“…we sleep in this canoe.”
No, I did not spend the night in a canoe this weekend, but there were a few times when I thought our “day trip” might come to that. But more on that later. P.S. This could be a long one.
I had a great weekend of travel. I left Elmina on Friday afternoon, heading for Takoradi. The capital of the Western Region, Takoradi (and its twin city Sekondi) are about 50 miles west of Cape Coast. I grabbed some lunch and then made my way to the tro-tro station. I bought my ticket for 3 cedi or so ($2), and clambered into my first real tro-tro (I think I described these in the post from last weekend. Basically a tro-tro is a large van that transports people from one point to the other very cheaply. You can pick them up along the side of the road, or at a station if you want to ensure yourself a seat). I have seen some tro-tros that look so stuffed full of people that I get uncomfortable just looking at them. Thankfully, once everyone had a seat, we took off, and didn’t try to fit anyone else in.
I think I have mentioned how very religious Ghanaians are in previous posts. Often, stands and shops will have names like, “God Willing Fast Food,” or “Jesus is Life Electrical Supplies.” Cars and tro-tros have vinyl stickers on their back windows that say things like, “Pray more,” or “John 3:16.” And as I (and 12 othes) sat in the tro-tro waiting to depart for Takoradi, a young man with a bible came up to the open door, opened it on an empty seat, and began to preach in Fante. I knew that he would be expecting money, and in any unfamiliar situation, I’ve learned that you can kind of look like you know what you’re doing if you just watch the locals and take your cues from them. Looking around the tro, I saw people texting, making phone calls, eating snacks, looking out the window, basically doing anything but looking at the travelling evangelist. Even though he was speaking in Fante, I could pick out some words, like “Nyame” which means God, “nhyira” which means blessings, and “akwantuo” which means journey. He read a bit from the bible, and continued to preach, gaining enthusiasm (and volume) as he went.
Finally, he began to pray, and I think someone even answered a phone call during his prayer. Surprisingly, though, when he said, “Amen,” the whole tro responded with a resounding, “Amen!” Arms from every direction reached toward him, dropping coins into his hands. Even though I didn’t understand every word, it wasn’t hard to put two and two together and realize that he was praying for safe travels to Takoradi. I reached in my bag and grabbed a few pesewas to give him, appreciating the well wishes that were to follow me on my first tro ride. As I did, he looked me straight in the eye, and emphatically said/yelled, “God bless you! God bless you today and all of your days in Ghana.” I was a little shocked mumbled, “Thank you.” The large, older man next to me started to laugh, and said something in Fante, and I was able to get the gist. He was laughing because I paid the man even though I couldn’t possibly understand a word of Fante. I responded, “Mete Fante kakra,” meaning I understand a little bit of Fante. This time he was the one who was surprised. He surveyed me and in Fante asked me what “Nyame nhyira” meant. Anyone who can scroll back up to the top of this paragraph can guess what I told him. Satisfied, he nodded his head, and was pretty helpful for the rest of the tro ride, especially when I needed help getting off at the right stop in Takoradi.
The tro ride was fairly comfortable, even if it did take a while. We got stuck in some traffic going into Takoradi, which made for a two-hour ride. We also had to make a stop so that two or three passengers could get out and pop a squat next to the tro. I was reminded of those humiliating days as a kid when my parents would grow tired of my complaining and pull off the highway so I could take care of business. At least then I would hide behind the family van with my mom reassuring me that no one could see. This was somewhat different, though, as women and men, young and old, joined in the fun. The joys of living in a country where people really don’t care what others think of them.
Once in Takoradi, I met up with my Twi professor Bridget’s younger sister, Naomi. We immediately went to a restaurant to eat some dinner, and had a great conversation. Naomi is 22, and just finished college at the University of Cape Coast where she studied psychology. A beautiful and bubbly girl, we had a great time walking around Takoradi together, chatting about hair, cooking, men, and shopping. We picked up some groceries at the market and took a cab heading out of town to their home. Once there, I met Bridget’s mom, Vivian, her younger cousin, Michael Justice, and the family dog Lucky. They ushered me inside and began the doting process. In just a few minutes, I felt like I’d known them forever, and we chatted with ease. I unpacked the gifts that Bridget sent for them, and gave them some postcards of OU that I brought along with me. They wanted to know the names of all of the buildings, if Bridget or I had classes there, etc. Soon, their seamstress showed up to take my measurements. Vivian insisted on having some traditional Ghanaian outfits made for me, which is exciting. I will go back again before I head home to pick them up and visit again.
