There are many variations on the theme of food in Ghana and we can pretty much have whatever we want, for a price. The good news is that the price is usually refreshingly low, while the quality of the food is refreshingly high. The bad news (for some) may be that our food standards are relatively flexible so if you can't relate to the bliss that is the India Palace on Ellice, or Miso's all-you-can-eat sushi (and it will surprise none of you that I can eat!!), or the spicy delight of a Jamaican patty, or the chili-smeared sex in a bun that is found in the average Greek-style burger house in Winnipeg, then this blog entry is not for you. If you can relate, then come to Ghana--the food's great!!
I will begin here with what we have experienced and enjoyed in the restaurants in Ghana, saving street food and shopping for separate ramblings at a later date. The above photo was taken at one of those places by which all other restaurants will be measured: The Brightest Spot. (Note to readers: While I do feel that I have carte blanche in terms of artistic license on my very own"integrity-optional" blog, I promise you that the place exists and that I have not altered the title for cheap creative effect!) We ducked into this excellent little restaurant, bar and inn (find me a restaurant that on this coast that isn't all three and I'll find you an eight-legged goat who dances the mambo!) on our way to Ada Foah after reading about it in the Bradt guide to Ghana. I must say that the guide has been commendably accurate and this was no exception. It was a lazy, laid-back microcosm of all that is yummy in Ghana and, as the photo depicts, the highlife music was thumping, while the kids had plenty of room to move. Never have I been so happy to wait thirty+ minutes for a meal...McDonald's Play Place, you've been dumped!
Once our driver explained what Banku was, we thought we ought to give it a try and as we love fish, we thought we'd order it with Talapias. Fish and other forms of seafood are wickedly inexpensive here and a favourite staple for me is already grilled fish and fried rice. The fish (I'm never sure what kind of fish it is) comes cubed and de-boned on a skewer and is grilled with a seasoning that is the Ghanaian equivalent of Hy's seasoning. Mmmm...Hy's seasoning. As for the above meal, the Talapia usually comes with a ridiculously hot, red pepper sauce that we quickly (and rather wimpily) brush aside to get at the fish. We then tear off pieces of fish with pieces of Banku (sort of like a ball of corn-mealy porridge--not our favourite!) and gobble it up. As you can see, there was also fresh pasta for the kids, though they too are slowly expanding their palates. Brontë and Materia's favourite is seasoned, grilled chicken and fried rice, conveniently available in every restaurant we've eaten in thus far. Cuyler still eats anything and everything and he takes a generous tariff from each of our plates.
Both Banku and Fu-Fu are sort of like the mashed potato on the average North American plate, or the basic dumpling in a stew. As I understand it, different regions have different versions of this staple. Fufu is made by pounding some combination of cassava, plantain, yam or cocoyam and Banku is cooked, fermented corn dough and cassava dough. The photo above is of a woman I met who is making Banku. This is a common labour in Ghana and it is, as I'm sure you can imagine, back-breaking work in the heat as the consistency is not far from taffy! It's a food that is an excellent filler and as such I would be surprised if any of us acquire a taste for it or Fufu, though I have yet to have either with or in soup.
Prices are very reasonable and if we eat vegetarian, which we often do, we can usually have a hearty-sized plate of restaurant fare for about three to five Ghana Cedis (a little less in Canadian dollars). I had a mid-sized, whole, cracked, grilled lobster, on a bed of fried rice, with a heap of fresh vegetables, for just over ten Ghana Cedis. This was at a nice little upscale hotel in East Legon, near the office for the school. Carmilla had vegetable curry and pasta that meal for around five Cedis, to put it into perspective. I debated about including the above picture, but it has quickly become one of our favourite dishes. It is called Palava or Palaver sauce and it comes on a bed of rice. We have not been able to determine what the cheesy substance is, but it is present in all dishes. It bears a striking resemblance to Indian paneer cheese so it's no wonder we love it! The vegetable is sort of like spinach, but its name escapes me just now. The flavour is so rich, even though the sight of it is hard to stomach! The picture was taken at Chez Afrique (pictured at the very top), an excellent and inexpensive restaurant in East Legon that we will surely take you to when you visit!
