Dis Ting I do....

Dis Ting I do....

Dis Ting (meaning “this thing”) is a term they use in Ghana when they can’t remember a phrase or term in English. Or, when they don’t want to take the time to explain what exactly they are talking about, they will say, “dis ting”. To give you an example, a farmer might be talking to me about harvesting cashews and describing the collection of nuts. “I pick the nuts off the ground, separate the nut from the ground and then carry them to dis ting.” Dis ting in this context means that he will place the nuts inthe huge bowls, carry them back to his house where he will dry them for three days and then try to sell them to market. I am supposed to get all that by him saying, “dis ting”, somehow.
The purpose of this particular blog is not to educate you on Ghanaian phrases (although that would be a pretty fun blog to write), but to update you on what has been a very, very long hiatus, in which I want to apologize. My service here in Ghana as a US Peace Corps volunteer has come to an end. By His grace, I am now back in the US and wanted to pause and give thought to my service. So much has happened to me while I was in Ghana, the experiences, challenges, accomplishments, sicknesses, loneliness, hardships; laughter and tears; all these things has changed who I am. For me todescribe it to you would be like asking someone who drinks PBR’s to describe the complexities and tastes of a 20 year old bottle Shiraz. (No offense Chris) So, being a guy who enjoys a cold PBR as well as a nice glass of wine (although I have forgotten what that is) I will attempt to put into words dis ting I do.
In previous blogs I have tried to describe to you what it is like to live in a country so different from my own. The transportation, food, culture and climate has allowed me to have a better appreciation for what I took for granted in the US. I’ve learned to accept the differences in culture, and that just because people in other cultures may do things differently doesn’t mean that it’s bad or not as good as how we do things in the US. I have learned that just because you don’t have money (or food, house or clothing for that matter) doesn’t mean you can’t be happy. I’ve seen 5 and 6 year old boys who live on the streets of Accra, who get food by begging, dressed in filthy rags and sleep on sidewalks. But as I watch them, they laugh and play like someone who doesn’t have a care in the world. I have a new respect for Muslims who take their faith so seriously. The honesty, respect and love that I have felt from them has been overwhelming. On the other hand, I have had devout “Christian” acquaintances lie, cheat and steal from me. This is a harsh culture, where some people in leadership have gotten there by bribery, manipulation and taking advantage of the poor. I have seen the poor, sick and truly needy give their food and money to those in need. It’s a culture of contradiction, where hope and despair are as intertwined as a weave in a sweater.
I hope that somehow in my blog entries I have been able to give you a snap shot of this country. I am not one who likes to focus on the negative and have tried to write about the good things. For every 10 people that are taking advantage of things, there is one who genuine and pure at heart. For those, I have stayed and hope that in some small way I have been able to encourage, train and give resources to help them in their journey of life.
I believe that I was called to Ghana to do this work. I have tried to be obedient to the calling, serving in any capacity that I could. During the last few months, I was very busy finishing projects and passing the torch to others. Unfortunately, I had to leave about 5 weeks earlier than expected and did was not able to say the proper goodbyes that I wanted to do. Driving away from Wenchi left me with mixed emotions. Would I ever see these people again? Did my time/work really make any difference? Those are hard questions to answer and on a large grandiose level, I might be inclined to think I didn’t make much of an impact. However, if you look at the individuals that crossed my path, then yes I did make some differences. The relationships that I developed with many other Peace Corps Volunteers are friendships that will last a lifetime. What we have learned from each other, and the experiences we have shared has helped define who I am, and I hope the same with them. The times I spent with Emmanuella, the 10 year old living with me, helping her with her homework; or spending many nights playing board games with Attaa and chatting about life; or talking with Yahya and Sualihu about cashew stuff; those times we both learned something from each other and walked away a better of a person.
Now I can look back and say yes, this time in Ghana not only helped other individuals but me as well. But I discovered something else as well. You don’t have to travel 4,000 miles to make a difference in someone’s life. You can do it right where you are now. You have a circle of family, friends and acquaintances. And guess what? They are watching you! They are watch how you react to life’s pressures. They are seeing how you will respond to someone that treats your unfairly. As they watch they learn. You are making an impact on people right now; good or bad. So my advice to you is to act honorably, live a life with no regrets, laugh often and love more.
So now it is time to move on to a new chapter in Wayne’s World. I want to thank you all for reading these silly blogs, and for the kind words of encouragement and support. The next stop? Well, I am leaving on Monday for a month in Columbia, South America to take part in my brothers wedding. (THAT should be a good blog!) Then in September I will go back to Africa. I just accepted a job as the Director of Operations for Africa for a company that sells, you guessed it, cashews! So who knows, maybe this blog thing will continue.
In the meantime, live life to the fullest and.....

