Well, we're in Africa...what are we Ghana do?

Our entrance into the port in Tema (about 20 minutes East of the capital, Accra) and subsequent berthing (not birthing) at dock 11 was greeted by a whole Ghanaian band, all dressed to the nines in red, green, gold and black and beating furiously on their drums in rhythms my Western ears couldn’t even begin to process. They must have invited their friends, too, because they had set up about 10 tents full of souveniers literally 50 feet from the exit of the ship. Images of Moroccan vendors flashed through my mind the first day as we ran from the ship to the transfer buses to Accra. Shouts of  “my friend! My friend!” chased us into the bus as the doors closed. As the bus took off, we noticed a police escort, complete with sirens and lights and everything. We learned that there are only two things that necessitate police escorts: GBC-TV (the state-run TV network) vans running to a breaking story and buses full of white tourists. Almost immediately it was evident how highly many Ghanaians hold their faith. Most trucks have bumper stickers with interesting phrases, my favorites of which include “lies are not good” and the gem “clap nicely for Jesus.” Makes me wonder what happens if I clap meanly…

My first day was spent wandering the streets of Accra with AJ (from Michigan) and John (from Boulder, CO) to experience the famous markets we had read about. These markets looked less like a cultural fair full of handmade goods than the entire contents of Wal-mart had spilled out onto the street. The same vendors were selling toothbrushes, women’s underwear and refrigerators. Sounds like a great place to have our first Ghanaian meal, right? I chose fufu, basically a giant dumpling in sauce comparable in heat to the lava coming out of a volcano (more on that in a minute). Now this restaurant was not the worst place I’ve ever seen (read: it had a roof) but it certainly wasn’t five stars…or four…or three…you get it. Prior to our arrival, the physician on-board gives a presentation about health concerns in each destination. For Ghana, this included graphic pictures of the joys of parasites from drinking dirty water. The waitress at the restaurant took our order, and after we had been instructed about the necessity of Jesus in our lives by the lady at the next table, brought out our food, complete with silverware IN A DOG BOWL FULL OF TAP WATER. Let that sink in. That was about the point we realized this place was a bit different.

Our afternoon was spent at the Centre for National Culture. It was a center, full of Ghanaians, who had cultural things. But the sum of all of its parts was not what I had pictured as a center of national culture. It was a series of shacks with lovely handmade goods as well as the most eager people you have ever seen. As soon as we got out of the taxi, we were SWARMED by about 15 people all dragging us to their drum/art/whoknowswhatelse store. We settled on the drums and were treated to a private lesson as well as performance. We made it out relatively unscathed, but in the true spirit of this trip, several cedi lighter.

On day two we hired a private car and driver to go to Cape Coast, the site of several slave castles where slaves were held before their shipment to the Americas. One of them, Cape Coast Castle, was a site President Obama visited on his first trip to Africa. It was a very moving experience and although I’m far removed from those events, the atrocities that human beings are capable of committing were appalling to see. On the third day, AJ and I went on an SAS tour of the Wli waterfall (the tallest in Ghana) and a sanctuary for Mona monkeys. We assumed we would take pictures, smile and laugh at the monkeys’ silly antics and get back on the bus. That’s when the guide starting handing out bananas and the monkeys starting jumping on us and peeling and eating them on our arms. I was an especially favorable target due to my height and apparent resemblance to a tree. The bus broke down on the drive home but it was still a wonderful day.

The fourth day was primarily an errand day around Tema. We went to the post office, found internet (WAY easier than Morocco) and did some last minute shopping. Ghana was definitely an interesting experience, and not quite what I pictured of West Africa, but that seems to be the theme of the voyage. We’re less than a day away from South Africa…stay tuned!

Morocco

Where oh where do I start in talking about Morocco…we woke up in the port of Casablanca. Now I don’t know what your image of Casablanca is, but it’s probably influenced somewhat by the movie. And if you haven’t seen the movie, you’ve heard about the movie. And if you haven’t heard about the movie, Casablanca at least sounds like a romantic name. Well I want you to take all of those thoughts and disregard them immediately, because Casa is nothing like that. At least not from what I saw. The port is surrounded by massive cranes, and behind those all one can see is a hill rising up in the middle of the city covered in run-down houses and slums. I looked down on the dock to see several feral dogs and a three-legged cat. Some first impression, right? Initiating culture shock…now. To top it all off, on our first day here two students were robbed, one at knifepoint and both ended up flying home that afternoon. Yay travel!

My first activity was an SAS-organized city orientation with a visit to the Hassan II mosque, an unbelievable structure right on the ocean. It’s the third-largest mosque in the world and to this point has cost Morocco upwards of $8 billion to build, and it’s easy to see why. Every single inch inside is hand-carved, hand-painted, or hand-assembled. Our guide told us that on Fridays during Ramadan, up to 120,000 Muslims go there to pray. It was a great experience, and since there are only a few mosques that non-Muslims (read: infidels) are allowed in, I felt very privileged. That afternoon I met up with some buddies and took a train about an hour away to Rabat, the capital of Morocco. There weren’t a whole lot of sights, but we were there at sunset so it was pretty and gorgeous weather. Charles got attacked by a henna lady who wanted 200 dirham (about $20) for drawing a few flowers on his arm. Not only did he not have 200 dirham, but he was black so you couldn’t even see it. Lesson #1: you never have to stop to talk to anybody.

