Letter from Ghana

This post is a gift to me from me. My essay writing has been quite difficult lately, just not flowing and feeling good, and that has had a frustrating, negative impact on my life on the ship. Best case scenario is that I would figure out how to feel better about writing and move to a happily productive place. Well, that's not happening. This upcoming stretch of days at sea, between when we leave Ghana tonight and when we arrive in Cape Town on October 3, is very precious to me because it will be my last ship days of the voyage. Many wonderful things are planned and I want to savor the time and enjoy it to the fullest. So today I'm going to just write to you all, off the top of my head, about my time in Ghana and call it good.

 

The news I'm bursting to tell you is that it FINALLY happened – I had a conversation with the Archbishop and Leah at breakfast this morning! It was not very long because they were already finished when I went to their table but they graciously stayed and talked a while before excusing themselves to go rest in their cabin. Their previous two days had been exciting but exhausting. When I sat down with them, they were recounting the adventures of being taken to Kumasi to meet the king! The Archbishop was receiving a lifetime African achievement award from an NGO here and there was a great celebration put on in his honor including fabulous drumming and dancing. Leah said she had never shaken so many hands and Arch was describing the jewelry –multiple amazing gold bracelets and huge rings – the king wore.

 

I missed most of the story but the Tutus did rave about the five students chosen to accompany them, how nice they looked and behaved, and how excited they were. I know the kids have been asked to tell the story from their perspective to all of us soon and I can't wait to hear that. I saw the stretch limo and police cars of the motorcade leaving the dock yesterday when they returned our esteemed friend to the ship. They had flown by charter to Kumasi then to Accra, the capitol, to meet with the Vice President – the President was reportedly in China. I wonder if they were talking about the recent discovery of oil off the coast near Takoradi where we are in port. Besides the students, David Geis, the academic dean, and Lucille Renwick, the Communications Coordinator who writes the official SAS blog for the voyage, also joined the entourage of officials and journalists on the trip. Both of them are friends so I'm looking forward to their tales as well.

 

Breakfast with the Tutus was really a special treat. After the stories of their adventure, I was able to talk a little and mention again my connections to St Tim's, where their granddaughter just graduated, and also with Arch's personal assistant, Lavinia, who was a shipmate on Spring 2009. Lavinia and I are set to have dinner in Cape Town one night I'm there and I'm looking forward to hearing about her recent work with the Archbishop's foundation's program on HIV/AIDS. I also got to know Pumla Gobodo, a commissioner on the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, when Swanee brought a group of us together at her ranch so I shared that with him. The most wonderful part of our conversation for me was when I told them that I was getting sad because I was leaving in Cape Town. I explained that I was here because I just could not resist being on at least part of the voyage with the two of them but that having just recently sailed the whole voyage and having obligations at home, I just had to leave. Arch said, with his wonderfully vibrant sincerity: "Oh, no! Isn't there a way we can talk you into staying?" From a man revered by the world and celebrated by kings, that simple question brought me honor I'll remember always.

 

Hard to follow that story but I want to also share just a little about my time here. Having never been to West Africa at all and this being the only port on the itinerary I'd not visited, I was very excited to come to Ghana. My overall impression is that, although there are obvious and extensive challenges economically and socially, the Ghanaians are doing fairly well, especially when compared to other African countries I've visited such as Zambia. Two indicators that stood out for me were the good shape the roads were in and the presence of a middle class. Even though there are many paved roads, reportedly the traffic is horrible in Accra. I was sorry to not get there at all but the difficulties with transportation were the reason SAS chose to port in Takoradi instead, which is quite a distance west. The port is completely industrial and I doubt a cruise ship has ever been here. They are definitely not ready for prime time tourism here but that was kind of nice because the city feels authentic. A number of vendors traveled from Cape Coast and Accra, both cities more accustomed to tourists, and set up their wares right on the wharf. They had local crafts we could not find anywhere in town so that was convenient. I shopped there this morning and bought some strips of Kente cloth, a wooden bowl and some lovely handmade glass beads. One of the Lifelong Learners is a jewelry maker and he brought tools, wire and clasps with him. He offered to help us make things if we bought the beads so that's one thing I'll be doing in the upcoming days at sea.

