The Native Tour of Accra

In four hours I’ll be on a plane to Morocco. The dance music is blaring. Outside on the back lawn of someone’s fabulous mansion, there is a full on Agape/Etherean Mission dance party, but I am exhausted. I can’t believe I’m actually leaving. This has been such a strange and beautiful trip.

Backing up to where I left off, after saying goodbye to the gorgeous beach at the Coconut Grove Resort, we piled back on the bus and Redeemer (our driver) drove us to the Kakum National Park. There we actually got to walk through the rainforest. Now, for those of you who might not know it, I am not an animal person…not even a little bit, so things like going to the zoo or to the aviary or even on Safari don’t really appeal to me. Needless to say when they started talking about the monkeys and what not that live in the rainforest, I was questioning whether or not I even wanted to go on the hike…but I figured when in Ghana, do what the Ghanaians say you should…so I joined the large group of people hiking up the path to walk on the Canopy Bridges. There are 7 Canopy Bridges made of wood and ropes that hang between the treetops 11 stories above the forest. I didn’t see any monkeys. In fact as I walked very carefully across the creaky bridges, the only thing I could see was green for miles and the horizon in the distance. It was absolutely breathtaking. After I finished, I hiked back down the path, stopping to buy palm wine and to admire the butterflies.
Then it was on to Accra where my native guide tour really began.

While I spent the first part of my trip going to cultural heritage sites, hanging out at nice hotels, praying, and shopping, the second part was spent mostly wandering around the back streets of Accra with Benjamin. Just as before Benji proved himself to be a fun, patient, and fascinating travel companion. On my first day he took me to get my hair done (will blog on that separately) and then to this Fufu bar called the Zion Hut. I never had fufu before and it is Benji’s favorite food. We were joined by his two cousins Nicolas and the one whose name I always forget, but who everyone calls Rasta because of his twists. Rasta has a car so Benji commandeered him to chauffer us around after getting price gouged on cab fair from La Palm (the hotel). Simply traveling with an American made the ride more than doubly expensive.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite so American as I did wandering around with Benji. When we got to the Zion hut, I chatted a bit with Nick and Rasta. Both of them have two really long fingernails…just two, the rest are normal. I finally asked them what was up with that and they just laughed and said that it was useful for opening things. Then they kind of went back to talking amongst themselves in Ga or being eerily quiet. I just sat and looked around trying to figure out what was going on…I think that is my new hobby. I mean the people watching alone was fascinating. All you ladies in Seattle wondering where all the good looking black men are…the answer is definitely Africa. Everyone is simply gorgeous…dark skin, white teeth, and nothing but muscle. Mensah (our guide) kind of broke down Ghana into several regions and explained that different groups of people have different characteristics. Benji is Ga and Ga are on the shorter side of the spectrum, coal black, and with chiseled faces. During our walks we would often run into his relatives, mostly men, brothers, cousins, and the occasional uncle and they all had that same look.

Fufu is made from cassava and something else. Whatever it is gets pounded in a big wooden bowl until it becomes a white dough. The dough is placed in a soup and then you dig out balls of it, dip it in the soup and swallow it whole. I’m not into the whole swallowing food whole thing. I tend to chew by default, so when I was trying my first bite, I of course did it all wrong. I didn’t take enough. I didn’t pick it up the right way (you eat with your right hand…after everyone washes their hand in a bowl with soap). And then I chewed, which they found hilarious. Fufu doesn’t really taste like anything and the sauce is hot, slow burn hot so you don’t realize it until halfway through, but the goat was delicious.

Since I seemed to like the goat so much, Benji invited me to a home cooked meal the next evening…cooked by his friend Peter. But first we had to find a deck of cards for Marisa, so we ended up walking all around the hood. Benji lives in an area not far from La Palm. To me it seemed an incomprehensible catacomb of alleyways, some paved, some dirt, but all rocky and lined with people selling stuff, walking around, bathing their children, getting their hair done, taking a nap…you name it, I saw it. There were chickens and roosters wandering around, some with strings attached to one foot for easier capture. I passed by goats and lots of tiny homeless kittens just chilling. It was a huge difference from the luxury of the hotel with its Chinese restaurant, icecream parlor, pools, and Casino, not to mention the flush toilets. Once again I encountered a whole different system for relieving one’s self. At one point I was walked to a stall with a drain and given a bucket of water…saves on paper I guess. I don’t know. I really wish people would tell you the rules in advance. I’m sure there is an easy and logical way to pee without a toilet or a bush and more importantly without pissing on your shoes.