On day two we took the train about 3 hours south to Marrakech, the “touristy city.” The main draw is the market, or the Djemma el Fna, complete with snake charmers, more henna ladies, storytellers and guys with clothed monkeys on leashes. It’s incredibly tempting to take pictures of all this, which brings us to lesson #2: don’t take pictures in Morocco without expecting to be hassled for money. In fact, don’t even make eye contact with them. Before you know it, you’ll have a monkey wearing basketball shorts on your arm and a wallet that’s about 10 dirham lighter. Other than the market, there was disappointingly little to do in Marrakech, so that night we took the train back to Casa. Lesson #3: public transportation isn’t what you’re used to in the states. I’ll leave it at that.

On day three we went to Fes, one of the most unique places I’ve ever seen. The taxi driver charged us about 30 dirham to get to the train station, about 3 times as much as he should have. I only had a 50 and, surprise surprise, he insisted he didn’t have change despite the clinking of coins in his ashtray. Not knowing French (which seems to be a recurring theme) or Arabic, we reluctantly cut our losses and left. Though I did leave him with a little verbal gift on my way out…turns out I’m not very good at ubuntu.

On the train ride, the girls met a guy named Muhammad who happened to know one of the people on the ship (you’ll come to find that everybody in Morocco knows someone on the ship or has a brother in the states. Most likely the state you’re from. It’s uncanny really.) He said he could set us up on a tour of the medina (basically 10,000 unmarked streets in a giant walled section of the city.) There was a taxi waiting for us at the station and a guide waiting at the city. We got to see the famous tannery from a rooftop, as well as had an authentic Moroccan meal in a lovely restaurant. I had pigeon pie, a classic Moroccan dish. Everything was working out great until we realized it wasn’t. Muhammad was basically paid to bring us into his friends’ shops so they could hassle us. If you were strong-willed, you could leave with a little bit of trouble. If you weren’t and were instead like most of the girls we were with, they would clean. You. Out. Don’t get me wrong, we never would have seen these things had we not done this, and I made it out relatively unscathed. But the strategy became obvious. It was realized even more when we got to the train station and the 8:45 train we were promised was actually more like a 2 am train, which left no other option but for the taxi driver to take us the three hours back to Casa. Fine, just get me out of here. But wait, the taxi driver is old and 9 pm is his bedtime, so his son is going to drive us. Greeeat. And the son is bringing along a friend. And we had to stop at his house before we left. What? We were sketching out so hard at this point, convincing we were going to be murdered in a ditch somewhere between Fes and Casa. However, we made it all the way back safely, if only a little bit poorer than we had wanted to be. Lesson #4: if it sounds too good to be true, it is.

Day four we just walked around Casa and bought souveniers before the boat left at 8 pm. 

We’re on the way to Ghana a few dollars poorer but a few lessons smarter. Til next time friends!

Life Aboard the MV

Today marks a week and a half on board the MV Explorer. I will refer to the time in two periods: Before Psychologist (B.P…no oil spill jokes please, the ocean out here is quite blue) and After Psychologist (A.P.) The only reason I feel the need to split these up is because I feel like I’ve been on two different cruis-sorry, voyages. The first few days were brutal. Take all the anxiety you feel about being in a new situation and with new people, and then confine your escaping ability to about 8,000 square feet. The entire trip out of Canada was riddled with fog and the occasional “invisible whale,” everyone was anxious, classes hadn’t started so we had 16 hours with very little to do…it was a nightmare. I was convinced that if I saw another boat headed in any direction other than “To Africa,” I was jumping off and swimming to it. Being able to contact my loved ones helped for sure, but nothing could quite help me to escape the feeling of being alone in a big metal box. One of the faculty is fond of giving speeches, but she is notorious for running between 15 and 30 minutes over time. Anyway, she is a huge fan of Desmond Tutu (who is boarding the ship in Ghana) and talks about “ubuntu” constantly (it’s basically about living for humanity, not just yourself. A good message). Every chance she gets, it’s all about ubuntu. I can hear her voice ringing in my ears just typing it…that didn’t help anything during this period.

My roommate’s name is Anthony, he is from Hawai’i and goes to the U of San Diego (along with 16% of the ship). He’s a really nice guy, his girlfriend is on the voyage so I don’t see a whole lot of him. Which might be just as well, because I’m pretty sure he’s allergic to shirts.

So that was B.P. I met with the psychologist, Rosalyn (1/2 of a husband/wife psychologist team) and that was a huge help. Maybe it was just having someone to talk to, but that was a real turning point. I’m in a much better place now and enjoying my time here ten-fold more. I have found a solid group of friends who I traveled with in Morocco (details in the next post) and am much better at finding things to do to keep me busy.

Now a little about the ship. It really is an amazing vessel…there are two dining rooms, one of which has about 20 tables outside which makes for some spectacular sunset dining (the sun sets off the back of the ship for most of the journey.) Really the only thing that could be better is the food…it’s pretty comparable to your typical college dorm food. The only cool part is that we have to restock from the countries we visit, so today I ate a peach from Morocco. Rumor has it that when we get to SE Asia, we get some pretty unique fruits and vegetables. I’ll keep you posted. The ship is equipped with a wellness center (for haircuts, massages and working out) as well as a weight room, a pool with a bar, a doctor’s office, a large meeting room in the front, several study areas, a computer lab…it really is impressive.

The classes I’m taking are architecture, religion, international law and human rights, and then a global studies course that everyone on the ship takes (deals with cultural topics specific to the countries coming up.) So far none are terribly difficult, and besides, I only have to get C-minuses (don’t read that last part Mom.) We are stopping in the Canary Islands tomorrow to refuel because gas is one cent cheaper there…doesn’t sound like a big deal until you get 12,000 metric tons of fuel. We can’t debark though, so my next post after Morocco will be about Ghana! Stay tuned.

Note: I can be reached easily and reliably at tkbazley@semesteratsea.net. I can’t check gmail or facebook so hit me up there.