Good Bye Africa

That morning I woke Rachel up at the crack of dawn to go to the Mosque. Apparently we woke up too late. By the time we got there it was empty but a young man offered to teach us how to pray any ways. We washed our has five times, right then left. Feet: right then left. Arms right then left. head face and mouth. Went inside knelt and did out prayers.

We left Kofridua and headed to a craft market in Accra. Im so glad I bought all my stuff in Cape Coast. It was just like i though. Everything was over priced. Have the crafts I have seen in my neighborhood back home so I just ended up waking around and playing with a monkey I found tried up to a tree.

...I REALLY didnt want to go home. My dads friend Ray and his fience took us out the dinner to this fancy restaurant...way to much for my taste but ok...I had my last Red Red...and that was it

The next morning we got to the airport and had a 12 hour layover. I couldn't wait to be home to get away from these ignorant kids but i Really didnt want to leave. In the gift shop I over hear one of them say "O my ghawd I cant wait to go home..this whole country is SO ghetto"

some people, even when immersed in culture, are still so ignorant to difference.

I really miss Africa...

.:July 23:Koforidua:.

4am: piled into the bus again for the long ride to Koforidua.

Koforidua is high up in the Mountain ranges over looking Accra. On the way up there we passed Rita Marley's studio which was perched on the side of the mountain, it had been through a fire and was in pretty shabby shape but I still wanted to go see it.

The group stopped for a tour of the Cocoa Research Institute of Ghana. They grew several types of Cocoa, Cashews, coffee and shea. Theres a tone of thing you can make with Coca, butter,wines,chocolet, animal feed, jelly/jams,pectin,fertilizer,soap and vinegar. With all these things it made it even harder to see why Ghana had so many imported goods. Black soap (Alata semina) was the best soap ever...but non of the locals seemed to used it.

On the inside, the Cocoa fruit was white and slimy a lot like Lychee fruits in east Asia or Canepas (Mamoncillo) in central America. Its sweetness was alot more like Lychee though.

After the Coca Research Institute, we stopped by an AIDS hostel called the 'Mathew 25 house' for some more community service. The gave us a tour and told us alot about their mission and the stigmatization a lot of AIDS victims go through due to lack peoples of education. Statistically, more woman are found with the virus simply because woman seem to be more health conscious. To me that was a dangerous fact, it ment alot more guys could be sitting around spreading AIDS and not getting checked out all because of ego. The most appalling them was the refusal to teach condom use. I understand that some may see the promotion of condoms as a push for promiscuity but people are going to do what they want, if some one is set on having sex shouldn't they atleast be safe about it? The Mathew house staff told us they didnt even have condoms to give people that asked.

The group was helping paint out side of Mathew 25 house. My father and grandfather both are professional painters, after working a few jobs painting my house and lifeguard sheds at work...i felt like I was pretty knowledgeable in the are. How ever the older gentle men who founded the House was bent on his was, because I was young female my input wasn't really taken to heart and almost immediately the watered down paint began to develop air pockets and chiped. It was irritating to be ignored by these people but non the less I stayed humble and finished the job..in the end i felt good about it.

After we returned to the hotel I was bent on discovering more of Koforidua. It was such a beautiful place, how what I not take full advantage of being here. My dads friend came to visit me in Cape Coast and had briefly mentioned a waterfall some where in Koforidua. I really wanted to go alone but based on the Ostrich farm escapade I decided a few more people should come, just to help out with cab fare.After walking around the Coca place and painting all day I was pretty tired but there was no way I was passing up a waterfall.

.:Akaah Waterfalls:.

The cab dropped us off about a mile from were the falls were actually were. on the hike over we scaled several tall rocks. When we got to the clearing it was like something off of National Geographic..JUST WHAT I WAS LOOKING FOR. I didnt know how much water and mist my camera could handle but i jumped in waist deep and climbed up the mossy falls alone. It was so nice..I was actually really glad we left in such a small group.

We had no clue how to get back to Kofridua or the hotel. Hitchhiking along the long winding dusty path in the direction in which we came, several tro-tro passed up and refused to stop. You'd think it was a taxi drivers dream to see 5 Americans just walking around looking lost. NOPE..no one stopped. We must have walked five miles before a cab stopped. as long as we had day light I was fine with it.

In the cab were two brothers blasting local music on the casttes player. We piled in like a clown car. We got back around sunset, on the way back I spotted a mosque which I was determined to go to before I left Africa.

.:July 22:LAST DAY IN CAPE COAST:.

This was maybe the most depressing thing ever...I didnt miss home AT ALL...

We spent most of the morning in the market getting gifts, I had a hunch that the place we where supposedly 'shopping till we dropped' was going to have jacked up prices. Plus I'd rather give business to my Rasta friends...everyone had nicknames...my name was Baby Rasta...and as soon as I got comfy it was time to go home...

After getting my hair braided -for only 6 cedsi!!!- (like $4-5) I walked up to the Rasta hang out to say my good byes....It was really sad..most of them gave me gifts and trinkets to remember them by...I had my last Red Red from Fish Bone's vegetarian spot and that was it...

..no not really. we went out to some club with them for the last time and that was it..

.:July 20:.