Go Nuts!


“Just look out around us people fighting their wars. They think they’ll be happy when they settle the scores. Let’s lay down our weapons that hold us apart and be still for just a minute try to open our hearts more love..... If there is ever an answer it’s more love......” Dixie Chicks

Breakfast of Champions

It’s Sunday today and I have planned a big bike ride today, in the bush. It’s time to do some exploring of this beautiful farmland and rolling hills. But before I do I think it’s important to eat a big breakfast.
Coffee. I have been blessed with friends that have mailed me coffee. Real coffee. The only coffee you can get here in Ghana is Nescafe, which being a coffee snob, I never would have thought that I would drink the stuff, but when you are living here in Ghana your taste buds change.... For example, who would have ever thought that bone and gristle is a great way to get protein, or, even tastes yummy? Well, when I eat my fufu that is what I get when I order meat. I look back with fondness of the days when I ordered meat with names like, top round, sirloin or fillet mignon. Now my choices are goat, chicken and grass cutter ( a large rat). Anyways, I digress.
I cook up my oats with a little powdered milk ( does milk come in any other form, I forgot). Again, thanks to some family and friends, I add some dried cranberries (OMG!!!) and nuts. Wonderful!!! I even add a little local honey. A PC friend of mine is working with bee farmers and she gave me some honey. They are trying to market it on a large scale and she asked if I would taste it. Well, I did. This honey would put hair on a the chest of a new born baby! I mean it is rugged! I asked her if she had a name for the honey and she said no. Being the clever and wise old man that I am I told her my idea; Stand Up and Spank Me Honey!!! She just rolled her eyes. I don’t know I thought it had a nice ring to it. I’m not the only one who likes the honey. The ants LOVE it! As I pour the honey and the ants (how do you get ants out of honey??) in my oats, I think “Oh good! Protein. The ants probably taste better than the rat bone and gristle”.
To top off my breakfast I got out the bread and my ground nut paste. Ground nut paste is like peanut butter. When I go to market, I buy it from the ladies that sell it in enormous mixing bowls. Of course, it’s not covered. Thankfully flies don’t like ground nut paste. Well most don’t. After picking out only two unfortunate souls, I decide that when I get home I’ll heat it up. I do, add some sugar and salt. Yum!!! Skippy eat your heart out! I reach up and grab the paste from my cupboard. When I open the container there is a beautiful, thick, fuzzy layer of mold on my peanut butter. I mean, this was as nice as the putting green on the Pebble Beach Golf Course. Hmmm.... have you ever heard of moldy peanut butter? Me either. I text some friends and they hadn’t either and suggest that I throw it away. However, this peanut butter cost 10% of a days pay, and you know how um er... what’s the word? Frugal, yes that is it, you all know how frugal I am. So I scrape off the carpet of green and reach for the bread. Now the mold on bread is a much different kind of mold. Not nearly as pretty. And there is a earthy pungent odor that comes with moldy bread. I try to cut away most of it put the paste on the bread and sit down to a well balanced breakfast. Grains, fruit, protein and lots of greens! A breakfast for Champs... or is that Chumps...
Cheers~

Look Up!

