I had wrist surgery (minor) yesterday so I'm pecking at the keys one-handed. As such, I am re-posting the final, edited version of "Hey Bruni!" At one point, it looked like it was going to get published in the SFO Chronicle...that point passed so I am using this excuse to re-post it.
Hey Bruni!
“Hey
Bruni!” they called in their sing-song cry, reaching to touch our sticky, dust-covered
skin and pull our sweaty hair. “Bruni! Hello, what is your name?! Can I give
you my e-mail?” Continuing our jaunt
down the dirt street I peered at my travel companion, Justine, whispering,
“Bruni?” She
laughed, “Oh, it means, ‘hey whitie.’” Returning her laugh, I understood yet
another unique facet of my Ghanaian adventure. Another new friend approached,
inquiring, “Bruni, will you marry me?” Unrelenting, we conjured faux beaus who
would be devastated by our acquiescence. Maneuvering the onslaught of
mid-morning traffic past corrugated tin roofed mud huts and side stepping open
sewage ditches in Cape Coast, we searched out the entrance to the castle just
as the morning sun was beginning to kick up the heat.
Four months earlier, I was contemplating my safari attire after Justine invited me to join her for a week in Ghana. She was working at a NGO clinic for a month and I’d be meeting her to explore the country. Lions, Tigers, Giraffes, Oh my! I daydreamed. To my dismay, I quickly learned my wardrobe planning was a bit naïve. You see, Western Africa does not have safaris - no tigers, lions or giraffes for this hopeful explorer; however, what Western Africa lacks in wildlife, it makes up for in quirky norms, intense history, and genuine hospitality. With an updated itinerary, we endeavored to explore Ghana from mid-country to coast, discovering the intricate production of Kente cloth, the hum of 10,000 vendors in West Africa’s largest open-air market, the history that engendered the Emancipation Proclamation, and a beach sojourn.
Thirty-two hours and three air planes later, I was
flying over the Ghanaian countryside, a scenic and flourishing landscape. The
panorama is lush and full of forests of high grasses, plantain, cocoa, and
banana trees. Palm trees, golden hued sandy beaches that stretch for miles
uninterrupted and a refreshing sapphire blue ocean define the coastline.
Villages break up this scenery in mud and tin huts bunched along the roads.
In an attempt to thoughtfully plan our trip prior to departure,
I found that Ghana was not on any list for “must see” or “top ten places to
visit in Africa” so our itinerary was based off several shots in the dark and
the one Ghana guide book (the oft-pathetic Bradt guide.) Travel boards
mentioned ex-pat B&B’s and beach resorts “worth the splurge,” but bookings
were done via e-mail, suggestions for inter-city travel implied eyebrow-raising
challenges, and while Anthony Bourdain prepared me for local culinary delights,
he proffered no explicit destinations.
Driving in our taxi to the bus station, a stucco
portico housing six benches and a lot of Africans, I got my first real
impression of Ghana outside the Swisshotel where we’d stayed our first night.
People strolled en masse through the streets, the sun illuminating their
beautiful ebony skin. I was affronted by the poverty watching children bathe
with buckets of water, splashing in the garbage strewn dirt streets shared with
live chickens and dogs running amok. Unlike more popular African destinations,
tourists, particularly, Europeans and Americans are very few and very far
between. The most up-to-date statistics state that as of 2006, about 60,000
Americans visited Ghana and only 20% of all 497,129 International visitors (no
breakdown by nationality) were there on holiday. That’s compared with the 254,000
Americans that visited South Africa that same year.
 |
| Kejetia Market |
Roads are lined with stalls made of corrugated tin,
mud, wood or cement. The vendors’ wares run the gamut as well: mufflers,
mattresses, tires, furniture, phone cards, you name it. You can literally see
the impact of years of missionary efforts in the pervasiveness of Christianity.
The “stores” have names like, “He is Good Shoes” and "God Bless you
Business Centre" - I didn't see a Xerox or Fax machine in that 4 x 4
stall. "May you walk with him Beauty Salon" proffered images of
braided coiffes. Literacy is on the rise but still relatively low (66% as of
2008) so signs are accompanied by illustrations. The medical hut offered images
depicting sexually transmitted diseases and ailments, illustrated with an
almost cartoonish quality.
