The Beach

Saturday, February 06, 2010
The wake up call came at 0545. When we finally came up out of our slumber haze it was 0730. Now in my defense it was the first real sleep since sometime Monday night. I don’t remember putting my head down with the sole purpose of deep sleep for days. So the sleep was refreshing, uninterrupted and apparently very much needed.
The early club, Jeanette, Joanne, Cheri and I quickly planned the day and before the day became too oppressively hot we were off to the beach. We traveled by cab to Kokrobrite Beach. This is a mere 7.7 km from Accra. Well worth the 40 cedi cab ride. The ride through town is an experience in itself. It was a Saturday morning so we think that the shopping crowds were thicker than usual. The markets seemed buzzing with activity. One method of traveling through the country is via “tro-tro” over crowded bigger than minivans, smaller than buses, vehicles. They are crowded, no air conditioning and the drivers seem as insane as anyone else who gets behind the wheel of a vehicle in this city!
While passing the market we saw everything being sold on the side of the street. The walking vendors with towels wrapped snake-like on their heads then balance plastic buckets filled with ice and bottle water, tin pans filled with almost every possible fresh fruit, boxes toys, or whatever, glass bakery cases and fish filled baskets above the towel. They have the straightest posture, the longest, strongest necks and the grace of a dancer with every stride. Some stop by the taxi, but most simply walk up and down between the traffic waiting for someone to summon them to their vehicle. Later in the day we ask one of the drivers if they can make a living doing this. He assures us they do. “Not enough to send their children to private school, but plenty to live”. On one corner we saw shoes hanging on ropes suspended from an umbrella. Now had the umbrella been Brown we would have giggled even more. But photo’s were taken out the window!
Turning off the highway to a completely unrepaired road that clearly had been washed out, with houses in all forms of construction made at least one of us a bit ….um…. concerned. But the first glimpse of the ocean and the promise of “Big Momma’s Backyard” beckoned. The day remained hazy, but the cool breeze off the ocean was truly a delight.
The three of us ventured down the beach strolling past the ebony children playing joyfully in the surf. Turning cartwheels, running in the warm water and body surfing on random pieces of wood the crowds of local children was so fun to watch. Unlike the few other countries where I have traveled, Ghana does not encourage their children to beg, or sell trinkets. Now there were a few boys, not yet teens, who tried their hand at selling the Abroni (white women) seashells or water. The Fishing boats and the fishermen repairing their nets were both colorful and a view into the real coastal traditions. Back to the beach restaurants. We simply ordered three bottles of water (two soda water, one mineral water). A minimal purchase at best. But the ocean breeze and the beautiful view of the waves meeting the sand kept us there for hours.
Naome and David, and their mother, a brother and sister of 10 and 19 (so much for my theory about not using children to sell) approached us offering fresh fruit. Oranges or Pineapples? We agreed to share a whole fresh pineapple skinned and cored with skill right there at or table. The sweetness was incredible. David assured us he went to school, but Naome blushed and shook her head no. she barely spoke, but David chatted confidently. Shortly after a handsome man joined us carrying a unique instrument. He sat a few tables away from where Cheri and I chatted quietly. He approached and asked if we had been in the area the evening before. Explaining that he and his band had entertained at the “backyard” and he was trying to sell his CD’s. We asked him to play, but instead he retrieved a CD player and let us listen to the seven tracks of his self produced. Djeliya ( pronounced Jill-E-Ya) CD. The instrument he was carrying he had made. It was called a Kora. A 21 string that you strum more like a harp than a guitar with cow hide stretched over a hollowed out calabash. Ismailia Diarra and his band “the Birds of Africa” are trying to make it. His sound certainly is unique. He writes his own songs and they are inspired by the women in his life. His mother and sisters. He weaves colorful stories of African tribal music and dance, American influences and the desire to fall in love. Something he does quickly with our travel companion Jeanette. They shake hands and he declares them ‘married’. We laugh and make light of the marriage the rest of the day, but there is a genuine realness about this young man. For hours he sits with us. Successfully selling Cheri and I each a CD, reminding we can find him on CDBABY.com and exchanging email addresses with Jeanette. But, his words that he feels comfortable, like with family, makes us smile. Yes, he is clearly sweet on Jeanette. But he has private and poignant conversations with each of us. He never ‘forgets’ that there are two other women at the table. Soon the day is drifting away. The cab ride back is likely to be long and hot so we must leave. We are not wrong. The traffic has thickened, the throngs of people everywhere seem even more oppressive. The cabbie winds his way through miles of “underconstruction” two lane roads back to the air-conditioned solace of the Golden Tulip. Showers, light dinner and the introduction of the new arrivals the evening passes quickly.
Other thoughts of the day. Accra is not a city I ever really desire to return to. There is little beauty here. The beauty is in the people. But not in their faces, for they live in extreme poverty. The shanties everywhere tell the story. Everything you could possibly want to buy is available on the side of the road. Beautiful carved wooden doors to toilet paper. Fresh fish to super glue. The garbage and dirt is overwhelming at times. While the presidential palace and his offices offer some insight into the possibility for architectural beauty, that seems to be the only hope. We have not seemed to have found the center of this city of over 2 million people. The markets for food and everything else needed to live day to day are huge and stunning in their craziness. People are everywhere. I have been in other big cities and find many of them beautiful crazy beautiful. While not world traveled like some…. Places like Mexico City and Panama City with its Barrios and its downtown offer contrasts and distinguish the classes. Here is appears everyone is poor and lives in a shanty. I hope we are wrong. That our limited forays from the Hotel have warped and narrowed our view.
The people are strikingly gorgeous. Statuesque, Powerful posture, graceful. Strong facial features, ready smiles. Many wear the tribal scars of their youth proudly. They can be a bit startling at first. To the sheltered American in me, they look like wounds from a brutal attack, but I quickly realized that they were symbolic and ritualistic. There was a beauty in those scars.
I have gone on way to long for today… sorry about the length of these posts…. It is acting as my travel journal as well. I want to capture details so I do not forget things.
Ciao