Ostrich adventure

I was determined to ride an Ostrich...

turns out no one knew where to find one. So I grabbed all the money I had left and hpped in a cab...turns out the cab didnt know where the Ostrich place was either. We drove half way around the world and fount the small town of Efutu Monpong where the Ostrich farm USED TO BE...after turning all the way around we noticed the Ostrich sign on the sign of the road...fallowed it to some shbby little place ran by one guy on the top of a hill in the middle of now where.

There were maybe 3 Ostriches...and we could even ride them...I was ready to go as soon as he said that...'o you can in Zimbabwe though" yeaaa....riighhhht.....FAIL

.:July 19:.

BEACH!!!

I grabbed my breakfast that I eat everyday..rice Gari and shito...50 Peswas...life is good

We went with the group this time but of coarse I had to explore. Me and some other kids walked to the opposite side of the beach and found all kinds of ousters, cowrie shells and sea urchins.

Today was a good day.

.:July 17:.

Today was our community service day.

The job was helping clear a football field in which just so happened to be on property of Coke-a-Cola..I couldn't help but wonder why they weren't cleaning this crap up..but it wast hard to guess.

We got there and they gave us brooms. brooms? I didn't come here to sweep if im going to help im going to help for real so i quickly ditched the broom and helped some guys pull boulders out of the 'shit pit' (my special name for it)...it was a long hard day of work but I was cool with it. Couldn't help but notice a bunch of able bodied men just standing around though...

My boy Unice hooked me up with this guy Johnny who he met when he was on DOC last summer. The guy was cool but he was trying WAY to hard to impress us sometimes. He took us around to some of the spots we'd missed like the Crocodile hotel. Basically theres just restaurant on top of a Crock infested pond. I guess they feed the crocks so well that the dont bother people so we could get right up close and pet them.

That night him and his friend took us to the club in their fancy cars...just the kind of guys I like to avoid..overly shallow...it seemed like the younger generation are just like that every where.

The club was OVERLY packed this time. a few fights went down but nothing serious. I got over the whole scene real fast when a few dudes around me started getting really homophobic and pushy when it was obvious i wasn't going to dance with them but what ever thats life.

.:July 16:.

Today I traded most of my unneeded clothes for craft goods with Muhammad.

We watched heritage Africa at a professors house. Its a pretty deep movie and the irony made me laugh. non of the other students seem to have gotten it at all. Its crazy how people have / continue to sell their souls to win the acceptance of those who could care less...I feel like i see this trend every where...the plague of the conscientious uncoutious.

July 11-13

In the days that fallowed our return from Kumasi there wasn't much to do. I ended up spending more time sleeping and hanging out in Kings was...at this point I felt I saw all there was to see in Cape Coast...

.:July 10:Koo Nimo and the market:.

On the way to meet the legendary Ghanaian folk artist Ko Nimo Ansa (Daniel Amponsah), I couldn't help but be annoyed by the number of adds for skin lightning cream, they were every where. Always featuring a light skin model with a wavy weave on. It felt like kind of in insult, in a country full of various shades of beautiful brown and black skinned women..they are still pushing undertones of white supremacy introduced during slavery.

Koo Nimo was the man. His dancers reminded me so much of the dancing I used to do at home; Krumping. Its a street dance but not alot of people know what that is still despite the fact that its mainstream now. Anyways..this guy set up a clan of artist to take over after him. Its a shame not alot of people honor legends like they used to. His top guitar student George offered to give me privet guitar lessons after..but first we went to the market.

After riding the tro tro for like 10 minutes we stopped at a HUGE market. It was like street markets at home times 100..everything was divided up like before but this one had two versions of the same market; the Muslim side and the Christian side. everything was so much cheaper in the Kumasi market too. Gold, soap and shea butter was all cheaper than in Cape Coast. We both got really tired of that place pretty fast and headed out.

Back to the hotel then off to find George. My lesson was great, we chatted and exchanged music then headed off to the hotel. I wish Kumasi lasted longer. I had to learn how to say black in Fanti cause I was SO tired of being called Obruni (white)

.:July 9:The Road to Kumasi:.

After a 6hour bus ride through the rain forest, we stopped in a Kente cloth weaving community called Bonwire. Half way sleep through the whole ride I had to straighten myself up beforegetting off the bus looking all types of Native with my hair freshly liberated from braids.

Climbing off the bus I could help but be a bit confused at my surroundings. Where were the loom? The cloth? Anything?. Just another shanty little town with kids bargaining with me other things I never agreed to bye in the fist place. I dug into my bag for loose bills hoping 30 Cedisand bargaining would get me all the material I wanted. After my sleepiness wore off my natural Boston instinct kicked in an I was ready to leave the group and explore myself until I notice that my Conrad Rachel had drifted off and the group separated into two. Panford insisted that I fallow him in the second group no and despite not wanting I guess there was a first time for everything so I fallowed along. I was a little confused that this Kente weaving community wasunusually small for something said to be home to the finest Kente in the area. I expected busy streets and looms on every corner.