As I have mentioned in previous blogs, my favorite time of day is twilight. There is a magical feeling in the air, like nature pausing to take a deep breath before continuing its’ daily routine.
Wenchi is a town on a hill. When you are driving from Kumasi to Wenchi, you can see the town from miles away. I live near a ridge that over looks rolling hills, green with maize, plantain, palm and coconut trees. There is a wall around my house where I sit on top and watch the sunset. Watching the sunset is a novel idea to Ghanians. As they see me sitting on the wall, doing nothing, just watching the sunset, they ask me what I am doing. I point to the sky and explain how beautiful it is to watch the sun set. They look at me blankly for a moment, then smile shaking their head, thinking’ “Oh this white man is sure strange.”
While I will never dispute that I am strange, (I can see all of you who know me nodding your head), I don’t think it’s strange to take a moment out of a busy day to stop; reflect on life, creation and the beauty of this earth. Granted this is a busy time of the day for most Ghanians. Sunset (which occurs around 6:00 everyday; don’t forget I am near the equator and the hours of the day do not fluctuate much) is time to make dinner. More specifically fufu.
I think that I have explained fufu before, but let me refresh your memories. Fufu consists of plantain and cassava. Plantain is in the banana family and cassava is a tuber, in the potato family. They peel and boil the cassava and mix it with the plantain. Keep in mind that their kitchens are NOT our kitchens. In fact, most of them don’t have a kitchen. They cook outside, no stove, counters, microwaves, or tables. They build a fire, if they have money they will use charcoal, if not they will use wood. Placing a pot of water on top of the fire supported by some stones, they boil the cassava. From there they will take a large wooden pestle about 24” in diameter and place the cassava and plantain in small amounts into the pestle. One person, who is sitting on a wooden stool gingerly moves the cassava/plantain mixture until it becomes a dough like ball. There is a second person who takes a mortar and beats the snot out of the mixture. It is almost like a dance, while one is pounding, the other is mixing. I have never seen any smashed fingers but maybe that is why they haven’t asked me to help. This mortar is usually four feet high 8-10 inches in diameter made out of wood. This process of combining the plantain and cassava and getting the right texture can take up to 45 minutes. The woman is usually mixing the fufu, while a child; anywhere from 10-20 years old is the one who pounds. This is one reason why the kids here are so freaking ripped! They have muscles in their arms and backs that would make a professional weight lifter envious. That is just the fufu. They add it to a soup; the soup usually takes a lot longer; grinding, cutting boiling, cooking...
But this blog is not about fufu. It’s about sunsets remember? At least now you understand why they shake their heads as I sit upon my wall, listening to the constant rythymn of people pounding fufu in surrounding houses. The color and clouds are amazing. Sometimes it’s the large cotton ball clouds ( yes that is the scientific term), or mare’s tails, sometimes the pattern is like fish scales. As the sun sets, the clouds radiate from the color of golden rods, red as crimson as a rose, pure white and the purple of violets. The sky changes coral blue, royal blue to navy. Slowly the sun pulls the color from the sky, turning the clouds into a beautiful hue of grays and purples, saying good night to all creation; promising that tomorrow will be a new day; filled with new hopes and dreams.
Yeah, so OK, I’m a sap. I get a little teary sometimes; overwhelmed at the beautiful world we live in. But as I look at the brilliant display, it helps me keep my prospective. How small we are. How small our troubles are in the scheme of things, and how thankful I am to have my health, friends, family and a Creator who has made this all possible.
So... Take a moment from fufu pounding and look up. Take time to enjoy the beauty of this world! Go ahead and risk that as you do, there will always be people that will shake their heads at you, thinking you’re a little strange. But no worries, you are in good company!
Cheers

