I'm too lazy to proofread this....

Greetings again!

The power continues to go on and off here. It was off overnight the other day, starting at about 7pm. My class had to end early because of it, so I walked across campus to my dark room with the help of a nifty keychain flashlight (thanks, Mom) to eat dinner in the dark.

In other news, there was a strike going on at the University last week. All of the junior faculty members will not be receiving their full salaries this semester. Instead, the government will be paying them in installments- guess they don’t have the money upfront. In addition, all of the maintenance and auxiliary staff people are “renegotiating” their contracts (on strike also, one of them just told me it was “renegotiation.” Several classes were canceled, and none of the classes I’ve been to this week have had a PA system, because there is no one around to run them. Doors to classrooms being locked because janitors took off with the keys was a major source of class cancellations. The drummers for my dance class were among the strikers, so no dance Of course, this is Ghana, so when I walked past the protest at the University gates, there was dancing and music blaring from giant speakers, in addition to the picketing signs. The first protest I’ve ever been to actually…

This past weekend my program took everyone on a two night trip to Kumasi, in central Ghana. Kumasi is considered the cultural heart of Ghana, as the 2nd largest city, and the one that has continued to maintain its historical displays of “African-ness.” Kumasi is home to the Asanti (or Ashanti), whose empire was at one time much larger than present day Ghana. The city surrounds the Asantehene’s palace- the dwelling and political center for the most important Chief and Queen Mother in Ghana. Today they have no official political power, but the president and parliament are constantly consulting them- it would be extremely foolish to piss off the largest and most influential ethnic group in Ghana. Some people here, like my friend’s roommate, actually deny their real ethnic heritage and instead claim that they are Asante, because they are still revered for their former glory. Of course, they attained their major economic success and clout by systematically destroying smaller empires for the slave trade, but, you know, details… The Asanti are more known among modern Ghanaians for putting up a very strong fight against the British prior to colonization. They were almost impossible to defeat, as they were exceptional warriors who were powered by the guns the British sold to them in exchange for slaves, but finally fell in the early 1900’s. When we toured the former Asantehene’s palace (right next door to the new one) we examined a display case full of the guns the Asantehene would hold and wave in the air as his attendants carried him throughout town. Each night the guns are removed from the museum and are used to protect the Chief as he sleeps, and they are still used in major festivals. Absent from the museum was the real symbol of the Asante’s power- the golden stool. Stools are very important in Ghana. I have never been to a Ghanaian home that didn’t rush to find a small stool for me to sit in (unless I’m in Accra, where they rush to find a plastic chair…) and most are adorned with religious or Adinkra symbols (more on that later). The Asantehene traditionally sits on a stool of pure gold- but the stool was strategically hidden before the Asanti fell to the British, and remains hidden to this day, for fear of it being stolen and used to commit political ransom. Our tour guide claimed to be one of the few who knows where the stool is hidden. I wouldn’t buy it…

Our actual first stop on the trip was to the Kumasi Central Market. This was a good experience, for sure. Our director kept warning us that it would be a very overwhelming experience, cautioning that most of us would probably hop off the bus, take a look, and want to run back on the bus. Overwhelming is not a word I would have used, and I found myself wanting more than the sparse 30 minutes allotted to explore. Kumasi Market is characteristically different than the markets in Accra- for one, it is 95% controlled by women, few male sellers, zero male shoppers. This reduced the typical market hassle significantly- market women are less aggressive than men, so no one was grabbing me and harassing me to come into their stall. The women are more inclined to call out “white woman!!!” with a huge smile on their face- and I can’t say no to a conversation with a big, friendly smile. Most women completely ignore you as they go about their shopping, as if to say “I see you Oburoni, and I could care less that you are here, in fact, stop staring and get out of my way!” I appreciate this- a slight slice of autonomy in a country of sticking out like a sore thumb. The market is intense, however, and I can see why some people wouldn’t like it. You have to fight your way through a literal sea of people, and hold your bag very close to your side. Kumasi isn’t devised like other markets that more or less have a vegetable section, a fabric section, a house hold section, and so forth. Here there was a fabric lady sitting next to a tray of onions, and I had to duck to the side to avoid being hit by a man carrying a plate of raw goat meat, while I tripped over a woman sitting with peppers- all on my way to look at a bar of soap… Not really a hassle free environment, but I thought it was fun, anyway…

