There’s a tiny stream with little fish. The only French I can say without stumbling through it. I practiced it on the way to Cote D’Ivoire.
We missed our bus out of the city so opted for a tro-tro. Six hours on a sweaty, crowded van-like vehicle - just get me out of Accra.
I reached a new milestone on that trip. I peed on the side of the road. “Ok,” my mom said, “What’s the big deal?”
“It’s a little different along the side of a busy road, awkwardly squatting alongside men. Women pee publicly too, but they’ve been trained to do it standing up and only have to lift their skirt a bit.” I explained.
We could only go to Takoradi that evening because the border closes at 6:30. It’s not safe to travel in Cote D’Ivoire after dark.
My eye started to swell a little on the tro-tro ride, but I figured the wind had just irritated it a bit. The next morning my eye was swollen shut. TIA. At home I would be extremely alarmed. One might think I should be more alarmed being in Africa, but there’s not much that can be done. I looked for a healer while we waited for the bus. Maybe he could take a look at the rash on my chest too – my medical professionals said it looked a little like a bite from an acid bug. Hmm.
The bus arrived late which would’ve forced us to find a hotel in Abidjan after dark. There’s a difference between danger and adventure. Change of plans – we headed to the nearest beach town.
My happy place
Axim Beach Hotel – the best place to stay in Ghana. I hope Google searches pick this up, because this place deserves recognition.
This little haven was started by a traveler named Jonas. He grew up privileged and was educated in the UK, until he said screw it. He decided to travel, knowing that the straight and narrow of university couldn’t answer his questions or teach him what the road has. He has maybe had a few hits of the peace pipe, but is successful by the measures of the general public and also the discerning few who choose not to study life, but live and experiment with it.
He has economy huts for the backpackers like himself. These glorious little huts are perhaps a bit crowded in space, but not lacking in the details. Just like the more glamorous chalets, the beds are made up with tropical flowers and the shower made of stones rolled smooth on the ocean floor, decorated with shells collected on the beach it overlooks.
I couldn’t have been more satisfied, especially at US$15 a night.
Our hut overlooked a rocky shore where the sun set. Behind us was a gentler cove and beach of smooth sand. Being idle seaside is much better for my racing mind. In Accra my mind cannot rest out of frustration that my body cannot move; in Axim my mind races with ideas for the hostel I dream of operating – with tree houses and outdoor showers made of stone rolled smooth on the ocean floor.
The best part of the place was its emptiness. Its remoteness saves the peace for only those with stories to tell of how they got there.
The second day I couldn’t take it any longer – not the idleness, but the frustration knowing it wouldn’t be remembered. I can take pictures and a bit of sand, but I can’t bottle the flickering palm leaves. A recording of the crash of waves doesn’t hold my gaze.
I also couldn’t bear my swollen eye. By this time it was a swollen face. My eyeball was in a crater between the hard, red mass below my left eyebrow and the skin stretched tight from swelling around the rest of my eye socket. The swelling reached below my cheek bone and I could feel the pressure deep in my jaw.
That was how I met Jonas. He was in the reception area when I asked for a taxi into town. He was headed that way and offered a ride. When I took off my sunglasses he added that he has a good friend who’s a pharmacist.
“I know there’s a crab in here somewhere,” he said looking around the seats.
“What?” the right side of my face showed a startled expression, the left fixed firmly by the swelling.
He laughed, “Sorry – a dead one, I can smell it.”
We passed a sign for a healer on the way to the hospital. He saw me reading it and said it was up to me, but he suggests seeing a doctor.
At the hospital his friend came out to greet us and escorted us into his office. I felt bad passing everyone in the waiting area, but when I took off my sunglasses their reaction changed to understanding.
After confirming it was probably a cyst he gave me an anti-biotic, anti-inflammatory and another medicine to help the rash on my chest – which I had forgotten about next to my exploding face. He refused any payment. “You’re my sister,” he said.
Jonas had errands to run and offered to get me a taxi back to the hotel, but I couldn’t sit idle any longer. I went with him to collect bamboo at the river delta. On the way he asked me what I need in life.
“Adventure,” I decided.
“Are you sure? Girls need to be loved,” he teased, “big wedding, lots of clothes…”
“Eh?! When the simple decisions are the hardest made in a day, how will someone survive the hard stuff?” was my reply.
“I don’t understand.”
“Well,” I said, “I’m learning that the more clothes I have, the more I worry about what to wear. I spend too much time deciding what to wear and not enough figuring out what to do wearing them.”
His teasing didn’t stop – he arranged for me to take a trip up the river to cut bamboo for a few days. Great – when do I leave? I thought a little about the warning not to swim in any fresh water because of river blindness, but couldn’t back down.
“You should’ve been born a boy,” he said, explaining my body was too soft for that kind of work.
I told him about going fishing.
“Ok, but only for one day,” he said unimpressed.
I didn’t tell him it was actually only once – not even a full day.