Portia Bayor

I have had a few people ask me if and how they could support the work that I am doing here. The Peace Corps has a couple of ways that they have suggest for people to donate to certain causes. However, I hesitate in doing an organized “fund raising” for a couple of reasons. For one, I don’t want to make anyone to feel pressured by PC into giving money. Second, due to the blatant corruption here, even if there was something I think is a good cause, I don’t know how much of the money would actually go to the cause, and how much would end up in someone’s pocket. Third, money isn’t the cure all. I’ve seen too many times where an NGO (non profit organization) throws money at a noble cause, such as a bore hole, or public latrines or even computers, and have the things waste away without being used, because the NGO didn’t get the community’s involvement or, they didn’t properly train the people on the use of thing.
There is however someone I would like to introduce you to. Her name Is Portia Bayor. She is a 27 year old single mom and this is her story:
I live in what is called a compound house. It is a kind of like a dorm of sorts. There are two families that live here with me. They share one “kitchen”, (actually they do most of their cooking outside on a charcoal grill. Portia comes everyday to prepare dinner for the two families. One night she brought me Banku, which is ground corn that is made into a fermented dough ball that they serve with an okra stew. As I ate, I asked her to tell me about herself and what her plans are in the future.
She was going to school up in the Northern part of Ghana, and at age 16, she fell in love with a boy, and got pregnant. She had to drop out of school, because having a child out of wedlock is a disgraceful thing and she wanted to keep her baby. Her plan was to continue with school after the baby was born. Meanwhile, her boy friend took off- she later found out that he had gotten another girl pregnant in a different village. He is completely out of the picture and has not supported her at all.
About the same time, her father passed away, so she was living with her mom. Since she was not going to school and not working, she become what is called here “ a small girl”. Basically she became a servant to the compound where she lived. It’s culturally accepted to have a small girl here. They get up at 5:00 am, sweep the compound, get meals ready, clean the house, bring in the firewood (fuel for the fire to cook on), and fetch water. To give you an idea what I mean by fetching water, the kids will carry a five gallon or more container of water on their head. They get the water either from a bore hole or the river. I have seen kids have to walk over a mile to fetch water. Not an easy task.
Eight years later, life hasn’t gotten much easier for Portia. She has moved to Wenchi, and managed to finish high school. Her daughter lives in my compound with Portia’s sister and husband. Portia can not afford to raise her because she has no money. She is now the small girl for my compound. Even though she finished high school, she failed her final test in math, science and economics. She would like to continue her education and go to nursing school, but she can’t until she retakes her test. In order to do that she needs to hire a tutor for the three classes. The registration fee for the courses is around $75 and then and additional $75 for the cost of paying the tutor. If she had an opportunity to go back to school, she will be able to have a life back again.
$150. What is that? A dinner out and a movie? Not a ton of money for us, but for Portia, it could change her future. If you feel called to help, write me an email. whtmtns@yahoo.com This might not be as grandiose as donating a library to a school, but helping one person gain an education and possibly a career could make a world of difference.
I remember hearing a story that has stayed with me for years. One morning on the coast of Maine, a little boy went down for a walk on the beach. When he stepped onto the sand, he noticed that the ocean had washed thousands of starfish on the beach. He noticed an old timer bending down, picking up, one by one, a starfish and throwing it back into the ocean. The little boy went up to the old man and asked what is was doing.
“I’m trying to save these starfish from getting eaten by the gulls or dying in the sun,” the man answered, bending down and picking up another one. Looking down the beach and seeing the thousands of starfish that covered the beach the boy said, “Mister, look at all these starfish. There is no way you can possibly make a difference.” The old man paused and looked at the small starfish in his cracked and weather worn hands. “Well, maybe your right,” he said, “but I can make a difference in this one.”

We all have a chance a life to make a difference in someone’s life. Whether or not you act upon it, is up to you.
Cheers,
Wayne

It Snowed Today

I’m sitting on my “deck” like I usually do at night, watching the sun set. It’s different today though. A lot different, and for some, after today, it may never be the same.
I traveled to Sunyani today to get my internet fixed; Sunyani about an hour away. I got there and noticed that the weather was very different than most days. There was a strong wind blowing from the north; a hot dry wind. Imagine sticking your head in a dryer, hot air blowing on you sucking all the moisture from your body.
It was hazy too, like a fog covering the distant hills. Welcome to The Harmattan. The Harmattan is the season between the hot season, and the really, really hot season. The main difference is the wind. In Wenchi it is not as bad as being up in the Northern region. Up there, sometimes the wind kicks up the dirt making it impossible to see at times. Here though, it is just a haze, and as the sun sets, it just melts into the bank of dust. The reason why it is so dry is because it hasn’t rained here since October.

The Brong Ahafo Region is the bread basket for Ghana. The rolling hills are covered with farmland, from acres of maize, palm trees, yam, plantain and cashews. Not only is this their source of income, but it is their food they put on the table. This time of year, the corn is finished leaving the dried cornstalks brown and dead. The streams have long since dried up, the whole landscape is a dreary brown color.

On the way back from Sunyani I got a text from a friend of mine asking me if I could see the sun; where he was it was blotted out because of the dust/smoke. As I rode back, I understood what he was talking about. Since I’ve been here, I have heard people talk about bush fires, but really didn’t understand what they were talking about. Until today. It took me a while to figure out what “the bush” meant. Basically, it’s the farmland and the surrounding areas. So when they speak of bush fires, they are talking about their livelihood going up in flames. Entire hillsides were aflame, the columns of smoke billowing like clouds in the sky. They have no real way of stopping the fire once it starts. I think there might be one fire truck here in Wenchi. The blaze consumes everything in sight with it’s unquenching appetite. Electricity poles, lay in embers on the ground, thatched roof houses are laid to waste. Not only is their income lost in smoke, but so is their food supply.