After the market, I roamed away from our hotel to take a solitary walk and was quite rewarded by the neighborhood people. Children playing games using their shoes as cars while sitting on the side of the road… men answering the call to prayer from the local mosque, some leaving what appeared to be a Muslim wedding or birthday gathering, full of beautifully dressed (and covered) women and children… men and women tending to their shops for the final hour… women cooking dinner for their families and waving up at me… children roaming home from school… exactly what I would want my life to look like if I could live in a small community where everyone lived, worked, and schooled within one city block. It was interesting to reflect upon how different their lives look for the simple fact that the never need to commute anywhere for routine daily activities like we do. A very pleasant slice of daily life and Ghanaian culture that I miss out on as I live on campus.

The next day we traveled to two villages known for their contributions to traditional Ghanaian crafts. Bonwire is the home of Kente cloth. Think real hard and imagine “African print.” You are probably thinking of the bold colors and patterns of Kente. Many countries and clans claim that they started Kente, China has even found a way of manufacturing it by machine, but no self respecting Ghanaian would accept Kent from anywhere else. Kente is woven on a loom into one of several patterns that have special meanings like “family unity” and “strength.” A cloth woven to show the golden stool of the Asanti is also a very popular design. I of course bought cloth with all three designs But small pieces- a piece of Kente cloth can easily cost over $100- and I don’t like it that much. I did get to try the actual weaving though- it’s difficult! You sit on a very small stool in a very cramped loom, thread strung between your toes… I’ll get the video of my weaving up on Picasa. The Kente village itself was unpleasant. It’s a popular tourist destination, and as soon as the local children see you driving up in a bus- they attack. Really, it feels like being attacked. They don’t really have a concept of a “personal bubble” here. One steps off the bus and literally can’t take a step further because there is a child to both sides and in the front of you, either trying to sell you something, or trying to ask your for food, money, or ballpoint pens (seriously.) As we listened to our bubbly guide Williams explain the different Kente symbols, the Children hovered in a circle around us, slowly closing in until our guide would stop his talk to snap at them in Twi. While it is obnoxious that they make it hard to walk, the Children don’t really bother me. Perhaps I am too hardened, I made it a general rule long ago that I wouldn’t give to any person that begged of me here- it just isn’t realistic- and you can’t ever tell how legitimate their need is. (At the next village we stopped at, a child asked “please, some food for me” of one of my friends- while holding food in their hand.) They are pretty much trained from birth to accept the idea that they should always try to ask us, because eventually they will get lucky. I don’t have a hard time saying no, I just smile and shake my head, but for some of the people with me, the experience ruined their whole day.

Apparently the children were more intense at the village of Ntonso (I didn’t notice, I was having too much fun learning about the crafts) home of Adinkra. Adinkra is a set of symbols and a technique of stamping them on to cloth. There are over 150 symbols, though only 60 are used regularly. Each symbol represents an African parable. They only do the stamping with a dye made of a particular tree from the Northern Region. They soak the bark, pound it like they pound fufu, and then boil it in big caldrons (I laughed in spite of myself that they looked like witch’s caldrons), Our guide happily explained that before the bark has become dye it can also be drank to fight diarrhea and PMS… For a small fee we could get a cloth and stamp a few symbols for ourselves. I made two, of course. We all contributed to stamping a long cloth that is now displayed in our program office.