Okay, so in case you haven't already figured it out, Carmilla and I have been (guiltily) sneaking out for lunch together while the kids are in school. We have tried a few places out and it's been good time for us to decompress and find perspective in what has been a pretty awesome transition, to the least. On that note, it is acceptable to drink almost anytime and anywhere, though I don't see very many people doing it, other than at restaurants. Star beer is our favourite and one of a few beers readily available in Ghana. It is wonderfully close to Corona and while a regular bottle will cost you a whole, whopping Cedi, the large bottle (roughly 650 mL) will cost you about thirty pesewas (cents) more. It was made for sharing! Smirnoff Ice and Gibson's Spark are also usually served very cold at the same price point. As an aside, we bought a 1.5 L bottle of very drinkable South African cab-merlot for just under seven cedis! Mineral water, Coca Cola, Fanta and a wide range of exceptionally good juices are cheap and available at every meal. As people who were previously too cheap to buy a pop (unless we shared a bottomless glass), let alone a glass of wine, we are quite sure we have arrived at the refrigerated gates of beverage heaven!
On the weekend that we went West to Cape Coast and beyond, we stayed overnight at the Hans Cottage Botel, a rather excellent little spread that is nestled inland, in the bush between Kakum National Park and the coast. We originally discovered it on our own, only to discover that it was featured in "the book" (Bradt's Ghana) all along. I'm not sure why we resist as the guide has yet to fail us. As you can see by the pictures above and below, the highlight of the "botel" was the fact that the restaurant, bar and gift shop were on stilts in a swamp inhabited by several Nile crocodiles!
The restaurant area was walled in, but the walkway railings were just open enough to allow for a Finn-sized morsel to hop into the water to "play" with the crocodiles (Finn utters a throaty "oooohhhhh" right about now). The parents were definitely on high alert and we resisted the photo-opportunity that presented itself as Cohen begged us to let him touch the crocodile's tail as it sunned on the shore. A number of tourists did this and I had clear images of When Animals Attack and Faces of Death, as will those of you have seen either of these programs will. Feel free to use your imagination to picture Cohen touching the tail, as we (in a rare moment of parenting wisdom) exercised our judgement. Needless to say, we are still enjoying Cohen's company to this very day! 
At this time of year, the resort was all but empty--aside from the one tour bus that came and went--so we had the run of it. The above peeing statue was almost as big a hit as the crocodiles and it is also symbolic of every road trip we've taken as the men (and sometimes the women) let it fly whenever the urge takes them. Carmilla and I politely avert our eyes and say nothing while Brontë giggles with mischief!
There are many levels of accommodation, but we (out of necessity) opted for one of the chalets, conveniently and comfortably distant from the crocodiles. The chalet was actually a massive two bedroom house, with a full kitchen, dining room and living room. A bit of bug spray, a tangle with a rather terrifying looking spider, and a lizard chased out with a broom, and we were ready to move in! It was pretty reasonably priced (160 Ghana Cedis) as it included breakfast for all, use of the pool, and a room for Douglas, our trusted driver. The pool was pretty fantastic and exactly what we needed. It was surrounded by a kiddie wading pool that went a good long way to keeping everyone amused and cool. The kids even taught Douglas to pencil swim. We joked that we are turning Douglas, son of farmers, into a man of the sea. The resort has managed to be eco-friendly as it is embedded in a habitat rich with wildlife, including dozens of birds, and even monkeys (though we didn't catch a glimpse). There are trails that weave in and out of the bush and on the weekends, there is entertainment. We ate Fan ice cream and danced to highlife music after supper, and the kids were thrilled. Carmilla and I seem to have replaced coffee with Star beer...not sure that this is a good thing!
The botel is about two hours from the city, so we won't likely come back here very often. This is one of the major advantages of being along a coast littered with resorts as we can dash away for one night of bliss whenever the city starts to get the better of us. We are currently looking for a city resort where we can use the pool, access the beach, and have a little something to eat, without the overnight charge or two hour drive. The day-user fee is usually 5 Cedis for adults and less for children, so we'll let you know when we find one. 
Humidity sucks. I knew that I would not like this as I have been to Florida, and I have tried to acclimatize by resisting AC as much as possible, so I keep telling myself that I'll get used to it. Fat chance. When I walk outside it is as though I have wrapped my lips around a humidifier--only hotter and wetter. As I write this, my mind is wandering to the next love poem I will write to the air conditioners in my life. I will spare you some of the damp and gory details of my new life in a humidor, but I am constantly reminded of something I would say to a friend in school when we would get sweaty--I think I could star in The Shining. Then, it was playful overstatement and now it is but the opposite. A few minutes in the African sauna and I am surrounded by hippopotamus as I have formed my own watering hole.
