Car Trouble Part II: The Search

How most Ghanaians advertise a car for sale. (Yes, that is a Renault "Duster")

Mr. and Mrs. O's months-long quest for ownership of a vehicle had not gone as swimmingly as they had hoped.

Having done advance research, the couple had settled on their preferred makes and models and started their search in Accra. Unfortunately, the car market in Ghana is very acephalous - there's no authority or go-to place like an Auto Trader magazine or website. Most Ghanaians either sell to family, or they simply post a piece of paper in their back window with a phone number, waiting for someone to drive by and make a call.

There are a few websites, but the simple fact is that expats do not like buying cars from locals. For the average westerner with a western salary, a vehicle is to be kept in the best condition possible to maintain value and image - regular servicing, replacing fluids and parts at required intervals and using reputable mechanics (at the dealership, if possible). When a strange noise is heard, the car goes into the shop. God forbid the police or transportation authorities find the vehicle not legally upkept.

In contrast, most Ghanaians can barely afford to own and operate a vehicle, let alone keep it in top condition. In addition, local roads take a toll on tires, suspensions and windshields, while the. Labour is cheap, but parts are not, so inventive McGyver-like fixes are favoured over replacing malfunctioning parts. Also, manufacturer's warranties are rare. Thus only the wealthy can keep their cars looking and sounding immaculate.

In this way, the local vehicle market is fraught with peril. So the expats tend to buy from other expats via the online community. However, the summer rush of expats coming and going from Accra had ended, so the expat market was quite small. Mr. O made many inquiries, but as soon as the vehicle ads went up, they were sold almost immediately. (The couple's inability to drive standard transmission exacerbated this - they were not about to learn in Accra traffic)

Mr. O tried looking at a vehicle owned by a local. On paper, it was very good. Upon viewing, the vehicle had some wear and tear. He insisted on an inspection by a dealer. The inspection took an unfathomable 5 hours from arrival to departure (lunch starts early and ends late, it seems) and involved a lot of yelling, but revealed that the seller was not truthful in his assessment of the vehicle and that it needed a significant amount of work. Next.

After a dry spell, another promising lead came up, being sold by an African expat. Mr. O decided to take his chances. The initial viewing looked good and he made an offer conditional upon an inspection - this time by a trusted mechanic who made house calls. After an assessment of work needed, Mr. O made a final offer that was accepted.

The next part is tricky: money must change hands before the vehicle is legally transferred. So Mr. O arranged with his home bank (after several phone calls and faxes) to wire the funds to the seller and upon receipt, the transfer started. A communication breakdown at this point temporarily convinced Mr. O he had just gone headfirst into a 419 scam, but as it turns out, the seller was just as nervous of becoming a victim of a wily foreigner.

With the money transferred and the ownership transfer pending, the seller gave Mr. O use of the car. Then the real fun began: on the way home after only a few km, he was pulled over by traffic police for an "infraction". The officers were not interested in issuing a ticket (the money would go to the government, after all), but after dragging his feet long enough, he was let go with a warning.

So the vehicle purchasing saga finally came to an end - for the moment. Next up was a trip to the Driver Vehicle Licensing Authority - a descent into the depths of Ghanaian bureaucracy.

Things Beget Living

It has been a few weeks since the last update and one can be forgiven for thinking that since Mr. and Mrs. O received their sea shipment, they've become so preoccupied with their western foodstuffs and doodads that they have run out of interesting stories.

That is partly true. Mr. O can now play outside with Little Miss on her jungle gym and read with her something other than the same seven books they cycled through for almost three months. And Mrs. O can now indulge in her love of cooking, now that she has recipes, measuring cups, utensils and more than one pot.

The bigger truth is that the family is now starting to get into a set routine: weekdays are work, errands and playgroups; weekends are shopping, social engagements and going to the pool. There has also been some difficulty with a vehicle (more on that later) that has kept the family a bit housebound, but that will change soon.

As ridiculous as it sounds, receiving the sea shipment has fostered this "normalcy". With their familiar possessions, Mr. and Mrs. O feel that they are living their home life, which is surprisingly ho-hum. ("Honey! The new episode of Homeland is on!")

But a ho-hum life this is not destined to be. Stay tuned for more (relatively) wacky adventures...

Things, Glorious Things!

Opening the sea container.

