Today Heidi decided
she needed a break, and let Reade, Tate and I go it alone. Apparently,
virtually ALL of the families stayed on the ship except for us, needing a break
from the stress of traveling with kids, especially in a place like Ghana. The
three Warner men also missed the only hamburger meal that the ship has served
thus far. Drat!
After forcing the
boys to do a Plyometrics P90X workout in the Union (Reade was not amused, only
half-heartedly going through the motions), the boys and I showered and headed
for the 11:00 shuttle bus to Accra. The 10:00 bus had broken down, and thus the
11:00 was quite full. And still broken down! We spent about 35 minutes sitting
in the bus, watching four guys swap big old batteries for the A/C unit back and
forth--four total--in, out, in, out of the back compartment of the bus. They
finally decided it was good, and let the bus go. A/C still didn’t work! An hour
later we were near the Accra Mall, a big 15 km from the ship due to traffic,
and the bus pulled over to the side of the highway. Somehow the bus driver
decided the bus was broken, even though it was running just as it had the whole
way. We waited another 35 minutes for the 12:00 bus to come rescue us, and
finally at 1:15 PM we were let off near Oxford Street near downtown Accra.
"Don't urinate here" |
I'm not sure what this sculpture was supposed to represent, and I'm not entirely sure I want to know. |
Our goal was to get to the African Arts Market where we had med Hassan, hoping to maybe get in a quick soccer game with the boys. We weren’t precisely sure where it was, but I had a pretty good idea, though it was unclear what the walk would be like. As we pulled into a fenced off area where the bus could let us out, it started to seem like that first day all over again. Clearly this group of locals knew to wait here for the next bus-full of students, and we were again engaged through the bus window, though a little more randomly. The three of us exited the bus and were immediately met by 3 or 4 guys in their late teens or early twenties. We chatted at the fenceline, me trying very hard to convince them of the fact that we weren’t there to buy anything, that we were there to walk, see Accra, to talk to people. After about 15 minutes of being given the hard-sell on GHANA wrist bracelets and miscellaneous other things, most of them realized we weren’t kidding and backed off a bit. One kid in particular took us at our word, and actually gave Reade and Tate each a GHANA keychain. I assured him we weren’t buying anything, and he in turn assured me that he didn’t expect anything. He asked if he could walk with us, and I agreed to it, hoping that he might provide some of the deflection that locals can when accompanying people like us around places like this.
Reade, 'Under', and Tate |
I told ‘Under’ (as
he called himself) that we were trying to get to the market, and he led us the
right direction down Oxford Street. Many people approached us, some people that
Under knew, others that he clearly told to get lost, though I had no idea what
he actually said in his native tongue. As we progressed along this busy city
street, he started to tell us bits and pieces about miscellaneous things.
Hardly a tour guide, Under was 18 and could speak decent English. He had taken
a liking to the boys, and they had to him.
The sewers of Ghana are mostly exposed, or worse yet, covered by wood or concrete that may or may not stand up to your weight. It's wise to watch where you step! |
Once we got out of
the commercial area, it came time for me to consult the map, as the surroundings
changed to be a bit more ‘residential’ (term used quite loosely). We stopped on
a corner where there was a little sidewalk market area, some music being
played, people selling various things. I felt like we should be very close to
our destination but it was nowhere in sight. Under said he thought it was still
a 30-minute walk away (which I doubted, but could see no reason he wouldn’t be
honest about it), so we aborted the plan due to time constraints. We reversed
course and wandered back up toward Oxford Street, seeing a very old church, and
many schools with children just getting out, staring at the boys and I like we
were from another planet. It’s so interesting throwing big smiles at these
kids, reactions running the gamut from pure delight with ancillary waves to
utter horror (usually accompanied by averting the eyes, quickly looking
straight ahead like nothing happened, trying not to appear conspicuous in any
way). Upon passing a stand that was blaring the hip hop that is so popular
here, Under and I tried to get Reade or Tate to dance with one teen girl
wearing an ‘Obama Girl’ shirt, but neither would have any of it, though the
girl seemed game.
Our streetcorner conversations |
Seeing the 3:00
shuttle bus pull out promptly at 3:00 a few blocks down, I decided we should
take the 4:00 back, and continued walking the other direction on Oxford Street,
We reversed course at Danquah Circle, and told Under that we’d slowly head back
to the big, purple building with pink (yes, pink) window panes where the bus picks
us up. We ended up stopping on a corner about a block shy of the purple
building, as a few guys that Under knew were standing around, shooting the
bull. Two of the apparently less-sober ones asked if Reade and Tate could have
a beer, to which I laughed and explained that the drinking age was 21 in the
U.S., which they guffawed at. We met ‘Elvis’ and ‘Oxygen’, two friends of
Under’s, and again had to convince them and a few others of our intentions for
the day, explaining about Semester at Sea, that we weren’t typical tourists out
looking to drop cash on every corner. After 20 minutes or so of answering and
asking questions, a few of them heartily thanked us for stopping to talk and
explaining why we were in Ghana, then they moved on. Elvis and Oxygen came
along to the bus stop, and we all stood outside chatting as more and more SAS
students arrived to catch the bus.