The next day we concluded our trip be traveling to Lake Bosomtwe. A beautiful sight, though I can’t say my breath was exactly taken away- I’ve been spoiled by Oregon’s Crater Lake. Bosomtwe was created many years ago by a meteorite, and is 10x12miles wide, surrounded by beautiful, tropical hills. While scientists debunked the mystery and removed the meteor, the lake is still held as sacred to the Asante. Some say it is the home of the god Twi, others maintain that the spirits of the dead stop there before continuing on to the afterlife. Traditionally, fishermen of the lake were not allowed to use paddles or boats, lest they disturb the spirits. Today that rule does not hold firm (we traveled around in a motor boat) but we did see men floating around on special logs, using their hands to paddle and check their fishing nets. Fun fact: the lake grows every year with the rainy seasons. While it is disease free (meaning we got to swim!) it’s not for drinking, so the water level doesn’t ever diminish. Since its creation the lake has swallowed at least 4 villages, and the ones that ring the surface are probably going to be gone within a few years (including the resort we ate lunch at.)
Ok, that was my trip. This feels like an inadequate entry, but not a whole lot else is happening right now. I only have 45 days left in Ghana, and I’m actually getting to the point where I will be sad to leave. Ready to leave, but saddened. I start my second internship on Monday- doing God knows what in an orphanage, but I’m really excited to have more to do again. Classes effectively end after next week, so I’ll need to start studying, since I’ve decided to take off for the week before my first exam to travel, but life definitely has a feeling of slowing down- if that’s even possible. This has been the most relaxed semester of my life (I’m on fun book number 6!!!) I’m also finally starting to connect with people on my program. I’ve had friends, but am only just now considering them close enough to miss as I will miss Ghana. It’s fun to think they open new possibilities for visiting other parts of the States, since they are from all over the place.

Take Care!

PICTURES!

Hello again, friends.

I have finally gotten my pictures up online! Unfortunately, they are not in specific, narrated albums like I would like them to be, and won't be able to accomplish until I get home. But for now, if you really want to see em, you can use the following link. They are at least in order, and I'm pretty sure this blog has listed everything I have pictures of.

http://picasaweb.google.com/SkylarSCole

Take Care, loved ones!

After a Brief Absence...

Hey Folks,

It’s been a while. Well, it hasn’t felt that way for me really, time is flying by here. I feel like I haven’t had anything of significance to say. I can tell you about the past two trips, but I feel died up in witty banter or interesting reflections of my experiences. I’m not ready to share personal revelations, so I don’t know what else to do but tell you about trips.

In slightly eyebrow raising news, there has been an anthrax outbreak in the northern region, where I visited two weekends ago. How the heck anthrax got to very rural Ghana is beyond me…

So about the Northern Region… I only made a small dent in it, but that’s an accomplishment. Most Ghanaians, if they aren’t from there have never been. There are several reasons for that. It takes quite a long time to get there (in a straight shot on the way back I was on a bus for 12+ hours). There isn’t much of a reason to, unless you are doing tourist activities- ancient mosques, elephants in the national parks, fetish priests and crocodile ponds, etc. There is also, as preciously mentioned, a strong social divide between the less developed north and the still largely poor, but striving to be western south. I personally loved seeing the stark differences- in scenery, in food, in housing (what you might typically think of when you think Africa- round, made of mud, straw roof), even the people were a bit different. If anything, they don’t speak Twi, so I was relieved of the pressure to practice.

We left on a Thursday and spent the night in Kumasi. We found the bus station when we got there, bribed the driver to sell us bus tickets early. The bus left at 6:15am, and to have gotten a ticket that morning we would have needed to get there at 4 or 4:30. The station was madhouse- men and women with suitcases, all scrambling to get on the bus because they knew there weren’t enough seats. This was one of those moments where I struggled to sit back and watch everything happen around me while I still had to participate. Sometimes I wish I could just watch and not actually be in some of the situations I get in here. Despite the chaos we made it on to the bus and drove to Bole, 5 hours away. The drive was beautiful, but it was also like watching my development studies class in action. There were vast road stand markets- where there is no competition because all the women sold the same things. There were children collecting buckets of water from roadside pumps that undoubtedly were not clean, houses that are falling apart, schools that consisted of a tree with a shady spot, and so on. All the problems of rural development that some how the urban people politicians and planners fail to address…

