I decided to head into work as I had been gone for a week. After warm greetings from everyone, I settled into a little internet research, some Daily Show downloads and suddenly it was p. Emilee, from JHR, is in town for the next few days so this week is bound to be busy. That's ok, because a group of us are heading to the Green Turtle Lodge for the weekend of June 8 and 9. Can't wait for that! And so it goes Sunday, May 27, from the "short stories" dept. It's around p. My eyelids are heavy and I am dreaming of a comfortable nights rest.
It is doubtful that will happen as I am sleeping on a floor tonight. But, I should add, it is by choice. I should also add that it will make getting up and the crack of dawn and heading to the bus station a little easier. And an apology: I'm writing this as a brain dump sans any copy editing. Hold on tight, a grammatical train wreck is just around the corner Running her, running there. Buying this. Buying that. In the evening I went for dinner at a nice restaurant in Adabraka called the White Bell.
I pulled the pin around 10 p. Our plan for the weekend was a trip to Ada Foah , a coastal village roughly km east of Accra. There is a small "resort" there with a cluster of 15 or so thatched huts on a peninsula of sand where the Volta River meets the Atlantic Ocean.
From Accra, we took four tro - tros and a short canoe-with-a-motor ride to the end of the peninsula and paradise. Inside each hut is a bed and a chair or small table. The floors are sand, there is no electricity and you have to make do with squat toilets and bucket showers.
There are plenty of hammocks and loungers to read from. The fear of sand contamination kept me from bringing my good camera although I have found a Sony Store in Accra to buy a replacement point-and-shoot once my replacement Visa card arrives , but my travelling companions snapped many a photo that I will post eventually. Friday night we sat around until around 9 p. There were few other visitors and we were tired from our long journey. I found it difficult to sleep, chalking it up to a lumpy mattress.
The next morning I couldn't get out of bed. I had absolutely no energy. I felt like I had food poisoning but without the vomiting and the runs.
In other words, it wasn't food poisoning. I decided to roll over and sleep for another hour. This continued until late in the day. My friends checked to see if I was alive several times and I assured them I was my voice being a dead giveaway. I rolled out of bed around 5 and dragged my ass outside to the table everyone was sitting at. I explained how I felt and declined to order any dinner.
Around 7, I was done and headed back to bed. I actually slept through most of an evening drumming session, bonfire and sing song. Sunday morning I bounced out of bed before 6. Feeling much better, I refreshed myself with a bucket shower. I declined the squat toilet, figuring I could hold it for another day. We spent the day eating, wandering around and reading. Mid-afternoon a big storm hit, sending us all to our huts.
After an hour or so, the heavy rain stopped but it remained quite cool hurray! This gave us time to discuss what had made me ill. We concluded that I must have had sunstroke from the funeral earlier in the week. This could be true, as I did get a pretty bad sunburn and I was now shedding facial skin at an alarming rate. It was getting late and we decided to pack up and head home. It took forever to pay our bills, but this is Ghana and things here work differently.
Customer service really isn't a priority. We each had three bills - one for the hut, one for the food and one for the drinks. Interestingly, coffee counts as food. Fanta counts as drinks. We also discovered a discrepancy in prices.
This, we were told, was because the menus were old and hadn't been updated. Change was also a problem. No one seemed to have enough notes to give us the correct change. It took and hour to figure it all out. Eventually we crowded onto our canoe-with-a-motor and headed back to the tro - tro stop.
We found that most of the tro - tros back to Accra were packed. But, thanks to Janet and a group of German students, we decided to hire our own. It wasn't cheap, but we were tired, it was getting late, and it was still raining. We made it back to Mark and Janet's around 8. After a quick slab of pizza in Osu , we returned to the internet cafe to check the mail. I'm going to sleep at Mark and Janet's tonight and grab an early bus home to Takoradi tomorrow.
I am exhausted and I miss my bed! That's it for now PS: My mom sent along this interesting item from the National Post Thursday, May 24, from the "mixed bag" dept. Accra, Ghana - Thursday The thing about living in Ghana is that you never know where the day will take you.
This happens all the time and is one of the things I love about this place. Take Wednesday, for example. The day began with a tro-tro ride out to Buduburum, a refugee camp located about 45 minutes outside of Accra. I had been asked to hold a photography workshop at The Vision, Buduburum's community newspaper.
After speaking to a half dozen Vision reporters about photojournalism, we headed outside with my camera to capture life in the camp. While walking around we discovered that six victims of a horrific car crash were to be buried that afternoon. The crash, which occurred a couple of weeks ago, was the worst in Ghana's history.
Reuters has a short story on the crash here. A number of the victims were from Buduburum. According to a reporter from the Vision, 13 members of one family died in the crash while travelling on a bus from Ivory Coast to join relatives at the camp. The crash was so bad that only 9 of the 13 have been identified.
She is the only family member to survive the accident. Under a blistering sun Renee, Angelique and two reporters from the paper made our way to the graveyard. We were initially stopped by a group of gravediggers who refused to let us pass unless we got the OK from the family. Before we knew it, about 30 people surrounded us.
Everyone remained calm and we presented our side to report the news for the Buduburum community and they presented theirs we should have more respect. Eventually the district co-ordinator joined the discussion.
A few minutes later we were allowed to continue on. The scene in the graveyard was unbelievable. Six holes were readied for six coffins. There were more than mourners and not one paid any attention to the Vision reporters or us. At this point pandemonium erupted. The coffins were carried graveside as mourners began screaming with grief. I have never, ever, experienced anything like this. I had been asked to photograph the burial for the paper and as the coffins came out of the ambulance, I started shooting.
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