Play Time

On Friday night, we went to a couple of plays at the National Theatre. One was called “Streetism” and was about the life of street children in Accra. The other was called “Everyman,” a morality play about how a rich man must account for his life on earth to get into heaven.

What better way to get to know a place than through it’s culture. Well, we thought we’d gain that insight through the place itself – the plot, the themes, the acting styles. We didn’t consider what role the audience would play.

In most Western theatres audiences are reminded before the show to turn off their cell phones and it’s considered rude to talk during the performance. In Ghana, as it turned out, audience participation is part of the show. From the opening scene of Ghanaian people setting up mats on the streets of Accra to the final scene where street kids were convicted of theft but ultimately released into the care of local churches, audience hooted and hollered, laughed and shouted questions and made comments to the actors on stage. It must have taken incredible concentration to deliver lines amidst the racket in the audience.

At times it felt like the set of a lowbrow U.S. talk show. One particular scene involved a father and a stepmother trying to deal with their son, who is skipping school and getting poor grades. At one point the son puts up his fist and challenges his father to a fight, and the crowd goes nuts, some egging him on, others aghast that he would show such disrespect for his father.

I remember a couple of lines from a heckler who sat behind me. The father at one point was talking to the boy’s stepmother about how his real mother had left him and his son when he was a baby. He told her that’d raised him all by himself. The heckler called out, “Did you breastfeed him too?” When the stepmother was chastising the mother for the boy’s poor behaviour, the heckler shouted, “What are you giving him a hard time? You can’t even have kids.”

Later in the play, a little boy said he ran away to live on the streets because his father and mother were too busy at work to take proper care of him, the heckler shouted, “That’s no reason to leave home.”

At first I felt badly for the actors – especially the little kids – but then I realized it was part of the culture, a sign of their engagement in the play. They weren’t passive observers like they are back home.

I dare someone to try this at the Imperial. Post a note and let us know how it goes J

On Saturday we were torn between spending the day at the beach and the funeral of an important tribal chief that would draw tens of thousands of mourners to the centre of the city.

As travelers we to immerse ourselves in the culture, and in the lives of the people of the place we’re visiting. In the case, attend the funeral of a person who was very important to people here, to get a sense of how they mourn the death and celebrate the life of a public figure.

But then a big part of you just wants to escape the heat, pollution and and relentless busyness of the big city. Go sit by the beach, swim, drink beer, eat good food, go to sleep to the sound of the surf.

We went to the beach … though I felt guilty as we left the city in a cab, and saw mourners making their way through the streets to the funeral. It felt like the right thing to do once we got out there, though. There was a cool breeze coming off the water, a welcome break from heat and humidity of Accra. We stayed overnight, and came back to the city late Sunday afternoon.

- Mark

Photos from the Weekend

Sunset at the Beach near Big Milly's Campground

A huge wave hits Janet and Mark as they play in the surf near AMAAL

The private beach near AMAAL - we were the only ones swimming

A woman walks with dishes on her head in Accra

The Beach near Big Milly's

The Great Escape - From The Heat

Escaping the heat – or at least splashing it with some water - was my goal for this past weekend. I read in the Brandt guide book that there was a beach town about an hour from Accra called Kokrobite (pronounced Kokrobreetay). Ato, the JHR representative in Accra, laughed when Mark asked him how to get to Kokrobite (pronounced the way it’s spelt). We are quickly learning that the pronunciation of places in Ghana is not obvious. I will not be able to get around the city based on names on a map until I learn how to pronounce them properly. Ghanaians don’t know how to read maps or street names. Every place is identified by its proximity to something else. We live near Metro TV. We want to be dropped off near Koala supermarket. Please take us our friends’ house near the Poly Clinic. It’s actually quite funny and difficult to get used to. I asked our landlord to show us where our house was on the map, and she pointed to an area even I knew wasn’t close to where we actually live.