Bole is the regional capital for a once very great tribe known as the Gonja. My friend I traveled with happened to be from there, and was clearly very proud of his people, as was everyone there. One of the first things I did in town was to meet a chief. Not as ceremonious as you might think! There he was, underneath a tree, sitting on his motor bike in his traditional dress. As the district capital Bole also holds the “palace” (long concrete building, green shutters, not attractive at all) of the “paramount chief.” Paramount chiefs lord over all of the chiefs in a given area. My friend being who he is (the son of a former chief) we waltzed right up to go meet him. Unfortunately (well, fortunately for nerve racked Skylar) he was in Accra at the time, so we met another normal chief. The palace is essentially an empty room, whitewashed, with one corner dedicated to a raised platform where the PC sits. There was a lot of animal pelts, bows and arrows, instruments, and sacks of I’m guessing food on the altar. On the wall above was a symbol also painted on the outside of the building- A spear in a crescent moon.
I later read in my book that the Gonja were a great and powerful people for one reason- there was a lot of them, and they decided to get a leg up on the slave trade by raiding other tribes and selling them at the Salaga slave market (also in the Northern Region.) That’s why their symbol is a spear- they attacked and scared people into submission. I’m kinda glad I didn’t learn this until after that weekend. Interestingly, of the several people who reminded me the Gonja were a great people, no one ever told me why…

Moving on, we went to visit the town’s ancient mosque. I was super excited, one of the main attractions for me in Ghana, especially as I take a class on Islam. Turns out my friend’s mother’s side of the family are the official caretakers, or it is their “gate” in the clan to watch over the mosque- so I got to go inside. It’s not in use now, but there are still mats and brooms and a few items around the Imam’s alcove seating area. There was a narrow hall for men and one in the back for women. Crawling through a narrow staircase and up onto the roof you could see over the whole area. I especially enjoyed that you had a clear view to the modern mosque from the ancient one. Very odd architecture- a natural cement with pointed walls and wooden support beams sticking out in a pattern meant to stabilize the walls. No one could tell me why it was built in this shape, and it was hard to fathom that the building was over 500 years old and hadn’t decayed significantly. My Ghanaian friend seemed to be convinced that my only reason for visiting was to “snap” the mosque and move on. He took my camera from me and took way too many pictures of me standing in front of the mosque, and he even made me pose for one standing on the side of the building… felt a bit like a sacrilege to me… As we walked back to Bole proper (one intersection, one gas station, one restraint, and a bank) we passed the mosque in use, and the people praying inside looked at me curiously as I passed. I wasn’t trying to peak inside, I was just marveling at their collection of shoes lying outside the building. One of my favorite parts of the whole weekend was always hearing the call to prayer blasted out speakers on the tops of the mosques.

Before heading to Mole National Park we stopped in my friend’s mother’s village. Put my “rural” Easter trip to shame. The people liven in a bizarre network of mud walls that make up a maze of families living together. I was marched around town, meeting various village elders of ascending rank so that I could see the cemetery of the PC, located at the back of the village. Normally outsiders can’t even glance inside, it is that sacred. With every person I met we bowed and got to our knees on the ground. For some reason they all laughed when I copied my Ghanaian counterparts and told me to get up. The head elder (or the medicine man, I’m not sure) allowed me to look inside the cemetery, but not enter, because we didn’t have time for a complex purification ritual… Afterwards the head elder presented my with a large yam as a gift, and asked to be my Ghanaian husband! And ya know what, I accepted. Partly so that I can now tell all the random men on the street who propose that I already have a husband in Ghana… Good thing they only allow polygamy and not polyandry.

