring along with me wherever it is that I go. 

(This is a photo of me, taken by a friend. Everywhere we go villagers will dance for us and then ask us to dance with them. This time we all had to take a turn in the middle. This was totally against my general way of behaving--I highly dislike being the center of attention--and while I had to embrace it and dance anyhow I wanted nothing more than out of that circle. I feel like this picture is fitting because it captures one of the moments in which I was totally aware that I'd brought myself with me to Ghana)

Ghanaians are known for their hospitality. If you ever feel lonely in Ghana, it is probably because you are trying to isolate yourself.Part of that hospitality mandates that in Ghana it is a cultural must to greet people as you pass. Because of an impromptu lesson on this matter, I gained a friend named Michael. 
 
Michael is a guard who works in my neighborhood (just down the street). One day when I was still slowly adjusting to the heat and thus headed to buy a water, I walked by him and his friends, practically panting toward Blessing Enterprises (see previous entry). On the way back, when I passed him again, he good-naturedly reprimanded me for not greeting him and his friends: "Here we say hello when we pass one another. You walked right by us and didn't say a word!"

*Saying hello to people on the street is something that I actually am very used to. It is fairly common  in the Midwest and a must in the rural South, you not only say hello there but you ask about family (walking from the post office to my house could take a really long time if I even vaguely knew the people that I ran into). Likewise in Ghana, you must say good morning, and ask how someone is. If you know them you will stop briefly and inquire after their family or their weekend. It was actually quite unlike me to not at least wave and smile. But for some reason that day (hot and suffering from sensory overload if I had to guess) I walked by, on my mission to get water, and maybe it was for the best, because it seems that I got a new friend out of being too overheated and grumpy to be polite. 

I, of course, now much better hydrated and therefore much more pleasant, apologized profusely, greeted him and we introduced ourselves. The next time I saw Michael, he beckoned me with a giant wave and smile and we talked a bit about what I was doing here. After telling him that I was with NYU he told me that he had been a friend to previous NYU Accra students. He then told me a bit about himself and then we parted ways. Every time I saw him from then on I would stop for a brief conversation, usually just pleasantries, but as time went on they began to be longer and more personal.
 
By mid-semester I was starting to call Michael a friend. He was someone that I was always happy to see, someone who was always friendly, nice
and welcoming. Michael always has a huge smile on his face and offers a hug. He will hold your hand the entire time to he talks to you and is no stranger to telling you how much he has missed you or how happy he is to see you.
 
Michael has given me great inside knowledge about Ghana. He told me about news that he had heard of (even before it came out in the newspaper).  He's given me information on places to visit in and near Accra and also little bit of advice about daily life here (watching out for men, and being careful at night and such) .  He tells me a little bit about the neighborhood that we live in and the people that stay here too. Once in a while, he will insist on testing out my sub-par Twi, encouraging me that by the time I leave I will certainly be a true “Ghanaian.”
 
After getting to know more about Michael I began to want to make him friends of my friends too! When my family came to visit I introduced them to one another. Every time I pass, I introduce the friend that I am with to him, despite the hesitation that my friends have that he may be like some other Ghanaian men, just friendly because of the possibility of a visa. (It’s really wonderful to be able to assure them that he isn’t). 
 
Its safe to say that Michael's friendship has been a special and comforting part of my time here in Ghana. When everything is so different and so overwhelming, its so wonderful to see a familiar but local face that you know you can trust. When he is equally as excited to see me as I am to see him, I begin to feel as If I am really a part of the neighborhood instead of just someone who happens to be living there during my short stay in Accra. It isn’t surprising to me at all, that NYU Accra students easily become friends with him. His presence and friendship has been extremely helpful to making Ghana feel like a home, and for that I am sure I can speak for all of Michael’s NYU Accra friends in saying we are truly grateful. 

(This image was taken of Michael by me, he was pretty excited that I was going to write about it and so he took me inside of the gate of the home that he works in and found some nice flowers for the background!)

To try to determine one place, person, food or even experience that epitomized the spirit of Ghana is a pretty impossible task, not only because I don’t fully feel qualified to say what the spirit of Ghana actually is or because Ghana is such a diverse country but also because just like any other culture or country around the world, to find one thing that just can give someone an idea of a country, is well, just not possible. So after much thought, debate and looking through my iPhoto library in hope that it would provide some inspiration, I decided to cheat a bit a choose a place that might only be able to embody the spirit of Ghana (as I experience it, that is) because it is so large and so many pass through every single day. That place is Makola Market.
 
To any visitor of Accra I would recommend at least a short trip to Makola Market. This Market, is huge, though not the largest in Ghana (that would be located in Kumasi and is actually the largest market place in all of West Africa). It is here that you can truly buy anything, clothing, food, fabric, electrical appliances, school supplies and way more. Makola, to me, is when I feel most “in Ghana;” it is where I feel most separate from the NYU Accra program or from the Westernized restaurants where we often eat.
 