Our exit from Accra happened on Saturday morning. We negotiated a cab ride to Kokrobite for $100,0000 Ceedees, or roughly $12. It took us an hour to get there. The last leg of the journey took us through a village that stretched for 7 km along a narrow dusty road. Along the entire length of the village, little shops selling everything from hair clips to fresh pineapple, sat adjacent to the road. The shops were little more than metal or mud shacks with one or two people either asleep in whatever shade could be found, or sitting with children running around them. The children, barefooted and covered in dusty dirt, stopped and watched us as we passed.

We were delivered to AMAAL (The Academy of African Music And Arts Limited). It sounds more official than what we found. The ‘Academy’ was little more than a rundown, empty resort that was obviously past its prime. We were met by Victor, the manager of the Academy, who told us we were the only white people who’d checked in. Apparently there was one other person staying in a place that could easily hold 100 people. We didn’t see anyone else the entire time we were there. When we left, Victor told us to call him when we planned to return “Just to ensure you get a room,” he said.

Further down the road from AMAAL we found its westernized cousin. Big Milly’s, a beachfront, hostel, populated mostly by young expats and backpackers was as vibrant as AMAAL was empty. Big Milly we found out was a woman from Britain named Wendy. Her husband was from Ghana, and for 13 years they’d been running a successful business that pulled in travelers looking for a good time, western food, and access to a secure beach.

We spent part of the afternoon at Big Milly’s. There were many village people roaming the beach. Children played and danced on the beach, and young men spent hours repairing fishing nets.


I wandered along the beach with my camera to take some pictures. The children posed for me as long I would show them the photos on the digital screen once I’d taken them. Their poses grew sillier as I took more photos. They laughed gleefully upon seeing their reflected image on the screen. Later I found the kids playing quietly in a circle so took another picture.

The next morning I got up in search of bottled water. The first place I found told me to sit and wait, they’d go find water. Five minutes later a young woman came back telling me the water was all gone. I should go further down the road, about 50 metres she said. I went further down the road, and a young boy named Abdul told me they didn’t have bottled water either. He told me he would take me to find water.

Abdul, a young boy of about 14 jumped off his bike and walked with me down the dusty road toward the next stall. He told me he goes to school in Accra, an hour’s drive away to secondary school. He wants to become a refrigerator and air conditioner repair man. He also wants to be a boxer and showed me a couple of moves he’s been working on. He asked me if I had seen the big house near our resort.

“You mean the hotel they’re building?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said.

The building he was referring to was a monstrous construction project on the other side of AMAAL. We’d noticed it the day before. Apparently it’s been under construction for almost 5 years. We were told it would be finished in time for the 2008 African Cup. We had discussed the project the day before, unsure whether western corporate interests in Kokrobite were a good thing or not.

Abdul was convinced the hotel would change things for his village. “It will be great for development,” he said sweeping his arms across the area. Tourists will buy more from our village.”

I hoped he was right. Exclusive resorts often have a way of providing all services to their guests so that there is no need for them to leave the area. Hopefully, the friendliness of the villagers and a desire to truly get to know the culture of the area would pull people from their luxurious surroundings.

The highlight of the weekend was jumping into the surf coming off the Gulf of Guinea. We stayed close to shore for fear of the powerful under tow, but submerging into the cool waters was an incredible treat.

Our drive back was more Ghanaian style. We took three trotros to get back to our neighbourhood. Tro tros are vans or buses that go all over the city and serve as the country’s public transportation system. It was a longer, hotter trip this way, but only cost us about $1.50 to get back from Kokrobite.

Soaking wet by the time we reached our apartment from the heat of the trip home, we were thrilled that the air conditioning in our room was working.

We were glad to be back, but the memory of the surf will soon pull us back to Kokrobite.

- Janet

Our Patio

Our Breakfast Nook :)

January 25, 2007

Former UN secretary general Kofi Annan gave a lecture today - two days after he returned home after his retirement from the UN. He is revered here in his home country, and there was much celebration about his return.