Ok I realize this is getting long, and I’m only part way through trip one. The next day we got up early, missed one bus and took the next to Mole National Park, the place reputed for seeing elephants roam about in their natural habitat. I did in fact see many elephants roaming around, and swimming in a watering hole the park created to lure the elephants closer to the motel for tourist viewing (at least they weren’t behind bars, right?) We took two safaris, one with a private guide (who we were able to bribe to take us because he was from the same village as my friend) and one with a family of delightful Canadians in the afternoon. On the second walk (behind out rifle laden guide- God I hate guns…) we were almost to the end and hadn’t seen an elephant yet. Suddenly we all looked up from out feet to find that a very old female was standing directly in front of us, maybe 100feet away. The guide freaked out and made us back up. She was majestic, and stood there looking at us, before revolving in a circle as if to say “go ahead, take your pictures” before sauntering off. A very cool experience indeed. The park also held warthogs (hakunnah matata, anyone?), antelope, monkeys, crocodiles, and many butterfly species. That night I opted to sleep on the roof of our guest house so I could see the stars outside of the city. Wonderful, despite the fact I was wearing earplugs to block out the wannabe discoteca taking place in town. Probably the only moment of peaceful alone time I had on the whole trip.

The town the park is accessed though is Larabanga- and it ad even less in it than Bole. They did have another ancient mosque and something called the “sacred stone.” The village legend goes that the man who built the mosque came into the area, stood next to the stone, and threw his spear, believing that the place it landed was where Allah divined the mosque to be built. Some time later, when a road was needed to access the mosque and growing village, men moved the stone for the road. The next morning the stone had mysteriously moved its self back to its original spot. This happened 3 subsequent times, so the men took it as a sign from God that the stone was special and not to be moved. So the road now curves up the hill, around the stone. People go there to lay their hands on and pray. I tried to pray, or something like that, but I was too distracted. Our tour guide from the mosque was being extremely insistent telling me about the village’s aspirations to expand their 2 room school and build a health clinic (which is currently a small pile of cement blocks on the ground, all they’ve been about to purchase.) Normally, I’m a willing giver of my money for things like that, but somehow having this man stand thisclose to me and hound me about donating was a big turn off. He even followed me to the roadside stand where I made change from a 10 to be able to give him a few cidis. The whole thing was very uncomfortable. Later I realized I should have just given him the 10- a lot by Ghanaian standards, but water under the bridge for me. I’m still not sure how I feel about this experience.

Ok, trip one down. I promise, you don’t need much stamina for the next one. This past weekend we visited the Volta Region (Eastern Ghana) with CIEE. This was an extremely relaxing trip. We bussed for 4 hours to the Wli Falls, the highest waterfall in W. Africa. After a brief hike in we were able to swim in and under the falls, which was really fun. I love these trips because they provide so much downtime to just hang out with other people in my program I don’t normally see. We spent a good 45 minutes jumping off rocks and taking silly pictures. After a great meal we drove to the Tafi Atome Monkey Sanctuary. I expected some fenced in area, but Tafi Atome is actually a village with an adjoining forest. The monkeys are supposed to be sacred to the village, so the tourist board set up shop and turned the whole village into a sanctuary. I say “supposed” because I don’t really think that hold anymore- as our guide told us about the forest gods and the monkeys he was very clear to say that “before Christianity, the village worshiped smaller gods…” Anyway, we marched through the forest for a solid hour and did not see one monkey. But right as we were about to leave another guide ran up and told us she had found them, so we dragged our tired selves back into the forest. It was well worth it- those monkeys were damn cute! Little, maybe the size of my very large house cat, and very fast moving. They are pretty comfortable around people, so they came right down the branches to the bananas we held out to them. The guide told us to hold tight to the bananas, otherwise they would just steal and run away. So I held tight, and the monkey that came to me, when he realized he couldn’t get it out of my grip, actually pealed the banana right there in my hand super fast, took the banana in to the tree, and left me holding a peel. It was really fun to watch them run climb around- they moved so fast!

