Obruni in Ghana

Some things are simple. I love the word "queue" but I stopped using it when I got to the US where everyone says "line". I'm back to "queue" now (and I use that word a lot, trotros, you know...) but it will probably last only till I'm back in Pittsburgh.

Some things are easy to figure out but aren't so common like queue and line. "I'll put some water on fire for you." When I first heard it, I thought it sounded funny. Of course it doesn't really mean to burn water, it means to heat water, but I think it sounds funny.

Alight at Paloma. Alight? Right. Alight. I understand what it means, but I swear I never heard that before. I checked the Oxford English Dictionary and found out it's an old-fashioned word, interesting. At least for me. Also, it explains why the mates never told me when I still needed help figuring out where to get off (ALIGHT, white girl!) - they probably didn't know what I was talking about.

That's the linguist in me - always learning. Always. :)

Ok, the number of posts about trotros on this blog says two things: (1) I love trotros, (2) I spend way too much time on them. Why do I love trotros? Because there's no better place for people-watching. But yes... I don't call this commute to work, it's a 2-hour (if I'm lucky) journey to work and it can be done only temporarily.

I've had some accidents with trotros. The door fell once (well, it kinda did hang onto the trotro, but still...) Everyone seemed surprised, but I thought - come on, guys, you've had to see this many times before. Yea, I also thought - ha, that's new; but then stopped paying attention and continued my people-watching. Or I fell asleep, I don't remember. I was hoping, though, that we wouldn't kill anyone on the road with the door flying away while in motion (we didn't).
I do like trotros but I don't like the front seats. I sat there once and it's not much fun to be squeezed on the seat with one other person when the door suddenly opens. While in motion, of course. I do like window seats. And I make sure I choose the row with the best leg space if I can. :)

I did have some accidents that weren't entirely pleasant - it's getting warm and people smell. But people don't smell as bad as a baby puking in front of you. The drivers are crazy and I sometimes wonder how it is possible that I got home alive. But then you end up sitting next to a child trying to break your nose with his mother's purse and you stop carrying about the driver that much. Also - I'm good at hitting my head at least once a day. But you get used to it and knowing that everyone is watching the obruni getting off a trotro, you know that you at least amused someone.

And I like that many of the St. Peter's car mates already know where I'm getting off. Or alighting, but that's for another post.

I have to say that I'm being unfair, probably. Because I keep saying that work ethic here is awful but well, work ethic at my work place is awful, which doesn't mean it's everywhere (although I'm gonna be politically incorrect and will say that I think that bad work ethic is a common thing here and might be one of the reasons for underdevelopment). The people selling stuff on the road (traders, they're called) must work really hard to actually earn a little money and I can tell you - they don't do the kind of job I'd like to do. So here is my solution - stop paying people by an hour and start paying them for what they actually do. Thus you'll save money on paying people for sleeping in the office. And things might get done. Just a thought... :)

Taxis in Ghana are a no-go place for me as an obruni. By that I mean - I'd rather walk for half an hour to get on a trotro than argue with the taxi drivers over the price. They are, however, fun to watch, as most of them have the most ridiculous signs on them. My personal favorite so far is "A before B" - I mean, isn't that obvious, or is it really such a surprising message that you have to put it on your car window? :) "1 + 1 = 3 way" is also good, although here I'm not sure if the meaning is so obvious.

And well, as for the prices - the best advice I've been given before coming to Ghana was "They'll give you a price. Say you'll pay 30% of it and you'll end up paying 50%." This is especially true with taxi drivers. I think that they believe all obrunis in Ghana are here just for one day and don't have time to figure out that they're trying to cheat you, but hey, dear Accra taxi drivers, you're mistaken! I was lucky, though, and met a taxi driver who's fair (I have his phone number so if you're coming to Accra and need a ride, let me know :)). I mean - there are some who give you a fair price no matter what the color of your skin is, but I just don't need to go through the arguing process every time I'm trying to get somewhere.
So this is me dealing with the taxi drivers:
"Do you need a taxi?"
- "It depends on how much you'll charge me to Madina."
"15 cedis."
- "Are you kidding me?"
"How much would you pay?"
- "I paid 5 yesterday."
"Give me 10 and I'll drive you."
- "Even if you said give me 3 and I'll drive you, I'd say no."

