Photos

A howdy hello from Cape Coast! I have photos for your viewing pleasure. They are of a rather small, low quality in order to help facilitate the uploading process, but HEY some images are better than none at all, so let's run with what we've got!
Pictured to the left is the view from Cape Coast Castle. It was never a castle historically, only serving as a garrison, but due to its picturesque view and plaster-white walls, the label "castle" has stuck with it. The British imposed colonial rule from this garrison (although it was a Dutch construction, purchased/stolen/smarmily yoinked by the British) as well as used it as the central hub for trading goods. Most notable among these goods were slaves. The majority of the slaves traded through the TransAtlantic system passed through one of the many garrisons on Ghana's coast. Today Cape Coast Castle and Elmina (another "castle", some thirty minutes' drive from Cape Coast) have been preserved to serve as reminders of the slave trade. They were renovated (not restored-- but that's another issue entirely) fairly recently, thanks to some 11 million dollars provided by the United States to aid the process. We toured both Cape Coast Castle and Elmina Castle as a group on a guided tour.

Here's a picture of me in Mole National Park! The views were pretty darn spectacular. And very, very green. You can't see it in the photo, but I wore my special "roll-up-into-shorts" pants that day, but because I can be a dim child sometimes I failed to roll them down into pants to properly protect my legs from the bush that we were tromping through. My poor, slightly mangled shins are none too happy with my oversight. Regardless, we saw many a pretty plant, many more pretty plants, and occasionally even some animals! Hey, speaking of animals... whoops the photo I had prepared of the elephant isn't working. SO HERE'S ONE FROM GOOGLE:

I mean, my picture was pretty much going to be the same thing. We were totally that close and my picture is totally that clear and he was totally facing us. Yeeeeah.
I have to fill this space so I can include the next photo. So some facts about me: My favorite color is red. My favorite color COMBO is light blue and earthy brown. My favorite animal is the majestic Narwhal, although my favorite animal changes often. The majestic narwhal is seconded by the octopus, followed closely by the squid. Oh look I've filled enough space! Let's go to the next slide:

This was taken on the TroTro ride frome Mole back to Tamale. The pained expression on my face is reflective of the comfort level of my seat. Also, this image is pretty misleading: due to the wide-angle lense on my camera, things look spacous and life looks breezy. Do not be fooled. We were cajoled and squished. That's Lydia and Megan Goldsmith in the background, looking terribly entertained (Lydia's blog is linked to on the sidebar). The drives were mostly bad, in my opinion, because of the length and shakiness of the car. Also the fact that there are NO rode rules in Ghana and therefore you are hurtling at death every second of every drive, ever. But other than that things are pretty darn sweet.

Here's Big Daddy, lur Crocodile (for more on him, see my previous entry). Isn't he adorable? Don't you just want to hug him?!
The guides at the lake, who were basically bored 15-year-old boys, reported to us that he's a very old and big crocodile. They said that he's been swimming his waters for around 80 years. I'm not sure if I believe them (I also have no idea what's an average lifespan for a crocodile), but it's an interesting tidbit to share in my photo dump to fill up space until the next gap nonetheless. He sat like that the entire time, when he wasn't walking about looking for a Mushy or Fufu (see last entry) to snack on. I think it has something to do with him breathing when out of the water, or maybe it was his version of smiling for the camera after so many years of practice. Regardless, it made for a rather awesome photo. Yes, this isn't yoinked from google. It's my own. YAY.

Here is me RIDING THE CROCODILE. Writhe in envy of my little blog... write in envyyyy. Or, you know, do the "sane" thing of questioning my actions and thanking whatever power you believe in that none of the students who chose to ride one of the most dangerous creatures on this planet got a finger or something worse bitten off.
In an attempt to take up space to get the layout and these photos looking nice and pleasing, I'd like to ask for a moment of silence to remember the poor, sacrificed, souls of Mushy and Fufu. Pause your iTunes, tell your sibling in the background to can it, throw a rock at the chattering bird outside, and appreciate the silence. Due to the noble sacrifice of Mushy and Fufu (we knew you so briefly, sniff sniff) we were able to get campy pictures of us riding dangerous creatures. May their actions never be forgotten.