Reading about "Ghanaian Time" did not prepare me for its reality. As an accomplished multi-tasker, I am deeply troubled by the general sense that if I get one thing done, it has been a good day. If someone says they will meet me in the morning, it means I will see them at roughly one o'clock the following day (To their credit, most people will call mid-afternoon to postpone the meeting to the following day). The answer to "When will it happen?" is inevitably "tomorrow" or "Saturday" but these are not commitments, they are merely attempts not to disappoint you because the Ghanaians don't like conflict. Of course, given the choice between conflict and doing what has been agreed to, they ultimately choose conflict, so it is a losing war of attrition for me, most of the time.
I need a hobby. The kind of hobby that would sustain me through traffic jams that are overtaken by hobbled, three-legged lizards. Knitting? Toothpick-whittling? Wrist-slitting? These and so many possibilities have sprung to mind as I have wiled away many hours in the ten minute drive to work that has become a bumper to bumper crawl in the midday heat. There is an election on the horizon in Ghana and I have become a fervent campaigner. My slogan? Vote for roads. I did think about investing in a motorcycle, as I see them whipping in and out of traffic all the livelong day. When I mused about this out loud one day, our driver, Douglas, explained that it would not be a good idea because there is no law against knocking a motorcyclist off of their bike. This may or may not be true, but I am staying in the car. Ghanaians are generous, hard-working, kind, God-abiding people, but when they enter a car, a beast overtakes them that morph the average driver into a pedestrian-mowing, bumper-mashing, horn-blasting maniac. There are few exceptions from what I have seen. Vote for roads, or the country will fall to the rage that is traffic. 
I have a special power and I don't want it. My mutant ability is that I can make prices go higher with the colour of my skin. My new superhero name is Obroni Man because "obroni" (a.ka. white person) is what people shout at me to get me to come over and see what I've done to their prices. The real problem is (and it is about as superficial a problem as I can muster) that there is no middle class in Ghana. There are the "have lots" and the "have nots" and nothing (except us!) in between. The only imaginable socioeconomic possibility for someone of my hue, is that I sleep on a diamond encrusted mattress stuffed with Ghana Cedis and I wipe my a...er, my nose, with hund'ed dolla' bills (y'all). While a resident of Ghana generally has the shrewd negotiating skills to bargain for a fair price, and--to be bluntly honest--the suntan to be given the benefit of the doubt, I have neither. I am thinking of working on a Canadian-Ghanaian dictionary (hmmm...hobby?) and I have jotted down synonyms for obroni: moneybags, sucker, golden pockets, ATM.
Capitalism gives me nightmares. I'm sure the sellers (pictured above in the ever-growing shadow of the Accra Mall) have similar nightmares. Accra is bursting with people and development but the city has neither the systems in place to deal with it, nor the regulations to make it sustainable, and goodness knows that the last thing the planet needs--despite what Wal-Mart and Oprah would want us to believe--is another continent filled with hyper-consumers. I choose to call out Wal-Mart and Oprah intentionally, as the Shoprite at the Accra Mall bears a striking resemblance to the corporate giant (falling prices mean I can buy South African bananas for less than I can buy from local market sellers...hmmm), and "O" magazine is offered to me by street vendors on daily basis. All those shiny, happy environmental niceties that are pumped into our leaden heads during commercial breaks (Toyotas turning our city streets into putting greens--in and of themselves oh-so-good for the environment--before our hopeful, lusting eyes) have been shot from the skies in favour of the open season that is the African market. Please sir, may I be excused...my planet's full.
And for a short closing list, I will leave you with a few peeves and grumbles to serve as honourable mentions, that surely would have been added if blogs were as eternal as Accra traffic, or if my family had been given their due: morning "trickle" showers; afternoon football in the blistering heat; dodgy internet, power outtages and all infrastructure in general; vendors in traffic (except when they're selling what we want--oh, aren't we spoiled?!); corruption; insects and lizards in general (while some of us actually like lizards, others of us--who are named Carmilla--live in a constant state of high alert, fearing that gappy-mouthed lizards will rain from the sky at any moment).