 

I took three SAS day trips in Ghana. The first was to a hospital in Cape Coast with the Childbirth and Fetal Development class. It was a hard choice between this trip and a simultaneous one to visit a group of Queen Mothers who had gathered from across a whole region to meet with students. From all reports, I probably would have learned more in the second but luckily my colleague from Beyond Our Borders, Karen Yuan from Colorado Springs, did that trip so I'm hoping for a detailed report. Often my health care interests compete with my gender equity interests but that's okay. The hospital was the third level of care, a regional hospital with district hospital and health centers below that. It was well staffed and not over-crowded. As is common here, there were very few disposable supplies and it had mostly low tech equipment. But they did have four operating theaters and seemed to offer a broad range of care. Ghana has national health insurance that sounded comprehensive and only costs $15 per year, quite affordable I thought, even for a developing country.

 

I also visited a village built on stilts on a lake. The two-hour roundtrip boat ride was the best part of the trip. Our canoe held five people plus our boatman, Pont. He poled the canoe with the help of the two of us who were guys. I tried to do my part by bailing as the vessel slowly filled with water. As we went along, I envied my fellow bailers I saw in other canoes because they had plastic scoops and coffee cans while I had a plastic lid much like a Frisbee, definitely not "the proper tool" as my father would say. Talk about bailing out the ocean by teaspoons! While this spoiled American woman grumbled to herself, Pont threw his back into his job, handicapped by the water weight I wasn't able to adequately bail, and entertained us all the while with delightful Ghanaian songs.

 

The village was a disappointment. We walked through to the end of it and were seated in an open air room, then welcomed and told a short history of the people by the chief. At the end, he asked for donations which we gave, generously I thought. Someone saw him start to count the money before we were even out of the room. Then we walked back to the canoes – a visit of maybe 45 minutes. The adult villagers were beyond jaded, actually rude to me, rarely even making eye contact. We asked the chief how many visitors they got a year, domestic and foreign because apparently Ghanaians visit frequently as well. He proudly said "Twelve thousand!" No wonder the people were totally over the tourists! A steady stream marched back and forth every day, many, I'm sure, trampling on the laundry laid out to dry on the walkways. With a lot of care I managed to avoid that faux pas, but I got a horrible feeling of walking through a popular zoo. I felt embarrassed by my complicity in such a dehumanizing experience, no matter how lucrative it was for the village. In fact, I questioned where all the money was going – the proceeds from their tourist endeavors were nowhere in evidence. The children, as usual, saved the day. They delighted in our stickers and crayons, and enjoyed the bubbles I blew for them. We were told they learn to swim and paddle a canoe by the age of three or four. Several of the other SAS village visits I heard about were much better, with wonderful welcoming celebrations including lots of drumming and dancing. I hope they take this one off the list.

 

The real focus of our stop in Ghana, for me, was going to what are called castles but are actually the dungeons and embarkation points for captives bound for the Middle Passage and slavery in the New World. I prepared myself for an experience similar to going to the Killing Fields in Cambodia or the Peace Museum in Hiroshima. I can't do my experience justice now, not yet. I need to process it and hopefully will be able to write about it later. I'll just share a little.

 

The coast of Ghana was the place where the large majority of slaves were sent from, having been funneled in there from many, many other places in Africa over the four hundred year tragedy that was the slave trade. This history was the subject of several of my classes and I had learned a lot. As some of you may know, Ghana has become the focus of what is called "diaspora tourism" or people of African ancestry, mostly African Americans, coming back here to be in touch with their roots and learn about their history. What a difficult and courageous journey! Being a white Southerner, I didn't know how it would feel to me but I tried to stay open and just take it in. I visited both the castles in Elmina and the one in Cape Coast that President Obama visited in 2009, guided by the same man we were fortunate enough to have leading our group. The stone dungeons themselves and the dark, narrow passageways through which the captives passed to board those unspeakably inhumane ships were – well, I don't know how to finish that sentence. "Unimaginably horrific" doesn't do them justice. But as powerful as the experience of being in those places was, for me it was much worse to be in the Dutch CHURCH built two levels up from the cells and the governor's quarters on the top floor. Sorry, I truly can't go on. There's more but it's not ready to be told yet.

 

We sail tonight for Cape Town and I'm really looking forward to this segment. First, there will be post-port meetings to share our stories of Ghana and there are many I can't wait to hear. Neptune Day is coming up. A fabulous woman from IBM, who has been traveling with us since Morocco and also leaving in Cape Town, has given riveting lectures on sustainability and will be speaking to my Sustainable Communities class. She has kindly invited me to a private dinner the night before we arrive in South Africa so that should be fun. We'll have our first talent show/cabaret night and also Neptune Day. Best of all, we get to focus on the Archbishop's home country and the students will be treated to learning its history from a very special source. In addition to lecturing in Global Studies, he is also scheduled to visit my Global Music class tomorrow – to teach us to dance!

