Kumasi Detour

Three days in Kumasi and this is the only photo taken. Shame.

While Grandma and Grandpa were maximizing their time in Ghana during the harsh northern winter, Mr. O still had work responsibilities, including a business trip to Kumasi, Ghana's second city and the capital of Ashantiland. Mr. O does seem to find his way there rather often. Being a good family man, he paid for the whole family to come along, which meant no daylong drives or AC-less rooms. Instead, they took the hour-long commuter flight and stayed at the Golden Tulip.

While Mr. O was busy working during the day, the family enjoyed their ample buffets and relaxing by the pool - save for Little Miss, who does not relax.

However, Grandma and Grandpa are not the hoity-toity type. They and Mrs. O decided to delve into the heart of Kumasi: Kejetia Market, the largest open-air market in West Africa. In a city of traders and businesspeople, this labyrinth is home to thousands of stalls selling anything imaginable under the sun, managed by market ladies and supplied by an army of porters who need to carry supplies on their heads through the constricted alleyways. While one might imagine colourful fabrics and unique local art, nowadays it is mostly cheap Chinese goods - a massive dollar store. That being said, here are some photos to colour one's imagination.

Grandma and Grandpa's enthusiasm for eschewing hotel pools for hectic local markets is quite astounding, as most people have only heard about it from their guide books or from backpackers - it's simply not a place for (sane) tourists. Yet in they went. Twice.

Otherwise, the stay at the Golden Tulip was good, although it was noted that the business-like price did not justify the ho-hum rooms. It could be worse though: behind the bed, Mrs. O found a comment card from a guest complaining that the water was out for three days. So they count their blessings.

Go West, White Man

Brenu Beach: Come for the beach, stay for the lobster.

Obligatory shot of Elmina Castle and the lagoon.

One can visit Ghana, see the garbage-strewn beaches and think that is all there is to see of the coast. However, the further you travels from the capital, the more impressed you become. The journey started at the least auspicious time of the least auspicious day of the week in Ghana (Sunday 10AM: nary a vehicle on the road). Passing by the usual hangouts of Bojo Beach, Kokrobite and Tills, the group ventured beyond the road well-traveled by obrunis. For the most part, the Accra-Takoradi road is well-maintained and not particularly daunting, as long as you don't mind letting the occasional bat-out-of-hell tro-tro overtake you while passing the occasional loaded-down, smoke belching one yourself.

Given the majority of tourists were aged under 3 or around 60, the group stopped for the first night a little past Cape Coast and Elmina at Brenu Beach Lodge. It was a handsome place on a palm-fringed beach, but was lacking character, as if one could be on a tropical beach anywhere. On the downside, the AC wasn't working and the evening was a bit toasty; on the upside, the fresh lobster was great.

Elmina: passing the Dutch hall on the left-hand side.

The next day, Mr. O and parents drove into Elmina, a fishing town dominated (once literally) by St. George's Castle. Owned by the Portuguese, then Dutch, then British, its major purpose was for trading, primarily slaves. In spite of this, a rather nondescript group called Ghana Ecotours provides tours not of the castle, but of the deeply historical town that routinely gets overlooked by conservative tourists. The fact- and philosophy-filled walking tour featured 18th and 19th century homes, colourful posubans of Asafo companies (hard to explain, but here's a crack at it), a cemetery and ended with a walk up to the hilltop Fort Coenraadsburg, all with maximum information and enthusiasm, but zero hassle. It was hands-down the best tour Mr. O had taken in two stays in Ghana.

At the hilltop fort with our guide (and fish market, saltponds).

Moving on, the group proceeded to their ultimate point, the West Coast beyond Takoradi. For those who experience the nondescript and garbage-strewn beaches around Accra, the West Coast is practically magical. Although the Gulf of Guinea current is still dangerously rough, the beaches are pristine and sparsely populated. The group settled on the Hideout at Butre Beach. It was aptly named: it required a half-hour of driving down rough palm oil plantation roads and beach trails, following the occasional sign and passing the occasional village. The Toyota's 4WD capabilities were thoroughly tested. The Hideout is at the end of the road next to a fishing village and one could easily go there and not be found (several Jimmy Hoffa jokes were made). It was supremely chilled out: private huts with fan and mosquito nets, beachside cabanas and delicious meals and cocktails. Unfortunately, turtle nesting season had passed (see you next year), but canoe tours of the nearby mangroves were patronized - the group observed plenty of colourful birds and the occasional hawk and water monitor ("crocodile", according to locals). Nearby Fanta's Folly was also observed and looked like a winner as well. Apparently they will pick up guests who fly in to Takoradi from Accra - saving several hours of driving.

