FINALLY FOUND THE OCEAN!

It took a while – a day and a half, actually - but I finally found it.   The sea next to which Accra is situated, was, after all, the reason for the city’s existence. It was a major slave shipping center back in the day and its port was the envy of the Portuguese, who set up a fort here in the 16^th century..  How difficult could it be, I said to myself, to find it?  The map indicated that it was not very far at all.

But there are no street markers – not a signpost in sight.  And no cab driver, hotel clerk or policeman can read a map.   And I don't exaggerate!   Neither the driver from the airport, nor the driver who took us to dinner last night, could get us from Point A to Point B without getting seriously lost.  The cop on the beat, the forex bureau clerk, nobody can give directions anywhere - not by foot, not by car - they just don't seem to know where anything is or how to get to there from here.    In search of the ocean, I spent yesterday afternoon walking the streets, heading west, in the direction of the sea.    I wandered aimlessly in circles and no matter whom I asked, “where is the Atlantic?”, no matter how many different ways I asked it,”Where is the sea…..?  the beach …..? the big water,…?  the swimming place,” no one could tell me.    When I asked any one of them to point out my current location on the map, they couldn‘t do that either.  I tried to make an educated guess about my location based on landmarks, but although the map names the streets, the streets themselves, in the field and flesh, had no names.   I was too stubborn to take a taxi, knowing that the sea was very nearby.  I soldiered on until I finally, somehow, ended up at the hotel, from whence I had started three hours earlier.

But today was a new day – no more jet lag, a good breakfast, and a new friend, an Australian woman.  We grabbed a taxi and went first to the market.  

I was almost assaulted.  Although Christianity is the official religion, most people in Ghana still practice ancestor worship and animism in addition to a form of black magic. They believe that their spirit is stolen if a picture is taken.   They got quite aggressive with me when I tried taking pictures – even if I tried to photograph the wares or vegetables they were selling.    I remembered the wise advise of a photography teacher who counseled that “pictures should never be taken, only given.”   I didn’t want to steal any more photos and, fearing for life and limb, I put the camera away.   I was however, able to film, with my little Flip camcorder, the hectic comings and goings at the city’s main market. (Its posted at the above link to my photos, as soon, that is, as I can figure out how to do that).   The music on the clip is the music being played on the street simultaneously.   West Africa is known for its music – Afrobeat, mbalax and home-grown hip-hop sung by such world-famous singers as Youssou N’Dour and Salif Keita,  - and is a magnet for music-lovers from all over the world.   The Festival du Desert in the Sahara around Timbouctu, (Mali), is a massive Woodstock-type gathering in January of every year.

From the market, and using the sun as a guide, we set out west, once again, for the illusive sea..   A passerby’s confirmation of our direction gave us confidence to move forward among the mass of people, carts, goats, traffic and fumes.   He assured us that it wasn’t far.

Two hours later and parched from the heat, my bloodied friend and I (her leg had been scratched as we passed some kind of building material – new building material -  so no fear of tetanus.   She had had her shots anyway), finally grabbed a cab which headed - omg! - in the complete opposite direction.  We had been going wrong...... again!

With much fanfare and shouts of joy from both the driver and his passengers, we finally arrived at our long sought-after destination. 

We should have gone to the museum.  

Prime real estate anywhere else in the world, the beachfront was a dilapidated ghost of its once glorious past and housed a makeshift shantytown of  scores of lean-to’s.  All kinds of skeavy men roamed the streets (no women in sight), and my attempt to take a photo of the lighthouse caused quite a stir.    We grabbed yet another taxi and headed home.


Oh, and by the way, did I mention that open sewers line both sides of the streets;  that the cars park on the sidewalks and the people walk in the roads?  

Tomorrow at the crack of dawn we head out - along the coast for Elmina, a former portuguese (gold) mining town and the site of major slave holding pens for those being shipped to the Americas.

nb:    After reading the draft of this post I just figured out why I couldn't find the sea -   Its south of the city not west of here.   DUH!

CHECK IN

As I exited the Accra airport, with its lazy fans, stale air and one sleepy customs agent, the harmattan, a hot, steamy, gritty wind that blows south from the Sahara, smacked me in the face, scraped my lungs and crept through every pore.  This was definitely not New York.   I had left the city at the tail-end of a massive nation-wide blizzard, with a temperature of 2 degrees (-22 celsius) and had been shivering for months.  Before I could fully embrace my mixed emotions about the sweltering heat, I was accosted by a gaggle of cab drivers.    I grabbed the only female among them and we made our way through the dusty, sandy air.  The 4 mile (8km) drive to the hotel took almost 1 hour fighting traffic, construction, and potholes, on the 2-lane highway in to town.

