December 26, 2023

Hello, the school term has ended, the holidays are upon us, and I have free time to update you on my adventures. I’m disappointed that it has been almost two months since my last reports, but school and Peace Corps have kept me very busy and almost every day brings a new observation, realization, or head-turning event. Those new experiences pile on top of yesterday’s and last week’s until everything is just a jumble in my head and I don’t know where to start. So let’s just start with this weekend.

I was more than ready to be done with school, for reasons I’m still sorting out in my head. I wanted to get away from school, but I didn’t have any plans for what to do this Christmas weekend. After a few hours I was feeling lonely. It helped when my old friend John Prine stopped in for a visit. We sang a dozen songs together, including Christmas in Prison (a good lonely song), so that lifted my spirits a bit.  Then I made a trip to my “market town” (a community that offers more selection and variety than my home community), to get some last minute items to celebrate Christmas with, although I didn’t exactly know what sort of celebration there might be.

Going to market brings to mind an experience from my childhood.  When I was old enough to spend a week or more away from home, I was invited to visit a friend at his family’s beach home during the summer in Bethany Beach, Delaware.  Among the more memorable events of those visits were the trips to an amusement park (“The Jolly Roger”?) in Ocean City, Maryland (about a half-hour drive down the coast).  The only thing I remember about the experience was the roller coaster which, if I recall correctly, was named something like the Mighty Mouse.  It consisted of small individual, narrow-gauge cars that could fit two people (one in front, one in back) sitting on low seats.  I don’t remember any sort of device to secure us in our seats.  The net result was that you experienced every twist, turn, and drop intensely.  One clear memory is that there were no guard rails or any structure surrounding the rails.  Above and to the side there was nothing but open air.  Below, all I could see was water, because the park was on a plot of land that extended into the back bay.  The ride started with a slow climb to what seemed like a great height.  Then the car would accelerate, and you found yourself heading straight towards a sharp 90-degree bend that whipped you around.  Then there was another sharp 90-degree bend, followed immediately by a plunge, followed by a sudden short climb and fall, with the uneasy feeling of your body lifting up off the seat.

Going to market isn’t exactly like that, but there are similarities.  In my market town, the market fills slightly more than two square blocks.  It is a warren of small stalls lining narrow (~3 ft) pathways that are mostly straight, although merchandise can be stacked in front of a stall, which makes the pathway narrower.  And there are doglegs in the path here and there as well as occasional small flights of stairs that can surprise you.  There is a steady stream of foot traffic in both directions, with the occasional cart that causes everyone to make way.  The market is covered by a patchwork of roofing materials, so sunlight streams in through the gaps, alternately illuminating some stalls and casting others into shadow.  As I walk through the market there are frequent calls of “obroni!” from all around, attempting to get my attention.  At the same time, I’m trying to concentrate on looking at the merchandise, which is often the same from stall to stall, but with subtle differences.  I’m constantly scanning to find items on my hard-to-find list (e.g., potatoes, a good hat).  On Sunday I stopped at a “cold store” (i.e., a shop that has a freezer) to buy some chicken.  I greeted the shop owner in the usual fashion and asked for chicken.  He told me the price and I nodded my agreement (prices are not displayed in the market, they’re always negotiable).  I glanced down while the shopkeeper pulled chicken from the freezer and saw a woman sitting in a chair next to where I was standing, staring at me with a vague smile and a look that bordered between wonder and amazement.  I smiled and nodded to her, but we didn’t talk.  I wasn’t surprised by the way she looked at me, I just wasn’t sure what might cause her reaction.  I figured there were three possible sources.  For one, although not rare, it’s not common for men to be shopping in the market, so that might be a source of surprise.  Another possible explanation was that I was: 1) an obroni, 2) I was speaking in the local language, and 3) tourists aren’t generally found looking for frozen chicken in the market.  For transactions like the one I was engaged in, I know the script well enough to communicate effectively, which may give an appearance of greater fluency (and confidence) than I am truly capable of.  But I suspect the real reason was that she was incredulous that I had not requested a discount.  Sort of, “You’re just going to accept the first price that’s mentioned?!  You’re not going to haggle?!”  I suppose it was probably a combination of all of the above.

Having completed my transaction and secured the frozen chicken in my knapsack, I walked ten steps, around a corner, and came face to face with a woman coming up some stairs.  “Obroni, how are you?!  Where is your wife?!”  Thus begins a typical exchange.  I can’t say for sure, but I don’t think that the presence of a Ghanaian man shopping alone in the marketplace would cause much of a stir.  However, given how conspicuous I am, the women of the marketplace always want to know who I am, why I’m in Ghana, and, inevitably, where is my wife.  When I tell them that I don’t have a wife, it usually leads to multiple offers of marriage.  If the speaker isn’t available themselves, then they all have a mother, sister, daughter, cousin, or friend who would be happy to go back to America with me.  Do I prefer thin or hefty women?  Is dark skin acceptable or do I want light skin?  I’ve adopted the strategy of telling them (as best I can) that I’ll add their name to the list I’m compiling, which currently has 55 names on it.