As with all CIEE trips, we stayed in a really nice hotel. Pool, good food, air conditioning. But there was an added plus to this experience- the first of 3 hotel TVs I’ve tried that actually worked. I saw some British and American television (Jay Leno) for the first time since I’ve been here. Then, ready yourselves for this one- I took the first hot shower that has been available to me since the 9th of February, the day I left home. Glorious. Albeit there was no water pressure and the shower head broke off immediately when I turned on the water (this is Ghana, after all…) but I did NOT was to get out…

Ok, that’s about all I have for now. No trip this weekend. I’m looking forward to my first down weekend in Accra after a month of solid traveling. I wish I had more to say that wasn’t regurgitating my travel journal. I’m happy here, and amazed to suddenly find myself with less that 2 months left before flying away from this place to Germany. I’m enjoying my time, and will be sad to see this dedicated “Me time” come to an end, but I will be very ready to go. I had a conversation with friends yesterday, about just how hard it is to convey to our friends and families back home how being here is a daily struggle with yourself to be happy. At first I thought I was the only one who struggled, but turns out, as usual, most feel the way I do- that my mood is extremely up and down, the littlest things can trigger elation or profound sadness and the urge to quit and go home. Somehow we get through it, and I think after this is all done I’ll be satisfied with an increased ability to be stable by myself at home and at PLU. That maybe didn’t make any sense, sorry.

But for now, things are good here.
Take Care.

Yet another weekend trip to note…

A three hour bus ride down, and we arrived an Assin Manso, otherwise known as the “slave river.” (Oh, background, Ghana was a major exporter in the trans-Atlantic slave trade. People were “collected” from the countries surrounding modern day Ghana and funneled though markets here to be shipped to the newly discovered Americas to harvest cotton, sugar cane, etc…) The river was known as the “last stop” for slaves, where they would be bathed before being marched all the way to the ocean, many miles away. Sounds like a quick enough process, but no. Slaves would be stuck sitting, in chains, next to the river for up to 6 months as they waited for space to be cleared in the dungeons of the coastal castles. Mind you, they would only be bathed once during this whole process, so I’m not really sure what purpose the river bath actually served. The only ones who were bathed twice were the few women who were set aside as somehow special- those girls were to be the wives of the castle men (the Dutch.) They took African wives because European women died too readily from African diseases (as would 70% of the slaves sent to America, from European diseases.) As the ruling African tribes who rounded up slaves for the Europeans (who in turn supported them in inter-tribal wars and introduced guns into their society) they looked for children as young as 6 or 8, boys and girls. If they rounded up a pregnant woman, and she gave birth on the way to, or at the river, they killed her child- infants were another mouth to be sparingly fed. I personally am in awe of any woman who managed not to miscarry throughout this process.

Today the river is the site of a rather nice (by Ghanaian tourist center standards) interpretive center with a few interesting points of note:

-There is a part of the land the center has not developed, because the ground is the site of the mass graves of people who died while waiting to march to the coast… I don’t know why this part hit me particularly hard, but it did.

-The gate people walked through to go down to the river though is now painted with images of men whose chains have been cut apart. What was once called the “Door of No Return” has been designated (by whom, I’m not sure- tourist board? Politicians? Academics?) as the “Door of Return.” The site is a major point of visit for African Americans, and other Africans in the Diaspora (which I’ve learned only recently just means any person of African decent living outside of Africa. Apparently you can get a whole degree in its study…) The final arch one passed through has the words "last bath" painted on it, though I'm not sure that was there in the 1700s.

-For those who want to reclaim a part of their history, a Diaspora resident can now come to Ghana and participate in the "Joseph Project." They can come, look though the sparse archives, and attempt to find out what country their ancestors came from. if they manage that (in theory, when the red tape gets worked out) they can apply for dual citizenship, and actually be able to vote in matters in the country that, had slavery not happened, they would probably live. I find it an interesting concept, though I wonder about the political and social ramifications for the African country, to have American’s, etc. voting in elections across an ocean, for a social context they can’t possibly understand. I bet there are a few Africans who wouldn’t be to happy to think of an American voting for their president, when they can’t possibly understand Ghana’s developmental issues, unless of course, they are a development scholar. I’ve been reading an interesting memoir lately, from a scholar who came to Ghana to learn about the slave trade’s lasting impact on Ghanaians. She found that a) most Ghanaians don’t know a thing about it, other than it happened, though some don't even know that... and b) no matter who you are, if you weren’t born here, you will always be a foreigner in the mind of Ghanaians, not the “brother” or “sister” that some Diaspora Africans seeking their “home” expect to be viewed as. Anyway, I digress…

