Murder in an Art Gallery

There are only a few things that truly get under my skin.

1. People who are rude repeatedly, with no inkling of their rudeness.
2. Disrespectful youth so consumed with themselves that they border on extreme egotism.
3. Scheming and conniving cats.
4. Women who start sentences with “oh well… I’m sorry you feel that way…”
   

Luckily there were no cats or demeaning women at the art gallery Saturday because I think I would have been a perpetrator of homicide.

The first two things on that list were found in abundance on my combo field trip to the Artists Alliance Gallery and Ghana National Museum. For my Art History of Ghana class we are required to attend the one field trip of the year which happened to be this Saturday, September 26.

If Satan planned a field trip he would chosen September 26, invited my Art History class, and set his sites on the Artists Alliance Gallery and then tacked on the National Museum to add insult to injury.

I understand that among all people there are differences in the way art is appreciated, but the events I will describe to you were inexcusable.

We arrived at the Artists Alliance Gallery at approximately 8:45 am, just in time for it to open. Our fantastic professor, Mr. James Anquandah had arranged for us to meet with Ablade Glover, a well respected and well known Ghanaian artist, who also happened to be one of Professor Anquandah’s former associates. This friendship allowed us to have a private meeting, tour and lecture from Mr. Glover.

When we entered the gallery I was shocked, and pleasantly so. The gallery was three stories, well lit, positioned with a view of the ocean and full of contemporary Ghanaian art. I was itching to walk around and take in the works bit by bit.

I should have known things would not go as planned when an absurd number of students started flashing pictures of themselves with varying hand gestures and facial expressions in front of pieces of Art. Interesting I thought… does anyone plan to stop these hoodlems? It clearly stated at the entrance NO CAMERAS.

The lecture was informative and entertaining, discussing the transition from traditional to contemporary art, the bastardization of kente weaving patterns in commercial clothing… (Awesome. I was wearing a fake kente skirt that day. Nice move Alexis.) and other topics in Contemporary Art in Africa.

When the lecture concluded the students jumped out of their seats as though there was a winning lottery ticket for the student who reached the other side of the room first. The noise began to escalate with students chattering away, flashing pictures again, pushing people out of their way. I looked around and saw students fondling paintings and leaning on whatever canvas appeared to be the most inviting.

At this point my skin was crawling and I wanted to punch a variety of well dressed Ghanaians in their manicured heads.

I was relieved to find I was not alone. Most of the American students and a few Ghanaian students in my class were staring gape-mouthed as well. Finally I walked up to Prof. Anquandah, grabbed his shoulder and simply said :

“Sir, I can’t handle this. There are too many artists in my family. Watching students touch the paintings, disrespect the artists… I’m about to lose it.”

He smiled knowingly and shook his head. Patted me on the shoulder and shrugged his small frame with the release of a sigh.

Ignorant Ghanaian college students: 1.
Professor James Anquandah/Art-respecting student alliance: Nil.

After the horrifying experience at the gallery I had high hopes for our next stop, the National Museum of Ghana.

This was, to say the least, a mistake.

To save the readers at home from another rant that would be satisfying but unnecessary I will summarize.

Imagine:

1. No air conditioning in a small building out in the African sun.
2. Students desperate enough to write down whatever they see on display placards that they will happily push you over the banister on the 2nd floor to get a peak before their comrades.
3. Artifacts from a few archaeological digs around Africa encased in dusty, fogged over cases.
4. Exhibits featuring descriptions with questionable adjective usage and photos blown up far past their optimal size so that they are pixilated – creating the perfect storm for a vision of something strangely reminiscent of fifth grade science project poster boards.

I love Africa, but I did not love this field trip.

You live you laugh you learn.

Tonight when you lay down to bed, please… pray for the Artists in Africa. Sweet baby Jesus do they need it.