It was pointed out, as we were standing in the small, lightless, featureless dungeon (doorway above) where over a hundred women were stacked to await systematic rape, torture and transport (should they prove their market value by surviving long enough to be shipped), that the stench of barbaric containment and inhuman conditions was very much alive in the walls, and it was hard to deny. If my use of language comes of as overly graphic or terse, I can assure you that this is only a gentle whisper compared to the nature of our guide’s description. While it was a little awkward explaining and decoding what we had heard to the children after the tour, it is the truth, and the truth is always necessary when setting to the twin tasks of remembering and paying due respect. 
The private tour (included in the modest admission charge) was informative, moving and disturbing in equal parts. We were ushered through the castle, much as a slave would have been, so that we could have some small understanding of what went on inside the dense, white walls of this seaside fort. The cell (pictured above) would house up to thirty Africans who had been condemned to death after being brought to the fort. The room had no facilities and the prisoners would be left together in the cell until the last one was dead.
This slender gap in the castle wall was the last time many would feel their feet on African land, as they were loaded onto waiting ships. As we passed—literally and figuratively—back through the “door of no return,” we were encouraged to utter a pledge of “never again.” I must say that while the story is not mine (though admittedly, as a descendant of the Britain, I bear at least some of the responsibility), I uttered the pledge with as much sincerity and conviction as I have ever spoken. As we escaped the dungeon, shifting once more into the warm African light, we were far better off knowing this truth with our eyes and within our hearts, than we would ever be resting in ignorance.
There are a number of Africans who believe that these buildings must be torn down so that the terrible past can be buried. It does seem somewhat grotesque that this has become one of West Africa’s most important tourist “attractions.” I must admit—with no small degree of shame—to feeling something akin to what I felt when I first laid eyes on some of the castles in England and Scotland: a mix of awe and admiration. For the most part, the history and idealism of the “great man” (in Africa, Canada, or elsewhere) is a fallacy and a travesty perpetuated on countless millions, even to this day. However, I don’t think that tearing down the buildings—now rightfully in the hands of Ghanaians, whose story it is to tell—will improve the chances that this will “never again” take place. The above picture of a midday football match may seem a little out of place, given the content of this entry, but it was very much "in place" as I snapped it from atop the castle wall. It provided a degree of comfort to know that in many ways, Africa is alive and well. 
We went to the city of Cape Coast, the location of the other, perhaps better known castle in the area, but we felt we were done for the day so we did not enter. We intend to return and will likely bring any visitors that we have to one of the two castles, to hear this story again and pay our respects.
Despite myself, I am growing increasingly fond of Britain's rather sausage-shaped thumb print on this country (and, quite frankly, on the world). One of the high streets in Accra's city centre district of Osu is called Oxford Street and one can easily imagine that they are in London based on the British take on international flare that lives on this stretch. Carmilla and I have already re-instituted our prior ritual (from my teaching stint in Leicester) of evening tea. We even managed to find PG Tips at the popular ex-pat Max Mart, a grocery store with a whole lotta Britain goin' on (but more on food and drink in a later posting). It is amazing how much traffic one can survive (more on traffic...again, you'll have to stay tuned) when you know that the promise of a hot cuppa awaits. Alas, I digress and have meandered from the intended path... 
We were a little surprised to discover that one of the jewels in Ghana's crown (if you'll pardon the expression), the Aburi Botanical Garden in the Eastern region, was planted (through, I'm certain, the not-so-discreet-or-amusing use of slave labour--no pun intended here!) by none other than the colonials who occupied this country prior to independence some 50+ years ago. A drive of about an hour planted us (now, please pardon the pun) in the midst of one of the most impressive gardens we've ever been privy to. 
It would appear that even Douglas, our hired driver, is impressed by the cotton silk trees planted some 150 years ago. This picture reminds me of similar pictures I have seen and taken of Carmannah in BC. It is hard not to stand in quiet awe and contemplation when in the presence of the planet's giants. 
Not far from the gardens, the first cocoa bean planted along the Gold Coast is still growing at the Tetteh Quarshie plantation. The industrious and well-travelled local man Tetteh Quarshie reportedly brought cocoa to the region and left his mark forever on this area of West Africa. This was our first close-up look at what is arguably the most important export--certainly from Carmilla's perspective--of Ghana (I know, we love our oil too...I mean what's not to love about oil?). From little professor Cohen's point-of-view, this praying mantis was a definite highlight!