Butre Beach: nary a person or piece of rubbish in sight.

A day trip to nearby Busua Beach was taken for Mr. O's most anticipated activity in Ghana: surfing. The Black Star Surf Shop is the first of its kind in Ghana and has spearheaded the nascent surf scene in Ghana. Busua's conditions were near-perfect for beginners: even at high tide, one needs only wade a short distance with the board to catch a steady wave, leaving most energy for catching and riding rather than paddling. Mr. O took an afternoon lesson with patient instructor Peter and was up on the board in no time. Mr. O has vowed that this will not be the last trip to Busua. He is not alone: the town itself is starting to heat up as a backpacker hangout and even has a classy hotel for those not fond of mosquito nets.

Up the river from Butre village in the deep dark mangrove.

Busua Beach: physical proof that Mr. O can hang ten.

On the return trip, the group missed their intended stopover at Blue Diamond near Saltpond and ended up staying the night at Tills No. 1 Beach Hotel. The place makes for a great day trip from Accra, as the beach is nice for the area, there's shade in the palm trees and the food is good. 15 years ago, it was probably quite grand, but now is a bit of faded glory: the sprawling grounds need more upkeep than they can handle (although Little Miss had a fantastic time exploring the place) and the accommodations were a bit disappointing: the water was out (it happens everywhere) and the A/C in Mr. and Mrs. O's room was not functioning. In spite of this, the next day they still received a hefty bill with no slack and instead promised better "next time" (which was extremely presumptuous). Lesson learned: stick to day trips.

Regardless, it was great to rediscover the West Coast. Mr. O had fond memories of the area and spent the preceding six months trying to convince Mrs. O that there is something far better than the garbage-strewn beaches of Greater Accra and that it was worth the travel. Next time, a flight to Takoradi would be relatively cheap and quick alternative. Hopefully they can convince their friends to make an excursion in the near future...

The Grandparents Cometh

''Skip to the part where I get jelly beans.''

There comes a time in a young person's life when they must leave the nest and find their place in the world. Sometimes, the nest comes back to them -thus went the visit of Mr. O's parents to Ghana.

When Mr. O was a student, his parents were not the most eager to join him at the university campus. But now with fine digs, a vehicle and Little Miss, Grandpa and Grandma anxiously awaited their first trip to the continent.

Mr. and Mrs. O also anxiously awaited their arrival, as they packed plenty of goodies from the homeland, including car parts and various cheeses (mozzarella, cheddar and Parmesan) - all ridiculously expensive in Accra and often of inferior quality.

Grandpa and Grandma took quickly to life in Accra, trying the chop bars, going to Makola Market for fabrics with a tailor and commissioning their own artwork: a giant wooden crocodile/oware board. Grandma wanted something for the garden and clever Grandpa realized that it could hold a dozen beer bottles for gatherings.

Both handsome AND handy.

More importantly, they enjoyed traveling throughout the country immensely, by car, plane and pirogue. They soaked up the beaches, ventured (alone!) into the massive warren of Kejetia Market and went on walking safari at Mole in the North.  This also got Mr. and Mrs. O out of the house as well . (More stories to come)

Most importantly, they got to bond with Little Miss, who took great delight in Grandma and Grandpa (especially their secret stash of jelly beans). For Little Miss, the family unit in Accra is very tight and while regular skype calls keep her memory of extended family relatively fresh, Mr. and Mrs. O still are not sure how she processes them in her head. At least they will be fresh in the mind when the family returns home for the summer. Until then, the eternal summer of Ghana continues.

Vacation at Club Med(ical facility)

Warning: actual destination may be different from the one advertised.

It has been a busy new year for the family. They just returned from travels, but before getting to that, another story must be told....

Looking at the calendar, the family had spent a few months in Accra and was hitting the point where expats feel the need for a change of scenery. In the winter months in Africa, the natural place to go is Cape Town, South Africa. As a first world city that is both beautiful and affordable, it is somewhat of a magical place for expats here. (The food! The service! The walkability!)

Everything had been arranged: plane tickets, hotel on the water and plans were made to take advantage of Cape Town's food, flora, fauna and cultural activities. Mr. O in particular had the city at the top of his list for nearly a decade.