There are several ways the fires are started. Some people start the fires to scare out the grass cutter (kind of like ground hogs) as a way of hunting. Others will try to do “controlled” burning which gets out of hand. And then there are the Filani’s. The Filani are people from the northern region that come down with their cattle. In the State’s they would be like Gypsies, and all the negative connotation that comes with Gypsies are also associated with the Filani’s. The Filani’s will burn the land so the green grass grows for food for their cattle. For whatever the reason, the bush fires consume thousands of acres per year, and there is not really any fire enforcement. Because of this there is a great threat to the agriculture here in Ghana. Something has to be done about this but, like most other things here, it is just a problem that is being ignored.

As I sit writing this, I can hear the crackle of the flames popping like 10,000 people jumping on packing bubbles. My eyes are stinging from the smoke. Across the street I see the silhouette of a church and behind it the horizon is orange. The grey and black ash from the fuel fall from the skies like snow landing on my computer. The rain is still months away.

I'm Nuts about Cashews!!

Boy that really CRACKS me up! Ok I’ll stop; I was just coming out of my SHELL!!!! Hahahahahahaha.
So, I thought I would give you Cashew 101. Maybe even 102, there will be a test later so no sleeping. I don’t know anyone who doesn’t like cashews. And, we all know how expensive they are, compared to peanuts. Why, you ask? What is the difference?
When I came to Ghana, I was clueless on how the tasty kernels got in those cans. I really didn’t care, I was just happy to munch them while sipping a cold beer.
Once in Ghana, I found out that I will be working with a farmer’s association that grows cashews. So I started thinking; where do cashews come from? Did they grow like peanuts under ground? In a bush or tree? Do they simply get delivered like babies, except by a nut stork? I once heard that part of the cashew is poisonous. So many questions.... Brace yourself, you are about to take a trip to the wonderful world of cashews.
There are 6 or 7 West African countries that produce the world’s largest supply of cashews. Ghana is one of those countries. Unfortunately, they do not process the cashews here. In fact, 95% of all cashews grown in Ghana are exported to places like India and Vietnam to be processed. This is very unfortunate because if they did process the nuts here, there would be more jobs created, more of the value of the product would stay here in Ghana. Hence one of the reasons I am here. One of my goals is to help educate people on the advantages of processing in country. We have a long way to go on that, but luckily I have some partners that also have an interest in the project. Good partners... ever hear of the Bill and Linda Gates foundation, or Kraft foods, or Cosco? Well, they have just given $50 million dollars to help me! WHAHOOOOO!!!!! Ok, ok, well, maybe not to help me, but to help the cashew industry. More on that later.
Ghana is a very fertile country. Yes, there are tons of babies here, but I was talking about the land. Although they are a very poor country monetarily, they are rich in resources. It’s frustrating because they could be doing so much better if it where not for poor management and corruption. I don’t know how they will break this horrible cycle- and until they do, Ghana will continue to be a 3rd world country. Cocoa, maize, mango, yams and cashews are just a few to the crops they harvest here. Cashews grow on trees, and after two years, you can expect a harvest, and with not a whole lot of time invested, they can produce a harvest for 2 decades.
The nut is not in the fruit like most fruit trees. The nut grows outside the cashew apple, and the farmers wait until both the nut and fruit fall from the tree before they harvest them. They pick them off the ground, separate the apple from the nut, then let them dry for three days. There is more detail than this, but, this is cashew 101 and I don’t want you to fall asleep. Then they sell it to a middle man, which could be Indians, local buyers, or associations ( like the one I work with). It is then shipped to places like India, where they process it then ship it back to Europe or the US. 20% of the price of cashews is shipping because it is shipped around the world before it lands in your hands. Up until recently, you couldn’t buy cashews to eat here in Ghana. You could show most farmers a cashew, and they would not have any idea that it is the same thing that came from there farm. Luckily, that is starting to change, and we now have a couple of processors here. And, thanks to my buddy Bill (Gates), we are planning to have several more in the next few years. The association I work with have about 1.5 million pounds of cashews that we sell to a local processor, who, sells to Cosco. The company is called Mim, and I met with the owner, Lars, who is from Denmark, and he was nice enough to give me a tour of his facility. It was there that I decided I will never complain about how expensive cashews are. So, here is the process;
They have a large machine that sorts the nuts by size. From there they are cleaned. Then the real fun starts. Most of the rest is done by hand. First, there is a large work bench. There is a vice looking tool that is worked by using your hands and feet. The goal is to crack the nut without damaging the kernel ( the part we eat). So one by one, someone cracks the nut open and pushes it to the other side of the bench, where another person takes a small knife and tries to pick out the kernel from the shell. The other day, I attempted to do this, and when I got through with a pile of nuts, you could make cashew butter with it, but there where hardly any whole kernels. Needless to say it is not easy. From there the kernel is steamed. It still has the husk on it. The steaming helps to loosen the husk, but, one by one, kernel by kernel, someone picks them up and with a small blade, removes the husk. Then they are sorted by hand, dried and packaged into large air tight bags. Then they are shipped somewhere else to be roasted and seasoned. WOW! For every kernel that you eat, it has been touched by at least 5 pairs of hands. (Hopefully they washed their hands).
Now, remember that the next time you take a handful of cashews and pop them in your mouth. A lot of work has gone into the tasty crunchy nugget. Enjoy, and thank you for your support!
Cheers~