Boti Falls and New Family

ME: "Ete sen?"
Stranger woman in tro tro: "Eye, na wo nso e?"
ME: "Ah eye!"
Stranger woman in tro tro: "Where are you headed today?"
ME: "Koforidua and you?"
Stranger woman in tro tro:"AHHH Menso saa!"
ME: "Oh wonderful, what tro tro should my friends and I take to get there?"
Stranger woman in tro tro:"Oh don't worry I'll show you!"

And that is how a phenomenal weekend began.

I turned around in a tro tro as I so often do, to look for a Ghanaian who looked friendly so I could ask what tro tro I should get on next. Traveling here is nothing like traveling in Fort Worth, or anywhere in the United States for that matter. Let me tell you.

The plan of attack when traveling: find out what tro tro you need to get on first and ask around hoping someone can help you so that you know where to catch your next tro tro and what the mate (the drivers assistant) will be yelling from the tro tro you want...

Ohhhh Africa.

The girls with Mama Vic (in the middle), Grandma, and the kids.

The stranger woman behind me on the first tro tro to Madina turned out to be of the particularly friendly variety. Score. So after we established we were actually headed to the same place (which was SHOCKING because our shared destination is VERY far away and it was not the best time to be traveling there...) she agreed to help me and my group of oborunis find the tro tro to Koforidua.

Towards the end of our second tro tro (the long one... about 1 and a half hours) ... approximately 20 minutes from our stop, Vicmor (pronounced Vickmoe) was no longer stranger woman. She was Mommy Vic. And Mommy Vic told us matter of factly:

"You don't need a hotel. Tonight you will stay with me at my house. We will get off soon."
"Oh my gosh Vic... you don't have to do that. There are going to be eight of us in total... four more girls are meeting us and we have to go to the falls tomorrow..."
"Oh it's no problem." (she said this as she waved both her hands and squinted up her eyes smiling )

We would become very familiar with this phrase over the next 24 hours.
We got off the tro tro at Vic's stop and threw our lives to the mercy of the African Gods. Lucky for us, when we walked up to Vic's house... it was lovely. We waited outside the high white rock walls, outside the blue locked gate, and then some young kids came to let us in. That night we danced with Vicmor's nieces and nephews, saw her homemade hair products she sells in Kofiridua, went to her shop (where she sells imported chinese fake-flowers, and various chinese herbal supplements...), saw her wedding planner albums, and were pointed in the direction of a restaurant where we found burger and chips as well as spaghetti on the menu.

We slept four people a room in two rooms, some on the floor on mattresses, some on bunk beds, and one (my roommate Claire) on two chairs pushed together.

It was hilarious, it was free - and the makings of a GREAT story.

The next morning we all woke up and much to our surprise Vic informed us that her daughter Sarah (who is our age) would be taking us to Boti falls. We thanked her profusely and told her that Sarah didn't have to do that... but she insisted.

So, we went down the road to meet Sarah near the tro tro stop. When we met her... we were concerned.

You see, Boti Falls, according to our Bradt guidebook, offers a hike that can take up to two hours and is fairly rough terrain... and Sarah and her friend were wearing clothes appropriate for a night club combined with sandals. And by sandals I mean one pair of wedged heals and one pair of flip flops.

We hired a tro tro to take us to the falls, a direct trip instead of having to take a cab to the actual entrance. When we arrived after an hour or so of driving we were relieved to see the welcome sign. Our original plan was to stay the night at the “chalet” that supposedly overlooked the waterfall, but when we got there the “welcome man” informed me that they had one room available with two full beds. I figured even for us that was pushing it. After much deliberation we opted to leave the falls by 4 and head back to Accra. Everyone was tired and due to some injuries incurred before our journey the group voted it was best to return home.

The hike cost 3 cedi to take the whole group. Our tour guide: a man who looked 60 years old … wearing flip flops. Hmmmm so maybe Sarah and her friend would be alright?

What we quickly found out was that the hike was not 2 to 3 hours, in fact it was closer to an hour round trip. The hike was not TO the falls at all, we came to find… instead it was in the opposite direction… Ohhhh Africa. We quite literally hiked 40 minutes away from the falls and then back.

