Kokrobite Beach

This photo possibly sums up the feeling of spending 1.5 weeks in a warm country's dusty classrooms only to hop into a mini bus after school, drive an hour through Ghana's biggest city, turn off the 'motorway', follow the coast and end up at 'Big Milly's Backyard', a low-key backpackers' bungalow residence reminiscent of those in Thailand:

I don't like small children but i'm in love with this one. Also in love with everything this beach is about. It's kind of hard to explain because the beach in Ghana is definitely not something people celebrate.  At least not in the same way as the rest of the Western world.  In Cape Coast, men combed the beach panning for gold and pushing each other into the waves as some form of friendly mock torture.  In Accra, derelict car parks sit next to beautiful old buildings that both line the beach but no one's paying it any mind.  Developed beach resorts were few and far between.  And the few 'beach resorts' were more restaurants-with-golfing-with-beautiful-rooms.  Not an umbrella to been seen. No sun loungers.  And white sand stretching endlessly in both directions. 

So 'Big Milly's' was a hidden gem of a delight.  The road leading to it was unpaved and potholed.  That was no big deal other than the fact that Clement, our safe and dependable van driver, had to drop us at the end of the road. And as we walked through the road becoming increasingly filled with sand, we reached some gates and the bungalows and bar came into view.  Little huts and a bar and a suspended bungalow and a restaurant with a sand flood.  And little stalls. And then the beach unfolded: 

Two hours wasn't enough.  Which is why we went back two days later and spent our last Ghanaian hours on Kokrobite Beach. 

Tidbits of Ghanaian Culture

Highlights of a few bits of Ghanaian culture that make me wish I were at least a little bit Ghanaian:

Azonto
It's apparently a dance craze taking Ghana, Africa and the world by storm. It has its roots in Jamestown, the formerly English, currently shanty town part of Accra. The concept is simple: make dance moves that mimic your career/profession. So my Azonto moves might include scribbling frantically in the air with an imaginary pen, air pointing at an imaginary board and miming yelling at a student. Dora and Juliet tried it out in the clubs of Osu, Accra and were greeted with positive results. In fact, Dora's dance buddy even called a friend mid-Azonto to shout 'Hey, guess what? I'm dancing with a white girl!' down the phone. It's good to know men are idiots the world over.

Handshakes
I've slowly come to master a traditional tribal handshake many people greet each other with. It's a lot like a handshake with a mutual finger snap at the end. I'm not doing it justice, but it's very, very cool.

And it also beats the awkward silence when someone you're saying farewell to addresses you saying: 'May God bless your family, may He bless your relatives, and may God bless you and may he bring you many, many children before you are too old!'

Food
The biggest complaint of our teacher master class students over the past week has not been about the teaching. Nor has it been about taking time out of their summer holidays to attend CPD. No. The biggest complaint has been about the food. To quote Olivia, a lovely Ghanaian English teacher: 'us Ghanaians need food that sticks here! (pointing to her ample hips) we need heavy food. Good food!' I took this opportunity to get Olivia's recipe for joloff rice (but only after filing the complaint that our tasty treats of bread, mini fried chicken and assorted sausage rolls was not cutting the mustard, as such.)

Then there's shito. Yes, shito. Shito. It's a spicy pepper condiment sold in jars that, unsurprisingly looks like shit-o. But it's pretty delicious. With rice. With plantains. With any of the uber limited vegetarian options here. So good that I'll be taking some home with me.

Clothing
The big deal in women's fashion in Ghana is to buy fabric and material then take it to your seamstress. It's colourful, trendy and fit to each person's body type. See, I really was trendsetting in the sixth grade when I wore those one piece play suits my mom sewed me and my three-year-old sister. Those middle school bullies didn't know fashion when they saw it! But I digress. Most women here wear various brightly patterned dresses, matching skirts and tops and have hairstyles to match. Olivia's offered me the name of her tailor in Osu and another teacher told Juliet she'd try to get her seamstress to come to master class sessions, take her measurements and then sit in the back and sew. Now that's service.

And that's not even the half of it.

More Adventures in Teaching

Headed home from Kokrobite Beach jamming to Ghanaian music with eight other seemingly normal teachers, I had the cheesy, rare but sublimely heart-full feeling of happiness. Like so happy I could explode.

Like one part I've found my people and one part I've found my career. And it's so easy to get bogged down in red tape and bureaucracy in teaching, but I looked in front of me to see nine pairs of flailing arms dancing Azonto (Ellis, our driver included) and had a moment's silent thanks to the powers that pushed me into a classroom way back in the day.

Alas, I get nostalgic. The last twelve days have flown. I have gotten myself in a series of bizarre situations, from making wind-whipping noises to a classroom full of 30 adults to defending Shakespeare to a group of semi-hostile English teachers. But nothing quite sums up the experience like telling the story of Romeo and Juliet in a 'Whoosh!' story circle whilst a pair of chickens clucked and strutted past the door.

And much like any classroom, ours have been filled with the assortment of shy people, cheeky characters and the odd gifted and talented individual. Perhaps the big difference is that at the end of some of the sessions, teachers approach you, ask questions and then tell you how they're going to try a technique you introduced in their classroom. It feels good, it really does.