I know Megan's parents have paid a visit to my blog in the past, and reportedly appreciated a photo I posted from the village. So here's a photo of Megan riding Big Daddy. I hope you enjoy it! This also slightly proves that my fellow students are brave / foolish enough to climb atop a crocodile and pose with it as well. See, people who actually know me? I'm not the ONLY person who would do it. Bwa ha ha ha ha.
When we were waiting / cheesing hardcore for the camera with Big Daddy, a couple of other small fries circled around trying to get in on the chicken dinner. Several times our group was dispersed due to an unanticipated crocodile guest, and we had to wait until said guest was scared back into the water before resuming our tourist activities.

Here's one of the traditional houses from the "traditional village" in Paga. The village was actually only five or six houses that I'm more than sure were built explicitly to get money from the tourists there, but it's really okay. We got to see the constructions and the drawings on them. And because these types of buildings aren't typical to the region we spend most of our time in (the middle and south of Ghana), I'm glad that there were some examples for us to appreciate, however briefly. That y-shaped log to the left of the doorway is a ladder, by the by. Just in case you were curious. It's actually not a really, really big slingshot like I had hoped when I first saw it. Still though... pretty cool.

Here's a (bad) photo from the dance preformance we got to go to here in Cape Coast. This is from the final dance, which was more of a show of acrobatics than a dance. But the actual dances previous to this one were quite impressive. The company, Nyame te ase (I think?), boasts the talents of many wonderful dancers and most notably the ONLY female drum master in all of Ghana. That's her in the background, wearing the red dress with the hat. We got to visit her store today, and she gave us a very brief but very fun drum lesson right in the shop! It's amazing how nice and willing people are to help you out, or just have a conversation with you. Even if you're the only female drum master in the whole of Ghana. She's done a lot of work with SIT students in the past, too. One of her former students is actually in Cape Coast now, working on a film project. We've gotten to have some meals and spend some afternoons with her as well. It's so cool to hear about life after Ghana and her experiences in the program almost a decade ago.

Ok, this photo is just to make me feel better about my skills as a photographer after the last crap-tastic photo. This was taken during the first dance, which I called "really cool one where people wear red". I wasn't quite able to catch the ACTUAL name, but Natalie has been writing them down and I'll ask her at dinner tonight.
Some of my favorite parts of the dances we've seen here have been the footwork. While not the focus of the dance, the ability of the dancers to move their feet at a different pace than their hips, shoulders, or other body parts. It's the whole polybeat aspect to African music that after all this time I'm still unable to wrap my head around completely.

Here's a picture of me on the canopy walk at one of the national parks here. I'm blanking on the name and I'm late to dinner so I can't take the time to look it up! Apologies!
Regardless, the walk was ridiculously awesome. Like all canopy walks, the walkways were suspended in the canopy layer of the forest, so we got amazing views of the whole park as well as the thrill of walking on a swinging, semi-stable walkway built many, many years ago without the same safety guidelines as, say, the United States.
It was a boatload of fun. I walked with some of the more adventerous students, and we lagged behind so we could swing the walkway and run back and forth and be stupid. Megan Goldsmith actually did some tumbling down the path. You can't tell from the picture, but they were REALLY shaky and the wood planks that served as the bottom of the bridge were pretty loose in their own right. It was lots of fun, and certainly worth the shaky busride over.


Ok ok ok, I've got to go to dinner now. I hope you have enjoyed this picture post of our "lives in this Ghana", as our directors like to call them. We leave Cape Coast tomorrow morning for the Vota region, which is famous for beadwork and many other things. We got a free day today, so unlike our previous busrides of eternal length, I'll be very well rested for this one! I'm out of books, and have read through most of my fellow students' books, so it will be a great ride for day dreaming and brainstorming (be prepared, Annie).

