Saturday, August 20, 2005
Paga, Ghana border
Ghana! Land of friendly, smiling faces and welcome mats at front doors. Of police men who assist you if you look lost. From the cocoa plantations to the chocolate factory, the entire production and assembly line in one country. Pharmacies? Who needs them? Most people believe in the power of traditional herbs. The order of the family is matriarchal, and it is the job of men to pound the yam and cassava to eat for dinner. The queen mother reigns her kingdom, it is an African version of democratic rule. It is not uncommon to meet female directors, officials and bureaucrats. In recent years, there is hardship and HIPC. People are getting by, but people are proud. Even with a sluggish economy, there is little hassle on the street. People are cool and calm. There is stability and peace, while many countries that surround go to war.
As we approached the border to Ghana, I was silly with excitement. I had been gone for three long years. As we crossed, the bureaucracy of the border was actually comforting. Everything was very organized and professional. While the process took a long time, it was not because we had to negotiate with the officials about the authenticity of our paperwork, but because it had to be cleared by several officials actually doing their jobs. For the first time during our trip, one man even checked the VIN number on the engine, to make sure it matched our documents. A woman border official appeared to register our car into the country. "Who is the driver?" she asks. She smiled as I responded. Let me cross that border, madam, and I can feel familiar. I know which food to eat, how to ask for things, which ladies are selling kenke (pounded corn) by the roadside, where to find chocolate, which bicycle vendor sells ice cream.
I had practically salivated all through Burkina Faso imagining all my favorite things being sold by hawkers right on the other side of the border. I seriously expected Ghanaian chocolate to be waiting for us right on the other side. In my excitement, I shared my expectations with Nate, who is also a chocolate lover. We were both sorely disappointed when it turned out that there seemed to be a shortage of chocolate in Northern Ghana. Anyway, most Ghanaians tend not to each chocolate, even though they produce cocoa for export here. Chocolate is too expensive, you could eat two meals for the price of one bar. We did find ice cream right away. And had three each.
When I left Ghana three years ago, I thought I would return in a few months time. I had a roundtrip ticket back to Accra. Whether I was following an idealistic dream with little foundation, I never found out. I had obligations to pay back student loans, climb the career ladder, and establish a home in San Francisco. But I don't think I have ever been able to put my love of this place into words. My want to return was a feeling, an instinct. Extremely rational Americans ask me why I would want to live in a place of such hardship and poverty. Extremely rational Africans ask me why I would want to leave a place where I have so much opportunity and so much wealth? So what is the attraction? Now that I have returned, I will try to gain a realistic perspective of what I love about this place.
Ghana! Land of friendly, smiling faces and welcome mats at front doors. Of police men who assist you if you look lost. From the cocoa plantations to the chocolate factory, the entire production and assembly line in one country. Pharmacies? Who needs them? Most people believe in the power of traditional herbs. The order of the family is matriarchal, and it is the job of men to pound the yam and cassava to eat for dinner. The queen mother reigns her kingdom, it is an African version of democratic rule. It is not uncommon to meet female directors, officials and bureaucrats. In recent years, there is hardship and HIPC. People are getting by, but people are proud. Even with a sluggish economy, there is little hassle on the street. People are cool and calm. There is stability and peace, while many countries that surround go to war.
As we approached the border to Ghana, I was silly with excitement. I had been gone for three long years. As we crossed, the bureaucracy of the border was actually comforting. Everything was very organized and professional. While the process took a long time, it was not because we had to negotiate with the officials about the authenticity of our paperwork, but because it had to be cleared by several officials actually doing their jobs. For the first time during our trip, one man even checked the VIN number on the engine, to make sure it matched our documents. A woman border official appeared to register our car into the country. "Who is the driver?" she asks. She smiled as I responded. Let me cross that border, madam, and I can feel familiar. I know which food to eat, how to ask for things, which ladies are selling kenke (pounded corn) by the roadside, where to find chocolate, which bicycle vendor sells ice cream.
I had practically salivated all through Burkina Faso imagining all my favorite things being sold by hawkers right on the other side of the border. I seriously expected Ghanaian chocolate to be waiting for us right on the other side. In my excitement, I shared my expectations with Nate, who is also a chocolate lover. We were both sorely disappointed when it turned out that there seemed to be a shortage of chocolate in Northern Ghana. Anyway, most Ghanaians tend not to each chocolate, even though they produce cocoa for export here. Chocolate is too expensive, you could eat two meals for the price of one bar. We did find ice cream right away. And had three each.
When I left Ghana three years ago, I thought I would return in a few months time. I had a roundtrip ticket back to Accra. Whether I was following an idealistic dream with little foundation, I never found out. I had obligations to pay back student loans, climb the career ladder, and establish a home in San Francisco. But I don't think I have ever been able to put my love of this place into words. My want to return was a feeling, an instinct. Extremely rational Americans ask me why I would want to live in a place of such hardship and poverty. Extremely rational Africans ask me why I would want to leave a place where I have so much opportunity and so much wealth? So what is the attraction? Now that I have returned, I will try to gain a realistic perspective of what I love about this place.
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