Clumsily meandering through side streets fallowed by street kids still trying to push uselessparaphernalia in our faces, the group finally came to a stop in a clearing were the buildings seemed to open up into haphazard plaza and we were reunited with the other half of our group. To the left of me I could scarcely see a commotion going on infront of a wooden long house. Shortly after I learned that is where the –serious- kente weaving took place.

Once inside the long house all small time hustlers were locked out and the weaver took there place. Some were between the noses and the shoving in the narrow walk way of the long house I was able to recognized some familiar American accents. I didn’t really miss physically being home at all but I still felt good to know fellow black Americans were in the vicinity. It’s a weird feeling knowing your not completely at home in America but still sticking out in Africa. I guess I just missed tho familiarity, being able to speak to a black person that used the same type of English I do and shares a similar sense of humor.

The path along the walls of the long house were barely big enough for two people to walk side by side. Making my way around the one big room, It is impossible to ‘just look’. Weavers are ready to sell and the patterns and colors were unheard of. Eager to find the perfect purple material to bring home to my girlfriend I couldn't resist toughing ever one I saw, comparing prices. but people there don’t just tell you the price and let you walk away. The have to pull out the whole 6yard long piece of fabric and give you a million reasons why you should buy it from them. Of course me not having the “you must buy” from me bit, I try to reject as kindly as possible and go about my way taking as few snap shots as possible to avoid being the obnoxious tourist. Not having the slightest clue about fabric and dress making made it all worst as I tried to negotiateprices. My base length was 2 yards but of coarse everyone wants to tell you the best type of dress u should try to make and of coarse its going to need 6 yards of material and of coarse the only person with 6 yards of that particular material is them. PHA..i wasn’t having it.

Aggravated that my chaperons failed to communicate the fact that this would be our first stop, Ihadn’t had the chance to change money, but of coarse this was all my fault because I didn’t have the syllabus and/or didn’t hear them correctly or some other non sense excuse they continually use to pass the baton of blame from administration on the me the student. Yea right. Any how, Isettled on just being satisfied with my pictures since I didn’t barley have enough money and apparently there was no way we were coming back to this place again.

Hats off to the great communication and planning.

.:July 8:.

Today there wasn't much to do so Miriam Rachel and I decided to go explore another beach not too far away. We got in the cab and just said Coconut Grove and that was it. We didnt know what to really expect or how far it was. I loved how the taxis worked down there, you agree on the price BEFORE you get in the cab.

Coconut grove as part of a resort. It was pretty far for the town but it was secluded and peaceful. No one was around so we just walked in like we owned the place and ran around the beach like crazy people. When we got tired we all ended up just laying on the beach and falling asleep...and THATS how i got my first sun burn....never again.

Tomorrow was Kumasi..

.:July 7:Rasta Internship:.

At this point I had been going to Kings way to hang out with the Rastas everyday. So when it came time for the internship portion of the coarse, I'd already known what I wanted to do: make drums with Rastas. I'd really gotten sick of being fallowed around by Rachele 24/7 and was so ready to experience something ALONE with out her always gearing the conversation to her self plus as an artist I could connect with them more.

Drum making was hard work but I didn't mind it. I hated being paraded around while I watch everyone around me working, so I jumped right in it. Muhammad was by far my favorite Rasta. He was always chill, watching and observing but not saying much unless it ment something. People say thing just to be part of a conversation and those empty words often have little to no meaning..Its kind of hard to put the experience into words. When you meet people of your same caliber you just click. It was like hanging out with my big brother at home. Plus Muhammad looked like a lion.

He offered to teach me how to play all of his home made instruments but Tuesday was the Gods day of silence. No one was to be drumming or making load nosed on the beach. I figured the ecological reason may have been to give the marine life a chance to replenish in an effort to avoid over fishing. Mean while Rachel was banging away at the drums in another Rasta hut off in the distance...-TRYING- to rap with some Rastas who had already been smoking and drinking all day and who, unfortunetly for me, had been feeding into her ego all day..

We had long conversations, the Rastas shared theories on everything. I admired them for their simplistic way of live which I what I aim for at some point.

At the end of the day my arms were so sore but I was happy about it. In return for my apprenticeship Muhammad asked me for something in return. Not money, but something from the heart, a token of humility and gratitude from student to teacher cause he didn't have to show me his secrets, skills like these are apart of the culture passed down in families..which ment so much more to me because I hate giving have hearted gifts. Everything has a significance to me and it was the same with him. I didn't have much so I slept on it. It had to mean something, something he could use and something I'd miss.

July 6:Bakatue festival

I had gotten word of a festival in Elmina from my Rasta friends so we decide to go.

Bakatue was the welcoming in of the fishing season. Local chiefs, elders, and stool carriers along with member of thier respective tribes march from the bottom of Elmina's main road to a lagoon right next to the Elmina Castle. I accidentally bumped into a woman and as I apologized I realized she was marching with on of the tribes. I asked if it were alright for me to join in the march and capture it all on camera. She was more that inviting. On the march up the hill I met the chiefs family. His mother, uncle , aunt and grandparents welcomed me as if i were one of their own and had me dancing all the way up the hill with them. When we got to the end, the chiefs uncle set me up in front of the elders to take pictures. climbed down to the edge of the water and got right up front. This was the type of thing I came to Ghana to witness. After offering the gods a meal of mashed yams and eggs, a net is cast several times to predict what the new fishing season will bring, symbolizing the opening of the season to all other fisherman aswell.