The day before the flight, Mrs. O started to feel a bit off. As obrunis do, she quickly went to the clinic for some tests. The results would take a few hours, or so it seemed. Long waiting ensued. (The vague Ghanaian refrain "Please, it's coming" also applies to medicine)

The evening of the flight, the results finally came in and several doctors on two continents were consulted: either Mrs. O was having an off day, or she was about to have a serious medical issue that required immediate attention, including surgery. The decision was not easy, but natural - stay in Ghana and confirm the diagnosis. So four hours prior to the flight, the call was made to cancel.

The next day, the expected emergency materialized and Mrs. O was admitted to a private hospital, where she underwent surgery that day. The family's week-long stay on the water turned into an extended stay for one at a medical facility.

Being treated at one of Ghana's best private medical facilities with world class doctors is a great privilege: it includes European-trained doctors who are experts in their field, a clean, private room and immediate attention. Being a Ghanaian facility, there were still a few quirks: there was no patient chart, so none of the nurses knew who Mrs. O was or why she was there; the "I need assistance" button was out of reach, so when Mrs. O needed to use the washroom, she had to scream repeatedly until someone took notice; and hospital food is still hospital food.

Thankfully, friends and colleagues jumped in to help Mr. O: handling work deadlines, offering home-cooked meals and watching Little Miss while Mr. O went for hospital visits. In an expat environment, they say that one's colleagues become their family. This was most definitely the case for the family and they were glad to have them.

Ghanaians aware of Mrs. O's condition also showed a deep concern and asked after her on a daily basis - even the neighbour's guard who got the gossip sent some extra freshly-cut bananas. In many cultures, it is customary not only to ask "How are you?" but also "How is your family?" and "How is your health?" This experience gave a little insight into why.

A few weeks later, Mrs. O is back in shape and the family is on an even keel. While they are still waiting for their trip refund (please, it's coming), they are looking at the spring for their next opportunity for a change of scenery.

Trip to the Fish Market

"Oh hello, Mr. Health Inspector."

During Mr. O's previous stint in Ghana, he kept his meat intake low and his fish intake lower. Now that he has the means to acquire various proteins, the menu has gotten significantly longer. Marina Mart flies in their own fresh meats from Europe (the French butcher is quite knowledgeable), the restaurants have stepped up their culinary game (their secret: Brazilian chicken) and even some enterprising Ghanaians have developed modern farms and abattoirs (high quality local pork is now available).  

This also meant a rediscovery of fish in Ghana as well. At the chop bars, fish is barbecued whole, very crispy and is not particularly appetizing. Now, fresh fish can be ordered at all sorts of restaurants and resorts. There is even a guy that will deliver to your door a variety of fish caught in the morning and prepared during the day - for a price.

Or one can go and get their own fish. While fishing in the Gulf of Guinea is best reserved for the locals, one can take a trip to the Tema Fish Market to inspect and purchase the day's catch. Being something new, the family of course got in the car and drove to the industrial harbour to check it out with friends. It's not every day that one plans a family excursion around driving to a functioning manufacturing district/seaport.

"I don't know how to cook it either."

The fish market is fairly non-descript: off a main industrial road is a driveway surrounded by unmarked stalls where the market ladies store their day's purchase on ice and vie aggressively for the customers that come, including Accra's restauranteurs and other enterprising obrunis. Prices are negotiated, fish are scaled, gutted and cleaned (a word that in this case should not imply a reasonable level of hygiene). The group bought a wide variety of fish: tuna, grouper, cassava, shrimp prawns, calamari and even live lobster.

There are a few drawbacks to the fish market. First, it requires a drive to Accra's industrial satellite Tema on a Saturday morning, where traffic jams are the norm. Second, one needs to have a good idea of a) what they want, b) what they are willing to pay, and c) which market lady is the right one. Third, it smells like fish (surprise!), an odor one takes home with them. Fourth, it means the buyer will need to prepare the fish, unless they have some help.

Mrs. O, being the pragmatic one, invited their fish-purchasing friends for dinner. While there was some significant work involved in preparing the fish, it was all in good fun. Most notable was the group looking up how to kill a lobster on the internet (thanks, youtube). Some high-quality beef kebabs were also procured, so dinner that night was a delicious surf and turf with lots of wine.

On Security

READER BEWARE (of open sewers)

"If money bought happiness, the wealthy would be dancing in the street. But only poor kids do that."

This was recently observed on a church bulletin letter. It's one of those pithy sayings such as, "Dance like nobody is watching" or "Do what you love, love what you do". Yet somewhere in the cliché is a kernel of truth.

