Last Wednesday Ebenezer told us he would be out of town and our internship would begin on Monday, so we followed suit and ran off to Accra for the weekend–the epicentre of Ghana round 1.
Daniella: “Where are we staying in Accra?”
Me: “I don’t know. But I got peeps, we’ll figure it out”.
We stayed at the International Student Hostel at the University of Ghana, the same place I lived in the last time. Stepping onto campus, catching site of the ISH roof over the treetops, I couldn’t contain my excitement—I was speedwalking. I roamed, lingering outside my old dorm and the dorms of my old friends; I used to know the names behind all of these doors. I took pictures of meaningless places that meant the world to me. I was morose and nostalgic until I met some old friends, and made some new ones.
First the old: the caretaker, the porters, a woman who sells tantalizing food, a student who did the same exchange semester as me, friends from the International Program Office, a girl from my dance class in a chance encounter outside a market, some ladies from the night market, members from my old band “The Charleys” and subsequent impromptu jam session, and of course Sandi. Some people have an amazing memory for faces.
And the new: one that started a bromance love triangle and epic screenplay, one who recognized me from the photos of a mutual friend, one with a Ghanaian wife, one who was incredibly warm and welcoming, and many more too numerous to count and too normal to mention.
I visited one of the nicest healthcare facilities in Ghana. I like to say it was “self-motivated” by my interests in health science, but really it was a high fever with some loose…business. The air conditioned waiting rooms made me feel better–the waiting didn’t.
Other notables included a visit to the Ghana Red Cross (complete with a ridiculous modelling session in front of the Land Rovers), and finally ending up in a nightclub after showing up to one concert that had already ended and another that never existed.
Waiting an hour for a tro-tro (public transportation) while learning insults in Twi (local language) from a new friend we made. I used the insults on Daniella.
A personal xylophone performance from the master.
Cramming seven passengers and the driver into one taxi. At a red light another taxi pulls up, the driver looks over and yells: “obruni sardines!” (Obruni means foreigner/white person).
Wandering in the Balme Library, opening, touching, and smelling century-old journals of Science and Nature.