Photos - Ada Foah

Hi guys,

Here some photos of our trip to Ada Foah last weekend. Ada is a village on the coast about 2 hours west of Accra: http://picasaweb.google.com.au/torsten.herbst/20100829AdaFoah#5511472693945706210. Was nice to get away from the city for a couple of days :)

Kwame

My Day - Part 1

“Mario!” The first sunlight is penetrating through the window as I open my eyes. “MARIO!” Mama's shouting is getting louder. I turn over, pull the pillow over my head and try to ignore the many layers of noise penetrating the window from outside. I can hear the Zoom Lion rubbish truck in the distance announcing its presence to the local community by playing the same old, repetitive, high pitched melody. Someone is sweeping just outside our house, so close that I briefly open my left eye just enough to convince myself that the person isn't actually standing in our room. “Maaarioo!”, this time just a little louder, a little sharper, but Mario has no intention of heeding his mother's call. Meanwhile his brother is cranking up the Fugees, killing me softly with his song. His niece is enjoying it so much she joins in “with his song, killing me softly” and even though she has a beautiful voice, I appreciate it a lot more at dusk than dawn. The noise level is even upsetting the rooster so it decides to show everyone who's boss, which in turn upsets the dog, which starts to growl and bark. “Maaaaaaaaaaaaarioooooooooooooooooooo!” mama yells again, making full use of her lung capacity, so much so that I'm fearing her lungs might collapse. She's nearly as angry as me now and if someone gave me the cane stick I'd finish the job for her. I'm starting to develop a real dislike for this kid and I haven't even met him yet. If only he was a little more like his cousin Hubert, an incredibly well disciplined kid, even for Ghanaian standards. Mama wouldn't even need to call Hubert, he would have read her mind instantly and completed the task before she uttered a word. Unlike “MAAAAAAAAAAARIOOOOOOOOOOOO!”. I can hear goats running across the courtyard: “Maaaah, maaah, ...” and chicken rummaging through the dirt. And to round it all off, the pilot on the 6:15 flight to Timbuktu decides to have a real close look at what's going down in Labadi town.

It's time to get up and by Ghanaian standards I'm late. Everyone's day is already in full swing, except for the goat that just got slaughtered and the chicken being plucked. Men sweeping the streets, ladies selling eggs, tomatoes, bread, onions, grains and bofrots. You name it, they sell it, and if they don't the local hawkers will, anything that promises to make a cedi from the strangers passing by. Coconut vendors wheeling their carts through town, supplying everyone with their favourite refreshment. Trotros whizzing people from A to Z, racing around corners and through markets as if there was nobody else on the street. I crawl out of bed, trying not to get entangled in the mosquito net and slowly drag myself to the shower. The water pressure is a joke today, so I kneel down to marginally increase the flow of water coming out of the shower head. It's already hot so I'm thankful for every drop of cold water running down my body. I haven't used the hot water once. As a matter of fact I don't even know if we have any hot water! As I step out of the shower I feel like going straight back in again. I can feel sweat oozing out of my pores the moment I turn off the water. The humidity kills me, which is why I stopped wearing long pants and a shirt to work on day two, swapping the office attire for shorts and t-shirt. Luckily all the volunteers have conspired to wear the same outfit and refuse to compete with the crisp, clean shirts and the beautiful dresses the Ghanaian men and women wear to work every day. I do admire the local office workers, especially my colleague Vincent who wears a suit and tie to work every day. I have no idea how he can bear it and how he will cope when summer comes along in a couple of months. I enter the kitchen and scrape the last bit of peanut butter out of the jar, marvelling at my rate of consumption. It's the end of jar number three in as many weeks. I'm addicted to the stuff! As I devour my toast I discover a coconut in the fridge and a banana on the table. I pull out the bread knife, chop the top off the coconut, pour the cold juice into the blender, add the flesh, banana and honey and eagerly await my next course. After finishing off with some muesli and a fresh papaya I put on my backpack and leave the house. The sun's out, people are smiling, the music is playing “and I think to myself, what a wonderful world”.