The trotro stop was only 20 minute walk from there. And guess what? I paid 20 pesewas for the ride instead of the 30 I was supposed to pay. I love trotros (and they sometimes also have funny signs on... :))

Vodafone house. MTN house. First, I thought that's where the offices are. But no - these are people's houses painted as huge billboards. And I bet the people don't get any money for this advertising space. Ha, MTN, the official partner (or whatever) of 2010 World Cup... And Vodafone, you call yourself a good neighbor in the Czech Republic. Is it just me, or do you think they're abusing the people who are often illiterate and just don't know?

Czech... Who'd have guessed? :)

Obama Hotel. Obama Inn. Obama everything... That's Ghana, Obama! :)

A week ago, after the awful and heartbreaking game with Uruguay where Ghana was robbed of its victory, I was chatting with a friend (well, also arguing a little as he was trying to make me believe that white = rich) and he asked me if I want to go to Cape Coast with him and his friends. I said yes (after I asked – “And if you say you’ll pick me up at 8, does it mean 8, or 11?”). Well, we didn’t go there in the end. We went to visit his sister as that weekend was the last day of visits for this school year.

So here we go – me and four Ghanaian men in one car. Let me tell you – there was way too much noise for one car. But it was fun, they were discussing girls and listening to that is always entertaining, no matter where you are.

We got to Timmy’s sister’s school after long hours of driving and I think it was the first time I visited a boarding school like that. If I’m right, we don’t really have same-sex schools in the Czech Republic. I mean – I believe there are some, but it’s not very common. So there I was, at a boarding school (high school) full of girls in uniforms. I’m not going to say anything about the guys’ comments because I want to believe they were just joking (and because I left after they started as I couldn’t listen to it), but check this out: 16 girls in one dorm room (and the room was pretty much 16 beds in the room, not much more space left for anything else), no cell phones allowed, visits once a month on an assigned day, wearing a uniform probably all week long (it was Saturday and the girls had their uniforms on). When going to the bathroom with Timmy’s sister, I saw girls doing their laundry (handwashing – having a washing machine is a great luxury in Ghana), asking their “house lady” (I don’t know what the person is really called, but each dorm has someone who’s in charge of everything) for permission for pretty much anything, it seemed (like if I, since I’m not a student there, could use the dorm’s bathroom). Where does the discipline disappear when people leave school and enter the work market? Did they just have too much of it and are tired of it after they’re done with school?

While I haven’t fully embraced the Africa time concept (and no, don’t worry, I’m not annoyed or surprised by that, I learnt how to live in Africa time in South Africa), I managed to embrace some parts of this attitude. Last Friday, I didn’t go to work because it was raining. A good enough excuse (and not that there was much to do anyway).

However, while I’m not known for being the most punctual person, I could pass for this title in Accra. You tell me we’re leaving at 11am, I’ll be ready at 11am. And I’ll be ready, although I know we probably won’t leave until 2pm (and this really happened). I don’t get angry, though, I just take a book, read and wait (learning patience, you know :)).

In the light of this, I answer questions “Where are you?” when we’re supposed to meet someone and the person is waiting for us. Winnie called last week, before the game, where we are. We left the house 1.5 hour later than planned, but already where in a trotro on our way. I said: “We’re almost there.” And hung up. Doreen started laughing and asked if I know where we are. My response: “No, I have no idea, but does it matter if we’re 10 minutes from there, or an hour?” And no, it didn’t, at that point. We were planning to go shopping before the game, go to the internet café, but we got to the bar the minute the game started without doing any of that. TIA. :)

I don’t remember if I wrote about them already (I most probably did) but they deserve another post. I love them! I love them, I love them, I love them, although they’re wasting so much of my time (but hey, so is being in the office; and being on a trotro is much more interesting). On Tuesday, I made it home in 2 hours and 10 minutes. Record time! I was so happy I had to tell everyone. :) Can you imagine me being anywhere else (meaning in the “Western” world) and not complaining about 2-hour commute (well, it’s usually faster to get to work, it takes about 1.5 hour, from work, it can take up to 3 hours) every day? I can’t… I wouldn’t be willing to do it. But here I am and enjoying it. I know it’s probably because it’s for a limited time, but still.