The hike started off fine, a bit uphill, past some trash (which I have become more used to since it seems to be EVERYWHERE… even out in a remote area of wilderness), and through the trees. But from there things got more interesting. I kid you not, we scaled rock faces on this hike. Some places we came to made our whole group just laugh out loud. “How in the Lord’s name are we going to climb that with our backpacks on?” Since we planned to stay at the falls that night we had brought our backpacks with all of our stuff for the whole weekend.

We made it out alive although significantly more disgusting. I sweat through all the clothes I was wearing, dripping from under my bandana, feelings like at any moment there was a chance I would pass out from the heat.

Once we returned to the entrance they pointed in the opposite direction of our hike and informed us that it would take us approximately 4 minutes to reach the falls… wait… seriously?

Sure enough after walking down what we estimate to be 200 steps (much easier to descend than ascend) we got a glimpse of the falls. I will be honest, I thought maybe we would see one small waterfall, and I hoped against hope that the scenery would be worth the hike and shenanigans to get there.

What I saw was more beautiful than I could have imagined on my most optimistic of days. We climbed down the 2o0 steps into an area that can only be described as an oasis, with two gigantic waterfalls crashing down a rock face into a pool at the bottom. We stood in the pool, sat on the little rock beach and tried our best to fully appreciate the beauty of the place we had finally arrived at.

We traveled home that night and were more than excited to crawl into our familiar beds. With sheets over us and our fans cooling our quiet rooms we reflected on the weekend of new family, rock faces and waterfalls.

Mission accomplished.

The wonders never cease

Some days it is particularly hard for me to sit down and write a blog entry. I think the reason for this is clear: I like to talk.

Writing is all fine and well but when it comes down to it, I want to sit down with each and every person and tell them a story. An oral history of my trip post-journey. However, I know that is not the best possible way for me to keep people updated on my experience here. Writing is an incredible way for me to keep a written account of my experience week by week.

So, we're off again.

Thursdays are Beacon House days.

Grace, Kyle and I planned to meet up at the shared taxi stand again this Thursday, around noon to head to the orphanage. Kyle was delayed at his school that he will volunteer at in the mornings, and Grace and I opted to just go and wait for him anyway. However, instead of taking a tro-tro for 20 pesewa (roughly 10 cents) to the Okpongolo junction where the stand is, we just walked. When we got there we ran into our friends Kate and Treza. While we stood there laughing at how sweaty all of us were, we got a glimpse of something that made all of us squirm a bit. I was staring at it for a while before we got to talking about it.

The topic of our conversation: the mangy (and I mean mangy...) chicken off to our right that was literally eating crap out of a gutter. And by crap... I mean it literally. The chickn was eating human and/or animal excrement.

Me: "Mmmmmm dinner. Lord almighty if I wasn't already a non-meat-eater...that sight would scar me for life. I don’t know how you people will ever eat chicken again."

We talked about how disturbing the state of chickens in Ghana is for a while and then Kyle arrived to catch our taxi. (Shared taxis are interesting in themselves, because you pile in, pay your 50 pesewa and then wait for other people to also need a taxi to your destination... and THEN you leave. Luckily, since three of us fill all the seats but one on the way to the orphanage we never have to wait long.)

When we got to the orphanage it was business as usual, kids with big smiles, waving, crawling all over us. And after story time - LUNCH. Lunch time is always a different experience when I go to Beacon House. Sometimes I am worthless, just standing around trying NOT to distract the kids eating, and other times I am in charge of feeding a baby their meal of wheat stuff (which is an unknown wheat product that the US ships in mass to the orphanage.) Thank goodness the US spares no expense for children in orphanages.

This Thursday though, I was in charge of getting Derek to eat his rice, greens and hard boiled egg. I did well for a hot minute but soon enough he was over my assistance. He kept crawling away, trying to take the food Grace was attempting to feed Veronica. After Grace and I had failed multiple times to get our respective charges to eat... we decided to try and switch. Trying our luck with each other's little ones.