Far before the market officially begins traffic gets clogged. People are selling on the sidewalks and in the streets. The density of the people on the sidewalks and streets increases exponentially as you move closer and when you finally get out of your taxi, bus, or tro-tro you must quickly adjust to the flow and pace of the people around you. The market, is to a degree, divided into sections. In some parts you’ll find mostly clothing, in others mostly household goods, or maybe textiles, in other parts it may be fruits or meat. Each section, unsurprisingly, comes with its own attack against the senses. As you walk into the meat market, you can easily be nauseated by the stench of raw meat and the unsightly views of dead animals piled on top of one another. In the textile area you become overwhelmed by the colors and patterns, sometimes so unable to differentiate the fabrics that you have to look at a hard to find blank wall in order to continue functioning, much like smelling coffee beans when testing perfumes. No matter where you are you ears ring with chants of “obrouni, over here,” and “I give you good price,” and loud conversations in Ga, Twi, Ewe and Pidgin over the noise of taxi and tro-tro horns. Whereever you walk you will be bumped into, grabbed, brushed against and touched. You will be able to feel the hot pavement beneath your feet and even taste the dark, hot plume of smoke coming out of tro-tro exhaust pipes as they pass.
 
To me Makola embodies everything that I’ve experienced Ghana to be, a mix of chaos and structure, everyone following a series of inexplicit cultural rules and me generally being completely unaware. It is bright and beautiful. Women still manage, as they always seem to, to be graceful and beautiful in their long, hot dresses with babies on their back and fruit on their heads, pushing through the throngs of people to get to their destination, all the while calling for sales. It’s a mix of all kinds of people from all kinds of backgrounds but is still unapologetically Ghanaian. When so much of the world is shopping in sterile, air conditioned malls, the economy of Accra and likely much of Ghana is being run by the market women of Makola, yet another example of the subtle and unspoken power of women in Ghana. Though things can easily be described as “hustling and bustling” in Makola no one walks too fast either, because in Ghana, as all my Ghanaian friends remind me regularly, we live a relaxed life. As people bargain prices, I think of how nothing in Ghana is exactly how it seems, everything can be change or altered (especially if a dash is involved). With religious store names and less market traffic on Sunday’s I’m reminded of the religious nature of the country, and how God even finds his way into small talk in Ghana. With shouts of “obrouni,” gorgeous smiles and big waves, I see how Ghanaians seem to me to be a happy people, even if life is sometimes tough, joyful even just at seeing a foreigner attempting butchered Twi.

Yet even with the “microcosms” of what I see Ghanaian life to be, Makola provides the diversity, too, that I likely haven’t seen. The vastness of the market, its product and its people, is like that of Ghana. With so many different types of language, culture, religion, educational levels, and socio-economic backgrounds Ghana is a place of difference. Its spirit may be one, but it isn’t a simple spirit. The Genius loci protects a complex, diverse and multifaceted culture that can’t be simply described or represented.

(This is a picture of just on street in Makola Market--you can see how bright, busy and beautiful it is)

Tail of The Blue Bird is one of those books that I had trouble putting down, one of those books that you think about even if you aren’t reading it. The plot line for the story isn’t particularly unique or special. It’s essentially a mystery novel, where a forensic scientist must piece together a story with minimal evidence hindered more by corruption and a lack of cooperation of witnesses. What is so special about this book is the way that it is written. Nii Ayikewi Parkes, is a Ghanaian poet, whose prose shows as much thought and detail as any of his other works. The story is told from two perspectives, an omniscient, unknown third-person narrator and from the perspective of a villager, living in a community in which the supposed crime took place.
 
The descriptions and dialogue reflect Ghanaian culture both subtly and explicitly. Parts are written in Pidgin, others in Twi. Scenarios take place that are so true to what happens daily in Ghana. Conclusions are made based on Ghanaian customs and much of the book contains mysticism reflective of traditional Ghanaian religions. In reading it I couldn’t help but feel the familiarities, laughing to myself, when I’d read something that I know someone who doesn’t know Twi or hasn’t lived for a while in Ghana would fail to understand. But in the same moments it became utterly clear to me the ways in which I don’t know Ghana. Even having lived here for nearly three months, experience different parts of the country and culture, learning a traditional language and constantly observing, I really don’t feel as if I know anything.
 
To describe what it is that I don’t know would be impossible, but it’s safe to say that reading this book has made me question what it means to be a foreigner temporarily living in a new country. The first week is completely foreign and you can’t help but be wide-eyed by what you see and exhausted by the end of the day. Within the first few months you begin to feel more comfortable, to feel more like you could one day “belong.” At one point I certainly thought to myself, “I’ve got this.”
 
 But now, being here for three months, with our departure not to far away, I’ve begun to feel like I’m in the first week again. I can pass by women with huge baskets on their heads and babies on their backs without a second look, but I read newspaper articles and am dumbfounded by the reporting style, and the actions of the people in the stories. I still hear things from Ghanaians that I know to be untrue, but also know I am being told, because I am not Ghanaian. I hear things, even in English or see facial expressions and have no idea what they mean.
 
