“You see, the problem is that you stamped your passport on the Togo side of the border, but not on the Ghana side. So it shows that you legally left Togo, but there is no proof that you legally entered Ghana…”
While the logic of Koffi, the border control agent, may be correct; it still interferes with our travel plans.
“I know what you’re saying, and we meant to stamp our passports, but when we walked across the border no one told us to do anything differently! Also by the time we make the hour trip back to the border, then come back to Accra, it will be dark, and the streets won’t be safe at night!” I try to reason. For the record, all of this was true, we didn’t mean to not get stamped; and it wasn’t until we hit a second border control an hour down the road that we realized our error. After being discovered and told to get out of the van, I tried my best to put on my charm with the young cute border agent who first caught us. But apparently I am no James Bond, because we were quickly ushered into the office of her boss. Note to self: never try and flirt your way out of an illegal entry into a country
Koffi shifts uncomfortably in his seat, clearly conflicted with this ethical dilemma. He glances down at the book he was reading when we were brought in, titled “The Power of Positive Thinking”, and takes a deep breath. “Okay, I can let you go” He says finally after breathing out a huge sigh, “but just know if you get stopped by any customs agent or police, you may have problems or have to pay a penalty”.
We thank Koffi profusely, and as we get up to leave he asks: “by the way, what do you guys do?” “I’m a lawyer”, responds my friend Charlyves. “…and I’m a teacher. I teach English teachers in Togo” I add. “Oh!” exclaims Koffi, “teaching is what I really want to do. But for now I’m trying to be a border agent.” We step out into the warm Ghanaian sun, and are greeted by our bus driver and a couple passengers who apparently had been waiting for us. “Did you get to continue?” They ask. I flash them a grin and the thumbs up sign, to which they clap and shout “Oh! We were praying you would be able to come! Never make that mistake again!”
Most stories in the news concerning African countries love to highlight its struggles; and to be fair, there are many. However one country has managed to keep itself out of the violence that has consumed its neighbors and has inexplicably created a reputation for being in the news more for what it has been doing right. That country, Ghana, has a good resume to show for it too. It has the 9th largest economy on the continent (5th in sub-Saharan Africa), which is diversified among several markets, notably the production of coca (2nd in the world), gold, and since 2011, oil (estimated to be the 25th largest reserves in the world). In fact, the World Bank has even ranked Ghana as a Lower-Middle Income Economy, a title shared by few other nations on the continent. Add to that a rich culture and important history in the slave trade and you find yourself one interesting place to watch for in the future. It was on this precedent that Charlyves, my friend visiting friend from France, and I decided to poke our heads in and see what all the fuss was about.
ACCRA
Several hours after our apparently “illegal” entry into Ghana we finally arrive in Accra, Ghana’s capital and invertible beating heart. Compared to Lomé in Togo, Accra could be New York. Solid concrete roads carpeting every street, a downtown lined with shiny new glittering skyscrapers, and two shopping malls filled with all the modern amenities a homesick expat could desire. It was really too much. However, while it was clear that Accra was the center of development in Ghana, it also had its fair share of the other extreme: slums sat side to side with fancy neighbor hoods, rich right by the poor. It was perhaps this contrast that was more jarring. In fact, as we would soon see, once you leave Accra most of Ghana looks a lot like Togo, meaning not very developed. Apparently, for all the attention Ghana’s getting, it seems as though all the development only really happens in the capital… like everywhere else in Africa. Regardless, Charlyves and I spent our time mostly wandering the streets and saying to ourselves “wow, this sure looks different than Togo”.
We depart by bus the next day for Cape Coast, a city that built its name as the center of the slave trade. One joy about bus travel in Ghana is the built in TVs that play Nigerian soap operas. “Nollywood”, as it is known, is pretty much the most ridiculous thing you will ever see on TV. Modeled (theoretically) after the classic Hispanic soap operas, these movies move beyond ridiculousness with plot lines following such stories as a voodoo possessed goat, princes claiming wives, and randomly thrown in love scenes that make the bus ride more than uncomfortable.
