I'll start with the stories from Ghana: We flew out to Ghana on the 25th of September for a 10 day trip centered around a Marathon that some of our friends were running. I don't quite have the build for marathons so I thought it best that I sit out and watch to make sure I was right about it -which I was. We stayed in Accra for a couple days after the Marathon to let the runners recover and from there went to Cape Coast which housed a big slave fort back in the days of the slave trade. The size of the fort was incredible and attempting to imagine the terrible conditions of those inside it was impossible, as I was sweating profusely with our small tour group. The fort stood right above enormous breaking waves on a rock jutting into the southern facing, western Atlantic coast and was surrounded by enormous cannons and high walls. The area the fort was located on was one of the most scenic shorelines I had ever seen. Unfortunately, every city we went to was burdened with the same reminder of the exploitation of Africa and the underlying knowledge of Ghana being a huge hub for the slave trade was present everywhere.
Two pictures of the slave fort at Cape Coast
After Cape Coast, we went off to a different hotel on the beach in the middle of nowhere and enjoyed the incredible seafood. We purchased five fresh lobsters and three large tuna and had them cooked for under twenty dollars total. It was an awesome end to a perfect day and made me forget about the sunburn until I got back to the room and looked in a mirror. The next day we left the beach for Accra and Mali the following morning.
The last morning in Accra was interesting. Throughout the trip we had been making references to this woman we met on the street selling pineapples from a plate balanced on the top of her head. Each time a person passed her she would open her eyes to maximum capacity, nod her head towards the oncoming person, and say in an overly exaggerated low voice "Sweeeet!" We initially assumed that was the only word of English she knew, and since she had provided us with so much entertainment throughout the trip we agreed to buy a couple dollars worth of Sweeeet. We ran around Accra in the morning before our 10am flight and finally found her outside of a gas station. From across the road she recognized us and immediately posed a more questioning version of her catch phrase: "Sweeeeet?" To this we replied with something along the lines of 'most definitely' and assumed we'd have to work in hand signals to figure out what she would say afterwards, as none of us had any idea where to begin with the local language of Ga. Ms Sweet, as we now lovingly refer to her, was the most eloquent English speaker we met in all of Ghana. She not only explained the price differences in the pineapples, but the taste difference in those sizes and how she knew that they were ripe and of course Sweeeeet. We walked away from her with six pineapples, one of which she gave to us for free as a token of appreciation for buying so many. I wish I had a picture of us with Ms Sweet, but my camera ran out of batteries before the end of the trip.
Next up was meeting Drew and Rudy in the airport shortly after my flight arrived in Bamako. On the flight I sat next to the trainers of the Liberian national soccer team who were on their way to play Mali in Bamako the following Saturday. I was offered free tickets to the game, but unfortunately had to decline because I had planned on being in my site for the weekend with Rudy and Drew. Also, I couldn't have been on the Liberian side after living in Mali so long. Mali ended up winning 2-1 and I was able to watch the guys I sat next to on the plane from a bar in Manantali.
I spent a day in Manantali with Drew and Rudy because we missed the transport out to my site the morning after we arrived. We walked up a ridge line and bushwhacked through some thick overgrowth. Right before we reached the summit of one of the cliffs we heard voices and saw that there were two men up on top of the ridge with guns. It turns out they were guardians of the upper region surrounding the dam and they helped us up the last rock and offered us a grilled ear of corn. From the top we found out that there is a service road that leads up there and that if we went up that instead of bushwhacking we would have saved at least an hour and prevented ourselves from getting torn up by razor grass and thorns. It didn't really matter though because the second we got to the top we were astounded by the view. I had no idea the reservoir was as big as it was. It was a perfect clear day and I have never seen water look so blue. We got a fantastic picture with our new friend who was very proud to show off his gun that was held together by plastic bands.
On top of the ridge overlooking the reservoir with Fode.
I think the high point was the dance party that my village threw for a wedding that coincided with the boys' visit. The basic format for Malian dance parties is to have five or more people in the middle of a circle doing a modified version of the running man while waving around head wraps that the women hand off to you and alternating high and low clapping. We quickly became professionals and literally danced up a dust storm -or maybe that was just Rudy.
Fatim and Bugari doing the girl-style African jump dance with Drew and Rudy in the background. (Luckily there's no real photo evidence of us dancing, but trust that if there was a rug, it would have been cut to shreds)
A picture of Rudy, Drew and me in Manantali at sunset
Shortly after the Manantali stay, I showed the boys what real African travel was like and put them on a truck-bus to Bamako which overall wasn't bad until a five liter jug of milk spilled out and curdled on the floor next to us an hour away from Bamako. It was gross, but added to the overall pleasantness of the other days. We finished the trip with a couple relaxed days in Dakar before the boys flew out for the states. I'm off to site tomorrow for some much needed village time before the same thing happens again with the parents.