Thus was my welcome to Ghana, the “Gateway” to Africa.

The first African country to “retrieve” its independence from its colonial rulers in 1957, Ghana can be found at the bottom of the big bulge in northwestern Africa.  Known once as the “Gold Coast,” both for the beauty of its beaches and its gold mining, Ghana’s other main export is CHOCOLATE!   Excellent Choclolate!  Its other claim to fame is its role in the slave trade – a very significant role – but more about that later (in a day or so).

The hotel, Niagara Plus (!?!),  was mostly asleep when I arrived around 9:30 am local time. (Is the staff at the nearby sister hotel, known simply as The Niagara, completely comatose?  Lucky I chose the “Plus!”)   I woke  the receptionist, but decided to ignore whomever was asleep bundled under a sheet on the “lobby’s” couch.   

I dropped my stuff in my bare-bones room, took a quick shower (no hot water – the faucet was either intentionally taken off or fell off and not repaired) and headed out to a nearby restaurant. 

Asanka Local was recommended by my guide book.  Spotlessly clean, it was a tranquil haven from the harmattan and chaos blowing outside.  It’s gentility did not at all forewarn of the coming dilemma:    the fish and side dish I had ordered were accompanied by a bowl of water, and beautiful linen napkins, but something was missing.   There was NO SILVERWARE .    I looked around.   No one was eating with silverware – they were all using their hands, dipping into the water bowl, as needed.    I know from other travels that it is completely taboo to use the left hand in any way when eating (the left hand is reserved for other things – things that one does in a restroom), but was I deft enough?  No problem you say?    You try scooping up the sauce, tearing off the fish’s head and picking out its bones, using only one hand as the sole utensil. Good thing I’m not left-handed!   Awkward at first, I was sure everyone was watching me.  I managed to make a mess of myself and the beautiful tablecloth, but I finished everything on my plate, paid and was quickly on my way.     I was looking for the Atlantic Ocean, at the edge of which the city of Accra sits.

CONTEMPLATING THE TRIP

In 48 hours (weather permitting) I will leave the snow and frozen tundra of New York behind and embark on a massive overland journey through western and southern Africa, covering more than 3000 miles (4800 km) and 9 countries in just under 3 months.  Leg 1 will take me from Accra, Ghana to Dakar, Senegal.  Leg 2 starts 36 days later on March 12 with a 19-hour flight to Cape Town, South Africa, where I will meet up with Yosy, and together, we will continue overland to Zimbabwe through South Africa, Namibia and Botswana.

If the journey is anything like last year's trip on the other side of the continent,  I will be in my own special wonderland.  The experience of alien cultures and terrain, unfamiliar vegetation and spices, and foreign smells and tongues, while stripped naked of the vestiges of modern life - cell phones, intermittent (mostly dial-up)  internet, warm beds, hot showers, and bountiful and varied meals are luxuries to be coveted, not necessities to be expected -  is to ascend to life in its simplest, purest, most introspective state.  The senses are alert, on guard, and in overdrive, while the brain is in high gear processing it all.   I know from last year's trip that only when I will be on the open roads of Burkina Faso, in the fields and beaches of Senegal, asleep in the campsites of Mali, and mingling with the wildlife of the Okavango Delta, will the essentials be laid bare.

For now, the slate is clean and ready to be written upon.

                                                            Part 1:

                                        February 3- March 12, 2011

                                    Accra, Ghana to Dakar, Senegal

                                                           Part 2:

                                           March 12-April 10, 2011

               Cape Town, South Africa - Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe

AN EXTRA DAY TO GET IT TOGETHER!

You won't believe what a jerk I am (or maybe you will!).  I called the airline to reschedule my flight from Tuesday night to tonight, Monday, because of the bad weather  expected in New York for the next 2 days.   I thought I'd try to get a jump on the weather and be airborne before we were attacked by snow, freezing rain and the inevitable grounding of flights at JFK.   During the course of the booking, I discovered that I am NOT ticketed to leave tomorrow, Tuesday, but on Wednesday, the day AFTER tomorrow, when the weather will have all gone out to sea (I hope).     So, in the past hour I went from lunatic with just a few hours to get it all together (finish packing, go to the bank, the drugstore, the post office, make some phone calls, get a manicure and pedicure (very important), etc., etc., etc.), to cool, calm and collected (MY "cool,calm and collected").    I suppose it could have been worse - I could have gone to the airport  in the snow, sleet, and freezing rain, uphill all the  way, in traffic, only to discover that my flight was actually scheduled for the next day.

Another day to obsess about what to eliminate from my already overstuffed suitcase!