 

So thanks for letting me ramble on in lieu of a more organized essay about Ghana. I've got to go shower off the tropical sweat I just earned doing some hard bargaining with the vendors down on the wharf. At on ship time tonight, I've organized a Lifelong Learner party to use up my supplies of vodka, wine and snacks.  Can't be taking that home - I need the room for my new treasures.

 

 

 

 

Midnight at the Oasis

The crescent moon had grown a little fatter during the two days since its appearance had signaled the end of Ramadan. I watched it dance a slow arc towards the desert horizon with its lovely partner, Venus, who was wearing what my granddaughter Lucy calls her “sparkly dress”. As the celestial couple dipped behind a palm tree classically silhouetted in the foreground, a forty-year old melody showed up in my head to furnish the dance music. Maria Muldaur’s lusty voice crooned: “Midnight at the oasis. Send the camels to bed. Shadows paintin’ our faces. Traces of romance in our heads.” Actual camels had already gone to bed, kneeling on the sand outside the enclosed square created by the brown canvas tents of our nomad camp near Zagora, Morocco. With low snorts and huffs, they settled in for the night. In the morning they would carry all ninety of us in our Semester at Sea group out into the desert for a ride.

Muldaur’s tune looped over and over in my head as the experience of a dream come true sent frissons of excitement in waves through my body. Even after the moon set, the magic continued into the night. A bonfire was lit in a pit in the center of the carpeted square of the enclosure, and its sparks shot up, competing with the countless stars in the black dome of night overhead. I marveled at the colorful rugs I had only seen in tastefully decorated American homes. Here they served their original purpose: an overlapping barrier to the sand, a lovely blue and red carpet for an outdoor living space. A stranger in a strange land, I felt comforted and welcomed by the gracious ambiance created by those rugs. Around the fire, white robed and turbaned dancers, singers and drummers performed their songs, dissonant and foreign to my ears. One woman’s powerful ululation filled the air and we all watched mesmerized as her tongue rapidly vibrated in her open mouth to produce the sound. The drumbeats called insistently for us to join in, and as we clapped and danced, what had been a performance turned into a communal event. In my Global Music class on the ship, Professor Daniel Ferguson had talked about the cultural differences that divide artistic from participatory music. On the edge of the Sahara Desert, I was witnessing then happily joining in the transformation from one to the other.

Initially a little shy, the SAS students and adults were urged to join the celebration by a buoyant, thirty-something Moroccan woman dressed in capri jeans and a white blouse with a turquoise scarf around her neck, an outfit identical to those I regularly wear. By her movements throughout the camp and her interactions with the guests and staff, I could tell she was in charge. At one point I saw her sitting off to the side on a low wooden stool. I squatted down beside her, introduced myself and tried to learn a little about her. Her name was Bouchra, which she told me meant “beautiful gift”. Her English was fairly good, and I was thankful because my French was much worse. I learned that she was the manager of not only this nomad camp but also a hotel and several 4x4 and camel excursion outfits, all owned by her father. The idea of a young Muslim woman in a position of authority scraped against the smooth surfaces of my stereotypes of this culture. Even though nepotism undoubtedly played a part in her rise to this position, I appreciated her skills and the opportunity she had to use them. In my work with gender equity issues over the years, I’ve become aware that men who have only daughters are some of the strongest feminists. I didn’t feel comfortable asking but would love to know if she had any brothers.

After our conversation, I went back to the group and sat watching the fire burn down. An uncomfortable feeling began to intrude into my bliss. Suddenly I began to think of Bouchra as the little man behind the great Wizard of Oz. The magical, romantic fantasy I was reveling in morphed a little when I looked at it through her eyes. For her, this was a business, a well crafted show to provide tourists with the experience of being in the Moroccan desert, in what was billed as a nomad camp. There are still nomadic peoples in this country, some Berber and some Arabic. Our guide told us they wear blue robes like the one I noticed was worn by the man who lit our fire. Was he culturally a nomad or just playing a role? The camp itself seemed built for its tourist purpose--no nomads had probably ever slept in these tents with their camels resting nearby. Our Muslim hosts had provided us with a full bar and access to toilets that flushed, most of the time anyway. Were we in a Saharan Disneyland? Should I expect Aladdin to pop out any minute? Looking back, I wonder that these questions about authenticity didn’t completely kill my buzz. As it turned out, my delight had staying power. I went to sleep on my little mattress in the tent with Muldaur’s song still in my head.

In the morning I got up early and climbed to the top of a dune to watch the eastern horizon turn from gray to pink to blazing gold.