Janet and I went down to the conference centre where the talk was being held, though we did not have a ticket and therefore not much chance of getting in.

We were standing outside the centre when a young man passed by and asked if we were going in. We said no because we didn't have tickets. He motioned for us to follow him, and he asked the guard at the door to let us in.

We followed along and he led us upstairs and into the auditorium. It was packed so we sat down on the stairs in the aisle. At this point I leaned over to Janet and said, "I have to pee really bad." I thought the talk would last a couple of hours, and I was afraid I would burst long before then. Janet told me sit tight. She said if I mentioned it to our host, whose name was Christian, he feel obliged to lead me to the bathroom. I didn't think I could hold so I leaned over and asked Christian where the bathroom was. Sure enough he insisted on taking me, and we shuffled past well-dressed women - me in my dirty sneakers and sweat-soaked clothing (I still haven't gotten use to perpetually sweating here).

By the time we returned, Kofi had walked to the podium and begun his speech. We shuffled past the women again - the only people moving in the entire 2,000-seat auditorium. Janet was surely mortified - on my behalf - the whole time.

The speech itself was on the future success of Africa, which Kofi said rested on three pillars - security and peace, development of the economy and social service, and human rights. It was not a gripping speech and it was very short at 20 minutes, but we felt very privileged to be there. Afterwards, we found out that Christian was part of the United Nations Association in Ghana. We exchanged numbers and promised him we'd take him out to dinner sometime for his kindness. He took us down to the floor of the auditorium and got someone to take a picture of the three of us. We'll post it when he e-mails it to us.

The thing that struck both Janet and I was the lax security at the event. The president, his ministers, and a former UN secretary general were there, and we weren't putting through a security screen at the door. Can you imagine walking into a talk by a prominent western leader and not being subject to security check?

- Mark

A representative day

January 24, 2007

In the morning Renee and I met with Ato at the JHR office in Accra. Renee is the person I will be organizing the workshops with. She is a radio journalist from B.C. who taught in Tanzania for three years.

Our jobs are mostly based around giving workshops on the fundamentals of good journalism and human rights reporting to reporters around the country. Today we found out where we will be going first and what kinds of rights issues we'll be focusing on. We'll be going to Hoe, a community in eastern Ghana, between Lake Volta (the largest lake in the country which houses the hydroelectric dam that powers most of the country) and the neighbouring country of Togo.

We'll be focusing on human rights issues that affect women and children for all of the workshops, with the help of a human rights activist from Amnesty International. We'll tailor the human rights education to the regions we visit, as the issues vary from place to place.

Ghana has had a constitution that protects human rights - a constitution that's a comprehensive as our own - but abuses still persist because it's only been in effect since 1992 and many Ghanaians still don't know much about it and continue with traditional practices that often violate individual rights.

For example, it's still legal to rape your wife - there was a failed attempt last year to pass a domestic violence bill because it contained a clause criminalizing marital rape.

In the afternoon we ended up at Darrell and Eva's. There I met an assemblyman - the equivalent of a city or town councilor in Canada - and got a good glimpse into the life of a politician. He says politics are very retail in Ghana - some would say the same is true in Canada! He got elected because he was able to get streetlights erected in his community. You realize this is a big deal here when you've wandered around pitch-black neighbourhoods at night that don't have them. He got the government to agree to donate the lights, but he had to fundraise to erect them. The government doesn't have the money for many infrastructure projects that we take for granted. He found a well-off local resident to pitch in some money and he paid the rest out of his own pocket. He says this is very common here. A lot of people expect politicians to financially support the community, as well as represent it.

Like our councilors at home, they also take on initiatives that are not officially part of their jobs. For example, he's organizing a quiz competition in local schools about the history of Ghana. It will coincide with the 50th anniversary of independence celebrations in March.

We also talked about Canada for a while because his sister lives in the Toronto area.

- Mark