My friend studying Anthropology, often says, that ethically speaking an anthropologist cannot stay any length of time shorter than 2 years and publish work. There is no way in any time shorter that they could begin to scratch the surface of outside cultural understanding. I now feel this to be true. In Ghana, I still feel like I am peeling away layers, each time to be once again surprised and wide-eyed. Just as I feel comfortable, I reach another one, and instance where it is clear that I lack the cultural knowledge to fully comprehend what is happening around me. What I think are back regions become front regions when I look a little deeper.
 
So now I think to myself, what does it mean that one needs so long to understand and truly experience a culture? What does it mean for one-week trips, weekend homestays and NYU “excusions?” Are these, as a search for cultural understanding, in vain? 

*This is the cover of the book

When I moved to New York, I dreamed of going to little corner shops and convenience stores to get my daily groceries, but I found that instead I was, just like at home, swiping my credit card once every two-weeks or so at a large supermarket that carried anything and everything I could possibly need. In Ghana, I do things a little bit differently, more like I imagined I would in New York. While I do still sometimes step into grocery stores in search of things like chocolate chips, basil and granola bars (none of which have been located I should add), I generally buy my “groceries” on a more day-to-day basis.

In Accra you can buy nearly anything on the street, shoes, full-length mirrors, cell-phones, posters, converters, and more. To buy your food and basics anywhere else would be a waste of time and money. Why go to the grocery store and lug home an overpriced 12 pack of toilet paper when you can buy one roll out of the tro-tro window on your way home from work? And likewise why would I ever go to Shoprite or Koala for eggs, milk, coffee or vegetables when I could just go to Blessing Ent.?

Blessing Ent. Is a small store located just around the corner from where I live. From the outside Blessing Ent. doesn’t look like much more than a cut and paste cardboard box fort but inside you can buy nearly everything a young college student on a budget needs for her lunches. Owned, I believe, by a middle-aged woman who is called Auntie Maggie, Blessing Ent. is the Ghanaian version of the convenience store that I envisioned when moving to New York. When I walk in, they ask me what I want and help me to find it. Happy, the little girl who is somehow related to Auntie Maggie, knows me, helps me find my favorite brands and then tries to sell me more. She practices her math by adding the prices of my items together and comes back, handing me my change with a satisfied grin.

Blessing Ent. is probably the closest and best stocked roadside store to both the NYU housing complex in which I live as well as the IPMC a technical school down the street, so it is always bustling with young people making purchases in rapid Twi. In the afternoons, especially on the weekends, people will hang out in the front porch area. They might be waiting for the egg sandwich that they’ve ordered, discussing the news or just relaxing—but it is always a “great good place” to go. I met one of my favorite people in the neighborhood, Michael a guard for one of the houses on my way to Blessing and get to see him on my visits there everyday!

Since we’ve moved to Accra Blessing Ent. has undergone renovations. When before it was dark overstocked and overstuffed it is now much larger, better lit and well organized. One no longer has to dig for their item of choice or ask for help. It is still just as busy and usually just as chaotic (the size of the entry way was not changed at all), but it is exciting to see a place that I’ve grown to love doing well and expanding. I tried to share this with one of the older women who works at the store and always, despite our terrible language barrier, helps me to find what I need. I asked her if they were growing and expanding, if the construction was new. She smiled and just as usual said “what do you want? I am coming.”



(The Image above is of the Blessing Ent.--It was taken by me.)

Despite the fact that Ghana is a highly creative and artistic culture, art outside of functionality, that is art only produced for enjoyment and entertainment purposes,  is a less than prominent feature throughout Accra. While Adinkra symbols decorate furniture and doorways throughout Ghana and Ghanaians are skilled in Batik making, carving, sculpting and decadent coffin creation art solely for the sake of art seems to be a rare feature for anyone but tourists in Ghana. To see this type of art, the type of art with which one can be overwhelmed in cities like Paris, Florence, Amsterdam and New York, a visitor or a Ghanaian won’t go to an art museum but instead a Gallery one, like the Artists’ Alliance that sells the artwork, both traditional and modern of Ghanaian and other African artists or like the Dei Center a private collection of art ,owned by Seth Dei the co-founder of Blue Skies, that he has opened up to the public because of his belief in its inherent value.Otherwise one stumbles upon art in Accra, in the clothcovering her seat cushion, in the sand sculptures at the beach or at the market in masks or drums or paintings or jewelry sold by an artist trying to make a living doing what he or sheloves to do. But while Accra has not yet developed a thriving arts culture (at least not one comparable to most cities its size in places in Europe or theU.S.), it seems to me that it would be easy to overlook a type of art that is present here, that absolutely isn’t back home. That is the art of craftsmanship.
 