When the seamstress left, Naomi popped in one of her favorite Ghanaian movies, “Who Loves Me.” It was a two-part movie, which lasted about three hours in total, and was chock-full of crying and forbidden love, with heart failure thrown in for good measure. We snacked on fresh mango and guarana soda, enjoying the night. When the movie finished around midnight, we headed to bed. I was so tired, because embarrassingly, I am in bed by 10pm every night during the week. I shared a room with Naomi, and fell quickly to sleep.
The next morning, we got up pretty early. The plan was to meet four Global Mamas volunteers (Erin, Emma, Kara, and Jeannie) at the tro-tro station at 9:30. We decided to take a day trip to a small village about two hours west of Takoradi called Nzulezo. Nzulezo is a 600-year-old village built on stilts over a lake. The legend is that a civil war in Mali caused one group of people to flee to Ghana. Since they did not own land in Ghana, they built their village on the water. It is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and even though it is a way off the beaten path, it is still a bit of a tourist attraction. The village can be reached only by a 45-minute canoe ride one way. A (supposedly) 3-hour drive from Cape, we decided to tackle it in one day.
After a large breakfast, I said goodbye to Vivian and Justice. Naomi and I headed into town and to the tro-tro station. We waited just a few minutes for the girls coming from Elmina, and with Naomi’s help, bought our tickets. We found our way onto the right tro – headed for Beyin. Nzulezo is situated a few miles from this small village, not far from Ghana’s western border with the Ivory Coast. When the tro-tro filled up, we pulled out. It was about 11:30 at this point. Some of the girls munched on the peanut butter sandwiches they brought from home. We realized that we were a bit behind our schedule, but weren’t too worried. I settled in with a new book, occasionally looking up to take in the dense, rural scenery.
The two-hour tro ride turned into three. We turned off the main (paved) road and onto a very rugged, very unpaved road. We slowed to about 5-10 mph to avoid blowing a tire or running over a child or chicken, both of which were running wild in the small villages we passed. For nearly an hour we travelled this way until finally, we arrived in Beyin, 2.5 hours later than we were hoping. Following a very old, very faded sign for the Nzulezo Registration Center, we scampered inside the old building to avoid the rain that was again falling (as it already had many times throughout the day).
We had already started to worry about how late we were arriving in Beyin, and when they told us we would have to wait two hours for a canoe, we had to have a “pow wow.” Having come this far, we were definitely not turning back, but we also didn’t think we had enough money between us to spend the night at the “beach resort” (that term is thrown around loosely here) in town. The employees told us we would have no problem getting a tro-tro back to Takoradi if we could find our way back to the main road. We arranged a ride with a taxi driver, who agreed to take us there when we returned from the village. After only 30 minutes of waiting around, they announced that it was time to go get a canoe. We gathered up our bags, I put the hood up on my raincoat, and headed out.
The lagoon with a manmade canal to the lake was just across the street. There was a small building with benches and a small loading area. We soon realized the reason for the lack of canoes. A school group of 40+ had arrived just an hour before we. Each canoe could hold only six visitors plus one guide. No one seemed to know how to get in line for the next canoe, and people were everywhere. Some guy who worked there told us to follow him, and we did, walking along the canal on a small, dirt path through the wetlands. It was like the blind leading the blind, and unfortunately, I was in front. We could see more school uniforms up ahead, so we kept walking. Sometimes canoes would pass us, and we would get excited, but none of them were for us.
The guy ran ahead to see if there were any canoes for us. There weren’t. He told us to wait there, and ran back to the original loading place in search of canoes. It had started to rain again, and we all stood there, wet, hungry, tired, and a little confused, waiting for a boat. It was already 4pm. About this time, we started the “worst case scenario” business. Since our scenario had already worsened with the onset of a fresh rain, we were trying to console ourselves by thinking of ways it could, but most likely would not, get worse.
“Worst case scenario, we never get a boat and have to go home,” one of us said.
“I think the worst case scenario would be getting a boat and then flipping it.”
“No..worst case scenario, we do get a boat, but get stuck in the village and have to sleep there,” said another.
“I think the worst case scenario would be having to sleep in one of the canoes,” someone else added.
“How about this. Worst case scenario, we have to spend the night in one of the villages we drove past. I can just see them saying, ‘Obruni! My favorite!’ and then choosing one of us to roast on a spit.”
We laughed. The rain fell harder, faster. Referencing the song I mentioned a few days ago, one of us sighed, “I love my life!”
Nearby, the school kids heard that exclamation, and burst into a fit of giggles. One of the students pulled up the song on his phone, and soon, they were walking over to us, the song blaring, and saying, “Obrunis! Let’s dance. I love my life!” We indulged them in the slightest, but they were satisfied, and headed back over to the rest of the pack. Soon, our guy was back, and with a canoe. Gingerly, we piled in, trying not to flip. I had some canoeing experience growing up, but it was nothing like this. First of all, the canoe was wooden, clearly made from the hollowed out trunk of a tree. It sat very low in the water. With six of us in there, I think there was about two inches between the water and the rim of our boat. Emma sat in the front, and we couldn’t help but laugh when our guide told her she had to paddle, too. We made a mental note to write the guidebook, making sure they include in the next edition that this destination is a “paddle yourself” destination. “I didn’t sign up for this!” she joked. “You’re doing a great job, Pocahontas,” I said.