For those of you who have come for pictures of the program, and not to read my second-rate blog, I reward your patience with a group photo from the waterfall! Really got to go now!

Love always,
Lo

Tamale take TWO!

Now with 70% more internet!

NOTE: Two chickens were maimed, broken, and bloodily devoured by crocodiles in today's entry. If such a thing offends you, or my humorous re-telling of such a thing offends you, please skip over today's entry.

Whoops!
Sorry about that, friends. Ghana has been having power issues as of late-- something to do with the main dam that powers the country being problematic. In order to fix it, the technicians had to turn off entire grids, which in this case meant entire areas of the country, in order to do the repairs. As such, our entire stay in Tamale was wonderfully peppered with blackouts and days of no power. It really wasn't that bad except for the excruciating heat, the inability to shower or draw water, and the dining in the dark.

But now we are in Cape Coast! But I will get to that later. I still have to tell you all about Tamale.

We arrived after a dirty, gross, dusty, sweaty busride sprinkled with roach sightings (INSIDE the bus... it was terrifying). The roads in Ghana are not great. Since they do not have the budget to employ a police force to monitor the speeds on the roads, they put in speed bumps along all major highways. In addition to the potholes and other gaps in the road, coupled with the lack of suspension on our vehicle, it was a jarring ride. But, with only a couple of "bush stops" (when we pulled the bus to the side of the road to allow members of our party to properly relieve themselves), we made it. We were then split into two groups-- those staying at the Catholic Guest House, and those staying at the other hotel whose name I have forgotten. If you can't tell, I was put into the Catholic Guest House.

The facilities were excellent, we had a shady bar/hangout area that served as the main center of activity, and the mess hall was wonderfully close to our rooms. Although by Western Hotel standards it wasn't anything to write home about, after life in the compound and life in the village, it was as good as any 5-star hotel to me. They had RUNNING WATER!

Tamale was extremely different. It was a cultural change from the southern Ghana we had gotten to know and love (well, some of us anyway). Twi was no longer the predominant language, so we were unable to communicate as readily as before. Also, due to the heavily Islamic presence in Tamale, we were required to alter our already more conservative dress. Head coverings were recommended by our staff, and we were obliged to comply. I actually bought some very beautiful veils there-- despite many women being covered from head to toe, it's a beautiful style.

Another major change, for me at least, was the tourist population. Due to Tamale's proximity to Mole, the major national park and main tourist draw, the city is host to many more obrunis. As such, the sight of an Obruni is much more common and I did not encounter the same amount of hassling from street vendors, or the same number of inquiries from curious Ghanians. It was startling, really, how differently we were treated. I walked down a street and no one noticed. It was crazy. I think it will be the same kind of change at home-- I'll walk down the block, turn around at the end and yell out "DIDN'T ANYONE SEE ME WALK BY?" Watch out, citizens of Columbus.

We had several days of classes and getting to know Tamale days. My favorite part of town was the Cultural Center. They had little booths set up there with various "Authentic Ghanian" crafts and wears. Although it was clearly a tourist stop and therefore catered to westerners, I was able to make friends with a woman who owned a Batik store there. I purchased several of her designs as well as some other things, but if I told you about them I'd be ruining many a Christmas present so you'll just have to writhe in anticipation. Bwa ha.

The main market was also fascinating. As in the other markets I have found here, they sold anything from live Chickens to car parts. Organized in sections by goods (fish over here, car parts over there, snack vendors peppered throughout), the smells and sights are overpowering. I got to hold a Guinea Fowl, a specialty of the North, and try the Cola nut. The nut is used in creating Coca-Cola, but it also has a lot of cultural significance.

The highlight of Tamale was, by far, the excursions to Mole National Park and Togo. We were able to reach Mole only after a bumpy, hellish ride of non-roads in our suspension-challenged Trotro, but once we reached our accommodations it was if we had died and reached some kind of Students-Abroad-in-Africa-Nirvana. The rooms were cool and clean (with pillows! And sheets!), there were pre-drawn buckets of water AND tap water, and... wait for it... there was a SWIMMING POOL.