As we left the festival I discovered one of my home favorites. Sorrile; a hibiscus drink that cures just about anything..here they called it Bissap...and with that my day was complete.

July 4: Elmina + Kakum Park

Its ironic that on the 4th of July we were exploring our second slave castle.

Elmina was a beautiful fishing town.Busy.Every one was doing something. No one was just walking around to be walking around. Everyone was going some where for a purpose. its crazy the things you can just do when you come from privilege..at home people just wonder..

On the walk up the the castle a young man about 23 came up to me and asked if I was American and tried to shove merchandise in my face. My response was no Im not American, Im Black..he took is jewelry a way asked me my name and told me I was Ghanaian and welcome home.."too black too strong" he said as he shook my hand smiled as he walked away....this was pretty much every conversation started went during the remainder of my trip: Im not American...Im Black...Black reaches further..American is shallow..it means you can sucker me easily and I'll put up with you,it means I come from money and I'll give you poor Africans some because that just what we do, sit back and take pictures like we're in a Zoo...Black means im just as broke as you.It means I could be your long LONG lost cousin and I could have been working this market just like you. Black means some one from my past went through the door of no return but I returned... American means your a tourist....Im Black. Not American.

There were lots of stylistic differences between the Elmina castle and the Cape Coast Castle but non the less it was still a slave castle. An Ashente king was held there for months because he refused to give up is rule and the sacred artifacts of his people. I started putting myself into the positions of the captive to fully experience the place in different ways. They led us to the court yard where public displays of punishment were held. Thats were Portuguese also made the woman parade around as they watched from high up balconies and took their pick, raping who every they saw fit and refereed to the children of such brutalities as 'mulatto' meaning mule in Portuguese...

...Mule. a mixture between a donkey and a horse, two totally different species,a mutated human creation that cannot bread. mules are infertile .and the term is still used to refer to people of bi-racial black and white decent today...how much of slavery have we really gotten rid of when we call our selves this?

As soon as we got back in the van all the white kids are taking bets on how many Ghanaians they can 'get' as if it were a game...ironic...we had just left a slave castle where the Portuguese felt it was their God given right to pick any Black woman they wanted and rape her..Im sure it was a game to them too...how much have we really changed?

.:Kakum National Park:.

After Elmina. We drove up to Kakum National Park. I was ready for an intense mountain hike...then I looked back at the group and knew it was a long shot...

Walking around up there I couldn't help but feel a slight sense of pride at the fact that my ancestors probably knew this place like the backs of their hands.. What plants to eat and which to stay away from. Back when no one laid clam to the land itself trying to tame it, but just lives in harmony with it....its the same way I feel when I walk through a forest at home.. before the reservations and flood of white settlers..this was all us.

.:July 3:.

I woke up sooooooo sick from the night before. I missed this funeral we were supposed to go to but... for real who wants to go to a funeral of some one you dont know? I would hate for some one to show up to a funeral of my family member with a bunch of white kids I dont know just standing there looking clue less and uncultured. I was ok with missing it. I figured it was just like baptist funerals like the ones I've been to in New Orleans at home any ways, which area always more of a celebration of life.

Later that day we visited the village of a Chief. Was walked in and these old women where sitting there in traditional garb watching soap operas on a labtop. It was a really ironic picture. The chief comes out and his cell phone rings. Apparently their tribe has bee around for about 800 years and even defeated the Ashente, a great war tribe know through out the diaspora. They told us they were the first to have contact with the Europeans when they first landed. Their strong tire to their culture lasted through the ordeal of slavery, people sent to Jamaican colonies kept their African names and passed them down, they even named towns after the places they grew up in in Africa. I learned about his a while back. The Maroons of Jamaica were members of the Ashente tribe that were solid into slavery and joined together once they got the the colony. They ended up running away and forming their own societies in the jungles where they resumed life as if they were still in Africa. This actually happened alot in the Caribbean and in Brazil...it just so happed that the Jamaican Maroons were from the Ashente..

We when out side of the chiefs palace after pouring the libations and talking with everyone. The children gather every where to make fun of us. I was the only one to break from the group, kneel down and talk to the kids while everyone else just stood at a distance at took pictures like we were at a zoo. I met a young girl names Sarah who was in charge of the children, she a had a stern face as if she had been around for years and held ages of wisdom for a girl so young. She was 13 and carried her younger sister on her back and whipped all the younger kids into place.

.:July 2::.

Today we had one of the most interesting lectures yet: Africa and appropriate technology. I loved the professor, the passion he had for the subject was a breath of fresh air, i could tell he really loved his country and how fed up he was with the system and westernization of the Ghanaian. Basically what I got out of it was; the world under western influence is dooming itself, nature is ignored in the design of everyday things, people in tropical climates are wearing hot pant suits to be like westerners while drinking hot coffee and depriving families of energy using their high powered air conditions. Technology and nature need to be paid closer attention too, ancient society invented ways to preserve their ways of life working in harmony with nature but the modern world has forgotten the lessons of the past in order to be more like those that enslaved them...its crazy. African countries (in fact most third world countries in general) have the labor and natural resources to be successful, all they lack is the technology and forward thinking because all their scholars what to do is get degrees and move to America and never really go back home to help. Mean while Americans and other developing countries think they are helping by donating western clothing making the problem worse and the money given to aid never really even leaves the country. Im convince that only Africans can save Africa..more people like Nnkruma and more Black Americans like Du Bois...but its like revolutionary thinking is out dated to people now... especially in my generation..