He had me beat – I watched the young boy securing the load of bamboo in the truck and noticed his muscles rippling along his lean ribcage. I can’t even build muscles where they are supposed to be…
This was when I learned that he is the owner of the hotel. I did what anyone would do – networked. I asked about his marketing strategy – all other operations seemed to be under control, probably the best run business I had seen in Ghana, it was just a little empty.
Exchanging contact information he agreed to keep me in mind until I could arrange to return with Jack.
He sat with us after dinner on the beach, under the stars. I talked with all of them about my frustration with school. Why do I need to pay hundreds to take a science course designed to be an easy ‘A’ just to get my Spanish degree? As far as completing my Business degree, I don’t even want to go into the corporate world at the moment, and if I need the degree at some point I can finish it in a few months when it’s needed. Theory can’t be practiced in a lecture hall.
Reading Walden puts these thoughts in my head:
“The mass of men live lives of quiet desperation.”
“What a man thinks of himself, that it is which determines, or rather indicates, his fate.”
“… [I]t appears as if men had deliberately chosen the common mode of living because they preferred it to another. Yet they honestly think there is no choice left. No way of thinking or doing, however ancient, can be trusted without proof. What every body echoes or in silence passes by as true today may turn out to be falsehood tomorrow, mere smoke of opinion, which some had trusted for a cloud that would sprinkle fertilizing rain on their fields. What old people say you cannot do you try to find that you can. Old deeds for old people, and new deeds for new.”
“Here is life, an experiment to a great extent untried by me; but it does not avail me that they have tried it.”
“This spending of the best part of one’s life earning money in order to enjoy a questionable liberty during the least valuable part of it, reminds me of an Englishman who went to India to make a fortune first, in order that he might return to England to live the life of a poet.”
I could fill pages and hours with these words, but I know most of it would be skipped in reading. Thoreau was an idealist, and I still have not totally made the decision to be the same. I am inspired by his words, though knowing it is unlikely I should follow them in the fullest extent.
I will quote this final text:
“The greater part of what my neighbors call good I believe in my soul to be bad, and if I repent of any thing, it is very likely to be my good behavior. What demon possessed me that I behaved so well?”
Summed up in the necklace given to me by my mom “Well-behaved women rarely make history.”
While I probably won’t follow a life of complete freedom from the restraints of society as outlined by Thoreau, at least I can continue with a bit of rebellion.
Laugh with me as I try to make my history, knowing it is youthful indulgence, but please do not deter me.
Back to dinner under the stars and honest conversation –
They convinced me to finish at least my business degree which can be done before August. Although Jonas was able to divert his path a little earlier, he assures me there will be time enough for me also; the circumstances of his life were different.
Back to Accra.
We missed our bus out of the city so opted for a tro-tro. Six hours on a sweaty, crowded van-like vehicle - just get me out of Accra.
I reached a new milestone on that trip. I peed on the side of the road. “Ok,” my mom said, “What’s the big deal?”
“It’s a little different along the side of a busy road, awkwardly squatting alongside men. Women pee publicly too, but they’ve been trained to do it standing up and only have to lift their skirt a bit.” I explained.
We could only go to Takoradi that evening because the border closes at 6:30. It’s not safe to travel in Cote D’Ivoire after dark.
My eye started to swell a little on the tro-tro ride, but I figured the wind had just irritated it a bit. The next morning my eye was swollen shut. TIA. At home I would be extremely alarmed. One might think I should be more alarmed being in Africa, but there’s not much that can be done. I looked for a healer while we waited for the bus. Maybe he could take a look at the rash on my chest too – my medical professionals said it looked a little like a bite from an acid bug. Hmm.
The bus arrived late which would’ve forced us to find a hotel in Abidjan after dark. There’s a difference between danger and adventure. Change of plans – we headed to the nearest beach town.
My happy place
Axim Beach Hotel – the best place to stay in Ghana. I hope Google searches pick this up, because this place deserves recognition.
This little haven was started by a traveler named Jonas. He grew up privileged and was educated in the UK, until he said screw it. He decided to travel, knowing that the straight and narrow of university couldn’t answer his questions or teach him what the road has. He has maybe had a few hits of the peace pipe, but is successful by the measures of the general public and also the discerning few who choose not to study life, but live and experiment with it.
He has economy huts for the backpackers like himself. These glorious little huts are perhaps a bit crowded in space, but not lacking in the details. Just like the more glamorous chalets, the beds are made up with tropical flowers and the shower made of stones rolled smooth on the ocean floor, decorated with shells collected on the beach it overlooks.
I couldn’t have been more satisfied, especially at US$15 a night.
Our hut overlooked a rocky shore where the sun set. Behind us was a gentler cove and beach of smooth sand. Being idle seaside is much better for my racing mind. In Accra my mind cannot rest out of frustration that my body cannot move; in Axim my mind races with ideas for the hostel I dream of operating – with tree houses and outdoor showers made of stone rolled smooth on the ocean floor.
The best part of the place was its emptiness. Its remoteness saves the peace for only those with stories to tell of how they got there.