Since moving to Accra, Mr. and Mrs. O - mild-mannered members of the middle class at home - have inadvertently become part of Ghana's top 1%. And the feeling of insecurity has become embedded in their psyche: their property has walls, electric fencing and guards, their house has windows with iron bars and ovsesized locks. Even when they drive, the doors are kept locked and windows rolled up.

All of these features are ostensibly to protect them from thieves and murderers. Yet in Accra, one is most commonly assaulted by the smell of open sewer and for most, the sketchiest people encountered on the street are starving or hanicapped beggars - hardly a serious security threat. The biggest killers out there are reckless drivers of taxis and tro-tros. Thieves are statistically more likely to be disgruntled guards or househelp doing inside jobs. (On a related note: treat these people nicely. They know where you keep the nice stuff.)

To be sure, crime in Accra is an issue, but not on the scale of Lagos or Johannesburg, where daylight carjackings and murders are a regular occurrence. The best advice for safety in Accra is the same that would be given for a major city like London, New York or Toronto: enjoy yourself, be self-aware and don't go to certain areas at certain times. 

With the booming economy, opportunistic crime is on the rise. Up until recently, robbers were only armed with machetes (and mostly for the scare factor), but stories of brandished handguns and once-in-a-blue-moon expat murder are becoming more common.

All of this points to the problem of inequality: in much of Mr. and Mrs O's home country, crime is not a huge issue because the rich are not outrageously rich, the poor are not abjectly poor and social services can fill major gaps. So while doors are locked at night, security is taken more or less for granted. In (overly) broad terms, Ghanaians have historically existed in a state of dignified poverty, but current economic growth primarily benefits the wealthy (especially the male, moneyed and politically-connected) and is concentrated in a few urban areas. Ghana will have to decide how it deals with the dual goals of joining middle income nations while ensuring that its citizens earn a middle-class income themselves. Otherwise, the walls will stay high and electrified, the guards vigilant and the nights ever darker with mystery and danger.

It is a big scary world out there, but it still needs exploring.

In the meantime, Mr. and Mrs. O will remain vigilant, but make every effort to enjoy Ghana and to connect with their fellow human beings, whether they be wealthy fellow expats, or the poor-yet-friendly folks asking for change on the street. Living behind walls is a fact of life, but it is important to venture outside of them every now and then to remember what makes the city and the country so fascinating and why Ghanaians have a reputation for being the friendliest people in Africa. It is also important to show Little Miss the world beyond her compound and to feel a part of it. In the end, it will be the people themselves who decide how to treat one another and how to feel secure both individually and collectively.

New Year, Accra-style

Lighting things on fire: a Ghanaian tradition since 1957

The end of the year for Mr. and Mrs. O include the usual motions: watching end-of-year TV recaps and marathons, catching up to end-of-year music lists and reminding themselves that they are too old for new year's eve parties. In fact, the last time that Mr. and Mrs. O stayed up and went out to a New Year's Eve party might have been before they were Mr. and Mrs. O.

Once again, they found themselves at home, in pajamas, eating fine chocolate and watching comedy films - basically the opposite of the Hollywood ideal of New Year's Eve celebrations. They fell asleep before 11PM to the sounds of intermittent hand-lit explosives.

Since December 23rd, it seems, the residents of Accra (demonym: the "Ga") have been randomly lighting holiday fireworks after dark. Few of these seem to make light, but they certainly do make noise. If the family were living in a rougher West African capital, like Abidjan, Lagos or Kinshasa, there might actually be concern that the noises were gunplay. Thankfully, violent crime is low enough that there is very little worry of this sort of thing, provided doors are locked properly. So the reports of explosives are heard sporadically during the festive season, with Little Miss excited to hear the "pop".

On New Year's Eve, the fireworks seemed to be going off much more regularly throughout the evening. But once midnight rolled around, Mr. and Mrs. O were awoken by a rolling thunder of loud noises and bright lights in the sky. In most of the developed world, celebratory fireworks are put on in a central area (park, harbourfront, etc) as a public good, with home-lit fireworks being a bit more of an expensive niche (Mr. O's family has a proud tradition of lighting things on fire in the country). In Accra, public services being what they are, it seems that individuals and companies have taken it upon themselves to invest in their own explosives and to outdo each other with the best show possible. Mr. O made his first new year's resolution to be somewhere with a balcony next December 31st.