So lots of touchy feely warm fuzzies tonight. I apologise for the digression. Photos and weekend trip details and school pictures to come...

Cape Coast Weekend (Day Two)

We made our only stop on Sunday about half an hour up the road at Kakum National Park.  It sparkles on the scale of all things that are spectacular and is located in the dead middle of the rainforest.  Rainforest! 

                                      

Kakum is best known for its series of hanging bridges that skirt the canopy layer of the rainforest. 

rainforest canopy

Nets and wires connect 7 platforms that run the length of over 330 meters. I'm not normally afraid of heights, but it's a terrifying sensation to be suspended above the air by a series of 2-by-4s and mesh netting.  Coupled with this, we were told not to expect to see too many animals but if we were quiet and kept our eyes open, a monkey might grace us with its presence.  I hate monkeys.  

close up 

the super cute Ghanaian family dressed up in the same print fabric

the narrowness 

fear face

side view 

But the walk was exhilarating in a heart stopping kind of way.  

We followed this with a guided tour of the plant life in the forest learning the medicinal value of much of the foliage.  For example:

Fagara (Zanthoxylum Chevalieri)--a flowering citrus-type plant that's deadly if pushed into one 

the tallest tree in this part of the rainforest 

weird girl, big tree

no idea but it looked cool 

We finished off with a stop in a gift shop and on the way we had two brushes with wildlife--first we witnessed a colony of ants devour a crushed scorpion.  Then, we accidentally interrupted a colony of fire ants on the march. They ended up on my shoes, crawling up my ankles, scratching and clawing their way up.  Folks, if I can impart one nugget of wisdom, can I just say this: fire ants are given their name for a reason.  

And that's what I learned in the rainforest.  

Cape Coast Weekend (Day One)

On our only whole weekend in Ghana, WIA provided us a trip away from Accra.  Masterclass and summer school teachers combined into our gigantic mini bus and made our way over an american-funded freeway and various b-roads five hours away to the Cape Coast region.  Unfortunately, my day of stomach issues finally came and I boarded the bus after drugging myself with Immodium (sorry for the overshare) and Dramamine which had severe consequences later on in the day. I spent much of the journey slumped over a window seat drooling the journey away.  Classy.

On our way, we encountered the best worst public toilet I've ever seen.  It was connected to a petrol station and the owners were kind enough to let us use it.  'Inside', the concrete slanted sort of down into a sort of hole, but not really.  Flies and weird bugs loitered around the 'hole'.  The best part, however, was the partition between female and male toilets--it was a short wall.  Thus, you could wave up/across to the man/boy peeing literally next to you.  It was a feat of engineering brilliance!
                                         

Our driver, Clement and our Ghanaian tour guide accompanied us.  He engaged us in a debate/argument/guilt trip on the evils of slavery before we made it to our first stop:

Stop One: Elmina Castle 

photo courtesy of google 

the city of Elmina

Before we got inside the castle, we were met by a series of touts who pressured us into buying their goods using a series of tactics guilting us for our skin colour and nationalities.  It was very uncomfortable but I'm not sure the attitude was much different once we got inside.  

Our tour included a lesson on the sordid history of the castle, which was founded by the Portuguese in 1482.  The castle eventually changed hands to the Dutch and then the British until Ghana's independence in 1957.  The slave trade ended under Dutch rule in 1814 but the scars remain.  

 The castle was often the final holding place for slaves being sent to The New World--mainly Brazil and other Portuguese colonies.  Both Europeans and Africans took part in the slave trade--with some African chiefs and locals bartering their people for goods the Europeans provided.  

Conditions inside were harsh--with darkened cells and pits for solitary confinement in the lower regions and palace-like rooms for the regiments housed there in the upstairs of the castle.  Slaves passed through 'The Door of No Return' in their final journey across the unpredictable Atlantic.  

I suppose it's hard to get any kind of positive feeling from an experience like this, and I suppose resentment is a justifiable emotion for the locals to feel, but Elmina was by far the most hostile place we encountered on our trip.  It felt like many of the locals were so caught up in the past that they struggled to move on in the present.  Easy for me to say, I suppose...

Stop Two: Coconut Grove Beach Resort 

In stark contrast, we stopped twenty minutes up the road for lunch at a restaurant that could accommodate the size of our party.  We drove through a minefield of golf karts, a golf course and a genuine alligator pit.  The resort is owned by one of Ghana's wealthy magnates whose name currently escapes me.  

We were met by a group of Ghanaian businessmen who were impressed we knew their snap clap handshake and a stunning stretch of white sand that went on and on and on.  The restaurant served a series of delightful Ghanaian food that I opted against--the Dramamine was starting to catch up with me.  

Stop Three: Hans Botel (aka the hotel with the alligator pit)

If I were feeling better I think I would've enjoyed Hans Botel a whole lot more.  A village made of wood was built above a pit filled with alligators adjacent to a bird park filled with little yellow chirpy things.  I saw this briefly before passing out in my hotel room with the Olympics on the tv.  I woke up three hours later and tried to walk down to dinner which induced lots of sweating and stomach cramps. I opted for mint tea instead. 