The second day I couldn’t take it any longer – not the idleness, but the frustration knowing it wouldn’t be remembered. I can take pictures and a bit of sand, but I can’t bottle the flickering palm leaves. A recording of the crash of waves doesn’t hold my gaze.
I also couldn’t bear my swollen eye. By this time it was a swollen face. My eyeball was in a crater between the hard, red mass below my left eyebrow and the skin stretched tight from swelling around the rest of my eye socket. The swelling reached below my cheek bone and I could feel the pressure deep in my jaw.
That was how I met Jonas. He was in the reception area when I asked for a taxi into town. He was headed that way and offered a ride. When I took off my sunglasses he added that he has a good friend who’s a pharmacist.
“I know there’s a crab in here somewhere,” he said looking around the seats.
“What?” the right side of my face showed a startled expression, the left fixed firmly by the swelling.
He laughed, “Sorry – a dead one, I can smell it.”
We passed a sign for a healer on the way to the hospital. He saw me reading it and said it was up to me, but he suggests seeing a doctor.
At the hospital his friend came out to greet us and escorted us into his office. I felt bad passing everyone in the waiting area, but when I took off my sunglasses their reaction changed to understanding.
After confirming it was probably a cyst he gave me an anti-biotic, anti-inflammatory and another medicine to help the rash on my chest – which I had forgotten about next to my exploding face. He refused any payment. “You’re my sister,” he said.
Jonas had errands to run and offered to get me a taxi back to the hotel, but I couldn’t sit idle any longer. I went with him to collect bamboo at the river delta. On the way he asked me what I need in life.
“Adventure,” I decided.
“Are you sure? Girls need to be loved,” he teased, “big wedding, lots of clothes…”
“Eh?! When the simple decisions are the hardest made in a day, how will someone survive the hard stuff?” was my reply.
“I don’t understand.”
“Well,” I said, “I’m learning that the more clothes I have, the more I worry about what to wear. I spend too much time deciding what to wear and not enough figuring out what to do wearing them.”
His teasing didn’t stop – he arranged for me to take a trip up the river to cut bamboo for a few days. Great – when do I leave? I thought a little about the warning not to swim in any fresh water because of river blindness, but couldn’t back down.
“You should’ve been born a boy,” he said, explaining my body was too soft for that kind of work.
I told him about going fishing.
“Ok, but only for one day,” he said unimpressed.
I didn’t tell him it was actually only once – not even a full day.
He had me beat – I watched the young boy securing the load of bamboo in the truck and noticed his muscles rippling along his lean ribcage. I can’t even build muscles where they are supposed to be…
This was when I learned that he is the owner of the hotel. I did what anyone would do – networked. I asked about his marketing strategy – all other operations seemed to be under control, probably the best run business I had seen in Ghana, it was just a little empty.
Exchanging contact information he agreed to keep me in mind until I could arrange to return with Jack.
He sat with us after dinner on the beach, under the stars. I talked with all of them about my frustration with school. Why do I need to pay hundreds to take a science course designed to be an easy ‘A’ just to get my Spanish degree? As far as completing my Business degree, I don’t even want to go into the corporate world at the moment, and if I need the degree at some point I can finish it in a few months when it’s needed. Theory can’t be practiced in a lecture hall.
Reading Walden puts these thoughts in my head:
“The mass of men live lives of quiet desperation.”
“What a man thinks of himself, that it is which determines, or rather indicates, his fate.”
“… [I]t appears as if men had deliberately chosen the common mode of living because they preferred it to another. Yet they honestly think there is no choice left. No way of thinking or doing, however ancient, can be trusted without proof. What every body echoes or in silence passes by as true today may turn out to be falsehood tomorrow, mere smoke of opinion, which some had trusted for a cloud that would sprinkle fertilizing rain on their fields. What old people say you cannot do you try to find that you can. Old deeds for old people, and new deeds for new.”
“Here is life, an experiment to a great extent untried by me; but it does not avail me that they have tried it.”
“This spending of the best part of one’s life earning money in order to enjoy a questionable liberty during the least valuable part of it, reminds me of an Englishman who went to India to make a fortune first, in order that he might return to England to live the life of a poet.”
I could fill pages and hours with these words, but I know most of it would be skipped in reading. Thoreau was an idealist, and I still have not totally made the decision to be the same. I am inspired by his words, though knowing it is unlikely I should follow them in the fullest extent.
I will quote this final text:
“The greater part of what my neighbors call good I believe in my soul to be bad, and if I repent of any thing, it is very likely to be my good behavior. What demon possessed me that I behaved so well?”
Summed up in the necklace given to me by my mom “Well-behaved women rarely make history.”
While I probably won’t follow a life of complete freedom from the restraints of society as outlined by Thoreau, at least I can continue with a bit of rebellion.
Laugh with me as I try to make my history, knowing it is youthful indulgence, but please do not deter me.
Back to dinner under the stars and honest conversation –
They convinced me to finish at least my business degree which can be done before August. Although Jonas was able to divert his path a little earlier, he assures me there will be time enough for me also; the circumstances of his life were different.
Back to Accra.
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