A Night Out in Accra

Apparently there's some kind of Reggae beach party going on tonight that plenty of the others are going to go to but I'll definitely pass. It sounds like a really good way to get mugged. Plus I hate reggae with a burning intense passion. Instead, I went out to Oxford street with a couple people and primarily hung out with Camilla and her boyfriend Andre (both from Norway). I was starving but one of the only options was this strange fast food joint across from the bar. I use the term fast food very loosely. When you approach the counter it's completely unclear who to give your order to, and when you do say something no one really moves or acknowledges anything other than the usual greetings. And then when someone does bother to listen to your order they don't ask for money or move or do anything other than turn to the next person and repeat the order while the next person also doesn't move. So you just kind of wander off to a table and watch everyone watching you and eventually, through some bit of magic the food you wanted appears and you finally pay for it. Quite different from the fast food experiences I am used to.

At the bar, I found out what it's like to draw the attention of a Ghanaian man. Rather uncomfortable actually. I tend to think of myself as rather forward but I guess I do enjoy some reserve. I don't think I've ever walked up to someone and told them that their presence was attracting me so much that I couldn't stay across the room any longer. It's nearly impossible to react to. His conversation wasn't unpleasant though. He did kiss my upper arm a couple times which was a) unwanted and b) completely gross because I was covered in bug spray. Seven of us piled into a tiny taxi home. Apparently, this is not unusual.

Market Day

Walked through the giant market here in town. My god, I don't know how to describe it. Frightening I guess is pretty accurate. Definitely overwhelming. We sat down somewhere for lunch and I tried Fufu for the first and last time. Fufu, Banku, Teesed (however you spell it) are all similar and similarly inedible for me. It's made of mashed up cassava or plantain or some grain etc and boiled to the consistency of mucus. It's plopped into a bowl, covered with a soup or gravy and eaten with your fingers. The taste isn't so bad, but the texture makes me gag. I try to have an open mind about things, but this stuff is far too revolting.

We all took a stroll down Oxford Street which has several shops that cater to a foreign crowd. While waiting for a girl in our group outside of Barclay's bank, I was approached by some street vendor calling himself Baby Rasta. He asked me where I was from and when I said New Orleans he got excited and said Oh yeah, like Lil' Wayne. And that's when I noticed he had the exact same facial tattoos as Lil Wayne. I shit you not. Wow.

Another Obruni In Africa

Sunday, November 7, 2010,

After a sleepless and miserable flight, I am now in Accra! It's just a bit after noon. The time difference is going to take some serious getting used to. The heat here is intense. I felt it the minute we landed. Hot and humid, not all that different from home in the summer. I was asked no questions at Customs, nothing about a return flight or anything. A woman just looked at my passport while a man leaned over and said "Obruni." I remembered seeing the word in a guidebook but I had completely forgotten what it had meant. So my natural assumption was that it was some sort of greeting or what have you. So he would say Obruni and I would say Obruni back. After awhile he just laughed and said "Oh Jesus!" and that's when I remembered that Obruni means Whitey. Oh, I'm obruni. Welcome to Africa.

I went to the pickup area to look for a sign with either my name or SYTO (Student Youth Travel Organisation) on it, but of course, no one was there at the airport to pick me up yet. I found a seat somewhere while I decided what I wanted to do. Right away I learned that the Ghanaians reputation for being extraordinarily friendly means that you will never be left alone, EVER. Everyone has been very well intentioned and nice but things like privacy and personal space don't really exist here. I waited 15 minutes before fishing out a phone number for the organization. During this time I was chatting with a man named Ernest. And by chatting, I mean I was busy watching the door for my driver and looking for a phone number while Ernest was busy trying to ask me all sorts of personal questions and shaking my hand constantly. Welcome to Ghana.