Photos - Our house

Hello :)

Here, finally, some photos of our house
http://picasaweb.google.com.au/torsten.herbst/20100818Home#5509861248536113378

T

My Work - WAAF website

here's the website I have been working on in the last three weeks: www.waafweb.org

If anyone's interested and has some spare time I would be very interested in getting some feedback :)

Photos - The Butcher

Hi guys,

Here some photos from our house and our neighbours slaughtering a goat (not for the faint hearted!):
http://picasaweb.google.com.au/torsten.herbst/20100821Butcher#5508223310054239730

Kwame

Video - Crazy Plant

check this out... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3CiinauXOhk

Photos - Tafo

Hi everyone,

Here some photos from our day trip to Tafo on the weekend:
http://picasaweb.google.com.au/torsten.herbst/20100815Tafo#5506835022305140114

Kwame

The Great Gatsby

Got up at 6 to catch a ride with Eddie, my boss, to Tafo, a small town north of Accra. He was going there to meet his friends and play some golf, so he invited Magda and me along for the day. We met the guys at 7 and drove for two hours in one of the massive American four wheel drives. Our driver turned out to be a US educated and trained chiropractor who owns practices throughout the country and happens to be surprisingly passionate about his profession. After the first half an hour on the road he turned off the African tunes swinging through the car and put on his favourite chiropractor audio CD collection. Full of useful tips and tricks for the enthusiastic chiropractor. After about 20 minutes he realised that this particular edition was not a great conversation starter and turned it off. Magda and I politely asked a few vaguely chriopractical questions to get the conversation rolling again and it turned out that the guy, who somewhat resembles Barrack Obama, also has the capacity to talk like his lookalike, especially when the conversation is chiropractic in nature. So by the time we reached Tafo two hours later Magda and I were experts in the field. (So if any of you blog enthusiasts have neck or back pain please use the comment section below and we will endeavour to answer your questions or, alternatively, refer you to our new friend.
As we arrived in Tafo it turns out that we were invited for breakfast to the CEO of UT bank, one of Ghana's largest banks. He lives modestly in a mansion in Tafo with swimming pool, outdoor bar, entertainment area and servants to match, all within close proximity of the local golf course. The guys is a bit of a Great Ghanaian Gatsby with the slight difference that he himself likes to 'party hard' (coincidentally also the title of his favourite dance song, as we were to discover later on). Unfortunately we arrived a little late and the other avid golf enthusiasts had already completed their breakfast so with a sandwich in our hands we quickly rushed off to the golf course, which was a rather impressive contrast to bustling Labadi, the suburb we now call home in Accra. The lush green countryside and beautiful African trees provided the perfect backdrop to this tranquil golf course. To my great relief my answer to Eddie's question about my handicap (something along the lines of 'my handicap is that the ball goes backwards more often than forwards') was enough for him to point us in the direction of the pool and the adjoining cocoa plantation as Ghana's high society proceeded to battle it out on the greens. Magda and I then spent most of the afternoon swimming in the pool, wandering through the cocoa plantations as well as the nearby town and wondering why men like chasing balls.
After a couple of hours the gentlemen had finished their final round and it was back to Gatsby's mansion for dinner. While Magda and I were salivating over the thought of a buffet with lobster and champaign, the chefs were busily preparing fufu and groundnut soup. Now as much as I am a fan of egalitarian societies I would much rather the plebs eat lobster and caviar than the kings, and one of them was present, eat fufu and groundnut soup. To our surprise royal fufu is a lot better than the Labadi version. Nevertheless we were relieved to find out that there was another option, which unsurprisingly involved chicken. Chicken, I should mention, is considered a vegetable in Ghana, as we found out several times when we tried to order something vegetarian. Even though we explicitly asked for no meat, we were served some 'vegetarian' dish with chicken.
As the night progressed and alcohol flowed freely the party started in earnest and our host seized the opportunity to show off his dance moves. It is fair to say that Ghanaian people love to dance, with the men often times showing up first on the dance floor, but the Great Ghanaian Gatsby is in a league of his own. The way the CEO of UT bank swings his hips puts even Beyonce to shame and made me pray I wouldn't accidentally be shoved onto the dance floor to exhibit what Magda likes to refer to as 'white man dance'. Soon enough I was shoved onto the dance floor and as I was carefully keeping my distance to Gatsby I couldn't help but wonder if his chiropractor friend had worked some magic on his incredibly elastic vertebrae. After a few more drinks Gatsby was roundly focused on the curves of the young Ghanaian women and it was time for us to head home.