This past weekend, Mr. O's employer alerted him that a giant shipping container had arrived at the port of Tema, where ships from around the word dock to bring their goods to Accra and all points north towards the Sahara. Tema receives massive amounts of such varied items as vehicles from Europe, rice from Thailand, second-hand clothing from North America and just about anything you can think of from China.

What made this particular container interesting is that it contained most of their worldly possessions - at least the ones they decided were important enough to pack up and bring across the ocean. And there were over a hundred boxes of it. Clearly, these could not all be necessities.

To be fair, about half of the boxes contained non-perishable food items and cleaning products, while others contained such mundane items as linens, toiletries, DVDs, a guitar and - of course - a ridiculous amount of toys.

Little Miss reacquainting herself with her beloved toys.

All of this was delivered straight to the house. The container was cracked open and from the crates came the boxes, brought into the house by almost a dozen movers. Maybe two or three appeared to be proper movers, but the rest were a motley crew of hired hands that arrived in their own tro-tro. Labour in Ghana is so cheap, that while in Canada, it took three men almost a day to put the boxes into the moving van, this crew took only an hour to unload everything (including a Mrs. O-sponsored FanIce break).

This battle station is fully operational.

Somewhere there is Mrs. O. And coffee.

The trick to successful moving is to open the boxes and put the contents in their place as soon as possible - otherwise, boxes stay closed and remind the depressed owner of how they really need to properly unpack their "stuff". This often goes on until the next move. So everything was taken out and put in its place within two days.

Interestingly, as the unpacking took place, the day guards borrowed Mr. O's toolset to break down the giant crates into plywood, 2x4s and nails (all good for construction), flattened the boxes (everyone needs boxes) and accumulated all of the tissue paper (used to wrap kebabs, kenkey and other chop foods). In Ghana, nothing reusable (and sellable) is wasted. The guards would take all of these to market and sell them for a small profit - the hardest part is transportation, since none of them own a car. One guard borrowed a large wagon and carted the plywood off to parts unknown.

With everything in its place, the house does feel much more like "home". Not only does the family have all of their western accoutrements (including plates, glasses, cutlery, kitchen implements, a barbecue, peanut butter, maple syrup, etc.), but with their familiar personal effects, it is easy to forget that they are living in a rented house in West Africa. Mr. O heard of the excitement of receiving a shipment, but discounted this, figuring that life was pretty ducky already. Now with the material comforts of home, life feels more normalized and routine, which is part of the transition experience. The family was doing just fine beforehand, but psychologically, they are more prepared for the coming years.

Especially now that they have real coffee.

In the end, they play with the box anyway, of course.

The neighbour enjoys the bounty of Little Miss.

Thank God, the lawn ornaments have finally arrived.

How to Dispel Your First World Problems

An interesting experiment is to imagine having a conversation with a friend and someone without your privileges. How would your statements sound to them? Do you still see the problem as a significant issue?

When Mr. and Mrs. O have conversations with their expat neighbour as his househelp watches his daughter in the room, they become hyper-aware of this disconnect. Suddenly statements like, "My daughter's pre-school schedule is so inconvenient," ''The cheese selection in the supermarkets is terrible - how can I make a decent lasagna?'' or "I think we want to go to South Africa for Christmas but flights and hotels are so expensive in December," become embarrassing to the speaker.

Again, your problems are valid and they are your own. But this is one way of putting them in perspective, perchance to help overcome them.

Note: David Cain's Raptitude blog (highly recommended) tackles the unbearable lightness of everyday Western living with a healthy dose of zen, mindfulness and introspection. Mr. O has found this perspective useful as the family started the process of packing their middle class lives and moving to a lower income nation where they have become relatively upper class. Relevant topics include having too much "stuff", your incredible wealth and power, and making a moral issue of being inconvenienced. 

All of Our Problems Are First World Problems

Urban Dictionary defines "First World Problems" as Problems from living in a wealthy, industrialized nation that third worlders would probably roll their eyes at.

Grammatical and philosophical issues in that sentence aside, there lies a deep truth that in Mr. and Mrs. O's culture, people tend to get upset and obsess over issues that would be considered trivial anywhere else. Some examples:

These stand in contrast to what some would call "actual problems", like a lack of food, clean water, sanitation, medicine, education or electricity - things most people take for granted every day. These are all major issues for everyday Ghanaians. When one thinks about this, it can put things into perspective:

Mr. and Mrs. O have come to realize that all of their problems are first world problems and barring a catastrophic disaster, revolution or other major calamity, that is all they will be. When the power goes out (and it does often), the generator kicks in. When the polytank runs out of water, a tanker truck comes to fill it. When the internet goes down, Mr. O's smartphone becomes a wifi hotspot (this implies he has both a laptop, smartphone and money for internet and phone access).