Veronica has been an interest of mine since the first day at the orphanage. I originally believed she was around 6 or 7 months old, due to her size and her inability to walk, talk or play much at all. She seems to be completely cognizant and aware but she never makes a sound or smiles.

I found out later that Veronica is 15 months old. She came to the orphanage severely malnourished and they have spent months nursing her back to a survival-weight, trying to get her ON the growth charts.

Trying to feed her is what I imagine working in a nursing home to be like. But instead of a reasonably stubborn and somewhat senile 90 year old, I am trying to coax a kid under the age of two to eat stuff I wouldn't eat.

Finally, we started to make some progress and a solid 15 minutes later we were almost half way through the bowl.

After feeding time, and the transformation of my pants into a wash rag and food depository, it was nap time. I picked up Veronica and brought her to the infant room. When I walked in I found Grace laying on the nap mat with a bunch of kids, some asleep some crawling all over her and some happily pulling her hair - talking in infant gibberish. She smiled at me and welcomed me to the mat. I lay down with Veronica, still determined to see a smile. I tried all the tricks I knew: peek a boo, playing with her feet, tickling her, making silly noises and silly faces… nothing. Just that stoic little face with those deep dark brown eyes staring at me. Seemingly saying without words “Bugger off wouldya?"

And then ... the raspberries on the belly.

There it was.
That’s the ticket.

I had her smiling, and EVEN LAUGHING before you could rub two rocks together. Tossing her in the air got her going even more. She was cuddling me, laughing, and finally just being a happy little kid. It made my heart sing.

When I realized I had been in the infant room for more than an hour and NO infants had fallen asleep since I entered the room… I decided I should probably go work with the older kids and tutor for a while.

I handed Veronica over to Vida (one of the house Moms who deals with the babies specifically) and got ready to say my goodbye to the other kids. Vida was allowing Veronica to hold on to her fingers and try to stand. Veronica rarely does this, you have to understand. She doesn’t even have the will-power or maybe the ability to stand for more than a few seconds. But now, she was smiling, standing and seeming to deliberate something as she stared at me sitting cross legged a few feet away.

And then…

She let go of Vida’s fingers –

And she walked to me.

Vida started yelling and I joined in. I was throwing her up in the air, telling her how incredible she is while she laughed and laughed…

She walked a few more times before I left the room…

It was one of the most incredible things I’ve ever seen… watching this little girl walk. Knowing these were her first steps and that even a month ago, no one was sure she’d ever be able to take them.

Teary eyed is the only way for me to tell you the way it felt.

Teary eyed with a lump in my throat.

Life is good.

Elmina, Kakum and the Quote Wall

"I must go greet the chief." & "I need to go and clean my gun."

The above phrases mean I have to go to the bathroom. In Twi saying something like "I have to pee," is taboo. And therefore is replaced by the above phrases. You can only imagine my intense JOY upon learning them. There is no way for me to describe to you the degree of hysterics I broke out in to when my Twi professor further explained the "clean my gun" phrase.

Prof.: "You see, we men have a gun that we can kill with, that it is how we see it."

Me: Hysterical laughter.

I lost it completely. The rest of class is a blur.

Quotes like this are the reason that my room in ISH has created the quote wall. Last night my roommate Claire and I sat down and began making various shapes of paper to write "Kofi quotes" on (he's our Twi professor.) We then decided that Kofi should not be the only one to have his thoughts on our wall. From now on, when something said is truly incredible - it will make its way onto our wall and the speaker of said insight shall be honored.

This past weekend the entire CIEE group went on our first overnight trip. Our destination: Cape Coast. I already went to Cape Coast castle the second day I spent in Ghana back in August. But I hadn't seen Elmina yet, so when we were give the choice which castle we would like to go to I took advantage and signed up for Elmina.