Photos - Accra #2

Hi guys,

Here the next lot of photos from Accra:
http://picasaweb.google.com.au/torsten.herbst/20100811Accra#5504835483109180274
(I added some captions below the photos)

Kwame

Dash

“I see you.” He's standing in the middle of the street and he is furious. His big white eyes illuminated by the headlights of the passing vehicles are staring straight at me. “You get out of the taxi up there. I see you!” he barks at me while his torch carefully scans the passengers of the vehicles passing through the blockade. My story no longer makes sense. Not that it ever did. An obroni walking along the highway in the middle of the night, by himself, to meet some friends 'further up the road'. Fat chance. My story starts changing ever so slightly every time I open my mouth as I try to reconcile my 'story' with his observations. I'm lying. I know it. He knows it. But I'm not prepared to conceded just yet. I'm remarkably calm considering I'm surrounded by irate policemen with AK 47s slung around their necks. I realise it wasn't the smartest idea to jump out of the taxi further up the road just because our driver was concerned about being pulled over by the police for carrying too many passengers. Four people in the back was one over the legal limit and most definitely two over the reasonable carrying capacity of the tiny vehicle we crammed into. So I decided to pass the blockade on foot. I managed to pass the police officers, but as I kept walking along the road it became increasingly hard to ignore the voices shouting at me from behind. Once I turned my head it was all over. The policeman coming after me called me back.
So here I am, standing on the roadside wondering what they will do with me. For all I know there's not much I did wrong. Yes, I did exit the taxi, yes, the taxi was carrying more passengers than allowed, and yes, I did try and get the driver out of trouble by jumping out of the taxi. So what? As I'm standing by the roadside I see cars passing by that failed the road worthiness test in some European country decades ago. There are vehicles with cracked windscreens, flat tyres, non-existent suspension, taxi driver's without licenses, car's without lights, tiny trailers loaded with the possessions of an entire Ghanaian family. You name it. And then there's me, a white guy walking along the street. I'm starting to wonder what the fine is for getting out of a taxi and walking along the street, but as I witness all the other traffic infringements passing by I realise that enforcing the rule of law is not what these policemen are here for. Surprisingly it takes me rather long to figure out how this game is played. Even the policeman who keeps coming up to me to ask me more and more detailed questions isn't really interested in playing Sherlock Holmes. He's becoming increasingly frustrated by the amount of time it takes me to figure out the solution to my predicament. Being a nice guy he starts helping me get up to speed. “What you say if I let you go?” he asks. “I would be rather grateful.” I respond perplexed by the sudden twist of events. “Rather grateful” he repeats with a smile on his face. “Rather grateful.” Listening to my own words I realise just how pathetic I sound. “So what if you invite me and my colleague. Some coffee in the morning?” he suggests. Serious? He wants to be my friend? Hang out for coffee tomorrow morning? I'm wondering if he's going to show up with his rifle in case he feels like lunch as well. Then, finally, it dawns on me and I am a little ashamed that it took me twenty minutes to figure it out. My new friend and mentor wants a 'dash', though he gets rather upset when I pull out my wallet. “Come” he says as he pulls me behind one of the parked trucks on the side of the road. “Don't show your money” he tells me sternly. So I randomly pull a note out of my pocket, hoping it hasn't got too many zeros on it. We emerge from behind the vehicle and bid each other farewell with a typical Ghanaian handshake. As I continue my walk along the road I wonder if the intricate Ghanaian handshake was invented for the sole purpose of passing a bribe from one hand to the other.

At the office

Started work this week. First day wasn't what I expected it to be. Three out of the six staff were heading to the field to educate on HIV prevention and I had to issue about 10 cheques to fund their various trips. Not sure why I was issuing cheques but I was happy to be of any help. The NGO I'm working for, Theatre for a Change (http://www.tfacafrica.com/), requires that I implement and train a new recruit on their new financial system. I'm very busy and barely had a lunch break the first two days.

On day three I was very pleased to get half an hour for lunch and I headed down the beach which is only a 5 minute walk from the office. An Aussie surfer would love the waves. However, a strong undercurrent in the Gulf of Guinea claims about 13 lives a year. Combined with the amount of rubbish on the rocky foreshore of the beach, I'm not sure how quickly I'll rush in for a dive.

I really love my new office set up. I'll put up photos soon to best capture the surroundings. Despite the 30 degree heat, there's no aircon. Instead all the windows and doors on the second floor of a large villa are open. A couple of ceiling fans circulate the warm air in the room and my paperwork keeps flying around the place. I finally recognised the logic behind paperweights. In terms of trips to the toilet, I never know how long they may take... I timed my first one perfectly with a water shortage which happens every now and then when taps in Accra run dry. After the toilet wouldn't flush and the basin tap spat a few drops of water, I stood there for a few minutes scratching my head. I decided it was ok to consult my supervisor, Johnson, who smiled and advised I fetch a bucket of water from a large tank (every house has a reservoir) at the back of the building. He must just think I'm totally hopeless!