Mid-country
Culture
Kumasi, located in the Ashanti region, is the second largest city in Ghana. Our accommodations were a bed and breakfast operated by a Canadian ex pat and his wife, a Ghanaian he met 25 years ago as a Canadian Peace Corps volunteer. Chris and Charity were wonderfully hospitable hosts, engaging a guide to take us through Kejetia Market and get to the Kente weaving village of Bonwire, which was first on our list.
Kumasi, located in the Ashanti region, is the second largest city in Ghana. Our accommodations were a bed and breakfast operated by a Canadian ex pat and his wife, a Ghanaian he met 25 years ago as a Canadian Peace Corps volunteer. Chris and Charity were wonderfully hospitable hosts, engaging a guide to take us through Kejetia Market and get to the Kente weaving village of Bonwire, which was first on our list.
 |
| Christian |
Chris drove us into town where we caught a tro-tro, a
shared van, to Bonwire, a half-hour drive from the center of Kumasi. Kente
cloth, a type of silk or cotton ceremonial cloth is native to the Akan people
of Ghana and the Cote d’Ivoire, and Bonwire is known for weaving exceptional
Kente cloth. Our wonderful guide, Christian, arrived to greet us donned in a
red Che Guevara shirt; he was effeminate and chummy, defiant opposition to the revolutionary
teachings his t-shirt advertised. He toured us around, educating us on how the
yarn for the Kente cloth was spun, stretched, and woven, his commentary
infiltrated with jokes followed immediately by his own infectious laugh.
Christian allowed us to try our hand on the large weaving looms, requiring simultaneous use of your hands and feet to create the intricate patterns of the cloth. Christian demonstrated zooming the loom back and forth while shooting the spool through the threads at a staggering pace. While both athletic, Justine and I didn’t have the hand to eye to feet coordination apparently inherent to native ‘Bonwirians.’ Walking back into town, Christian grabbed a cocoa pod from the ground, cracking it open and offering us the seeds inside. They are slippery suckers but once in your mouth the seeds are succulent and refreshing, a perfect treat on a hot and humid day.
Christian allowed us to try our hand on the large weaving looms, requiring simultaneous use of your hands and feet to create the intricate patterns of the cloth. Christian demonstrated zooming the loom back and forth while shooting the spool through the threads at a staggering pace. While both athletic, Justine and I didn’t have the hand to eye to feet coordination apparently inherent to native ‘Bonwirians.’ Walking back into town, Christian grabbed a cocoa pod from the ground, cracking it open and offering us the seeds inside. They are slippery suckers but once in your mouth the seeds are succulent and refreshing, a perfect treat on a hot and humid day.
 |
| Thread |
The following morning, we prepared to visit Kejetia
Market, West Africa’s largest open-air market covering more than 12 acres
(about 11 football fields). Chris had arranged for our guide, Comfort, to pilot
us through the overwhelming maze of commerce. African music blaring from
speakers lining the outer walls signaled our arrival. Once inside, I was
overwhelmed. Everything was for sale and in such mass it was almost too much to
absorb. There were corrugated tin roofs housing two-story “shops” and hundreds
of thousands of people winding their way through the labyrinthine streets purchasing
everything from fresh jojoba butter and school uniforms to bartering beads and
machetes. Masses of people were bartering over carved wooden sculptures, grains
and spices, shoes, you name it. We scurried along keeping close to Comfort as
she knowingly ambled through the Kejetia streets stopping to explain things to
us and introduce her "Bruni" to friends from her local village.
Kejetia was hysterical, incredible, exhausting, and totally awe-inspiring.
Coastal Calamities
Knowing a new country means experiencing its culture and its history, a truth recognized recently by a relatively well-known American visitor, President Barack Obama. We’d also traveled to Cape Coast (and subsequently Elmina), to learn first hand about the slave trade, an unfortunate identifier of the Gold Coast of Africa. Originally constructed and occupied by the Portuguese and later British, both Cape Coast and Elmina castles memorialize horrific tales. Elmina is the oldest castle in Africa, built in the late 1400's. These forts, originally purported to host textile trading with the Ghanaians, became the last stop for slaves being sent to the Americas, Europe and eventually Asia. The captives were hunted in Northern and Central Ghana by their fellow countrymen and forcibly brought hundreds of miles to market here.