Having bid farewell to my interlocutor, I’m immediately hailed by a woman who wanders the market with a basket of fabrics on her head, imploring me to buy some from her (I did).  When the women in the stalls nearby hear me speaking Twi in my stilted fashion, the interrogation begins again.  They praise my ability to speak the language, but it’s frustrating for me to repeat, over and over again, “Kafra, mente aseɛ.”  (Sorry, I don’t understand.)  Often, someone is able to speak English at about the same level as I speak Twi, so some communication (and miscommunication) takes place. After several interactions like that, which can easily take 10 or 15 minutes, I feel the need to escape from the market.

I suppose the thrill of a roller coaster (once you get over the initial fright), comes when you’ve ridden one enough times for the experience to become familiar.  When you know what to expect, the fright changes to a thrill.  I never rode the Mighty Mouse enough to become familiar with it, so it was always an intimidating experience.  I fully expect that I’ll get comfortable with the experience of going to market sooner rather than later.

Transportation

Travel in Ghana, especially on a Peace Corps budget, is an adventure. There are different modes of travel, depending primarily on the distance that you’re traveling. Taxis tend to be the mode of travel for the first and last legs of long journeys. I use a taxi to travel between my community and my market town, a distance of about 11 miles.

Like a trotro (which I described previously), a taxi won’t depart until it is full of passengers (that’s usually four people for a taxi, besides the driver – one in the front and three in the back). Small children will sit on the laps of their parents. If you’re lucky, the taxi will fill within 10 or 15 minutes, and the driver will be able to fit any luggage or packages into the miniscule space in the hatchback, then tie it down and you’ll be on your way fairly quickly. That said, I have waited almost an hour for a taxi to fill. I’m slowly learning methods for avoiding such long waits.

In my experience so far, there is one vehicle that predominates in the world of taxis in Ghana: the Daewoo Matiz (very similar to the Chevy Spark). It measures 1495 mm across – that is, from the outer edge of the driver’s side mirror to the outer edge of the passenger side mirror.  I’m amused by the use of the millimeter measurement (wow, almost 1500!); the width is about 5 feet. And given that the measurement includes the mirrors, then in reality the width of the rear passenger seat is probably closer to 4 feet. With moderately sized passengers seating is cozy. With large passengers, the rear seat can be fairly crammed, especially if someone has a large bag on their lap (often me).

Sunday’s taxi ride home from the market set a new record for me: there was one adult in the front and three of us in the rear seat, sharing space with three children (ages 1? to 4?), for a total of 7 passengers.  The hatchback was filled with large bags and my knapsack.  On the way out of town we stopped beside a building supply shop. The front passenger leaned out the window to call to the shop owner, who brought out a large bundle of ~8 ft long plastic conduit and a bag of fittings. The bag and bundle were loaded in through the passenger window and the passenger crossed his legs around the lower end of the bundle so that the other end stood up through the window. We made it to our destination safely and the little boy who leaned into my lap got a brief nap in during the journey.

Briefly, one other aspect of traveling by motor vehicle in Ghana is what I call the Pothole Plugger Shakedown.  Potholes are frequent hazards.  “Civic-minded” citizens (young guys) will fill the potholes with whatever material is readily available (typically rocks and dirt), then block traffic on the road soliciting “dash” (i.e., money) from each vehicle before letting it pass.  So, besides the potholes, speed bumps, pedestrians, and other hazards, there’s the community service to be wary of.  On one trip we were waiting in a line for no apparent reason, until we saw the shakedown ahead.  I deliberately opened my window (which had dark shading) in the back of the taxi, in hopes that they would let the car with the obroni pass.  I don’t know if that helped, but they did acknowledge me (“Oh, there’s an obroni here! Hello obroni.”) and after a brief discussion with the driver they let us pass without payment.  I wasn’t sure if my presence would increase their demand for money, but I decided to risk it. I’ll continue to experiment with such exchanges.

Addendum: Just to be clear about the Pot Plugger Shakedown, I never once felt threatened or intimidated by the industrious citizenry who were asking for dash. There was never the least hint of violence if we didn’t pay up. In fact, although I’ve been cautioned several time by concerned friends and colleagues about going out at night, I’ve never felt any fear anywhere in my town, or in Ghana for that matter. I just wanted to make that clear.

Stay tuned: More photos and adventures to come.