In the U.S. as well as in many other countries around the world we’ve become obsessed with efficiency in goods production. Thus our clothing, our furniture our electronics and more are mass-produced. While they still often have artistic value, it is a machine that possesses the knowledge of their production and we’re rapidly losing the ability of individuals to perform such work. People rarely make things by hand any longer and as it becomes more and more rare the art is lost. In the U.S. to reweave a piece of fabric or have custom clothing made is outrageously expensive because so few can perform the task, but in Ghana the art of handmade craftsmanship is alive and well. Many things that we use machines to do back home are done by hand here in Ghana. Men and Women hand weave wicker-esque furniture, they handcraft jewelry from glass and other materials and they can make incredible clothing at a rapid pace. I
f there is one souvenir that nearly every girl (and thus nearly everyone as there are 43 people 39 of which are girls) in the program will be taking home with her from Ghana it is a hand made, custom fit dress or skirt that she purchased from Marjorie. Marjorie is nothing short of a seamstress miracle worker. You can bring her two to three yards of any fabric you have purchased at the market and give her a picture of a dress that you love and for a mere 15 GHC (that is about $12 U.S.) you can have a gorgeous, unique and perfectly fitting dress to take home with you. If it doesn’t fit right, she will pinch the sides, (using no pins) and fix it right there while you wait. Pretty much anything you want, you can have and if you tell her your trust her you are bound to get a gorgeous piece of clothing. This is the kind of art that we rarely see in the U.S. but that is abundant in Ghana. And it is a type of art, that when focusing on paintings or sculpture or sketches we could easily ignore. But just like the art that we find in the Met this type of craftsmanship takes great knowledge, great skill and great creativity. It is a type of Art that is quickly being lost in places where we deem it menial or inefficient and if we don’t begin to appreciate it more we will surely lose it entirely. 

(This is a large image of Marjorie in her shop I found it in an article about dressmaking in Ghana written by an NYU Journalism Student, the smaller image is of a friend in a gorgeous dress made by Marjorie that only cost her 15 GHC!)

One reason that I chose to study abroad (probably like many others) was an opportunity to witness and “experience” a different culture as it truly was. Like other tourists I was, and to an extent still am, motivated by a search for an authentic Ghanaian experience, one that would reveal far more than any week-long vacation, tour guide or travel book ever could. From day one it became clear that my position as a foreign student studying at NYU was going to make true authenticity harder, my living arrangements are extremely plush, I stick out like sore thumb and I am unable to speak the most commonly spoken language in Ghana.  Despite my inherent setbacks there have definitely been moments where I’ve felt like I am getting a true taste of the way that Ghanaians actually live. I felt as if I was moving along Goffman’s continuum toward some type of back region. Even though I was often visiting tourist sights (Elmina Slave Castle, Asantehene Palace, and Kakum National Park) once in a while, in my daily life I was allowed to peak in and sometimes even feel a part of a region that was not for tourists but for Ghanaians. People here were calling me a “Ghanaian,” I’d been to a Ghanaian wedding, a Sunday church service and was being to be let in on the inside jokes in amongst the Ghanaian students at Ashesi. I knew how much to pay for taxi fares, where to get the best fruit, faster alternative driving routes, the ins and outs of Ghanaian foods and had begun understand and even use Ghanaian hand gestures. I was starting to feel like I was headed toward a place of belonging….and then my family came to visit.
 
I feel so incredibly blessed that my mom and brother were able to come visit me. As someone who is very close to her family being away from them for two and a half months was difficult; their arrival was very much anticipated. I looked forward to showing them around and giving them the more “authentic Ghanaian experience.” However their visit here showed me first hand the grave difference between front region of tourism and the back region of natives that I have yet to and may never reach. 
 
Their trip to Ghana has been full of “front region” interactions.  It has been made clear to us that because we are not here to stay we are not to be allowed to go any further back, even to the deeper regions that I’ve already been admitted to previously. We’re spoken to in formal English, managers come to ask us how we are during our dinners, they avoid potentially controversial topics of conversation through metaphor and people direct us to the nicest restaurants and parts of town. Either out of protection of culture or the assumption that we don’t truly want a view of Ghana, we are sent off into Accra by our overly friendly and helpful hotel staff to see a beautifully packaged Ghana, that loves America. When we come into neighborhoods or areas that are not deemed part of the “tourist front region” people look confused and point us in other directions (even if I explicitly state my familiarity with the area). When people (especially taxi drivers) want to further separate the “back” from the “front” they use language: “Proper English” is for the front region that we are fully permitted to view and Pidgin and Twi are saved for the prohibited back region.
 
As I can now see, for the first time, the difference in authenticity that just a few months can make I’m beginning to question what it means to travel. It has taken so long here to even begin to peak in through a slightly open door to the back region and I’ve found that at any moment that door can be shut and you can be led down the hall in the opposite direction back to the front region, the region which you are entitled as an outsider to see. If it has taken so long to begin to see a more authentic view of Ghanaian life, one that is still so distorted through my tainted “obrouni” lens what does that mean for my spring break in South Africa? How, if at all, can I have an even semi-authentic experience of life in a place if I am only there but for a week? Is our search, for authenticity via tourism and travel a futile one?
 