Trotros just amaze me. The whole system amazes me. Coming from Europe, I’m used to having pretty good service when it comes to public transport. Buses, trains, timetables… Being able to check if my train is late online. All these things. Here – no timetables, no air-conditioning (I mean – really, just imagine, you’re happy the car doesn’t break down while you’re in it most of the time, who cares about A/C?), you’re squeezed on a seat that is sometimes too small for me (and you know African women have butts much bigger than mine is :)), in this humid weather, with too many people (one of the reasons I love trotros – they’re much safer than taxis as there are too many people to let someone do something to me; also, in a taxi I feel too much like a tourist, the color of my skin is enough :)). But, as much as there are no timetables, there are bus stops. And most of them have names. For some reason, it amazes me. I wonder how the system developed. How it started, how they figured out where to start a new route, all that. Back home, it’d be easy – you just look at how many people live where, how many commute to where and you got all you need. But there’s no way to figure this out here by looking at some statistics. And talking about bus stops, I’m the source of entertainment for many mates (the guys on the trotros who collect money from the passengers) when I tell them that I’m going to Heavens (that’s the name of my bus stop because the inn in front of the house is called Heavens). Because the trotro is loud, people speak quietly, so it’s pretty much like answering “Where are you going?” with “Heaven.” Yea, right, white girl! :)

Lastly, I’d like to say that I’m pretty good at telling which trotro is going to break down on the road just by the sound of it. It’s entertaining. I’m also good at hitting my head almost every time I’m trying to get on/off a trotro (entertaining probably for the other passengers watching the obruni, but my head hurts right now :)).

Upon arrival to Ghana, the immigration officer asks you to give him/her your address in Ghana. Simple, right? Well, not really, as houses here don’t have addresses. So you try to write the P. O. Box address you have, knowing that, well, they probably know you’re not going to live in a P. O. box, but what can you do? I didn’t know until I got here. Actually, I found out only a couple of days after I went through the immigration process. I found out after I told my family the address of my office and they started laughing. I was confused – did I pronounce it wrong or what? No, they said, but nobody uses addresses here. Ha, that’s interesting… so I asked more about it. And I was told that streets here don’t have names because people give them names randomly and these names can change. So let’s say that one year, you live on Nkrumah Street, because maybe Nkrumah set his foot there once and it was a big deal, but the next year, you can live on Kingson street, because Kingson lives there now and won the World Cup with the Black Stars (as he deserved, if you ask me :)).

For people like me, it means some difficulties. Because we’re used to know the address of the place where we’re going, that’s what helps us know where we are. But it’s amazing how everyone knows where places are here anyways, and Accra is pretty big! So how does it work? You simply have to know something relatively important in the area where you’re going. For example, when I go home by taxi (which happens almost never because I love trotros, see the next post), I ask the taxi driver if he knows where St. Peter’s Mission School is and if he does, I tell him to go there and then navigate him from there (which, after I managed to get home like that for the first time, impressed my family, because it’s not so easy from the beginning).

I was told that people are starting to use addresses, but that’s probably going to be a very long process. Not only because people aren’t used to it, but also because the city is growing way too fast. And while I don’t consider it strange anymore, I remembered watching “Voices of the Poor” earlier today and the Mexican (I think) lady who was saying that being poor means not having an address and thus not having access to things. Well, not in Accra. Here, you can have a car, you can have a house, but still don’t have an address. I wonder if things like that are mentioned in travel guides. :)