The problems that Mr. and Mrs. O have to deal with are slightly more mundane: When the local supermarket runs out of bread flour, they can't make pancakes. The security guard is asleep when a delivery is expected. The househelp doesn't know how to properly crease pants when ironing. There are too many air conditioners in the house, but how many should be on?

As a social worker friend has said: your problems are valid because they are your problems, based on your life experience. While Mr. and Mrs. O's "problems" may not be relevant to the average Ghanaian, the average Ghanaian's problems would not be relevant to people a hundred years ago. ("You mean you have a magic box that beams images from around the world into your house, but you are upset that you can only get THREE channels?")

All that to say, it is okay to whine about power outages, water shortages, bad smells and bad drivers, because these are all problems that make our lives challenging in our current context. The trick is to understand that in whining about one's problems, there needs to be a conclusion. One can either:

1. accept that they are problems that are out of their control (eg. the mosquitoes are out);
2. accept that they are problems that are out of their control, but that will be one day solved (eg. malaria vaccines are on the horizon, but in the meantime I will stay vigilant); or
3. understand at how one can contribute to solving the problem and then acting on it (eg. if I improve drainage and reduce standing water around the house, there will be fewer malarial mosquitoes).

It can be difficult to remember the hierarchy of problems and the most logical responses, but it is part of Mr. and Mrs. O's strategy for mental and emotional survival in Accra. For hundreds of years, foreigners have come, spent their sojourns complaining about their many problems here and stayed shut in their first world houses, drinking copious amounts of gin. Mr. and Mrs. O do this too (they prefer chocolate), but they try to occasionally get out of the bubble, understand the context of their problems and to enjoy the amazing privilege that has been bestowed upon them and understand how their actions can increase or decrease the more immediate problems of others.

A Walk in the Botanical Gardens

Aburi. Very stately.

What is one to do on a Sunday in Ghana? (Aside from going to a marathon church service, of course.)

Looking for an easy escape from Accra, the family piled into the SUV and drove North to the Akuapem Hills, going from flat highway to winding roads climbing up mountainsides. At the top of the hill is the town of Aburi and its eponymous botanical gardens.

The Aburi Botanical Gardens were founded in 1890 by the British and became a showpiece of plants from all over the empire, including East Africa, the Caribbean and Burma. Over the years, the gardens have only become larger and more spectacular. However, the place seems to run on a shoe-string budget and the aged facilities and weathered signs are in need of some upkeep - "faded glory" is a phrase often heard associated with Aburi.

This really puts Mr. O's yard to shame.

On the flipside, for only 5 cedi ($2.50US at time of writing) per person, there is little to complain about. (Official Government of Ghana tourist sites are remarkably cheap, since they are seen as public goods and there is little incentive to increase prices with inflation or invest in attractive facilities.)
The air is a fair bit cooler in the hills and the place is well-shaded, so it is a pleasure to stroll about and have a picnic. In addition to the main areas, there are a few unique hidden surprises, including a rustic-yet-lush nursery, a dead tree carved into a massive traditional scene and a big old rusty helicopter. The latter is not so hidden, but only local kids knew how to open the nose and reveal the engine.

Sunday is a particularly nice time to visit, as the place is very quiet. Although by mid-afternoon, locals started to emerge from their houses of worship and when a group of young evangelical men started proselytizing to Mr. O (who as a Catholic rarely shies from theological debate), the family called it a day and made their way back to Accra. While it is no day at the beach, it is a walk in the park and the family will be back again soon enough.

This the view from inside a tree looking up. Psychedelic.

Excellent use of dead tree.

The nursery could use a touch of paint.

Some real purty flowers.

And they even have chickens, to the delight of Little Miss.

Windows of green.

What botanical garden would be complete without a giant, rusty old helicopter?

Ashanti Excursion Part 2: The Big Ticket in Kumasi

Adum, downtown Kumasi

As Mrs. O and Little Miss made their way back to Accra, Mr. O hitched a ride with the Cocoa Village owner to Kumasi, Ghana's second city and the capital of the historic Ashanti people. The reason? The Ghanaian national football team (the Black Stars, after the flag) had reached the final qualification stage for the 2014 World Cup and was engaged in a two-match playoff with perennial African champions Egypt (the Pharoahs). Once upon a time, Mr. O was privileged to see Ghana qualify for its first World Cup appearance in Kumasi as well and he was eager to rekindle the feeling.