Tate and Elvis |
Our tour guide for the afternoon, 'Under'. |
The bus arrived and
we said our goodbyes, and I gave Under 10 cidis for his time and efforts. Then
were were off. Well, sort of. We spent about 10 minutes getting the first
block, once again, due to traffic. We spent another 10 minutes getting a couple
more blocks, followed by an additional 10 minutes getting a block or two
further. Have I told you about the traffic around Accra? Well, let me tell you,
without police escort, it’s simply insane. We finally got to a boulevard that
got us away from downtown, but it ground practically to a halt in our
direction. Only occasional traffic was coming in the reverse direction, so cars
stuck in our lane started heading the wrong way up the other side of the street
when it was clear. Most people just pulled to the shoulder so the three lanes
of traffic would fit into two lanes, and we watched dozens of cars get to the
traffic circle 200 meters ahead of us, while we moved not.
Now, you might think
that things work differently here than in the U.S., but that doesn’t preclude
coming across the odd self-righteous zealot, willing to put it all out there in
the interest of being right. I ran across just such a person while trying to
amuse myself, watching the world of Ghana go by (in all cases, faster than us).
Two cars headed past us in the wrong lane, though they came across a black car
on the correct side of the street, the one car that wasn’t about to move for
some law-breaker on the wrong side of the road. They both came to a stop before
touching bumpers, the black car not moving an inch toward the shoulder, not
leaving the other car enough room to get by on the inside. No one moved. No one
got out of any car, nor were any fists shaken out any window in rage. They just
sat there. They sat there for a full 10 minutes, until the traffic was able to
move on our side, at which time the now 6 or 7 lawbreakers that had been stuck
behind the Mexican standoff had to push their way into the correct side
(ultimately leaving us to sit for a full ‘nother cycle of traffic). Once the
road was completely clear, the black car proceeded onward. Guess that guy had
nothing better to do than to sit around and assert his/her self-righteousness.
The self-righteous zealot, doing his part for the world. |
After another 10
minutes we moved another 7 spots up, to the point that we could now see the
traffic circle, which was oddly being controlled by military police. Then we
sat. And sat. And sat. I could four different directions of traffic, two of
which were getting virtually ALL the attention by the police, ours and another
of which were getting practically no access to the roundabout. When he finally
let the other lowly direction go, he let 20 cars pass. I got excited since we
were about 15 cars from the circle, but he only let 7 from our direction. What?
Now I was starting to get self-righteous, thinking about shouting some
expletive out the window that wouldn’t get me thrown in jail. Does one exist
for this white boy? I doubt it.
I keep watching the
goings-on in the traffic circle like a hawk, trying to figure it all out. A
law-breaker passes us on the left, goes right up to the roundabout where the
military cop is, stopping short of him. After a minute or so the cop walks over
to him, and is handed something from the guy in the car, and shortly thereafter
is granted access to the circle to continue on his merry way. Payoff! Now why
isn’t our bus driver doing that? I sat and pondered why it appeared that the
‘regular’ police have been tasked with getting us through this ridiculous
traffic quickly, while these military police seem to have intentionally slowed
our progress as long as they reasonably could. Weird.
We finally got
through that 500 meters of road in about 45 minutes, and started to actually
tip the speedometer off it’s resting place. It did, however, take about 2:40 to
get the 20 km back to Tema, an excruciatingly slow pace, similar probably to
the detail contained above.
One near bus driver
vs. car driver fight later (yes, seriously), we arrived at the ship at 7:15
PM--far later than anyone would have imagined--and met Heidi getting ready to
leave the dining room, relieved to see us alive. We hadn’t had lunch, and I was
thoroughly impressed how the boys handled so much time in the saddle. Our 8
hour and 15 minute round trip had yielded about 2 hours 40 minutes of ‘boots on
the ground’ time, and I began to realize why the Ghana Tourism Bureau arranges
for police escorts of tour buses through the inextricable traffic horrors of
Accra.
I’d like to take
this opportunity to apologize in advance for the rather pedestrian nature of
today’s imagery. Spending most of the day in a bus isn’t conducive to
photographic creativity; at least it wasn’t for me! I did, however, make up a
mnemonic so that I’d never forget the traffic in Accra:
A
Crapful’o
Cars
Restricting
Access
Ah, what the heck,
one for Tema:
Traffic
Exacerbates
Movement
About
(Takoradi Eases Motorized Annoyances? Tiresome Excursions Monotonously Accomplished? Tumultuously Excessive Mechanized Anarchy? I gotta million of'em!)
Nice mnemonics and imagery!
ReplyDeleteIt seems like you all need to have a book to read for traffic situations like this. Hard to believe that Under spent most of the day with you not knowing if he's be compensated in any way. You certainly have met some nice people.
ReplyDelete