Controlled Chaos

I know I’ve talked about traveling here in Ghana before, but please bear with me as I revisit the conversation. The reason why I bring it up is because it so utterly different than how we travel (or how I traveled) in the US. Traveling here is kind of like having 500 people on the dance floor at once. Some are doing the waltz, some are disco, some are line dancing and others are break dancing. It’s magic, somehow it flows altogether. I have not been here long enough (I don’t know if there is enough time) to figure it out, but somehow it works. Most of the time. To give you a better understanding of how this dance works, want to introduce you to the dancers. We have tango tro’s, boogie buses, trippin’ taxi’s mamba motos, and thrown into the mix are poor pedestrians.
Tros
Tros are a large passenger vans. There are usually 5 rows of seats, and comfortably you have 3 per seat. Unfortunately, comfortable is not a word in the Ghana dictionary. Ghanians don’t like to waste space, so they will put four in a row. My personal goal was 22 passengers in a van. Up close and personal. Actually, having all those people around you kind of softens the blow of all the pot holes. Nine times out of ten the doors don’t shut correctly, you usually can see the road underneath your feet, the dash board indicators don’t work. And, let’s not forget the luggage. Big stuff goes in the back. I’ve seen refrigerators, 100 pound burlap bags of stuff, chickens (of course they are alive!! silly) and who know what else. All the “normal” luggage is expected to be on your lap; i.e., back packs, small boxes, groceries. The real big stuff goes on top of the van. 100 pound bags of produce, live goats... There was one time I saw 8 goats tied to the top of the van. Yup.
There is the driver, and he has a mate. The mate is in charge of collecting the money, and communicating with the driver. If the van is not quite full (God forbid), the mate is yelling, as he is hanging half outside the window, the destination of the tro. Of course you can’t understand what it is he is screaming as he goes, for example there is a city called Kofferidguha, but he is yelling “Rodua”. The tro will barely come to a stop, load passengers and make it’s way to the station. As he is pulling out, there are 5 tro’s wanting to take his place, and, of course while he is pulling out, no one is letting him in. Horns blaring, tires screeching, and mates yelling, somehow you make it back on to the road. Don’t ask me why there are not tons of accidents.
The good thing about tros is that they are cheap. And, you don’t usually have to wait too long for one to drive by, the mate shouting the your destination. But, 99% of them would be illegal to be on a road in the US. Most windshields are cracked, transmission works sometimes, and the mechanical parts are somehow working but I am not sure how. One trip I was on was supposed to take 6 hours. Half way towards our destination, something in the gears or clutch stops working. So, we get out, push the tro up the hill, and coast down into a small village. Our vehicle stops next to what looks like a graveyard for tros; heaps and piles of parts and bodies. The driver gets out, talks to the mechanic, who proceeds to crawl under the tro. After much banging and clanging, he comes out with what looks like the drive shaft (I am no mechanic by any means, it could have been the gas tank!), goes to another broken down tro, takes that one off and puts it on ours. In three hours we are up and running again. The sun has gone to bed, and we are almost at our destination,(key word almost). We are heading up a hill on a tiny dirt road when, the transmission decides it is done for the day. We can not move forward or back up; we are stuck like Winnie the Pooh in the Hunney Tree. After 10 hours of being on the road, and not yet at our destination, we are at our wits end. We call the place where we are spending the night and they offer to come and get us. Luckily we are only about 20 minutes away. I feel bad for the poor driver though; he has to stay behind with his vehicle and hope to have it fixed the next day. When we pass through 3 days later, the tro is still sitting there. The driver lost money on that trip!
Taxis
There are two types of taxis; line taxis and drop taxis. Drop taxis are one of the most expensive ways to travel. They will only take you to whatever destination you want. They will always try to gouge you; and you have to fight with them to get the price down. A line taxi will wait until it is full before it will go to your destination. It’s cheaper than a drop taxi, but sometimes you might have to sit in the taxi up to an hour before the taxi fills. The normal capacity is 5 people in the car, plus baggage in the back. Most of the cars are about the size of a Scion, tiny little cars. Now, I said that the normal capacity is 5, two in the front and three in the back. Well, during our training we would have to travel from our home stay to our training site every Friday. Our allowance for training was $2 per day.... beer costs $1.50..... you do the math, we didn’t have a lot of money. So we would try to make a deal with taxi driver, we would pay the fare of 4 people but try to fit more people in the car than that. We got to know each other quite well on those trips. One night after having a few beers at the spot, we fit 12 people in the car. Remember, the car is the size of a Scion. We had three in the front, 6 in the back seat and 3 of us in the very back. I am quite proud of that record!!