 (I found this image on a travel agency's website, I feel like it truly epitomizes the "front region" of Ghanaian tourism, as this is so foreign to anyone who actually lives here in Ghana)
 

Ryzard Kapuscinski’s book The Shadow of the Sunis not about Ghana, it’s about Africa. It’s mainly about his experiences, traveling throughout the continent to places like Ghana, Kenya, Uganda and Eritrea as well of the history of these countries. He gives everyday details much like the ones that we give in our writings to bring these different places to life. In Ghana, a place that he visited no more than a year after they gained independence in 1957, he describes things that no longer hold true, calling Accra a “flat, single-storied” city lacking “sophisticated architecture” (5) or depicting the fervor and spirit then following the nearly universally adored “Osagyefo” (translated from Twi meaning “redeemer” or even “Messiah”) Kwame Nkrumah. But he also describes a Ghana very similar to the one that I find myself in. He describes the constant energy, the mixing of cars, peoples and carts in the streets and “culture clash” that comes with the “entirely different concept of time” held between Europeans (or Westerners) and Africans (16). He describes, also, the ways in which Kumasi, Ghana’s second biggest city, now a car ride of between 4 and 7 hours away, has far fewer “vestiges of colonialism” (25).
 
What’s shocking though, is turning beyond the similarities in his “obrouni” experience in Ghana over 50 years ago to find the vast differences between his experiences there and his experiences elsewhere throughout the continent. Today, my roommate came back from a two-day trip to Togo, someplace that is truly so close (much closer than some of the major sites in Ghana), I’ve thought could be little different from Ghana. The first thing she said when I asked her how her trip went was, “It was so different being in Francophone West Africa. I didn’t think it would be, but everything was so different.” 
 
Just a few hours, a visa, and maybe a few customs bribes away is a completely different culture. It hit home once again as it did when reading beyond chapters about Ghana in The Shadow of the Sun, that Africa is a far bigger and diverse place than we like to think. The extreme economic, linguistic, religious and cultural diversity that I am experiencing here in Ghana is just a small sample of the diversity that can be found throughout the African continent—yet on a regular basis ( and we are all guilty of it, even Kapuscinski) we refer to place solely as Africa, its people solely as Africans, it cultures solely as African.
 
An entire blog could be dedicated to the reasons for this clumping together, for its roots for its inaccuracy and for its functions. But ultimately the point is that one world is not enough to describe the cultures of people living on the second largest continent in the world. (Just as we would not call anyone living in Canada, the Caribbean, Central America or the U.S. “North American”). Kapunscinski’s experiences, everything from sleeping in a small rural village, being accosted by young boys in Liberia, learning about witchcraft in the Congo or just a bus trip from Accra to Kumasi, shows how incredibly different parts of Africa are. As I head from Ghana, a place that now feels safe and familiar, to Cape Town, South Africa for Spring Break, I hope to experience this first hand to see how different this continent that we so often see as the same truly is.
 
 
(I think this image perfectly illustrates how big Africa truly is and how diverse it has the potential to be--and is!) 

I start my mornings off here in Ghana very much the same as I did back in New York. I wake up early, usually earlier than everyone else as it gives me a bit of “me” time. After the necessary bathroom routines I pad down the stairs barefoot in my purple sweat pants and Illinois t-shit, drop my macbook off at the dinning room table and go to the kitchen to make my coffee or tea. Just like at home I boil water, but here I light the stove by hand with a match. I set up my computer and read the news while I wait to hear the sound of the water boiling. When I know that I’ve killed all the potential pathogens and parasites present in Ghanaian tap water I pour it into the mug stir in the instant coffee and some milk and head back to the quiet dinning room to read more news, catch up on emails, write a blog post or two and maybe start some homework.
 
Usually within the hour, as I begin to actually wake up, the day really begins. People start to wake up. I hear breakfast-making noises in the kitchen. People come over asking if they can use our shower as they don’t have water. My housemates start leaving and then our days begin. We go off to class, to intern, to volunteer, to shop, to experience Ghana.
 
As we go through our daily motions, whatever they may be, we inevitably face a whole new world. In some ways, Ghana is so similar to home (especially because I live with so many Americans) but in others it is can be so different. Just a regular day’s activities -- walking to class and exchanging greetings both in English and Twi with nearly everyone you pass, warding off taxi’s who are excited at the prospect of overcharging an unsuspecting obruoni,  catching tro-tro’s, attending classes sometimes being the only American student in the classroom, playing with numerous children all vying for your undivided attention, buying plantain chips through a car window, piling as many people as possible into the dinner van, eating foods that I cannot pronounce and which my stomach will not be happy about later, reading Ghanaian news articles about jubilee oil and sakawa boys, coming up with numerous excuses for not giving out your phone number, trying to find places with no street signs or maps, attempting to not get hit by a car and to not fall into the gutter --can be exhausting.
 
