A Grass Hut Where The Volta River Meets The Ocean

Friday night was rather uneventful so off I went to bed at about 8pm. Meghan, Mike, and Lisa had all come to my door at some appropriate hour but well after I was into my deep sleep. They apparently told me about a trip we were taking the next morning. Saturday I awoke to the annoying "beep beep beep" that anyone with an alarm can be sympathetic to. So I rolled out of bed with a vague memory of Meghan and Lisa. I went to Meghan's door but she was still asleep. So assuming that I had dreamt everything back to bed I went. At 8pm the girls were pounding at my door wondering why I wasn't ready to go. It turns out we were on our way to Ada Foah, a small fishing village and resort where the Volta River meets the Ocean. I grabbed whatever I thought necessary stuffed it all into a backpack and ran out the door. We bartered with a couple taxis until we could get to the STC station for 30,000 cedi (a reasonable price). We decided that instead of waiting for the STC bus (greyhound style, minus the bathroom, which means on long trips they pull over to the side of the road for you, I haven't adjusted to this bit of cultural difference yet) we'd take the tro-tro. To anyone who knows Otto they will understand when I say a tro-tro is an ottobus. It is an 8 seater van, converted into a 14 seater van that people cram into. There are no identified Tro-tro stops so you find a corner and yell out where you want to go, the tro-tro's "mate" yells back where they are going and will have the driver stop the tro-tro if you decide to get on. I had yet to experience the tro-tro method of transportation but after our four hour adventure I feel like a pro. We got a tro-tro from Accra to a roundabout close to Tema. We met several women who were selling food at the side of the road, they managed to flag down a taxi and help us lost Obrunis find our way for a reasonable fee (the taxi drivers love making money off of us when we are lost). We were getting out of a taxi in Tema when some man saw me and decided that he wanted to take me home. He put his arms into the taxi window and began pinching my cheeks. I quickly scooted out in the other direction and he came racing around a grabbed on to my arms. My girl friends immediately came to my rescue and we began yelling at him and trying to pry his hands off of me. Some of the other men from the area came running over to help and as soon as they freed me, the girls got me away and onto another tro-tro where the local women worked hard to comfort me, and I watched as the local men yelled at this guy, some in English, most in twi (I don't think any of it was very friendly). It was my scariest experience so far, but don't worry mom/poppa, the entire community and my friends were there to help me out and were really disgusted with this man. The tro-tro finally dropped us off at Ada Foah. We were suppose to begin a 60-90 minute walk to the destination that the girls had now filled me in on. We were heading to a resort of grass huts on a pier of sand where the Volta River meets the ocean. We met a school teacher from Ada Foah on the tro-tro who offered to steer us in the right direction. She shooed away the hoards of taxi drivers who accosted us the moment they saw us, and she offered to take us to her house while she got her son to accompany us to the resort. She walked us through her small village, which was a mixture of concrete and wooden one room homes. As we turned a corner we saw a small lot filled with grass huts. One was tree house style; the other was open air with a picnic table and chairs. A little girl named Barbara with the sweetest little dreadlocks came running over racing a tire in front of her to greet us. This women's home was beautiful, she told us that some of her children (she had 8) were in America and so she wanted to help us like people in America have helped her children. She sat us down at her house and went out to find her son. We met her daughter-in-law and the mother of Barbara who was a beautiful woman and made sure that we were comfortable while we waited. He son, a very authentic Rasta came over to meet us. He had found a canoe that we could use to get to the resort instead for hours in the sand. We agreed and went off to the river. A large canoe was at the shore waiting for us. We were all expecting to grab some paddles and move ourselves down to the resort. Instead the locals just laughed and told us to have a seat. The women's son and the owner of the canoe jumped in the Bow and stern and began paddling. There we sat in a handmade canoe boating down the Volta River. We began to past these massive cottages with shinny big boats and swimming pools. However we came to a wall where the resorts and cottages ended, and a small fishing village appeared, literally next door. The fishing village consisted of small grass huts, goats, ducks, dogs, large hand made/carved/and painted fishing boats, kids playing soccer on the beach, men women and children bathing in the river, older men bringing in fishing nets, and of course little children screaming hello at us. I cannot describe how breathtakingly beautiful the whole canoe experience was. I have caught some of it on tape and cannot wait to show it to you all. After an hour that I wished wouldn't end we made it to the New Estuary resort. We rented two grass huts for the five of us and went to get into our bathing suits. The girls spent the next two days laying in hammocks, swimming, sun tanning, and playing in the ocean's waves. I decided to really get a feel for the local culture and was determined to learn to fish. I managed to meet a young man who I will not attempt to spell his name but it began with a Sar so this is what I will refer to him as. Sar is 14 and he spends each day fishing for 3 hours, he generally catches four fish a day. Our English was quite broken but I managed to understand that his father left the family in search of work in Tema, his mother and sister have both since past away and now it is only him and his 16 year old brother to keep each other company and ensure survival. Sar was setting out his fishing lines along the beach on the river side of the pier. He let me tape him casting his line (it was made with a piece of fishing line attached to an anchor of wood that he would burry in the ground. He had two fishing hooks attached to the end of the string that he would hook a piece of dead fish on to. Then he would swing the string over his head in a circle like a lasso and then cast it out to sea). I attempted to help him but wasn't nearly as good as him, although he found it quite humourous and I was glad to not have hooked myself. I also had the opportunity to met several of my "Rasta brothers" (peace, one love, unity, respect) (Dana, Graham are you cringing yet?). One of my Rasta brothers made me a bracelet to show his respect, I made sure it didn't have any other meanings before I accepted it, so I am pretty sure that I am not engaged, however mom/poppa he would like to meet you someday....? The Rastas all seem to teach at a drumming school and also have a handicraft that they sell at different markets. Their handshake is a little different than the snap that I am just getting use to but I will teach anyone who wants to learn when I get home. I know have a Rasta name that means "born on Wednesday" but I don't remember it anymore. We left our resort via canoe again. When we arrived in Ada Foah we managed to catch the last tro-tro back to Accra with a little luck and a lot of confusion. Luckily for us it was the fish tro-tro which meant that we rode with literally hundreds of dead fish (an experience that anyone especially a vegan can really appreciate). There was also a crab that must have hitched a ride with the fish and was running around pinching the toes of the tro-tro passengers. It was actually a really funny experience. We had to pass through several police check points which is usually a quick flash light glance into the tro-tro. One officer was doing the routine check when he saw the fish, we went running up to the driver and asked "are you trying to kill the Obrunis??" Everyone in the tro-tro burst out laughing. We made it back home at 9pm to my delight we were an hour earlier than expected and just in time for my first phone call from home (thanks Poppa).

A new Friend,

It was a memorable weekend, and as soon as my massive sunburn disappears (I put SPF 30 on every 15 minutes) I will appreciate the memories even more.

Catherine and I on the Beach

Miss you love you.

Adrienne

Fun in the Water

Goofing Around on The Beach

Lets Go Fishing!

Look at those palms

Look at those trees

Megs and Me at the River for Lunch

My grasshut resort

On our way to New Estuary

our canoe ride

Sunset on the Beach

The Group on the Beach

The road to Ada Foah is paved with Ant hills

The wall between Africa and Luxury

This is Where We Slept