The time at the castle was wonderful, the views were considerably more beautiful and the architecture seemed to be in better condition. Also, most importantly, our tour guide was much more experienced and charismatic than the guide we abandoned at Cape Coast.

It's a strange feeling to admire and enjoy a building that was responsible for the pain and suffering of countless people, a place that housed murderers who called themselves religious leaders and nobles.

Above is the Portuguese Church at Elmina Castle

One of the most disturbing aspects of Elmina is the church that the Portuguese built in the center of the compound, directly over the female-slave dungeons.

How could people dehumanize each other in that way? How could such flawed and dmented justifications be accepted for so long? For 400 years slave trade went on unabashedly, proudly. People as exports. It made me feel sick to think about.

When we got back from the castles that night we went down to the beach outside of our hotel and the photographs we were able to capture were unreal. Below is a photo that my friend Sarah took of me with my camera, no photoshop at all. That is how it looked standing there on the beach. I was blown away by the rays of light escaping clouds, the shadows, the mist and the tide. All coming together to paint a portrait of coastal beauty in Africa.

Me on the beach at Cape Coast just before sunset.

The next day the whole group took off for Kakum National Forest. At Kakum you don't just hike the trails... oh no no no... you hike a steep trail to the top ... and then you go out on the canopy walk. The canopy walk is a series of rope bridges more than 150 feet up in the air. We walked looking for monkeys and admiring the the landscape. But more importantly, my friend Sarah and I explored the canopy walk as Pierre and Phillipe... the French zoo-ologists...

Me and Sarah on the canopy walk.

Let me explain: I'm sure this will surprise everyone, but I was in a very silly mood this particular afternoon. Lucky for me, Sarah is a silly person as well. We decided to stay at the back of the group so that we wouldn't get yelled at for making the rope bridges bounce and for getting distracted while taking "Tarzan and Jane" photographs with the canopy in the background. In the throws of our silliness we began to speak to each other in broken French. Thus, Pierre and Phillipe were born.

After we stepped off the last of the rope bridges, back on solid ground, we de-volved back into Sarah and Alexis and headed down to our bus.

Sadly, all these happy affairs did not prevent the group from suffering a terrible bout of food poisoning. At least 8 people were horribly sick on the three hour drive back to Accra. Luckily for me, I remain unscathed by food-related-greet-the-chief illnesses. Poor Sarah though...

I will say - I wasn't upset at all to get to act like a big sister on this trip. Sarah started to seem an awful lot like Lara or Luke on that ride back to Accra, laying in my lap and needing to be Mommed a bit. (And yes Momming is absolutely a verb.)

Life is an adventure here, believe me.

Beacon House

Living here hit a new kind of high today. And by high I mean low.

Explanation: Today is one of the coolest days since I arrived a month ago, and it is beautiful.

The humidity in the past week or so has been horrendous. The 70ish-feeling day today was much appreciated. On top of the beautiful temperature and exceptional breeze - I went to Beacon House again today.

The joy that those kids bring me cannot be matched elsewhere. The knee-hugs and ear-to-ear smiles coupled with booger-wipes on my pants and drool pools on my shirt collar result in a state of pure bliss. The kids are so full of life and so excited to be loved on.

Sometimes I feel kind of useless when I'm there, simply because I don't know what to do with myself. Should I be doing something more useful than holding this baby and kissing his nose repeatedly?

The answer is usually no.

Two of my early-favorites at the orphanage are Jeremiah and Kwasi. Both of them are just little babies, but they have personality for days. I've started calling Jeremiah our little bullfrog and Kwasi is still Mikaeli to me, because that was his name when he came into the orphanage a few weeks ago. One of the little girls who was the most excited to see me last week was Anna Maria. She was equally excited today. When it came time to read the story for the day one of the other CIEE volunteers took a seat and started to read. I sat down in the back of the classroom trying to keep from being a distraction. I failed. Anna Maria was sitting in front of me and quickly turned around to hold my hand and eventually pull it over her should so I was draped on her like a fill-in-Mommy-blanket.