We visited several small compounds where the visiting professor was helping organize the teaching of crafts and self sufficiency. After that we went to a small place where woman were harvesting the Plam fruit. Its amazing the amount of stuff they can make out of that one fruit. This guy had some big ideas...all it takes is a few people to invest in them. An eco-friendlily Plam mill with local workers.

When the group got back we had a ton of free time so Rachel and I dipped to Kings Way where the Cape Coast Castle was. After walking around the whole town and wondering through the villages we ended up back on the beach fishing with some little kids. With a line and a rock weight its kind of hard to see how they ever caught anything. On the opposite side from the beach was a small line up of craft shops ran by all Rastas. Once they got past the fact that I wasn't there to buy anything from them they opened up and got really cool with me. Finding vegetarian food was a mission. Fortunetly enough for me a kid named Fish Bone ran a vegetarian cafe next to the Rastas. We talked for a while about music and food an America. He hooked me up with some red red which quickly became my favorite food. In the middle of the meal I heard some jimbes close by and walked around till I found were they came from. A high school dance group was practicing for an upcoming festival. The leader of the group was a Chinese Ghanaian..i wanted to ask him more about what his family was like but we didnt have time.

That night we watched the world cup Ghana versus Uruguay..they should have won...I was pissed.

After we went to the local gas station with the group to chill before we went to the near by night club which was in the Elmina Beach Resort. I was so at home, every one could dance. These kids were all around me popping and house dancing, up rocking, I know they probably might have not knows what any of those were but me being a dancer, thats what we call it at home. EVERY one could dance...its such a big part of us as a people in the diaspora and it showed me that so much of myself was here...so much of who I am comes from this place..

The club was cool too. really small and chill with good local music. Its more about dancing and enjoying yourself then clubs at home were everyone just wants to be so close to each other focusing on sex making it hard to actually have fun, especially if you really dont want to dance with anyone...

June 30:: Urban Drop off

The night before I introduced myself to another study broad student from Pen state who was rooming in the Chalet across from ours. She gave us all the inside scoop on Cape Coast; where the clubs are, how to get internet, where the cheap food is.. We made arrangements to go to the club that Friday. It seemed like her group was just a boring and sheltered as ours so we ended up exploring a near by town at midnight. All the way at the end of this dusty path on the out skirts of the town was a small shop ran by a woman and her two children. She scolded us for being out so late and demanded we come back and visit her in the morning. She reminded me so much of my grandmother...I mentioned this to Rachel and of coarse she took it and ran..'mother' this 'mother' that bla bla bla..

The next day we got a 'formal' tour of the campus. I really just wanted to go to sleep cause this was all stuff I'd found on my own the last few days we've been here. After the tour was over we went back to the other side of campus so get our 'Urban Drop-off' assignments. Urban drop off was exactly what it sounds like; they dropped us off in a market and told us to go buy specific items in our groups. Me, Rachel and this girl Nichol were told to go buy Gari. I had already eaten Gari for breakfast that morning plus I had asked the bus driver what it was made out of and how else it can be prepared, basically I had everything I needed before we even got to the market

It was so strange to me how the whole economy seemed to be based off of foreign goods. I came in there thing thinking WORD im about to get maaaad Shea butter and Black soap (Alata Semina) but I really had to search in the inner market for those. Everyone is trying to be American so hard its ridiculous....

Gari is made from fresh cassava, which is grated and the excess liquid is then squeezed out. The remaining cassava is then fried with over an open fire, on a broad metal pan that has been greased with a little oil, could be palm oil or other vegetable fat.

The result product is crisp and crunchy to taste, and is stored easily and can be eaten with stew or soup or shito and fish. Or in secondary schools it can be soaked with water milk and sugar. http://www.ghanaweb.com/GhanaHomePage/food/gari.html

I had this theory that having us find Gari was our T.A. way of proving to us that we dont know everything..were we supposed to get Gari or Cassava? It wasn't exactly laid out so I just go cassava. The market was like any street market in layout. The western goods and sold on the outside of the market on the main street, there's a taxi stand near by, the inner market it mostly children and older women selling kente cloth soaps, seasoning and other fresh local foods and meats.That evening Rachel and I walked to the near by beach. I was more interested in walking around and talking to the fishermen but Rachel wanted to show off her skim board while I was stuck taking pictures of her like always. I ran into some fishermen who let me take pictures of them and help carrying some nets and pull the boat up from the beach. They had about 9 other guys pulling at the same time. Its really hard work.

June 29:: Cape Coast Castle

That morning it was the usual: I wake up early and go wonder around until I find food that coast less than 1Ghana Cedi..I only brought $400 with me so I was trying to make it stretch big time.