Once we were in the canoe on our way, it was a beautiful trip. We went through dense jungles, and then out emptied out into a large lake, with the Nzulezo “skyline” in the distance. Soon, we were there, just as gingerly crawling out of the canoe. Our guide gave us a small tour of the small village. Once in the village, you wouldn’t really know it was built on the river. The small buildings were connected by sidewalks/roads made of wooden planks. Surprisingly, 450 people live there now. They have a school, a church, and some tiny drinking spots (bars), which were undoubtedly built to accommodate tourists. Even though there were a lot of canoes going to and from, the village wasn’t crawling with visitors, cameras, or fanny packs. Locals were carrying on with life, getting haircuts, pounding fufu, and some kids were even wrestling. In fact, there were kids everywhere. Our guide announced that due to the lack of electricity in the village, people go to bed very early. We didn’t really get it, until he added, “That’s the reason for all of the kids.”
Aware of the time passing, we didn’t stay in Nzulezo too long, but we didn’t need to. Once there, there’s not much to see. The canoe ride there is just as memorable, if not more so. We piled back in the canoe, and headed toward Beyin. On our way back, canoes of school kids kept passing us, and from each one we would hear someone yell out, “I love my life!” Or, “Hello, Obrunis. You love your life?” We laughed, continuing back toward land.
Unfortunately, I was the last one in the canoe on the way back, which gave me the unique pleasure of being in charge of scooping water out of the bottom. Toward the back, there was a surprising amount of water in the bottom; definitely enough to soak my feet. I scooped and scooped, realizing that if the canoe wobbled too far to the left that a jet of water would pour in through a small hole near the top. Every time I got most of the water out, we would inevitably wobble to the left, and in the water would come. I was reminded of the boy who stuck his finger in the dam, and the feeling heightened when the guide said, “Keep scooping. Our lives are in your hands.” Thankfully, he liked to joke.
The night was beautiful, with big clouds in the distance and a cool fog settling over the lagoon, the sun nearing the horizon and bathing us in dusk. I took a break from scooping to take a slow, deep breath, basking in the beauty. The moment didn’t last long, however. Soon, the raindrops started to fall. Slowly, lightly, and then fast and hard. Only two of us had raincoats, and we squealed as we sat there, unable to do nothing but get soaked. I scooped and scooped, but knew I was fighting an uphill battle. Not only were we wobbling more than ever in our haste, the rain was falling fast. Scoop scoop scoop. Water everywhere. I felt like a kid at the mall who was trying to run up the down escalator just to see if they could make it to the top. It was kind of a pointless fight, but I did my best, and soon we made it back to the land with no problems, other than being wet and cold.
We paid our guide, used the washroom (I changed into dry clothes), and were on our way. The trip back to the main road took a long, long time, but finally, we made it. We easily found a tro-tro to take us to Takoradi. I don’t really remember the trip after that point – I was too tired and hungry. We all were. I had eaten my peanut butter sandwich hours earlier. Sixteen hours into the day, I had only eaten three pieces of toast and peanut butter, a glass of juice, a peanut butter sandwich, and a chocolate chip Clif bar. We didn’t stop to buy any snacks just in case we needed to pool our money together and get a hotel room. Thankfully, it didn’t come close to that.
Only once we made it safely back to Elmina around 11pm did we eat. Emma and I called some of the other girls and asked them to get us some carry out, and the other girls got egg sandwiches across the street. Ironically, when we returned home, exhausted, we were met with a huge crowd. The usually quiet Elmina was hopping, not unlike Court Street on Halloween or Homecoming Weekend. People were everywhere, and obviously having a good time. The rain was still falling, but the partygoers seemed not to notice. We gathered all of our energy to go out for a drink with Eli, but immediately went home after we realized she was not coming. It was quite a scene, and if we had not been completely out of it from the trip, I think we would have really enjoyed ourselves. Around 1am, I was out cold, oblivious to the music pounding from the speakers on the street. I don’t think I’ve had a better night of sleep in months.
Unfortunately, I am experiencing some technical difficulties with my card reader, so I can’t put any pictures on here yet. I’m going to try to get that figured out this week. I got some really beautiful ones, and feel that Nzulezo can't really be understood without seeing it. Thanks for reading the lengthy post. I promise, no more this long for a while.