I wasn’t that interested in the camel ride portion of our itinerary, having done one in Cairo that resembled a pony ride at a county fair. But for many of the students, the camel ride was the most anticipated part of the trip. They bargained for gauzy scarves at roadside stalls during our rest stops on the long bus ride down to the desert, experimented with various methods of wrapping them into turbans and mugged for each other’s cameras. Our ride the next day was actually quite fun, almost two hours long with six or seven camels tied together and led by their owner, walking past fields and farm families going through their morning routines. The process was very similar to trail rides at a dude ranch in the American west. Riding along, I wondered if Bouchra visited me in Colorado and I took her to one of those ranches, would she enjoy buying a cowboy hat, singing along with a guitar around a campfire, and watching the moon set over the Rockies? Would she care if she slept in a bunkhouse that might never have sheltered a real cowboy? One motivation for travel is dream fulfillment. That’s what a Bucket List is for, isn’t it? If the dream feels fulfilled, as mine so fortunately did, why should we question how?

After we all returned to the ship and set sail for Ghana, I had dinner with my new friends Deena and Jim Behnke. They were brimming over with excitement about their SAS trip and enchanted me with stories of hiking through the Atlas Mountains, sleeping in Berber villages and immersing themselves in the rural Moroccan lifestyle. The places they slept were not tourist accommodations but the flat roofs of Berber houses. The toilets certainly didn’t flush. Jim exclaimed that one village had just gotten electricity the year before. They ate basic Berber food, and the students played soccer with the village children. They seemed to have lived what is widely considered to be the ultimate traveler experience and couldn’t have been more excited about it. Dinner ended before I could take my turn at storytelling which worked out well for me. Again, I was dealing with uncomfortable questions. Had I visited Frontierland while they hiked the Continental Divide?

I’ve written here before about the sort of buyers’ remorse that often comes when shipmates share stories of their travels in port. It’s almost impossible to listen and not compare. No matter how wonderful your own adventure was, someone else’s can sometimes sound even better, and you are left feeling a little envious. I have finally learned to listen to these stories, accepting any envy I may feel, but settling at last into gratitude. Semester at Sea affords me the opportunity to hear fresh, first-hand accounts of amazing experiences from many different perspectives. My voyage is enriched by vicariously enjoying the adventures of literally hundreds of travelers.

(photo by Maria Sakaria)

My felt experience in Morocco was extraordinary, shimmering still inside me. Despite the intrusions of my analytical mind, I am convinced the imprint of those sensations will stay with me always: the sweetness of the scalding mint tea; the welcoming feel of Berber carpets beneath my feet; the ululations, drumbeats and camel noises; the hearty smell of lamb tagine at dinner; the gracious warmth and hospitality of our hostess; and, most of all, the sight of the crescent moon and Venus setting slowly behind the silhouette of a desert palm. I have experienced “Midnight at the Oasis” – the magic of its beauty, the celebration of its music, the excitement of the fulfillment of a dream – and I am left with special memories and deep gratitude.

BEGINNING MISCELLANEY

 

Mornings on the ship are sometimes a little challenging. We've had four, count them, four continuous nights of time changes as we journey across the North Atlantic heading for Cadiz, Spain, with 2 more singly before that. Even though it sounds like the changes are gradual, they are definitely cumulative. This morning I reluctantly left my cozy cot and slogged through my workout, spurred on by the reward of my Starbuck's coffee at the end. The ship coffee is truly nasty and everyone I advised to bring their own French press has thanked me profusely. So I'm hunkered down in the dining room, worshipping the brew, and suddenly one sound completely changes my mood. From a table behind me, what can only be called a giggle, at once deep-throated and high pitched, fills the room: "Hee hee hee hee hee". Arch has joined us for breakfast.

 

Archbishop Tutu's presence among us is a gift that is difficult to describe. He not only honors us with his decision to make this voyage and share his wisdom with us in meetings and classes, he also models in his everyday life the characteristics of humility, an infectious playfulness born of living in the moment and respect for and belief in the essential goodness of people that he speaks about so passionately in public. He and his wife Leah have managed to be among as role models for all to see and emulate but also as real people. They are welcoming and gracious as they meet over 750 students, faculty, staff members and lifelong learners, each of us shy and insecure at first but quickly put at ease by their genuine friendliness. It has a lot to do with that laugh.

 

I've only had one brief conversation with them and that was our first day, back in Halifax. Les McCabe has just escorted them onto the ship and I was standing near enough to join the group and welcome them. I reminded Arch that I had spoken with him at the St. Timothy School commencement where on of their granddaughters was in the graduating class and I was attending as an alum.  His face lit up and he quickly introduced me to Leah; they both beamed as we connected as grandparents and I complemented their beautiful, smart and accomplished granddaughter. Now I long for a real conversation. They join the LLLs in the lounge for our Happy Hour meetings so hopefully that will happen soon.