At times walking into to my large, air-conditioned room, with wi-fi and excellent water pressure, I feel upset by how isolating it can be. But at times, especially in my daily routine I am thankful for that isolation, a minute to step away from the place that is so different from home, a place that even a month and a half later continues to be overwhelming. I am thankful that in the mornings, I can have my alone time with my cup of coffee and my purple sweat pants, now stained at the bottom with African dirt from the courtyard. Back home I wake up and read the news and check emails to the sound of sirens and cab horns and the sounds of people of New York City headed to work. Here I do the same, it’s just the soundtrack that has changed. Here I am accompanied by the sound of birds, the guards laughing and a plantain seller calling for her customers. 

(This less than inspiring image, is one that I took myself, it is a view out my window and epitomizes the mix of Ghana--the palm tree etc, with my daily routine of checking my email)

Before letting me out of the gate the guard directed my attention to a small handwritten sign that was taped to the wall, it said in blue ball-point ink, “The Internship class by Prof. Jennifer @ 8:30 is not coming.”
 
Me: “Oh, Um, Okay….That means it is cancelled right?”
 
The guard told me yes and I turned back around regretting waking up so early for  my only class of the day just to find out that it had been cancelled on my way out the door. I decided to make myself another cup of coffee and recited the funny sign to other people who were leaving for the class. A lot of things were wrong with the sign. The first name instead of the last for the professor, the time (it actually started at 8am), but the “is not coming” part was the best.
 
English is the official national language of Ghana, but it doesn’t take being here long to realize that it is they speak a different English altogether. Ghana was invaded my numerous outside forces. They have influences from the Portuguese, the Dutch, the Swedes, the Arabs, the Danes and for the were under the colonial rule of the British for the longest-which is why they technically speak English. But although Ghanaians were influenced and ruled by outside forces for a very long time the free spirit that made them the first independent nation in Africa has been present all along and so despite being forced to speak English, Ghanaians have made it their own.
 
Ghanaians certainly have an accent influenced by their native languages. They don’t pronounce words the ways Americans or the British do. In a recent conversation with a Ghanaian friend he asked if the location that we were meeting was near a “bunk.” I repeated the word they way he pronounced it back to him many times, and finally said “I don’t know what you mean by bunk.”
 
“You don’t?”
 
“No”
 
“A place where you can get money”
 
“Oh a bank.”
 
“Yes a bunk.”
 
It wasn’t wrong; it was just different. Their tones are different as well. In Twi when you ask a question you end the sentence on a downtone, while in American English you end it on an uptone. So here, it isn’t always obvious that someone is asking you a question right away because they’ve translated the Twi way of asking a question into English. Some of it is the word choice. What we would call “broken”, they would likely call “spoiled.” “Pants” here are what we would call “underwear” back home. And they won’t know what you mean if you say that you want a “cab.” They also, as evidenced by the sign, have different phrasings. “I’m coming” often means “I’m going” and   “is coming off at” means “is happening at.” They don’t say “uh huh” they say “eh he.” If you ask for directions the answer usually starts with “please.”
 
My favorite thing about Ghanaian English, though, is how it always includes outside words (usually from Twi). In Ghana I am not a foreigner or a white girl I’m an “obrouni.” You’re just as likely to hear the Twi word for peanut (I can’t write it here as I don’t possess the symbols) included in an English sentence, as you are “peanut” or “groundnut.”
 
A lot of times English spoken differently, especially in places like Africa or other “less developed” countries, is called “pidgin English,”  as it is often a second language and deemed a less complex version of English. This something I’ve heard it called numerous times by Ghanaians themselves. But I cannot help but feel that calling it that is a bit derogatory. Its true that hearing a completely different version of your own language is a bit startling at first. It feels strange and awkward for me to ask people to repeat themselves when they’re clearly speaking my first language and loudly enough at that. But the truth is they often have to ask me to do the same. “Rachel, slow down, I can’t understand what you are saying.” Just as I have trouble understanding the Ghanaian accents, tones and slang they have trouble understand my rural Illinois rapid speaking, slurring and completely made up words. If Ghanaian English is pidgin English, so is the English I speak. None of us speak properly, with perfect grammar and pronunciation. Ghanaian English is different and hard to understand at times but is just as complex and valid a form of English as any other and a beautiful one at that.
 
De Botton mentions in his book that language reveals a lot about culture. That from listening to and learning a language of another people you can find out cultural priorities and values. I’m not a linguist or an anthropologist but I think what is truly beautiful about Ghanaian English is that it reveals the independent spirit and commitment to the local culture amongst Ghanaians. It shows the value of being polite, of expressing yourself fully, and maybe most importantly holding on to your own culture and values, even if someone (or many someone’s as the case may be) have tried to take that away from you.