Buses
There are three types of buses; Metro, STC, and Scary as Hell Buses. Metro are similar to those similar to those in the states, sort of.... They are cheap, and are usually packed. Again personal space is not a concept the folks here understand. There is a mob to get on the bus first, so you can get a seat. Once the seats are full, you pile in amongst the bags, bowls, kids, and produce. You have to hang on for dear life as you get bounced and thrown around. There are no real bus stops that the driver will stop at. If you want to get off, you yell “Bus Stop” and hopes that the driver will hear you and hope that he feels like stopping. You usually will get dropped within a 1/2 mile of where you wanted to get off.
STC is similar to Grey Hound... sort of. It is a lot more expensive than taking a tro, and is supposed to leave at a designated time. Unfortunately, they never do. Either there is a mechanical problem (the bus is “spoiled’) or they wait for the bus to fill.
One day I had to go down to Accra. Because it is a long drive, and the tro’s are very uncomfortable, I decided to take a bus. I wanted to see which one would fill faster and when I checked, they looked about the same; both were 30% full. I got on the bus and thought, well, I can be patient, it might take little longer to fill but it would be worth it. The seat was actually comfortable though the AC was spoiled. A trip to Accra from Kumasi is about 4-5 hours. I sat down at 9 am. I closed my eyes and took a little nap. When I woke up at 10 we were still sitting there and maybe 50% full. I was surprised that it wasn’t fuller, but when I looked out the window I realized why. There was a battle going on outside. Whenever someone new came through wanting to go to Accra, the person was accosted by each of the drivers. With much pushing, shoving and yelling the drivers would argue which vehicle the poor passenger would take. I thought a fist fight would break out, it was close. It seemed that our bus was on the loosing side. Other vehicles were loaded up and on their way while we just sat there. Elven came and went, so did noon... By one, we were all pissed and yelling at the driver for us to get on our way. Finally by 2:00 we were finally full. I sat there for 5 hours waiting to leave!!! I should have been down in Accra by then! With a sore ass and a pissy attitude, we pulled out of the station hoping that we would be in Accra by 7:00 at the latest. Peace Corps has a rule that we should not travel after dark, because it can be dangerous. The sunsets at 5:30, and Accra is definitely NOT a place I wanted to be wandering around at night. After this ride, I still had to take 2 other taxis to get to my final destination. Well we finally arrived to the city limits around 6:30, but still a way from our destination. The traffic this time of night puts NYC to shame. Cars, tros, buses as well as motorbikes, ladies selling wares on the top of their heads, and of course, goats, sheep and cattle filled the streets. I am not taking about side streets, I am talking about 4 lane “highway” (I hate to use that word because the image that comes to your mind is NOT how it is here. They are doing a massive upgrade to the roads, so the roads are all torn up, not yet paved, and difficult to navigate with no traffic). Our driver gets creative and knows a short cut to avoid the tangled mass of metal. We reach the short cut, which is a one lane road, and find a big truck broken down in the middle of the road making impossible for us to pass. Par for the course. To make a long, long, long story shorter, I finally get to my destination around 10:00; only a 13 hour trip!
Amid the chaotic dance, the drivers have a good grasp on driving. Maybe they are listening to music only they can hear. Whatever the case, when you get on the road here, you learn how to pray fast and hard!