Our early morning lecture was on the Cape Coast Castles and the history of slavery. The biggest things that puzzles me about the whole concept of slaver are two things: (1) People always talk about slavery in dehumanizing terms which in fact was a method used by slave masters to justify doing what they did...so its like...have things really changed in terms of how we refer to our ancestors? and what exactly dose that mean about us today...seems like we're still slaves if you ask me...(2) what about the Europeans made them resort to the extremely brutal form of slavery? Muslim and other African forms of slavery weren't nearly as brutal and dehumanizing. What about the European made him so cold... probably the crazy money they were making out of it..

Its crazy, and in a twisted way, brilliant the ways and the amount to witch Europeans have damaged the African people in every aspect...so much so that century later we still haven't bounced back...I really liked the lecture. I didn't feel like everyone was taking it as seriously as I was though....this feeling actually echoed through out my whole time in Ghana sadly enough.

...:CAPE COAST CASTLE:...

From the out side..life goes on. people don't seem to dwell on the the thought of slavery like Black Americans do..maybe people have gotten so used to the castle being there that its just another building...in side there were offices and shops and people going about life as if the building were a normal place of business...but to me it was something sacred. The foot prints in the floor, the stench of the holding cells, the shells and fist prints left in the walls of that place. I wanted to feel anger but I didn't, I wanted to feel sad...but I didn't..I just felt..a block...going to a place like this with a group of white students flashing pictures for their face book profiles so they can seem 'cultured'..Rachele fallowing me every were so I didn't have a chance so sucking anything up on my own....I left...dipped out of the group..fell behind..I couldn't be here in a crowd..this place had too much history, too much importance and way to many way word spirits for me to be herded around like a lost sheep in a herd of castle..I was a different species from these kids and I just wanted to be on my own.

So I waited until the groups moved on a explored by myself (or at least tried too seeing how Rachel was at every turn)

No picture can ever capture what one feels in that place walking around alone. The punishment cell were they put those who were caught 'miss behaving' (which could have probably just been sneezing in African accent)...was maybe the most ere experience of my life. The room had to be 15ftX8ft and PITCH BLACK once you get more that 2 people in there...As soon as the group left I tried to find the edges of the room in the midst of the blackness...it was like walking into a cemetery blind folded..the deeper I go the heavier the air around me felt..not many things frighten me but that just about did it..not scared like of things unknown..but scared like..i could almost feel people touching me..my over active imagination kicked in and all around me I could imagine bodies dreamed in sweat blood and vomit. Women being forced to sit in their own menstruation, no food, water or light. Knowing your surrounded by people but not being able to see a face or hear a familiar language....It humanized that which had been dehumanized...for me at least...and with my heart in my throught I finally reached to opposite side of the room.

June 28: Cape Coast

The next day we drove from Accra to Cape Coast.

It was about a 4hour drive..maybe more. Stopped on the road to get fruit and pee..thats about it.

I noticed people treating me a little differently because I was black (of at least mixed as far as they could tell) and a foreigner. I would hear people talk amongst themselves, I caught small phases like Obama or black american. A security guard at the mall the day earlier pulled me aside personally and told me that if I was a Black american than the means I am Ghanaian and that mean I am home....well...Im half Native American with a little bit of mystery blood in me but I wasnt about to argue with a man carrying a night stick.

I just couldnt wait to get away from the group and explore by myself and chill with some black Africans...part of me just really wanted to wonder into a crowd and disappear, In the group I stick out..I have to listen to all the complaints and all the ignorance and not say anything because I knew them in there white arrogance wouldn't want to hear about themselves and It frustrated me because...we're in Africa..why do I have to deal with you AT ALL?!..yea the faculty likes to say that where ever we are on a school trip we still represent Northeastern, but Northeastern didnt birth me, Northeastern isnt on this trip listening to the 'girl scoots' in the back seat bitch about how 'hot it is' when its only like 70 out side and 'omg how do they wear their hair like that"..so as far as im concerned my blackness comes first because despite all the other things in my family, society treats me like im black so there you have it.

We finally got the Cape Coast University. To me the entire area seemed...safe...to someone from the NorthEast I guess its like leaving Boston and going to Newport or the more 'urban' parts of Connecticut I guess....its -clearly- not a big city, more like a compilation of small towns real close to each other with and a few small markets. It was a good area though, I learned to love it once I made friends but thats further down the road.

We were staying in a part of campus called Sasakawa. We had little Chalets with 1 bathroom and two twin beds....and lets just say Chalet #5 was shady but it was cool cause we were far enough from everyone else to make get aways with out any tag alongs.

That night every one went to eat at the Sasakawa restaurant, which mostly served visitors and grad students it seemed like. I took one look at the menu and as soon as I saw pizza I knew this place wouldnt cut it. I didnt come this far to eat pizza and fries in an expensive ass restaurant, I dont even do that at home.

The sun got darker earlier since the seasons shift. Rachel and I wandered around the campus at night trying to find any life forms since the place was so dead. We headed toward Valco, one of the bigger dorms on campus. We ran into an off duty security guard who felt it was his personal duity to walk protect us and show us the area. Inside Valco we found small stores and a litte restaruant. Nkruma hall, the dorm next door to Valco had the exact same thing. our tour guid was getting a little to into his job so in an effort to get rid of him and just chill we settled on some Fanit kenkey and watched the world cup game they had playing on the big screen in one of the huge function halls. We got extra attention (A) because Rachel is a white girl with long blond weave in her hair (B) we where the only girls and were sitting up front.