(Image taken by myself in Cape Coast Town. Hopefully this sign shows the ways in which English and Twi are readily mixed together. I can't remember for sure what the sign said, but judging from what I can see I believe the full English name of the yellow store is "God will be Good Fast Food")
 

NYU’s official position on tro tros* is: do not take them! They are seen as dangerous and so NYU would prefer that we use hired taxi’s as our main form of transportation. The problem though, is that most of us are involved in some form of community service that takes us fairly far away from our neighborhood, some even travel up to an hour outside of Accra. While the taxi fares aren’t at all comparable to those in New York City—you can drive about an hour and a half for about $15 US here—it still begins to add up, especially when tro tro’s are literally pennies
 
So inevitably, like most of the students who have been a part of NYU Ghana before us, we’ve decided to take NYU’s policy as a suggestion. We’ll look for the safer looking tro tro’s, avoid riding in them at night and insist on getting out if we feel at all in danger but as the say “when in Rome, do as the Romans do” thus, “when in Ghana, ride the tro, tro.”
 
So, although I was fully committed to getting around by tro tro, I was not ready to try it on my own. It’s nothing like a public bus or subway system. There are no maps and the designated stops are less than marked. So I went on my very first tro tro ride with a tro tro veteran, a Ghanaian Ashesi student, with whom I am working on a project. He showed me the ropes.
 
The next day, after my community service, I felt ready to tro tro on my own (well with a friend, but without a Ghanaian who knew what they were doing). So we asked around and came into contact with our first wayfinding troubles. Everyone tells you a different way to get to the same place and if you mention one of the previous routes that you were told, the response is usually a confused look and “No, no, no. First you go to….”
 
So after figuring out that there was a “tro tro stop” (that may not be the correct term-I’ve yet to learn much tro tro lingo), near our site we cautiously approached the mate, asking if we could get to one of the main stops that we knew. He nodded “yes” slightly unconvincingly, we got in, unfolded the extra seats, and sat down next to a bunch of tired looking Ghanaians, presumably on a lunch break. When we got to the end of the road we turned away from what we knew was our final destination and although it was a little disconcerting, she and I remembered the NYU Ghana mantra: “Patience” and looked out the window.
 
Eventually we started heading the right way but then encountered our next problem. There are definitely no signs or indication of any sort besides lines of people for tro tro pick up and drop offs. And the mate never yelled where we were. So, each stop we’d look around anxiously trying to figure out whether or not we’d arrived at “37.” Finally, another American woman, who clearly lived here, asked us where we were going and told us that it was the next stop on the route.
 
Trouble number three arose as we needed to get from 37, home. We asked and again got many different responses but a couple of people indicated needing to find Danquah Station, so we headed in the direction of the pointed finger but ended up lost there too. We asked directions again and were literally pointed in every direction. So finally after about 20 minutes of walking, when we came across a giant lot full of tro tros and taxis, we asked where we were. This is “37.” “Pardon? I thought we got off at 37? Hmmm. How do we get to Labone?”
 
The rest of the trip was smooth we took a shared taxi from 37 (the real one) to our neighborhood for almost nothing. He dropped us near the academic center and we were very relieved to be home an hour and a half later. But it is now clear that while tro tros might not be quite as unsafe as they’ve been made out to be, I will need to account for “lost” time. Time where Ghanaians point me in three different directions or times when I ask for how to get to a location from here and they say, “you can’t.” Each new tro tro ride is likely to be an adventure. And I’m really looking forward to it! 
 
*For those of you who are unaware, a tro tro is the local form of “public transportation” they are vans or minibuses that hold between 10 and 20 people and can be taken all over the city and out. There is a driver and a “mate” who is in charge of collecting the money. And the goal is to always have a full tro tro, so there are many stops to collect people.

(The Image is of a tro-tro station, similar to the one that we found after walking for 20 minutes and asking for directions numerous times, I couldn't provide my own image of a tro-tro because taking a picture of a tro-tro with people in it would be considered EXTREMELY rude here. You cannot take pictures of people without asking each person who will be in it-which means none of the market, none of tro-tros etc.)

I boarded the plane from Boston to London less than totally prepared for my semester abroad in Accra. But I knew from traveling experiences before that over-preparation would have been a waste. As de Botton points out it would have just been disappointing. No travel experience, near or far, short or long-term is ever, anything close to what you anticipate it to be. So for the first time in my entire life I chose to be unprepared for what was next.
 
I slept through the flight from Boston to London and eventually found some semi-comfortable seating in Heathrow where I spent my time awake envious of the people on the long couches getting restful sleep and the rest of my time in a sort of haze, wanting the plane to hurry, so that I could go to sleep again. After  the second plane’s takeoff I watched episodes of American shows I love, Modern Family, Friends, How I Met Your Mother, convincing myself that the next few weeks would be full of new experiences and I deserved a little bit of comfort after my first solo trans-Atlantic flight. But as the last hour approached, and I looked out the window and realized that I couldn’t see anything but dark I began to panic.
 