My heart was full to the point of bursting... painfully so.

These kids want nothing more than to be held, loved... NOTICED. And here I am, some stupid white foreigner, only in the country for 4 months and I think I can give them that? I had a few moments today where I started to feel guilty for going there. I started to think about how hard it will be on these kids (and on me for that matter) when I disappear from their lives in December. The only consolation is that I know I will write them letters when I go home. I will do my absolute best to stay in touch.

One of the boys, Solo, is blind, mute and suffers from a mental handicap with unknown parameters. The orphanage simply doesn't have the means to work out any kind of diagnosis, so the degree of his mental handicap is a mystery. Solo identifies the volunteers by their voices and the rings or bracelets they wear. Today I was wearing a beaded cuff that I bought here and I was quickly informed by a fellow volunteer that I needed to wear it every time I came, because now that bracelet marks ME for Solo.

To these kids I'm a big hug and a bracelet.

And that seems to be enough.

Bojo, Babies and VIP seats...

George the cab driver: Where are you from?
Claire: America.
George: Oh, I will go to America some day.
Claire: That’s awesome… how will you do that?
George: I am saving up, or I will marry a white woman like you.
Claire: That sounds like a plan, George.
George: Are you married?
Claire: No, but my heart is taken. . . I’m not available.
George: You can take me as your concubine if you don’t need a husband. (stoic… entirely serious)
Claire: (stifling disbelief and laughter) George… I’m not pillaging a country side and taking captives… it wouldn’t be right for me to take you as my concubine. You deserve better than that.



My roommate Claire Elise Aloe sits in the front of every taxi we ever ride in … you’d be surprised how common conversations of this nature are… usually it stops at husband though, that was her first concubine offer.

Friday, we went to the Accra mall for a little escape into “Western-World,” the land of coffees and ice creams, Birkenstock shops and coach bag boutiques. It’s hilarious to walk in those doors from the chaos of Spana station into the air conditioned mall-rat-atmosphere. The highlight of the mall trip: our taxi ride back to the University described above.

This weekend was a busy one. We started off on Thursday when Grace, Kyle and I went to volunteer at Beacon House orphanage for the first time. We walked into the 3 story baby-yellow building and began navigating the halls in search of an adult we recognized. We came upon the classroom where the older kids were still doing their lesson and were politely shooed away and sent to the porch where the preschoolers were playing, waiting for lunch.

The moment… and I mean the MOMENT we three oborunis stepped onto the porch we were swarmed by the munchkins. Beautiful, screaming and laughing kids who treated us like their favorite toys come to life. They were hugging our legs, asking our names and laughing as we answered (no doubt we have VERY funny accents to them, especially Kyle who’s from Wisconsin… I think the unfamiliar pronunciation of certain words combined with his gender made him the day’s favorite. Not many guys come to volunteer and play with the kids.)

We played with the preschoolers for 30 minutes or so, until lunch was served and then we helped the house Mom’s feed the kids. Grace and I were handed two infants and basically told “Good luck.” My little boy Mikaeli had to have been less than 6 months old and just a little bundle of smiles and toe-sucking. He quickly fell asleep in my arms and effectively melted my heart. Grace’s dumpling Jeremiah kept us entertained for another hour.

After the babies went to sleep we went into the classroom to work one-on-one (or in my case two-on-one) with the older kids. Our job was to work with them on their assignments given that day. My girls, Helen and Benedita (both assumedly 10 or 11) needed to work on addition. No problem right? Wrong. Try explaining to two sassy pre-teens WHAT addition is and WHY they should bother learning it… oh and THEN get them to practice. One rough hour of my life. By the end of it I had committed myself to the challenge. I am DETERMINED to see them learn to add.

Friday was the mall trip described at the beginning of the post.

And then Saturday… Saturday was Bojo Beach Day. We took three crazy tro-tros a full two hours out of the city to a beach we had heard was as close to paradise and we’d find less than a day away. After sweating half to death, being grabbed through tro-tro windows, and trying to protect Claire from the fish of the market (she’s deathly allergic) – we were ready to see this beach.