Fanti Kenkey::

Kenkey is basically a tamales before they put the meat and sauce in it...and more fermented..for people who have no culture at all or just dont know anything about tamales or kenkey lets ask wikipedia:

Kenkey or Dokonu or Komi is a staple dish similar to a sourdough dumpling from the Akan, Gaand Ewe inhabited regions of West Africa, usually served with a soup, stew, or sauce. Areas where Kenkey are eaten are southern Ghana, eastern Côte d'Ivoire, Togo and western Benin. It is usually made from ground corn (maize), like sadza and ugali. Unlike ugali, making kenkey involves letting the maize ferment before cooking. Therefore, preparation takes a few days in order to let the dough ferment. After fermentation, the kenkey is partially cooked, wrapped in banana leaves, corn husks, or foil, and steamed. There are several versions of Kenkey, such as Ga and Fanti kenkey.

• 6-8 cups of corn (maize) flour or cornmeal (ground corn or ground maize); (White cornmeal is preferred, it should be finely ground, like flour. Latin American style corn flour, as is used in tortillas, tamales, pupusas, etc. is the right kind)
• Banana leaves, or maize or corn husks, or aluminum foil to wrap dough in (the leaves or husks may be available at African, Asian, or Latino groceries

There you have it

June 27: Accra

All I wanted to do was step off the plane and find the nearest world cup party seeing as how Ghana beat the US the day before we left.

We got the the JFK airport with a 5 hour layover. Rachel and I booked it over to the gate where out connecting flight would be taking off and waited for the group so we can have them watch ourstuff. As soon as they got there they were trying to pull us into a game of Scrabble....that was our cue

It was about a 12 hour flight from NYC to Accra. I boarded to plane eager to switch seats and sit next to Rachel, there was no way I was going 12 hours sitting next to 'crazy eyes','glasses','hippy chick','weed head','New Hampshire',or 'biggie' with out a comedic buffer. I mean I didnt know that much about any of them to not like them so to me they were just random people I was stuck with...

'New Hampshire' gave me attitude as soon as I opened my mouth....I knew there might be a clash with this one....aw man, I was not trying to deal with American bullshit in -AFRICA-..

"Im not switching unless I get a window seat" she said all snoody

-New flash dummy- NONE of us have window seats....I had an isle seat the closest thing she was going to get to a window seat. but i guess she was still too good for that so i kept it moving.

.....

Fresh off the plane::

Prof. Panford had to sort out some luggage issues.

A group of school kid were on a field trip visiting the airport and instead of taking pictures of

them from the bus like the rest of the group, I decided to hop out and go talk to them. After all, this was not a trip to the zoo, you dont just point and laugh waiting for them to do tricks.

I introduces my self to their teacher and

borrowed a soccer ball from 'hippie chick'. Every one worked up the nerve to get off the bus aswell but instead of interacting they

stood there and order the kids to sing and dance for them....

1/2 hour later we hit the road. Accra didnt really seem like it was meant to be a city. Lots of low rise building and dirt road high ways. People lining the streets walking through traffic selling anything they could carry on their heads. National geographic or CNN would have you thing African countries are all still underdeveloped but on the way to the hotel we passed car dealerships, five star hotels, banks, government buildings, bars, clubs, restaurant, and stopped at the mall to

change money. It was just like the upper class malls at home. All designer stuff, too expensive for my taste so I went to the groshiery store and grabbed some rice water and a bottle of 8pm Rum.

......

Next stop was the Cristal Plam hotel.

I didnt sleep that whole slight plus the night before I was up late so I was ready to pass out.

It didnt seem like anyone took these things into account cause we were put right back on the bus after an awkward orientation given to us by our TA Ebenezer; every one was half sleep through the whole thing..

Kwame Nkrumah Mausoleum::

Kwame Nkrumah was the first president of Ghana, this was a memorial park where his final remands were placed aswell as those of his Egyptian wife Fathia Nkrumah.

The park was beautiful, lots of cultural elements were tossed in so you get a distinctly African feel. All of the architecture was by Africans. On the other side of the mausoleum were fountains with sculptures of African dancers that used to play instruments in the celebration welcoming kings and chiefs.

The Nkrumah museum itself was kind eerie. I know he was a big guy and all, I mean people loved him and he did a hell of alot for his country but these people kept EVERYTHING. Stuff he himself probably didnt even care that much about; old coats, college dorm furniture...

Once we left the museum. We stopped to eat at a this gas station franchise with Pizza of all things on the menu. The group was already starting to form clicks so I had no problem leaving to explore what was around the town. I bought so local fruits and vegetables that I could cut up with my pocket knife and eat when ever. I ended up buying a Black Star jersey too.