Hot damn it was worth the ridiculous prices.

We spent the night by the pool and eating a pretty good dinner. The views were incredible. The hotel itself was built on top of a cliff that oversees the majority of the park. Right below our vista was one of the main watering holes, where elephants reportedly gathered to wallow in the mud and do other elephant-ish things. Although we didn't see any from the terrace, the tales of sightings in the past were enough to excite us for our hike the following morning. We did, however, get to come quite close to warthogs and baboons, as well as a white-fur-thing monkey and some really ugly birds.

And yes, these are technical names. There will be a quiz next week, so take notes.

We woke up the next morning to depart at 6, in order to catch the early-rising animals in their morning routines. We split into two groups again, and after some confusion on proper footwear (Mole rules require you to wear close-toed shoes. If you don't have proper footwear you are forced into renting some rather clunky Wellies. The ironic bit is that the wellies they rent out are so worn in that they have gaping holes in the foot. Oh Ghana.), my group took off. We started out by encountering a few warthogs wallowing in mud by the side of the road, and hiked through the bush to find a family of baboons and some more monkeys (what type? I don't know. They were brown. I think) in a tree. Of course what we were really after was an elephant.

Our guide was quite nice. He shifted the gun he was required to carry at all times from shoulder to shoulder, texting on his cellphone while leading us through the bush. I actually liked him quite a bit (seriously, I did). He answered all my questions, and when I kept pestering him good-naturedly to procure an elephant for us, he tossed me his cellphone with a picture of an elephant as the background.

He really knew his way around the park. He led us through elephant grass taller than myself, across eroded gorges and through a dried up watering hole. Eventually we circled back around to the main wallowing watering hole (Hehehe, wallowing watering hole. I like that) and across the field, we saw....

A white-tailed deer thing! WOOO!

Well, we saw that first. And after we had successfully scared THAT animal away, we looked across the field to see the elephant.

It was awesome. He was pretty tiny and we couldn't get much closer due to the muddy watery wasteland between us, but he had tusks and was doing that adorable flappy thing with his ears that elephants do.

My older sister, Katherine, really likes elephants. She does this excited-gasp noise whenever we see an especially adorable one in print or in film or wherever. I made that gaspy noise in her honor.

The hike back was filled with more blurry bird sightings, an angry warthog, and many startled antelope. We ended up climbing up the cliff directly to the terrace of our hotel, where several members of both groups fell directly into the pool and did not come out until we had to leave.

The drive back was hot and dusty. So dusty, in fact, that we were able to scrape layers of accumulated road-dirt off of our faces and exposed skin. Yaaaaay!

The next day we woke up early (5:30 a.) in order to catch a bus leaving for Paga, the boarder town that is famous for its crocodile ponds. Originally created as sacred pools to pay proper tribute to the clan's ancestors and the crocodile gods, today they are bribed out of the ponds with live chickens so fat white people can sit on them.

The times, they are a-changin'.

Most of our group went, although a few stayed behind due to the long bus ride. It took us 6 hours to make it to the boarder town. More bumpy roads, but on this ride we didn't charter the entire bus (due to it being an optional trip, not scheduled by SIT), so I spent the ride with my knees touching my chin while being sweat upon by my snoozing neighbor. I think the fondest memories I shall carry back home with me will be of my time in transit. Le sigh.

The ponds were beautiful. We only really saw one, the King's Pond (with the most crocodiles in it), but the marshy landscape popping out of the dry surroundings was quite a sight to behold. After paying the proper fees (one to behold the ponds, one to buy the chickens, one to ride the crocks), we walked over to get close to the pond. We had purchased two small chickens-- named "Mushy" and "Fufu" by yours truly-- that two small boys carried with them. A small crocodile was first called in one of the tinier runoff ponds, and we all took pictures of his grimacing smile. But then we were called to the main pond where Big Daddy had decided to grace us with his presence.