Walking down the winding road from a stop that seemed to be in the middle of nowhere was a little unnerving. Did we travel all this way for no beach? What if it’s full of trash and vendors like the last one we went to…



And then… we saw it. Over the bluff… a white sand strip of beach floating in the ocean. We had to take a boat to get to it. Once we took off our sandals and planted them in that sand it was all over. Paradise. We were so incredibly happy to be there, and with our Cokes and Alvaros (a pineapple or pear malt beverage that is DELICIOUS) in hand … we felt on top of the world.
Laying in bed, exhausted from the sun, swimming and traveling we figured there was no way that the futbol game the next day could be any better.

Wrong again.

Walking up to the stadium where Ghana would play Sudan in a World Cup Qualifier Match at 5 o’clock was already INSANE at 2 o’clock when we arrived. Parades, people painted head to toe, Ghana flags for sale everywhere. I knew that we had VIP tickets but had no idea what that meant.



When we walked in the private gate, past the crowds… I got a good feeling. But when we found our seats, fifth row up right at mid-field – behind Ghana’s bench… we were ecstatic. The stadium filled by 4:30 and when the game got going at 5 sharp the crowds were ecstatic. There was so much excitement that it was intoxicating. Ghana won 2 to zero. And around 8:30 we found our way home.



What a weekend.

The Scenic Side of Things

This is a photo of the tree that ate another tree from the inside out... Now the former tree is dead and this tree, which is like a shell is left. It was incredible.

One of the oldest trees in Aburi. It was MASSIVE.

This past weekend was an adventure into the scenic Africa I've been craving.

We loaded up a bus as a group and headed up the winding roads outside of Legon up into a region of Ghana I was shocked to find only an hour outside of the hustle, bustle and smog of the University's surroundings.

The first stop on our adventure was the Aburi gardens. The gardens were nothing like what I expected. We pulled in to the entrance and found ourselves staring at Palm Trees that appear to be 4 or 5 houses tall. From there all we saw was lush green, with meandering pathways to the left and right. For someone who has become accustomed to manicured greenery every day on my way to class... I've been missing the soft grass and beautiful trees of TCU.

Once we were inside the "government owned garden" we went to a wonderful restaurant on the grounds and sampled some more traditional Ghanaian dishes. They served so many of the foods I love here including: jolof rice, yam and palava sauce, kelewele, red-red and cooked cabbage.

In the gardens I tasted cinnamon tree-bark (It tastes like cinnamon gum...) and smelled peppermint plants growing on trees... I saw trees that looked like they must be 500 years old and still growing, and I climbed inside a tree that had been eaten by another tree...

From the gardens we went to a wood carving village. I use the term village loosely, although that is what they call it, because it is more like a wood-carving co-op that has set up shop on the side of one of the mountain roads. Young men and women are being taught the traditional craft of wood carving in the co-op and selling their handiwork in their shops lined up side by side off the road. I was experiencing sensory overload by the time I reached the second shop... the carvings were beautiful... and everything is priced so low... it makes NOT buying nearly impossible.

After the wood carving village we went to a cocoa farm, one of the very first cocoa farms in the country in fact. There we learned the process of cocoa growth and harvesting. Our super-fly-farmer-guide (who may or may not have been wearing a Tupac belt buckle...) cracked open a ripe cocoa fruit (which are yellow) and took out the seeds to let us suck off the "meat"... it tasted like a citrus fruit you would buy in the market and that took us all by surprise. Then he showed us the dried cocoa beans that are within the meat we had sucked off. Lastly, he broke open a bean and let us try pure cocoa.

I learned to love chocolate even more this Sunday. It's a complicated process that produces one of the only foods that can bring me consistent happiness.

When I come back to the states I plan to bring my favorite Ghana-coffee-chocolate in bulk...

More to come.