MARKET PICKS:

The Send off:: June 26

I passed out in Sasha's bed after a long night staying up with some friends, drinking, and trying to convince my grandmother she should drive me to the airport in the morning. Some where along the line I realized how much of a brat, it seems like I pissed off alot of family members all day. I wasn't particularly concerned about how I was getting to Logan I just knew I'd get there when I get there. Guess I was just too busy trying to see all my friends before taking my first trip abroad...

..just ended up paying for a cab the next day.

6am...it was a pretty short ride to logan

I was beyond tired, didnt at all the night before thinking that I'd fight the jet lag by sleeping on the plane....FAIL!!

July 9th::The Road To Kumasi

After a 6hour bus ride through the rain forest, we stopped in a Kente cloth weaving community called Bonwire. Half way sleep through the whole ride I had to straighten myself up before getting off the bus looking all types of Native with my hair freshly liberated from braids.

Climbing off the bus I could help but be a bit confused at my surroundings. Where were the loom? The cloth? Anything?. Just another shanty little town with kids bargaining with me other things I never agreed to bye in the fist place. I dug into my bag for loose bills hoping 30 Cedis and bargaining would get me all the material I wanted. After my sleepiness wore off my natural Boston instinct kicked in an I was ready to leave the group and explore myself until I notice that my Conrad Rachel had drifted off and the group separated into two. Panford insisted that I fallow him in the second group no and despite not wanting I guess there was a first time for everything so I fallowed along. I was a little confused that this Kente weaving community was unusually small for something said to be home to the finest Kente in the area. I expected busy streets and looms on every corner.

Clumsily meandering through side streets fallowed by street kids still trying to push useless paraphernalia in our faces, the group finally came to a stop in a clearing were the buildings seemed to open up into haphazard plaza and we were reunited with the other half of our group. To the left of me I could scarcely see a commotion going on infront of a wooden long house. Shortly after I learned that is where the –serious- kente weaving took place.

Once inside the long house all small time hustlers were locked out and the weaver took there place. Some were between the noses and the shoving in the narrow walk way of the long house I was able to recognized some familiar American accents. I didn’t really miss physically being home at all but I still felt good to know fellow black Americans were in the vicinity. It’s a weird feeling knowing your not completely at home in America but still sticking out in Africa. I guess I just missed tho familiarity, being able to speak to a black person that used the same type of English I do and shares a similar sense of humor.

The path along the walls of the long house were barely big enough for two people to walk side by side. Making my way around the one big room, It is impossible to ‘just look’. Weavers are ready to sell and the patterns and colors were unheard of. Eager to find the perfect purple material to bring home to my girlfriend I couldn't resist toughing ever one I saw, comparing prices. but people there don’t just tell you the price and let you walk away. The have to pull out the whole 6yard long piece of fabric and give you a million reasons why you should buy it from them. Of course me not having the “you must buy” from me bit, I try to reject as kindly as possible and go about my way taking as few snap shots as possible to avoid being the obnoxious tourist. Not having the slightest clue about fabric and dress making made it all worst as I tried to negotiate prices. My base length was 2 yards but of coarse everyone wants to tell you the best type of dress u should try to make and of coarse its going to need 6 yards of material and of coarse the only person with 6 yards of that particular material is them. PHA..i wasn’t having it.

Aggravated that my chaperons failed to communicate the fact that this would be our first stop, I hadn’t had the chance to change money, but of coarse this was all my fault because I didn’t have the syllabus and/or didn’t hear them correctly or some other non sense excuse they continually use to pass the baton of blame from administration on the me the student. Yea right. Any how, I settled on just being satisfied with my pictures since I didn’t barley have enough money and apparently there was no way we were coming back to this place again.

Hats off to the great communication and planning.

But our hotel room was AMAZING!!!

4am Slacking

Its 4am. Here I am at Rachel's ant infested Mac Book trying to catch p on entries I haven't done yet. This blog is going to be one big back track. We've already been here for a week and this is the first thing i typed. O well.

How Im feeling So Far::

Me being a naturally stand off-ish person. Im not to big on the whole group thing. Especially being that 80% of the group on this trip are white American sorority girls and "save the earth peace corp types who have little to no knowledge of anything African what so ever (besides Obama maybe). Im not knock'n them though. I just think its important to know who and what your surrounded by.

Background::

Before I come off sounding like a Black nationalist whitey hating anarchist, let me just say a bit about how I grew up, being that we are all products of our environment.

Boston born and raised and don't care what anyone has to say about it, I love my city, don't care much about America, but I love my city. I spent most of my life in Roxbury, Dorchester Jamaica Plans with weekend trips to see my mom in Cambridge. If you know anything about these areas you know they are all predominantly Black, Latino and Asian. My preschool is a Black owned Non-profit soaked in Afrocentricity. this is something I over looked but i just finished their web site so the whole structure of that place has new meaning to me. Basically what im trying to point out here is that since birth I have been surrounded by and overwhelming sense of pride in African American heritage. Every book report, science project, children's stories, you name it, had something to do with Africa/the diaspora.

That's the short version of me I guess. My favorite person (if you would call it that) is Huey Freeman from the Boondocks.

Nuff said.

Fast Forward::

Based on that I hope you can see why going to Africa with a bunch of sorority girl tourists is not exactly what I signed but for but I am here none the less.

I still made it to Africa.