And what a presence it was. The crocodile wasn't HUGE, but he was pretty darn big. His eyes were smoky and glazed over, and his mouth was constantly open during the entire photo-session. He only closed the layers of sharp, pointy teeth to snap the neck of Mushy when we were done. The guides showed us how to properly walk around Big Daddy (also a name provided by myself), how to sit on his back and how to hold his tail. We were skittish at first, scattering like a cockroaches in sudden light whenever he moved his head, but as more and more students approached him to take increasingly ridiculous photos, we became pretty comfortable.
I got to ride him, and it was awesome. I held his tail and patted his back and snapped my pictures. Totally worth it. I then turned to our guide and asked him if I could feed him the chicken. And he said yes.
Best. Day. EVER.
In order to properly prepare Mushy, the small boys tied its wings together so he couldn't get away. They then handed him to me and told me to aim at Big Daddy's mouth-- not to throw it to close to me, because he was most likely going to lunge forward to capture Mushy in his menacing jaws. So I looked Big Daddy in the eyes, swung Mushy back, and lobbed him into the air.
As Mushy flew through the air, the crowd made small noises of terror as they snapped their photos. We waited for Big Daddy to lunge... and...
Well, I missed. So sue me. You try throwing a chicken and see how accurate you are.
So they poked Big Daddy with a stick and kind of... guided him over to the twitching ball that was Mushy, and THEN his big jaws snapped and cracked and Mushy was no more. I was watching when I felt the guide shove me forward.
"Go! Now go ride him again!"
"...excuse me? WHILE he's devouring that helpless animal that I tossed him?"
"Go go go!"
And so I went.
Not only did I get to ride a crocodile and feed him a chicken, but I got to ride him as he ate the chicken.
Awesome day.

There was also a "historic village" (read: place built to siphon off tourists' money) to visit in Togo, and we briefly got to see it. But we were rushed through the rest of our time there due to miscommunication and our impatient SIT staff member (who accompanied us on our journey). But the buildings were very beautiful. They have a different style of decoration in the far north-- painting directly on to the mud exteriors. The black patterns, painted only by women, are reflective of the village and the values. Diamonds, symbols of strength and endurance, are the most common, but due to the unusual presence of the crocodile pond, the crocodile was also a popular motif. I wish we could have gotten a bit more time there, but alas! What can you do? You can't feed a crocodile a chicken and see the village too.

We drove past the boarder on the way back. That was very cool to see as well.

After both of these excursions, we woke up early yet again to get on the sans-suspension bus to drive to Cape Coast. The drive is exceptionally long, so they smartly decided to stay the night in Kumasi. We saw a waterfall on the way down, and got some very amusing group photos. I'll see if I can get one of those posted-- it's about time for another picture post, if I can manage it. After the waterfall we drove without major incident to Kumasi where we stayed the night. Some students went back to visit their homestay families, but I did not. Surprise surprise.

Instead I went with Megan Gurrentz and Lydia to visit Mame B, one of the teachers we had in Kumasi as well as Megan's homestay mom. She was wonderfully welcoming, and asked us many questions about our travels and gave us Fantas. It was really nice to see her again. We also got to see her husband, who is also a Chief of a village (but lives in Kumasi). I'd only met him once before, where when he asked me (in Twi) where I lived, I responded "Aduwe Encuanta", the stop on the Tro-tro I got off at. Aduwe Encuanta, in English, means Monkey Junction. Due to the difficulty I had saying Aduwe correctly, I would often have to resort to English, saying "Monkey Junction! Monkey Junction!" in order to get directions or to stop the Tro-tro at the right time. I had told this story to Mame B's husband, so when he saw me and after we had done the Ghanian greetings, he pointed at me with a large smile on his face and bellowed, "Monkey Junction!".

Megan and Lydia found that pretty funny. It's a nickname now. Le sigh. (A note to Lyndsey, who I know is reading this: NO, you may not call me Monkey Junction.)