The villa is situated in a residential zone and the background noise is a medley of children's laughter, babies crying and roosters croaking. The first few days, I couldn't control my giggles whenever a rooster croaked and my supervisor would look over at me and make comments like “was the last chicken you saw frozen and sitting on a supermarket shelf?”. Just as I recovered from my giggles, I get a text from one of the Aussie volunteers who's out in the field this week sharing her latest experience – she'd just witnessed 3 goats being expertly loaded on to an already full tro tro. Tro tros are a form of public transport or really cheap private mini vans packed full of passengers. They are typically about 20 years old and totally beaten up as the tro tro drivers' mission is to abuse the car through as many bumps and pot holes as possible. But they are cheap and plentiful. I wonder how much a goat's fare is?

Accra traffic is horrendous. The worst I've ever seen. In the mornings, another volunteer, Carmen, and I treat ourselves to a taxi which takes one hour to get to work and on the way back home I do it on the cheap in tro tros. It takes me about two to two and a half hours to get back to our hotel! Luckily, we'll be moving to a closer hotel next week whilst we wait for our permanent accommodation to become available. We found a simple two bedroom home with Carmen in a rather poor but lively area of the city. It shares a spacious courtyard with another building which houses a lovely Ghanaian family. Apparently, the mother (otherwise known as "Mama") has a food stall about 20 meters away which should be very convenient :) A Canadian girl was living in the house when we viewed the place and Mama would come in to make sure she was fed and ok. Sounds like home away from home :)

Abena

Photos - Accra

Hi guys,

Just uploaded some photos...
http://picasaweb.google.com.au/torsten.herbst/20100801Accra#5500809346084050098

Kwame

Africa Time

After exactly a week in Ghana I've lost it. There are tears rolling out of my eyes and I start laughing like a madman. The girls in the front row turn their heads and look at me as if they had just entered a mental institution. They look at Abena for an explanation, but she has now lost it as well. My uncontrollably laughter is spreading like a disease. One by one the girls are losing their composure, and the car is looking more and more like a patient transport between two mental institutions. I'm trying to explain, but laughter is choking my words, so I point to the back window. The guy outside keeps knocking on the window, trying to sell us super glue. Super glue! Why on earth is there a guy outside running alongside our car in the middle of Accra's busiest highway trying to sell me super glue? Drinks ok, bananas I understand, even the mobile phone top up cards the hawkers sell in the middle of every traffic jam on every street in Accra I am able to comprehend. But this guy has decided to make a living out of selling super glue to passing motorists. I know I shouldn't laugh. It's not funny. The guy is poor and most likely struggles daily to make enough money to buy food. But super glue is just too much for my brain to process and pity has given way to insanity.

