Kamikaze Canuck

After a seemingly neverending flight, we landed in Ghana.  A wall of heat and humidity hit us like a ton of bricks as soon as we stepped off the plane.  After clearing customs we were met by a sea of hollering Ghanaian taxi drivers vying for our business.  Amidst the chaos, we spotted a grey haired man with an ear to ear smile holding a sign that said: “Osdahouse Home Lodge – Jason Green”.  It was Seth, the owner of the guesthouse.  Seth and his wife Dorothy are a retired Marine Biologist and Zoo-ologist respectively, and had returned to Ghana after living in Boston for 30 years to open a guesthouse in Accra.  We were pleasantly surprised by both the hospitality we received and the cleanliness of our room (pics below).  We crashed for the night and caught up on some much needed sleep.

The next morning we woke up early and met our guide for the day; Charles.  Charles was a slim, smiley 29 year old man who had been raised in the slums of Accra.  He came highly recommended by other travellers so I booked him for two days via email.  It was money well spent.  Charles quickly put us at ease with his easy-going yet professional attitude.  He was quick and eager to answer any questions we put to him and he made sure that we saw a side of Accra that most tourists don’t see.  Our first stop was Nima (below) – where Charles was raised.

Nima was a sprawling lower class area of central Accra.  It’s residents are from a blend of countries including Nigeria, Togo, Benin, Burkina Faso, Ivory Coast, Mali, and of course, Ghana – making it a melting pot for culture.  It’s comprised of about 54,000 people who live in harmony – equal parts Muslim and Christian.

An ocean of tin roofs held down by cinder blocks was literally all we could see from above.  Once we were taken below into the winding alleys, the suburb came alive.  Friendly smiles started popping up everywhere.  People dressed in colourful garbs passed us welcoming us to Ghana.  Charles instructed us to reply with “Kolafia” (meaning “good morning”) but my pronounciation must have been crap because everyone laughed when I said that.  Charles seemed to know everyone.  It seemed like every 50 meters someone was greeting Charles and doing some fancy handshake with him – one that white people could never master.

We eventually made our way to a school.  It was a small, open air compound called the Nima Elementary school.  We were greeted by the schools principal who shared some brief history about the school before we got to meet the children.  The school was started in 1972 by his father who had a dream of providing an education to children of lower class families who couldn’t otherwise afford it.  Here is a quick video of what we seen and heard walking into the school (I tried to keep the camera at my hip to not make it obvious that I was filming):

As we got to spend time in the classroom I was very surprised at the quality of education that the children were receiving and the obedience of the children.  The teachers seemed to be very legitimate and teaching advanced material to young children.  On top of that, half of the instruction is in French and half in English.  Every child is bilingual.  Clearly, singing is a very important part of school life in Ghana.  Each classroom serenaded us with songs in both French and English.

At the end of our visit, the principal asked two favours of us.  1) We teach the children a song, and 2) we give the children advice about their future.  Talk about putting us on the spot!

After sharing some words of wisdom and teaching the children  “You Are My Sunshine”, we were nearing the end of our visit.

The principal explained to us that the childrens tuitions are paid by charity and that many of the 280 children at the school were currently unsponsored.  For $105, we could pay 1 years tuition for a student of our choice.  Meg and I chose to sponsor two young twin boys from the Greater Accra area.  $210 seemed to be a small price to pay for the difference it will make in these two boys’ lives.

After some more touring around, we left Nima to visit the largest market in Accra: Makola Market.

I’m trying to think of some adjectives to describe Makola Market (the largest market in West Africa) but they won’t do it any justice.  Small dusty alleys are flanked by shops selling everything from used clothing to sunglasses to vegetables.  Women carrying large baskets on their head yelling incoherent words.  The picture above was found on google.  I didn’t take any pictures because I didn’t feel appropriate pulling out a flashy camera in such a cramped environment (in case it gave someone the idea to pull the old snatch and run).  After drinking from a couple fresh coconuts we departed to see the old part of Accra.  The British part :  James Town

James Town harbour was a bustling harbour at one point in time.  Passing trade ships would stop here to trade various goods with the British.   Today it’s a small fishing village where migrant fisherman try to eek out a living on their long, thin, wooden, fishing boats.

Above:  All the small fish caught are dried in the sun and boiled into a soup or grilled.

Below:  Fishermen repair their nets.  One fisherman came up to me and gave me a 6″ fish as a gift.   I said thanks and gave it back (Seriously…..what was I going going to do with a fish).  He looked at me puzzled wondering why I gave his gift back.  Charles was laughing at this whole scene unfolding before him.

Our last stop of the day was at the custom coffin makers.  In Ghana, some wealthy people like to be buried in weird coffins like the ones below.

One thing I have to say is that the humidity here is killing both of us.  It’s almost unbearable for me – Meg is coping a bit better.  I think I’ll be ready for the Canadian winter after this…….