 

In other news, my courses are stimulating and diverse. Because I am only going on a third of the voyage, I decided to sit in on a number and not commit to a few as I usually do by doing all the readings and having more of a focus. So far I've been to classes in sustainable communities, global music, travel writing, global societies, family/community/utopia, fetal development and childbirth, the rhetoric of film and the core course everyone takes, global studies. Fascinating! I think I've learned most in the sustainable communities class. The professor states his main thesis as "Enough, for everyone, forever" or economy, equity and ecology. After living around the environmental movement for decades but never really connecting with or committing personally to its goals, beyond simple things like recycling and buying responsible light bulbs, I have finally gotten excited about the social equity piece of it, the "enough for everyone". We've also talked about the locavore or locally grown food movement which I've been interested in for awhile. Rocky Rohwedder, the brilliant and charismatic professor from Sonoma State University, told us about "guerilla gardeners" who were new to me. They dress up in Ninja outfits and, under the cover of night, plant gardens somewhere they do not have permission to use, often a public green space in a low income area. They leave a sign that invites the local residents to take responsibility for the garden and share the harvest among themselves.

 

Regular readers of this blog might remember that on my last voyage I tried to look at quoz, The Other, and my encounters with it. For this voyage, I want to look at what happens in the relationships, the exchanges that I experience with people from another culture. I read Pico Iyer's masterful article "Why We Travel" http://www.salon.com/travel/feature/2000/03/18/why and was struck by his discussion of what American travelers bring to these meetings. I've always been so focused either on what I wanted to learn or on not being disrespectful or culturally insensitive that I have forgotten to honor the give and take of meeting a new person from the point of view of what they might be seeing in me. I'm still a little uncomfortable with the notion because it seems more self-centered than I want to be, and I know I'll always want to focus on openness and respect. But it might be a step towards normalizing these encounters with local people to be aware of or learn about how they see me, what they're curious about, what they might need in that exchange. Iyer suggests that we can bring "a fresh and renewed sense of how special are the warmth and beauty of their country". You can "teach them what they have to celebrate as much as you celebrate what they have to teach you". I remember when my mother visited Denver from Shreveport and we would be driving somewhere, me in my mundane, getting- from-here- to-there groove. I would turn west and she would throw up her hands and gasp at the beauty of the mountains, a vista I ignored on a regular basis. Or she would turn on the tap and say "Oooooh, I just love how cold the water is here." Visitors can bring locals gifts of wonder and fresh senses, not just a casual "Your country is so beautiful" but a specific and appreciative act of seeing, listening, tasting and feeling that I hope to share.

 

My first chance to practice this will be in Spain. We arrive tomorrow in Cadiz and that evening I will go with my fabulous global music professor to an authentic Andalusian flamenco club. Dan Ferguson has taught music at Columbia as well as several universities in California, is a touring professional guitarist and speaks both Mandarin and Cantonese fluently! I've already learned lots about this passionate musical form and am really looking forward to the performance tomorrow night. When I was in Spain before, I never got the chance to go to Grenada and visit the Alhambra, reportedly the most popular site in the country. I struck out finding someone to go with so I'll be traveling solo, either on the bus or train, not sure yet, and staying for two nights in a restored Moorish home that has been converted to a hotel in the old Arabian quarter. I haven't explored on my own in quite a while so this should be great fun.

 

Finally, being on the ship this time has been a little different. If you scroll down to the posts just before this one, you'll see that I shared tips on getting ready for an SAS voyage, just hints I've collected over the years and thought it more efficient to write down somewhere. I posted links on the SAS Fall 2010 Facebook page and apparently lots of future voyagers checked them out. Many students have come up to me to thank me for doing that and to say very nice things about how helpful my advice was. More than a few have said something like "My mom really loved your blogs too and she made me promise to find you and thank you."  In the Lifelong Learner group particularly, I've become the Go To person for questions of every kind. Fortunately, there are many resources now that we're on the ship, including our marvelous LLL coordinator, Betty Waldrin, who has sailed 19 times and two other LLL couples who have sailed 10 times each! The early days of a voyage can be overwhelming so we've all been busy helping everyone get settled and oriented. Those exchanges, coupled with the fact that I'm only going to be on the ship for a short time, have made me feel a little like a staff member instead of a voyager myself. It's been great fun but I also want to shift my focus now to my experiences, my relationships, my writing, etc. It's already going by way to fast and I want to savor it all!