-The Joseph project also has a less controversial aspect. In 1998, the bones of one former slave, and one slave descendent were sent to Ghana to be buried on the shores of the river. For those who cannot afford to ship their relatives "home," or don’t have their bones, they can come to Ghana (or call), pay 100 cidis ($105) and have their name inscribed on a long wooden wall. The project is in its infancy, so there are only about 30 names currently, but I think it will be an amazing and striking when more people know about it and have names inscribed, a very African version of the Vietnam War memorial.

-The river itself was an interesting experience. As I will note with the salve castle, it is painfully ironic to think about such a terrible thing happening in a place so beautiful. And it really was- a very peaceful, shady place. Today, life goes on as usual. As it always strikes me at non-American tourist sites, other countries do not keep natives out of tourist areas for the benefit of tourists (I experienced this in Italy and Ireland). Children bathed and did their wash in the murky (no doubt totally infested water), begged us for money, and delighted at the site of our cameras. Thinking about people bathing in chains I felt compelled to mouth “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” over and over again. I felt far more connection and sorrow in this place than later at the castle, and I think it may have something to so with the natural setting, a place where I have always felt more connection to God, and usually feel a strong spiritual connection to the rest of the world. Yet the childeren played on...

On that note, the tour of the castle was boring in comparison. It has two gift shops, and has been whitewashed several times in its 526 year existence. Cool to note- it is the largest and oldest European edifice outside of Europe. Again, another strangely beautiful place for something so awful. Here, the beach is absolutely pristine (give it 30 years, rich people will make it into a resort…) and deserted. Palm trees in a natrually perfect line on the shore, and fishing villages on either side. The only part of the tour that affected me was the women’s main dungeon. I absolutely wanted to throw up when our guide (as frankly as I have described events in this post) told us 150 women slept in the small, moldy room where we stood. They urinated, defecated, and menstruated right onto the floor on which they slept. They were hardly fed, but many refused their meals as an act of defiance. Every once in a while, one would be plucked out and attached to a large ball and chain in the courtyard to wait until they would be marched up a tall wooden ladder to the Governor’s bedroom. Others were simply raped by castle workers less distinguished, and without the fanfare.

So you can understand my hesitation to say I enjoyed my day. But I did. Any trip with 30 friends where they feed and house you in a nice beach hotel for no up front cost is bound to be enjoyable. When our program director led us in a “reflection session” most commented on the disgust they felt with themselves as human, because clearly a lot of people were involved in making this happen, so we can’t possibly all be immune from all of their mentalities. Greed was mentioned many times. I personally wonder if the men actually thought about the money they were making for their country as they stared the women in the face, preparing to rape or march them somewhere. Really, they must have had something mighty distracting to be thinking about, otherwise, I simply don’t understand how one could do that to another living, breathing, probably crying or dying person.

The rest of the weekend carried an entirely different tone. We went to Kakum National Park to participate in the canopy walk, the only one of its kind in Africa. If you didn’t know, the canopy is the upper layer of a rain forest, sitting right below the treetops. This is where most of the animals and insects live, though they are nocturnal so I saw only butterflies. We walked from tree to tree on rickety, creaky rope and wood bridges about 10 inches wide at the base. So cool though. My occasional fear of heights was nowhere to be found, so I danced through the tree tops:) A friend and I let everyone pass us so we could take our time admiring the beautiful scenery (the guide eventually yelled at us to hurry up). I thought it was SO cool to be staring right into the tops of trees; I just didn’t want to leave. Can you blame me? When else will I be in a tropical rain forest in my life?

Ok, much more than I intended to say, and not on what I intended to say it on, per say. Sorry for the very frank descriptions. Until next week!