CAPE COAST
Charlyves folds his sleeve and stick out his arm for the shot. However the nurse shakes her head and pats her behind. “Wait, what does that mean?” Charlyves asks me, slightly confused. “Sorry man, I think you’re going to have to take this shot in the butt” I tell him. “Oh putain!” he cursed under his breath in French as he undoes his belt and walks behind the door.
To be fair Charlyves has had a rough night. Hours ago he came down with an intense fever, which, like any illness in Africa, is about as much fun as a root canal. Also the public Ghanaian hospital we are in is not exactly a place to soothe your woes. I glance around the room and count the numerous bloody bandages littering the floor, as well as the many spiders and ants crawling along the walls. Just minutes before his shot, the nurse was actually trying to break the vial over the edge of a table instead of just inserting needle. We also experienced an old man passing away in a bed right next to us as we were waiting for the doctor. “If I wasn’t
sick before getting here… I sure will be by the time I leave here” whimpered Charlyves. I don’t know why, but somehow I keep finding myself in hospitals in Africa.
SLAVERY
Besides frequenting hospitals, we spent two days visiting the famous Cape Coast Castle and Elmina Castle, two of the biggest slave trading posts back at the height of slavery. Cape Coast in particular holds the distinction of being the principle exporter of slaves to the US, and the castle Obama visited in his 2008 trip to Ghana.
At times it's truly amazing how horrible humans can be to each other. Slavery was a terrible era for people, which is not news to anyone. However I never realized what it looked like on the other side of the Atlantic. To be fair, slavery did not start with colonization. In fact most African tribes took slaves from other tribes for centuries. However the commercialization of slavery is what propelled it to new heights. While some European “slavers” went on their own raids to capture Africans as slaves, they more often hired tribes that already were raiding villages and paid them to deliver the prisoners. Once delivered to the Europeans, slaves were then kept in the various slave castles sprinkled along the coast of West Africa.
“Now everyone, look down at the ground. Do you see how in parts of this cell the ground is smoother than other parts? This area has been tested, and it was found that this ground is made up of urine, blood, and feces of former slaves. This layer of the prison is made of their bodies.”
This comment from our guide at Cape Coast Castle sent a shiver down my spine. When you hear words like “genocide” or “stoning”, or “slavery”, you know that it’s terrible. However if you’re like me, it’s impossible to truly understand what that really means until you look at it in the face (or the remains of it). I think that’s the best way to describe my reaction to this prison. Walking on a prison floor made from the waste of humans who used to be there, and seeing the claw marks on the stone walls of people who, packed together in tiny cells, dying of starvation and desperately trying to escape, well it leaves an impression.
KAKUM NATIONAL PARK & COOKING LESSONS
On a more uplifting note, we also went into Kakum National Park, where you can walk on a rope bridge strung up among the tops of very tall trees, and literally walk out “on top” of the rainforest. It was fascinating to see a forest from this angle. It was also made more entertaining by the 30-person American tourist group from Utah, which besides fitting every major tourist cliché, spent their time chasing down their children who had no qualms sprinting from tree to tree, several hundred feet from the ground. That evening, after Charlyves passed out (still sick) in the hotel room, I befriended a Ghanaian who worked at my hotel, who invited me to her communal home (communal as in the entire family lives in one big compound), to teach me how to make Ghanaian food. It was neat to see a traditional Ghanaian home... I think her grandmother was a bit fond of me though, because she cornered me and made me chat with her for a good hour. Another note to self: my charms work much better on grandmothers than cute border agents.
Eventual, a trip needs to end, so Charlyves and I board a bus to head back. At the border we are greeted with less-than-enthusiastic border control agents, with whom we engage in a lovely debate about how much to pay for a penalty (bribe) for not getting our passport stamped. Eventually we settle on $20 after the penalty (bribe) went from $15 to $50. Arriving at my home, tired and beat, we go to the door, and realized we are locked out. “It’s okay” Charlyves says. “I actually find this quit a fitting end to the journey”.
I hope everyone is well! I come back to the US in a month! The next update: Equatorial Guinea and Benin!
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