                                             yellow birds and their crazy nests

Hans Botel's leading resident

part of the wooden village 

I woke up the next morning feeling much better and passed the digestive pyrotechnics to another member of the team.  Over the course of the two weeks, each of us would have a little bout with what we coined 'New Mexico'.  I guess you had to be there. 

Accra

On our first full day in Ghana, we hopped in the group mini-bus and took a tour of Accra.  Despite its population (roughly 2 million people), central Accra felt small and unobtrusive.  High rises were reserved for Western hotels, new residences and a few lone banks.  The rest of the city spread across a large area of two and three stories buildings, shopping malls and the shanty town area of Jamestown.  The colonial past of the city was felt in parts of Jamestown in particular--complete with a polo ground and an old British-style town hall.  The remains of the area are a bit run down:  

                                      

Across the street from here, we had a stunning view of the sea.  And as we drove past, a group of boys playing football waved, sang and one particular cheeky one stuck his middle finger out smiling and laughing the whole time.  Our driver, Ellis, blamed western television.  The view: 

                                     

look closely for the man dancing alone to the rhythm of the sea 

                                     

                                     

At our next stop, the Kwame Nkrumah museum, we were regaled with the history of the founder of modern Ghana.  Nkrumah saw Ghana through to independence from Britain and served as the country's first president before a coup took over the country and sent him into exile.  The museum was an ornate homage to kitsch memorabilia--including the pen Nkrumah wrote with, the desk he sat at and the phone he used to make a call to a person of relevance.  

The apparent story behind this statue is that it was vandalised during the coup and thieves removed its head and it disappeared.  

However, forty years after the coup, some granny rocked up to the museum with Nkruma's head (in statue form) relatively intact.  Why they haven't tried to put the head back on the statue is a mystery to me...

We moved on to the coffin stores because Ghana is also famous for its decorative coffin industry.  Apparently this has roots in tradition--a tradition where the relative monied of Ghana would be buried in a coffin that represented their profession.  For example, if you were a goat farmer, you'd be buried in a goat (made of wood, that is).  Now, quite clearly, this has got out of hand and a little bit commercial because I don't know anyone who is:  

                                                 

a Nike shoe maker (Malaysia is Nike's sweatshop country of choice, not Ghana)

         

a crab farmer? 

It was surreal, a little bit morbid and very cool.  

Finally we stopped at a shopping mall that resembled a slightly crap version of Lakeside Mall in Michigan.  It came complete with two grocery stores, a fabric shop and various electronic goods establishments.  

      

Surprisingly, it was ketchup heaven.  

And back to the teaching! 

Ghana (part one)

I hastily type this on my iPhone, the only blog entry I've ever done in-country. Maybe this says something about the brilliance of wireless technology worldwide, a celebration of globalisation. Perhaps.

I'm sitting in a room at Yiri Lodge, accommodation on the university of Ghana's campus and I must say it's much more swish than my old CMU days...air con, hot water, relatively bugless and no promiscuous, respectless roommates fornicating on the bunk bed above me. In fact, no bunk bed above me!

Alas, Africa's been awash with chickens, dust and an expectation-defying sense of optimism. I haven't even begun to process what I'm seeing and doing here so stories will have to suffice:

Scenario 1: stepping off the airplane after a free BA club class upgrade, two hours in the VIP lounge and several glasses of champagne. Stepping into an airport lounge built for 100 and crammed with the human contents of four 747 international flights and their affiliated baggage. 2.5(!) hours later, after squeezing through the toothpaste tube resembling customs, we made it to the other side. Welcome to Ghana.

Scenario 2: the first days of school. If Florida school system's layout met new York City schools' lack of resources, you have the posh making of our little school in Accra. Kids swept the dirt off the dirt in school uniform upon our arrival, a termite mound stood derelict in the courtyard and a boy with a drum began tappin away ushering his summer schoolmates into action. There was order and marching and quiet. It was a beautiful thing.

And then due to various debacles, 5 teachers showed up for the masterclasses we were running on the first day. But fear not, because a cohort 85 strong showed up on day two. And four hours later, I walked away buzzing from the first CPD I've delivered to adults. Who listened. And participated in soundscaping and making whooshing wind noises before applauding and thanking me in delivering a helpful session on teaching African poetry.

                                         

Scenario 3: stepping into an under marked taxi at 11pm with my fellow teachers and noticing that the driver has no keys. No worries, he hotwired the car and sped off down the road chasing a lead taxi through cracked windows going 60mph. Beneath our feet, the floor shook in opposite directions and an eerily close smell of petrol permeated the car. 3/4 of the way through the journey, our driver decided to turn the headlights on. When we stopped at a red light, our driver was forced to rehotwire the car. Miraculously, we made it back in our original forms. And it only cost ten cedi...

So I won't wax on and on but I'd like to mention that this place is pretty brilliant. And I've finally made Warwick University work for me. Hats off to Warwick in Africa, hats off to my generous sponsors and hats off to the extremely talented teachers I get to work alongside and the other group of talented teachers who let me talk at them.

10 more days!