The Chief also said that, "You have only been gone a few days and you are looking beautiful! You have grown so fat!" It's a nice compliment to a Ghanian... but we mostly just laughed. The constant starchy diet is getting the better of us, it seems. Hahahaha!

We left Kumasi the next morning (early, again) to drive the remainder of the journey to Cape Coast. More suspension-less potholes, more roaches, more dust. But we're here, we've made it, and it's beautiful. Cape Coast, the old capital of Ghana, is on the Ocean. It boasts many beaches and rocky things to take pictures of, in addition to two historic castles built by the Dutch and the Portugese (later to be taken over by the Swedish, and eventually British). Both fortifications of claimed territory and slave gateways, we are going to tour both during our visit here.

I think that's enough for one post. I'll work on more photos! Sorry for the delay in posting, in Tamale telling, et cetera.
Be safe!
Love,
Freckles O'Bruni, Monkey Junction, Auntie Lala
... or just Lo!

Tamale, in one post

Greetings.

We've just returned from the famed Crocodile Pond where I not only got to SIT upon a Crocodile, oh no... but FEED one a live Chicken. Sweet revenge for so many 4am wake-ups, you are sweet.

I think the power's going out now. Crap.
More later

Love,
Lo

I live! With Photographic Proof!

Whooo! Hello again from Kumasi, friends.
WITH PHOTOS! OH SNAP!

After two weeks in the village, we have returned. While I enjoyed Benim, I am glad to be back in civilization. Or, more accurately, what I have adjusted my standards to deem "civilization" once again.
We're staying in Lizzie's Hotel (where I had a horrible experience before-- no light in the bathroom or bedroom, no lock, no anything... bad night.) but I remain hopeful this time will be better. We take of tomorrow morning at 7(ish) so we can drive the 7 estimated hours to Tamale, where we will spend another week. Tamale, they tell us, is hella hot. Literally every time the name Tamale is mentioned, the staff goes "Oooooh! There it is very hot", before recounting some horror story from a previous year where all the students on the busride up got heatsickness and vomited all over everything, ever.
I've found the staff is full of a lot of stories of that calibur.

My freckles have decided to multiply in numbers I have never seen before. The consistant sunlight around the Equator can do that, I guess. Regardless, at one point in the village I was identified simply for my freckles. Jokingly, for a day I became "Freckles O'Bruni, whitest kid in the village". It was a pretty awesome day.

But yes! About that village!
It's name is Benim, called for a palm frond discovered by the founder that had many nuts but no wicks(?). The actual name for the non-wick many nutted palm frond is actually, as you might imagine, quite longer. But it starts with Be Nima... something something, and has become Benim. It was the largest of the villages SIT students stayed at, numbering between 500 and 1000 people. There were also three schools (two public, one private) so there was never a shortage of children. When we first got there, after unloading our luggage from the trotro on stroids that took us to Benim, a gaggle of children came running across the school lawn screaming, "OBRUNI!" They followed us to the SIT headquarters in Benim, a house belonging to an older woman we came to know as Nana, and really never left. If there was a single consistancy throughout my stay in Benim, it was the presence of children.
We would be sitting on sofas, reading, and they would slowly leak into the room. Every time I looked up, they had doubled in size. And not for the entertainment the Obruni was providing, because I assure you reading "Things Fall Apart" was to myself, not some kind of organized reading. I would sit on the sofa, regard the chilren, keep reading, look up again at their doubled size, shudder slightly, keep reading, and so on. Some were consistantly there, like Pricilla and Nana Yaw (called Nana, a title of respect, at a young age because he was named for The Honorable Nana Yaw, and it seems disrespectful to refer to the child, named for the great man, without the title of greatness), while others such as Soloman and Mabina were guest stars in the odd little melodrama of "follow the Obruni and get in her way whenever possible".
It actually took a couple of days before my village-mates (Isabel, Mara, Natalie, and Amanda) and I wondered why the kids weren't in school. And that's when we were informed that in Ghana, although public schools are free for everyone, the children aren't really forced to stay in school. Because the teachers are payed for their work, regardless of graduation rates, test scores, or what-have-you, the children can just leave class at any time if they so wish. The teachers aren't reviewed, aren't fired, and are given free reign to do whatever they want. Amanda worked in a school for her mini ISP, and one time the teacher left in the middle of the day to take a nap, while Amanda did what she could. So if you want your child to get an education where they LEARN, you have to send them to a private school. Private schools cost from one to two cidis a day (one cidi is about .60 or .70 cents), which many families just can't afford. Still, all that being said, the children genuinely enjoy school and try to keep with it as long as they can. So that, at least, is good.