It has been a long day. A day we had been looking forward to all week. Our hosts had offered to take us on a day trip to Cape Coast to visit the fortresses built on Ghana's beaches that the European's used in the past centuries to trade slaves. A dark chapter in Ghana's and Europe's history that has now turned into one of Ghana's main tourist attractions. We had to get up at half past five in the morning to beat the traffic on our way out of Accra, but quickly realise that it is impossible to beat traffic at any hour of the day in this city of four million people. We were told that the trip to Cape Coast would take approximately two hours, but at the end of our first two hours we have barely managed to escape the outer suburbs of the city. After three hours the driver pulls up on the side of the road to buy some supplies from the locals selling their produce by the road side. We're welcomed with a big smile as our hosts start haggling over pineapples, bananas and watermelons. I'm very excited by the prospect of eating my first Ghanaian banana and end up having three while Kath has quickly befriended the local kids and starts teaching them some new dance moves. The kids here are gorgeous. Their big smiles, curiosity and playfulness are a winning combination that enchants any visitor and their magic has certainly worked on us. We quickly take some photos and exchange our Cedi for some local produce before we pack up and continue our journey to Cape Coast. After a further two hours drive we finally reach our first destination and realise that the initial two hour estimate was just one more example of what locals refer to as 'Africa time'. Even though we're already hungry our host Annette decides to buy us the tickets for the first major attraction of the day, the Cape Coast canopy walk. After waiting for a couple of minutes the park ranger arrives to guide us through the jungle. It's very refreshing being out in the forest after a week of traffic, markets and millions of people, but the experience doesn't last long. After a few steps through the rainforest we end up at the end of the queue of people lining up for the canopy walk and it will take us another hour before we can finally start the tree top walk. Once we commence the walk the experience is truly spectacular. The walkway is a narrow plank of wood with ropes and mesh on either side for balance and safety. We are told that the walk way can support the weight of two elephants and since there is little else to comfort me 60 metres above the ground I am more than willing to accept the ranger's assurances. The view from up here is magnificent, with the dark green foliage below us, butterflies circling and the rainforest stretching out as far as the eye can see. After carefully putting one foot in front of the other for about 15 minutes we are all a little relieved as we step off the walkway and I wonder if the smiles in our photos will be able to hide the fear in our eyes. On the way back to the car Abena and I buy some fresh coconut, drink the watery milk inside and eagerly peel out the flesh inside after the guy skilfully parts the coconut with his machete. It's a fresh and delicious snack for two ravenous travellers and it doesn't take much to convince us to buy the dark thick syrupy local honey the guys are selling in re-used plastic bottles. I am already excited by the prospect of eating some bread with groundnut paste and honey on our return home. Groundnut paste is essentially the same as peanut butter minus the added oil, salt and sugar. On our return back to the car we are quickly driven to the nearest restaurant for some Ghana cuisine. We have tried lots of Ghana dishes over the last couple of days and the reviews have been mixed. My least favourite was the locals favourite, fufu. I knew I would struggle with this dish from the day my friend described it as a ball of snot in a soup when we were still back home in Melbourne. I tried as hard as I could to put this thought to the back of my mind as I was digging my hands into this big lump of white dough made of cassava. The gooey, dough like texture is hard to get used to even though it really doesn't taste like much at all. I had mine with groundnut soup in the hope that it would somewhat resemble penang curry. Unfortunately it is nothing like my old Thai favourite and I was happy to tick this one off my list of things to do in Ghana, never to look back. Though admittedly I was a little proud that I had finished my bowl as Ghanaians consider it rude to not finish your meal, which is quite a challenge considering most dishes are heavy, starchy and served in gynormous quantities. Some Ghanaian dishes are quite nice and our favourites include red red, a red bean stew served with chicken or fish and plantain, which is similar to an unripe banana fried in some spicy seasoning. I think the one thing I truly miss is chocolate. We may need to look a little harder, but considering that Ghana produces a substantial amount of the world's cocoa you would expect a lot more of the stuff to be available in some form or another. Hopefully we'll find something soon as we are fast running out of our chocolate supplies Barbara gave us before we left Canberra.

After lunch we were fast running out of time and to our disappointment our guides had decided to head back home without showing us the fortresses we were hoping to see. Africa time and Accra traffic had once again limited our ability to achieve the few things we had planned to do. So it was back in the car for another five hours squished into the back of our host's four wheel drive. Luckily a five hour drive in Ghana is nothing like the monotonous, uneventful driving through the Australian countryside. Driving in Ghana is more like playing a computer road racing game, with one life, your own, and handing over the controls to your local Ghanaian friend who you hope has acquired sufficient experience over the years. Luckily for us our Ghanaian driver, Kwame, is an accomplished driver who over many years has learnt the art of negotiation with street vendors running next to his cars while talking on his mobile and working out the exact amount of change, as well as circumventing potholes, goats and other obstacles while driving at 110 through the village. Most importantly though, Kwame is a really nice guy and an incredibly patient driver. How else would you be able to drive some volunteers around for ten hours when you know you're facing another two hour commute back home.

Ghanaians love to laugh out loud. The highlight of orientation week has been Twi language lessons and generally listening to WUSC (volunteer organisation) staff talk and laugh about their county. They speak with a mixture of pride and frustration. They love their culture, food and traditions but acknowledge injustices between the haves and have nots, corruption and drawbacks of their government. One of the WUSC staff summed it up beautifully by stating that Ghanaians, and perhaps African generally, survive on hope and hoping. Something that is broken today may be fixed tomorrow.

Everything functions on a shoestring here but people have an ingenious and cunning sense of survival. Whether attempting to keep your change or selling the most random assortment of goods by the side of the road. It's subsistence living but somehow they keep the smile on their faces. Ghanaians must be one of the most friendly people.

My intention was to recount the last week of events, but I haven't even managed to recount one full day! So all I can say for now is we're well and looking forward to more Accra action in the days to come. Hope you're all well and looking forward to hearing from you.

Kwame (Saturday born man) & Abena (Tuesday born lady)