Hundreds of slaves were entombed underground with only slits in the upper walls providing minimal air and scant sunlight. If our group of 12 was suffering in the oppressive 100-degree heat and 100% humidity, sweat streaming down our bodies, we could only imagine the experience of the former occupants. We visited one chamber that measured about 20 x 12 feet and our guide explained that 200 male slaves were kept in there for 2 months without reprieve. The goal was to starve and torture the slaves so that only the strongest and most valuable survived, saving the captors money on food and reserving the "best" for sale. Our guide concluded our tour with an image, the last one the surviving slaves saw departing the castle. The fated few were led underground through a tunnel to the "Door of No Return" where they were loaded into slave boats destined for new lands and uncertain futures.
There are still boats outside the “Door of No Return”;
today they are waiting for fishermen, not for slaves. The scene once dominated
by European oppressors is now replaced with locally generated commerce.
Hundreds of boats donning the Ghanaian flag rest on the shore awaiting sail.
Fishermen sit seaside mending fishing nets. Men congregate on the beaches
hauling huge nets out to sea on foot waiting patiently for the nets to fill
before rhythmically tugging in their haul. We silently sat watching them
perform their dance-like beat, contemplating the evolution of our surroundings.
Leaving Cape Coast castle, neither of us was much for
words. Before we could collect ourselves and reflect, we met a new Ghanaian
friend, Gospel, reminding us that Ghana has more to offer than just tragedy.
Gospel, a local artist, escorted us (I’m not sure we went willingly) around the
town introducing us to locals. One young girl we met was preparing her family’s
banku, a traditional dish. Her preparation consisted of pounding and fervently
stirring heated maize flour, cassava and boiling water until it became a dough-like
mass. Banku, is a typical Ghanaian dish served with a stew or protein. Famished
after a long day, Gospel escorted us to Castle Beach restaurant, where we tried
our own banku served with fresh grilled whole fish in a spicy pepper tomato
sauce - absolutely divine.
Reflective
R&R
Culture and History aside, a winter vacation wouldn’t be complete without some sun and sand. We prioritized a beach reprieve on the Gold Coast of Africa, renowned for its warm, blue waters and sunny sands. Still stateside, I discovered the charming Axim Beach Hotel. For $60 a night, (a splurge compared to our other $15-$30 accommodations) the resort offered our own round mud hut topped with a thatched roof, shell encrusted bathroom and a porch overlooking the ocean. Charming! There was AC but as it is run on solar power, we quickly discovered the light, TV, and AC cannot run simultaneously.
Culture and History aside, a winter vacation wouldn’t be complete without some sun and sand. We prioritized a beach reprieve on the Gold Coast of Africa, renowned for its warm, blue waters and sunny sands. Still stateside, I discovered the charming Axim Beach Hotel. For $60 a night, (a splurge compared to our other $15-$30 accommodations) the resort offered our own round mud hut topped with a thatched roof, shell encrusted bathroom and a porch overlooking the ocean. Charming! There was AC but as it is run on solar power, we quickly discovered the light, TV, and AC cannot run simultaneously.
 |
| Axim Beach Resort |
Relaxing on the beach, we reflected on the sensory
overload of our week in Ghana. While Justine had been in country for a month,
she’d been sheltered in a small village in the west. Traveling from town to
town navigating public transportation, social interactions, deciphering
directions and attempting to identify places to eat were cumulatively
exhausting. Add to that my blatant foreignness (blonde, pale and green eyed),
thus attracting immediate attention, underscored the rehabilitative bliss of
hours on a semi-desolate beach.
There were no roars, stampedes, or kills in my first
introduction to Africa, but my trip to Ghana certainly was my own unique
safari. Images of Cape Town wineries and dramatic Victoria Falls were
supplanted by UNESCO sites memorializing humanitarian atrocities and a
cumulative cast of characters that seemed out of a comedy show. Every moment
was its own story, every day an intricate journey. I found myself constantly bombarded
with new sensations, emotions and observations, many I was unable to completely
digest until weeks later. Returned to a familiar way of living where we were a
natural part of the order of events as opposed to anxious observers, only then
did I appreciate what I had just been exposed to, a unique world away from my
circle of influence; a world that was home to new friends, Comfort, Gospel, and
Christian.