Benim had the same red-earth color that was so prevalant in Accra. While it felt drier, there were more plants than I had seen before, and at times the dirt roads erupted into violent patches of green grass(!). It was almost comical, really, the way the grass grew among the dirt and sand of the roads. The buildings were concrete, mostly, with open air courtyards and tin roofs. The courtyards (almost the entire population of Benim lives in compound-style living) each held large oil barrles, cleaned out and used to collect rain for clean water. The first eight days we had consistant rain at night, but for the remaining six days we had water shortages due to the dry spell. Clean water was hard to come by, so everyone had to do without bucket showers and use as little water as possible. That's one thing I've really come to appreciate-- clean and safe water. It's so readily available (faucets! Taps! Bottles!) back at home, but here it's a legitimate concern. You plan how you use each bucket of water, because it's not always certain when the next one will be available.
I stayed in the SIT headquarters, with Nana and her grandson Nana Yaw. Nana Yaw, having hosted Obrunis in the past, was more than willing to spend time with us, posing for the camera and asking for gifts and being a bit of a spoiled brat. His mother, Cicily, is twenty years old. She had Nana Yaw when she was sixteen. She farms, but lives in the house as well. For the most part I didn't interact with the family in the house (we all had meals together in the house, cooked by Auntie Grace, and I was mostly with my village-mates) as much as I could have, but they had a busy schedule. The times I DID help around the house (sweeping was mostly my job), they laughed good-naturedly at me for doing such a horrible job. Nana, however unintentionally, was hilarious. She spoke no English, but didn't allow that to stop her from chatting at us most of the time. She also enjoyed walking around topless. She's maybe 70? One time I came around the corner to find Nana, naked as the day she was born. I made a loud noise in suprise, and she kept asking me why I was startled (in Twi). Stammering for a response while trying to hide my burning eyes, I told her I'd seen a large bug and got the hell outta dodge.
Food was made for us by Auntie Grace, but one night we got to cook for her. Deemed "American Night" on our schedule, we had to work together to brainstorm a meal, cook it, and serve it to our Ghanian hosts. We decided on Veggie Burgers with Yam Chips and Guacamole. Basically the most American you can get when working with Ghanian ingredients. We made veggie burgers out of beans, curry, and assorted veggies. We pounded them into patties. After that we cut Yam (or Cassava, or Coco Yam, the only difference being where the Yam is grown) into thinish slices and fried them in oil. The Guac was made without tomatoes or onions (as Amanda dislikes both of those), but still good nonetheless. I was in charge of frying up the yam chips, which took about 12 minutes per batch. Fun times. In the end, though, we produced a pretty tasty meal and all went to bed having eaten far too much.

For my mini ISP, I wove Kente Cloth. A traditional Ashante cloth, it was originally made in only Black and White because they lacked the dyes to color anything brightly. After imported dyes came, however, yellow and red became the staple colors of Kente. Hand woven in long and thin strips, many Kente Cloths are sewed together to make a large Kente Blanket, worn by chiefs and for formal Ghanian events as a sign of wealth and prominance. The patterns are colorful and varied, but always have the gold base. The man I learned from has been weaving for twenty years and was an apprentice for three. He built the loom he weaves on himself, and does so to suppliment his income. He is a farmer by trade.