In the hood the alleys were narrow and damp in some places from where water had dripped from someone’s bath or laundry. The walls were faded shades of yellow, pink, blue, green, and what might have been white at one point in time. Some had phone number chalked on the side. A lot of times we’d be walking and we’d turn the corner and it would feel like we were literally inside someone’s house. There are no lawns, no gardens, just concrete and dirt and doorways into courtyards. It was hard for me to tell what was public space and what was private space. After visiting two stores in an attempt to find decent playing cards, we ventured into an open plaza where people were playing soccer. Benji met up with one of his friends who is a card shark and he went and found some quality cards while we people watched. Finally we were able to resume our journey to Peter’s place. Peter is a character, by far Benji’s most boisterous friend. He is a salsa dancer who took me out dancing last year to introduce me to Accra’s salsa scene (then he got drunk and got busted by his girlfriend for hitting on some other woman) True to form he was doing the same thing again only now he has another girlfriend, a big boned friendly German girl whose been volunteering at a local NGO for the last 11 months. She joined us after a while, but first we had to go back out and pick up Benji’s friend Michael. Michael got drunk last week and fell and hit his head. He has to wear a bandaid and there was a lot of good natured teasing about him being cut off from alcohol. Finally he borrowed a hat from this guy Edmond (who is another friend who drove us to church…more on that experience later) to keep everyone from teasing him.

So finally after a long bout of walking in circles, Peter pulled out some plastic chairs and a table and we set up camp out on the street corner. Drink orders were placed. Everyone seemed very upset about me not drinking Ghanaian beer. They seemed to think it was very strange, so finally they asked if I just didn’t drink. I explained that I drink, but I just hate beer and that the alcohol I’ve most enjoyed in Ghana was palm wine. So just like that Michael, Benji, and I were on a magical mystery tour to find some palm wine. Turns out there is a lady who makes it and keeps it in big barrels outside of her house, all bootleg. There we sat on a bench. Some women down the alley were arguing with one another. It looked like it was about to come to blows. When I asked what the problem was, Benji just answered, they are fighting…I think it’s a man thing. Any woman would have told me “oh she’s pissed because blah blah blah” but guys just don’t think that way. A man turned to me and started speaking to me in Ga. I had become so used to people speaking Ga around me and not to me, that I didn’t even think it was me. Benji laughed and explained to the guy that I wasn’t Ghanaian. Apparently he was asking me why women had to be so quarrelsome. Then the woman with palm wine showed up with a wooden bowl for us to sample. We each took a sip. It wasn’t as sweet as the wine I’d gotten from the Canopy trail, but it was good so we purchased a liter which she poured into a recycled water bottle, then we went back and hung out with the boys. It was Nicolas, Edmond, Peter, Michael, Benji and I plus some guy who never introduced himself…a friend of a friend I think.

As Benji poured me my first glass of palm wine he just poured in a bit then dumped the rest on the ground. I asked if he was donating to the ancestors to which he replied no he was just making sure the glass was clean. I laughed. Silly me. Not everything is a ritual. Then he did something really special. He said he’d like to bless me. He poured some palm wine in the glass and then began to pray for me in Ga, splashing a bit of wine at my feet after every sentence. His friends and cousins joined in by signifying “Hiyoa” (sounds like Yow) which is similar to the amen or tell it…and one of the few words I recognized from the prayer. I don’t know exactly what he said. In retrospect I guess I should have asked, but in the moment, it was the one thing that didn’t need translation. He had truly blessed me. Then the evening began anew and there was music playing. People began to dance. There were peanuts served on a plate. Then Benji procured a sample of the goat so I could taste it before we actually ate, then when everything was ready, we went into the back and sat on wooden crates and plastic chairs in an open courtyard. I was asked to say grace, which I did, when then (in English) adding amens and yeses. Then we ate.
This part of the trip was a lot of eating, a lot of waiting, a lot of walking around and meeting people and just getting a glimpse of everyday life. I don’t have a lot of pictures from our walks because I felt like it was more important to just be there, but I don’t think I’ll ever really forget it either.

The day I left, Benji himself cooked for me. I teased for outsourcing the first meal to which he responded well I wanted it to be good. But this time we went to market ourselves, accompanied by Michael. I watched him carefully select all the ingredients for jollof rice including the beef which was super fresh and literally hacked off the side of a cow in some little room off the main market. It was really special.