Tickets to the big match were in high demand and in short supply. Thus, he massaged his local contacts to procure a ticket once they went on sale, took two days off work for the event and connected with old friends to find a place to stay in town when thousands of visitors (including several hundred from Egypt) were descending upon the city for the match.

The Golden Ticket.

Compared to Accra, Kumasi is a very different city. The downtown business core is historic, but well-maintained compared to Accra's crumbling old offices. There is very little government presence, instead focused primarily on business, including trading (West Africa's largest market, Kejetia, is in Kumasi) and few NGOs. So the few foreigners in the city are mostly in the private sector. There is also a small Indo- and Lebanese-Ghanaian business class that controls key industries.

Also, going to Kumasi (or anywhere in Ghana, really) reminds one of just how expensive and overpriced Accra is. Transport, rent, food - all of these things are significantly cheaper. Without the glittering office towers and flashy cars, Kumasi feels a bit more like Ghana proper, rather than an otherworldly This Island Accra.

To top this, Mr. O was slumming it. His friends in town are working on a start-up with a limited budget, living communally and working in a house in the suburbs. They buy from the local market, eat chop, ride tro-tros, live without hot water and air conditioning, while being subject to the power surges and blackouts of the Ghanaian electrical grid. In short, basically like University of Ghana students. So Mr. O was taking a trip down memory lane as well.

The fans are Black Star-struck as the team buss passes through.

On Tuesday, Mr. O and a friend from home went downtown for some delicious and cheap Indian dosas, butter chicken and lassis at Vic Baboo's (as well as a healthy dose of Indian wistfulness and unhealthy dose of pointed opinions on Ghanaians). The manager was heading to Baba Yara Stadium, so they followed him through busy Asafo Market towards the stadium. On the way, a large motorcade passed through, including the Black Stars' team bus, with all players on. This drove the fans nuts. (Interestingly, the Egyptian team bus quietly went through the stadium parking lot with barely a turned head.)

Entering the stadium, people jostled to get in and ticket scalpers looked upon Mr. O for easy money. Once inside, things calmed down as Mr. O and friend found the rest of the group. Sitting on the Ghanaian goal line, the seats they claimed were great. However, an hour before the match, a massive storm passed through, drenching the fans and the practicing players alike. The match started at 4PM, so there was no getting dry that evening, only embracing the rain.

Our friends eagerly anticipating the match.

The atmosphere was electric (not just due to thunder) and the crowd was on fire. To see a world-class football match in a place like this is truly worth the effort. In this crucial match, the entire country was on pins and needles, as many were privately unsure if Ghana could equal and better Egypt, who was stronger on paper, but with unrest following the Egyptian Revolution, was not in best form and was in desperate need for anything to raise the national spirit.

When the match started, Ghana wasted no time in getting ahead, scoring five minutes in. From there, they barely looked back. Though Egypt would score a penalty kick to edge up to 2-1, their side simply did not have the skill and coordination to match the Ghanaians, who were . By half-time, Ghana held a comfortable 3-1 lead and would not let up, making the final score 6-1. The game was fantastic, with so many highlights - Essien running circles around the defense, Muntari's bicycle kick to Gyan's header or Atsu's surprise late long-bomb. This was the performance of a World Cup-class squad.

The team takes a well-deserved victory lap.

With so many goals, fans of all colours and nationalities at the stadium (save for Egypt) were high-fiving, hugging, dancing, chanting and enjoying the day. Mr. O's group had photos taken with so many people, they lost count. Leaving the stadium, they were caught up in an impromptu parade and with the traffic jam, ended up walking most of the way back, where they dried themselves off. Such a fantastic game, such a great day. With the win, Ghana simply needs to not do the inverse in the second play-off match with Egypt in Cairo and they will secure their seat to the 2014 World Cup in Brazil.

The following morning, Mr. O took the long bus back to Accra. Reliving the magic of the game and the life of a student was exhausting and when the sweaty and soggy Mr. O walked back into his big air conditioned modern house, he was very thankful to return to his present (especially since the power was out as the generator was providing power). It was a good reminder that he has changed quite a bit and although he can still hack it on a tro-tro and eating roadside chop, he is now living in a different world altogether.