I wove with him for a week, but I was only working the loom for three days. It is a hard process, Kente. You have to weave the bobbin in every other row in addition to the smaller, more fragile, strings that make the pattern on the red-and-green base. I also had the problem of tension, as when I drew the slam shield (my name for it, not the actual term, have no fear) back to tighten the new row, I couldn't keep it even. So as my patterns progressed everything started leaning slightly to the left. And then more to the left. And then my Master had to take over the loom to fix it. Whoops!
I had a great time weaving. I made two cloths, which is pretty impressive for three days of work. For an Obruni. When Nana Ogau (Kente Master) weaves, it takes him three days to complete an entire cloth (much longer than the one I was weaving) of the hardest and most difficult pattern. It takes an entire day to string the loom properly. So my weaving, with all its intricacy (compare: Kindergardner's Crayon drawing to a Klimt painting) he could do in an afternoon. Regardless, I was lerning and I am damn proud of my little scraps. Hell to the yes.

We've done drumming here a couple of times (once was in Accra, pictured, as formal lessons, once was in Kumasi as a part of our Drumming/Dancing class, but more of the focus was on Dancing), but it was really fun to be in the village and actually be able to make out the beats they used, and then follow them. The music here is polyrythem, so unlike our straightforward European music, many things go on at once, and to the untrained ear (like my own), it sounds like nothing matches up. It actually all fits together, but more on a circular method than an exactly determined one. It's very hard to explain. Regardless, I got to do a bit of drumming in the village (I don't completely suck! Win!) and everyone at least appreciates it when I try to participate, instead of sitting it out or just watching. Even if I butcher their music, at least I'm trying! Yay!

One of the most interesting parts was the expectancy of the villagers for us to give them gifts. Itw as only something that became readily apparant at the end, but it was worth noting nonetheless. We want to help the village out, and indeed when we get back we are going to raise money at our schools to help Benim build a library, but we weren't ready for the sheer bluntness of some of the villagers. Today, after coming back from giving Nana Ogau a gift for teaching me to weave, I met some people in the street for the first time. Because I (obviously) stick out in the village setting, it is not uncommon for people to yell at me and start a conversation. Usually they are short, thanks to my limited knowledge of Twi, but when walking through the paths of Benim I was consistantly hailed with calls of "Obruni! E te seyn?" {Obruni, how are you?}. In Ghana, when you are greeted, it is very rude not to respond at all. So at times, when I walked along the more popoulated paths, a trip of 5 minutes could take me 40 minutes, due to greetings alone. In any case, this morning before I left I was walking back and encountered a group of men for the first time. After the obligatory greeting, I informed them that it was my last morning in Benim. They responded with, "That's sad. So what are you giving me?". They have come to expect gifts and favors and, frankly, money from Obrunis simply because they are Obrunis. We were also given, durning our stay, a list of things that the elders of Benim requested for the school, from us. As a donation. That we didn't ask about. That they wanted by the time we left.
It just makes me sad that that's the most they expect from visitors-- money.
There's more to say about the village, but I'm afraid I'm running low on time.

I am especially excited to go to Tamale because of the day excursions we'll take. One is to go see the Sahara, and on the way stop at a Crocodile pond famous for the number of Crocodiles in it. You can pay to ride them and to feed a live(!!) chicken to them. I would feel bad about this except for the fact that on this trip I have consistantly been awakened by roosters crowing at 4 in the morning. Therefore, I think of it less as cruelty and more as Kharma.
The other trip is to an Elephant park, where we'll hike around the National Park and see Lions, Elephants, Giraffe, Hippos, and all those African Friends, as well as possibly ride an Elephant. Soooo excited.

I'll have internet in Tamale (so they say), so hopefully I'll keep up with the blog. I hope everyone at Colby had a nice Fall Break, and that everyone else had a nice Columbus Day! Keep making safe decisions!

Love,
Freckles O'Bruni
(Lo)