While I am still learning the strengths and weaknesses of my new camera (and its user), this snap of one of the more brightly coloured sights at the garden will have to stand alone. Needless to say, Carmilla and I are already planting our Accra garden in our imaginations!
We lingered for a good, long while in the garden, and certainly felt that we got more than our seven Ghana Cedis worth (for the carload...Butchart Gardens eat your heart out!!). The air was cooler due to the elevation and the vegetation, so we were truly comfortable outdoors in a way we have rarely been as yet. On the way home, we pulled over and I snapped this hazy landscape picture of the northeastern edge of Accra. 
For our first trip outside of the city, and into Africa, we decided to drive into the Volta Region, named for the river and lake. Within about an hour and a half, we had covered a lush landscape, spotted with mighty Bao Bao trees, to arrive at Ada, a small community on the banks of the Volta River. We saw poverty and environmental prosperity as we travelled. I cannot help but wonder and worry about what the future holds both for the people and for the landscape.
The Volta River stretches between the base of the lake, and the Atlantic Ocean. The Volta Lake was created when the Akosombo Dam was built, which was yet another of the many projects of the biggest of Ghana's "Big Six" forefathers, Kwame Nkrumah. Today, it is one of the largest man-made lakes in the world and it nourishes roughly seventy-percent of Ghana with its reach. It is also a great source of income for Ghana as they sell electricity from the dam to neighbouring Togo and Benin (this does not mean, however, that power outages are not common!). We hired a boat (45 Cedis return fare for seven--we took Douglas, the driver, as he is the son of farmers and wanted to go on the boat--and for a tour of the estuary region) that took us out to the massive sand dune that is the Ada Foah Estuary. 
On our way out to the estuary, we passed a number of fishing villages. Both the people and their boats were of great interest as we moved past. It felt as though we were intruding for a couple of moments as the river serves as a natural bathhouse, particularly at the end of a long day of hauling nets! 
There are a few makeshift resorts there, but we were honestly alone. You can rent a small hut, complete with queen size bed and mosquito netting, for around 10 Cedis a night. They also have bonfires, music and dancing when people want it and when the sea turtles arrive to to leave their eggs in a couple of months, they wil wake you in the mroning to witness the spectacle. As an aside, I love the wry symbolism (intended or not--though I'd like to think intended!) in the picture above of the tattered Union Jack flapping in the ocean gusts above Cohen's head as he combs the river bottom for shells and crabs. We filled many contaners with shells, including a small conch and a sand dollar.
All in all, it was a wonderful day and we will not soon forget it!! I have a hunch it is just the sort of day that will set the bar for all of our future excursions.
This is the final resting place of W.E.B. Du Bois, one of the founders and great proponents of the Pan-African movement that promoted a deep connection amongst all Africans. While I have learned a great deal about the Civil Rights Movement in North America, I am embarrassed to say that I knew little about the important work that went on in Africa itself. Du Bois was a distinguished scholar and writer (in Africa and in America), most famously conceptualizing and beginning an encyclopedic dictionary for Africa and he was a co-founder of the NAACP.
This marble plaque is posted near the entrance to the main museum. Before I came to Ghana, I searched for literature and authors from/about Ghana and this was from the first poem I found. I didn't make the serendipitous connection until I read it on the wall. It is worth noting that while Du Bois was not born a Ghanaian, he did die one. It is also worth noting that he was invited to work in Ghana by the father of independence, Kwame Nkrumah, whom this poem was penned for. 
The drummer and the hornblower herald the entrance to the National Museum and they are ever-present cultural symbols all around Ghana. They remind one of the significance of African roots in most Western music today, and the presence of the drum in every musical history (at least that I know of!). 
Many villages, particularly in the more northern regions (such as the arts and cultural capital, Kumasi) are well known for kente, or weaving. This is a particularly vibrant hanging found in the museum. There is a great deal of symbolism worked into the designs of kente and of other works, such as the stools. Sometimes the symbol is attached to an ideal or a proverb. I would be very surprised if our home (this and future homes) didn't have a hanging or two and a stool or two!
Brontë, looking lovely, in front of some examples of traditional carving at the museum. And below, the front entrance, on our way home for the day. Until the next...