I wasn’t getting an introduction at all to Africa. I wasn’t going to get the slow transition into Africa via airplane window that I’d hoped for.  Could I read the guidebook that my mother insisted I pack in my carry-on in an hour? I sure tried. But that was a mistake because it doesn’t matter if you read about your destination in a novel like des Esseintes, before you pack or as you’re touching down, you still won’t be able to accurately anticipate what it will be like to arrive at your destination.
 
Unlike de botton, I was fairly prepared for the moments in between the airplane and my bed. My luggage arrived fully intact, the airport was a bit chaotic and as we boarded the bus, I thanked myself for my forethought in taking motion sickness medicine. Here’s what I didn’t anticipate, what no guidebook could have prepared me for and no orientation could have made me accept: Church Crescent. When we arrived at our new home I couldn’t help but be shocked. After a year and half of cramming far too many people in far too little of a space through the NYU housing program, here I was in Africa with balconies, a courtyard, a dinning room table, adult-sized furniture, a comfortable bed, a bathtub, a guest bathroom, free laundry shared between only myself and six other girls. Excuse, me did I get on the wrong plane? I was supposed to be coming to Africa, and my bedroom is bigger than my entire apartment last semester.

A couple of nights ago we had our first “staff meeting.” One of the staff members mentioned in somewhat dismissive tone that students in the past had mentioned that their experience here wasn’t authentic, saying “this isn’t Africa.” And even though she was telling us the opposite I couldn’t help but identify with that statement. we've been here for a little bit over three weeks now and still every time I come "home" I feel removed from Africa. Sure, we’re in a neighborhood with homes that are equally as large as the ones that we are staying in and I’ve seen even bigger ones in another part of Accra. And yes some people here do live like we are living here. But is this really Africa? Even without much intended anticipation I find myself disappointed. Not of course, by the whole of my experience, but by this particular part.
 
Maybe my original anticipation was shaped by the American notions and stereotypes of Africa; That Africa is a poverty-stricken, underdeveloped continent.  And while that is not at all what I expected either, I still I wonder if we are truly experiencing Africa. Whether or not we are truly experiencing Ghana. When 70% of Ghana’s population lives in rural communities, and nearly 30% of the country is living on less than $1.25 U.S. a day, is our plush, air-conditioned, highly guarded home and academic center (both fully equipped with wi-fi I might add) truly representative of life here?
 
(main image: taken by me --from my balcony. Internal image: My bedroom, image taken by me)

Hi “Art of Travel Class Spring 2011,” I’m Rachel. I’m extremely adverse to spending 400-500 words talking about myself, but I’ll do my best to give everyone a good idea of who I am.
 
I was raised for nearly my entire life in a small town in central Illinois-whose name, Danville-is only worth mentioning because Dick Van Dyke, Bobby Short and Gene Hackman came from there. Nope, nowhere near Chicago. Corn? Yes, everywhere!  So I’m a small town girl and I do even have an accent---at least according to my roommate from last semester, who upon introduction to friends from back home exclaimed, “you talk just like Rachel!!”
 
After high school I moved to an even smaller, more rural town in Mississippi to spend a year working for Habitat for Humanity (Please trust me when I say, It sounds way more exciting than it was. I think I picked up a hammer twice the entire year that I was there. I mostly wrote grants, paid bills and organized funds). So, living my whole life only in small towns New York City, was a bit of an adjustment, but a really great one. I can’t imagine myself living in NYC for the rest of my life, but I have definitely been known to gush about the city.
 
I’m in Gallatin at NYU, concentrating in Social Entrepreneurship. I’m mostly interested in working with businesses to help them be more socially responsible and not-for-profits to make them more efficient and effective by incorporating business principles into their operations. When I came to NYU though, I was in Steinhardt for MCC, so I’ve taken a very interesting variety of classes, which means to extent my interest in SE is meshed with a love of communications and marketing—something that I hope will somehow be relevant in the future.
 
This semester I’m studying in Ghana another really interesting adjustment. There isn’t too legitimate or logical of a reason why I chose Ghana, except for the fact that I’ve always wanted to go to Africa, and now seemed like a really great time! I’m really excited. We’ve been here for almost two weeks and I don’t want to make a premature judgment but so far it has been fantastic!
 
As far as classes go I am learning one of the many languages spoken in Ghana: Twi (which is a little bit scary, I’m not going to lie), taking an internship course, where I will probably be working at a orphanage, NYU just approved a leadership course focused on civic engagement at a local university here and I will be skyping in to the NYU Global SE class! Basically, this semester looks like an excuse to read a bunch of books I’ve had on my list for a long time. You’re allowed to call me a nerd now.
 
I have no idea what this semester will bring. As we’re already losing water and internet and moving at a pace that would be deemed absolutely unacceptable in NYC, I’m just trying to be open to everything and surprised by nothing. So, I look forward to reading about everyone’s experience: Here we go! 

(Image of me in Accra-taken by a friend)