Project GROW

Greetings on May 20th.
It is day 5 of our adventure and all is well. We are currently in Kumasi and beginning to feel VERY far from home. Kumasi is a busy city of over 2 million people. Commerce is booming here, at least in the sense that everyone seems to be very busy on the street, selling, to everyone else on the street. It is also where water is a little scarcer, at least in our hotel ( a trickle of a shower and don’t even expect the hot water) . Hotel was okay, did the trick although we were virtually the only people in the hotel restaurant last night and ate under very dim lights; a good meal, that took literally ages to come. We began to think that the cook must have gone out and caught the chicken, plucked it, and prepared the mealJ . His laid back attitude would have been okay except we were very hungry! The lobby had satellite TV and while we waited for Cynthia to find our bus tickets, I sat in the relatively cool lobby trying to get the internet to work and half watching a movie about racism and Klu Klux Klan. Don’t remember the name of the movie but it seemed somewhat strange watching such a movie in a lobby in Africa to say the least.
Kumasi was a bit of a difficult time for Cynthia as finding a connecting bus that would get us to Bolga was a challenge; she tried 3 different stations before getting to one that would work. Her efforts on our behalf have been outstanding. Then it was to the Kumasi cultural centre where we found some art, watched weaving, and ran into the only other white faces in this city; from America, and shopping….imagine that!
It was a first for me; being a rare white face but it was also somewhat liberating. People were less than curious, except of course the little toddlers and babies who LOOK around their mothers skirts and watch every move, until you smile and wave and then they just beam back. The children are just so cute, I could pick them up and cuddle them every time I get that lovely smile.
So a long day tomorrow, where we catch the bus to Bolgatanga @ 5:30, and then we can settle for the next 2 weeks, unpack, and begin meeting people connected to the project. The nets have been purchased, Monday is market day in Bolga so we may be involved in the goat buying which makes me happy, and then meet the Rotary people on Sunday evening. The project GROW work begins now, holiday is over, and we are all looking forward to being in one place.
A note to all of you who comment on the blog: the comments are indeed being received, but the internet has been somewhat sketchy, and each time I try posting them, the site kicks out so bear with us. When we have our modem on the weekend things should be much more efficient, pictures will start rolling in, and all will be well. ( Or maybe not…but there are always internet cafés). Please keep the comments coming, they are so great to receive and make the connection between us and home a very welcome one. Carolyn, the curly hair picture will go up…!) Phil, if you are reading this blog, I believe I am up one on you now…I have practiced the name of the village and even Vida will not laughJ
Love to all, we miss you and value all emails and thoughts. It is a great experience to be here.

May 20th,
Well, today will bring back memories and smiles of recognition for any of you who have travelled by bus in a developing country. It began with our getting up at 4:50 a.m. to be to the bus station @ 5:30. Once we got to the bus station, we became part of thousands who were planning to do the same thing and the baggage was unreal. The only thing missing were chickens and goats, but virtually everything else was fair game. Cynthia persevered in her usual polite way, securing us seats and a guarantee of getting our 5 suitcases on the bus, underneath where luggage should actually go. (Three of the suitcases are mainly filled with project GROW stuff, so don’t think that we are so naïve as to take that much with us). The rest of the items that did not fit under came on the bus with us. So, in the aisles there were sacks of yams, jugs of palm wine, suitcases, trade goods, mangos, plantains…the list goes on and on! The palm wine was leaking which added a certain vinegary scent to the trip and limited where one might want to put their feet. I was very glad that our luggage was safely under the bus, because the suitcases etc. served as the floor and everyone walked on them to get on and off.
We didn’t leave until 8:30; loading took much longer than expected, but at last we all squeezed on the bus…on seats that were designed for Chinese, rather than African bums, so squished we were; full body contact all the way. Some seats, like mine, were unattached, and the road was quite bumpy so I was forever reaffixing my seat with apologies to my fellow seatmates. However, seatmates were courteous, and curious, and while uncomfortable, the 8 hour bus ride was set to be an experience and always, people were laid back, and having fun, sharing stories, etc. This kind of bus travel is a familiar thing for people in developing countries so they think nothing of a little discomfort. One thing we both noticed is that there were 3 or 4 very small children (3 or under) on the bus, but only because they were very curious. There was no fussing, no whining, just quietly watching what was going on. Our North American toddlers could take some lessons here; because the trip was arduous and they made not a peep about their boredom or discomfort!
Things ticked along just fine for the first five hours but then a huge bang underneath the bus meant a flat tire and so off to the side of the road we went. (could have been so much worse!) The lug nuts on the wheel, like all lug nuts on all flat tires, refused to come off, and bearing in mind the load of baggage, that bus was not going to jack up very easily. We all sat under shady trees (it was hot and humid), watching and waiting, other busses stopped to see if they could help, shared jacks etc. 8 or 9 men put their energy behind the task which was beginning to appear impossible, but eventually, patience (something Ghanians have oodles of) and persistence paid off and the tire was replaced to the applause of all the passengers and with a 90 minute delay, we were off. Clouds had been building as the men finished the task and an hour later we were driving in one of the biggest lightning storms and torrential rains I have had the pleasure to experience. In most cases, the driver would have pulled over and waited out the rain, but he was running very late and impatient to get there so on we drove, windows fogged throughout and wipers going as fast as they could. He went very slow, but you could feel the tension of the passengers because many went quiet, and were standing up watching the windscreen. This went on for at least an hour, and Vida’s stories of flooded roads took on a whole new meaning and for the first time I worried that we might be sleeping on the bus! At last, Bolgatanga was in sight, and we arrived at the bus station at 7, in the pitch dark. (Keep in mind, we are in the equatorial zone so our days are exactly 12 hour days, night comes early, which has taken some getting used to since the days in our region are so much longer at this time of year).
The day’s complications were not quite finished yet, however. In the time between when we booked our room and our arrival, a very important man (richest in the region apparently) had passed away and his funeral was to be held today in Bolga. Since Jan and I are neither rich, nor important, and since he has a grown family with tons of friends, our rooms were fair game and had been taken. Josbert (Cynthia’s cousin and a nephew of Vida’s) secured us a place to sleep, a much more, ummmmm rustic room, than they had hoped for us, but after the bus ride, the heat, etc. we were happy enough to take it. We will move to better accommodations on Sunday when the town empties out. For now, I am just happy to be in one place for a while, and no more long, long, drives.
So, our bus story goes down as a memory that will remain forever. Ironically, the ride from Accra to Kumasi was on a luxury, air conditioned bus with a movie (terrible movie though) playing, tinted windows and a peaceful ride. I had mentioned our greyhound service could take a page from their book but now I realize why Cynthia had put in such an effort to get us on that bus and to try and get us the same thing again. Once again, the efforts of our hosts, Josbert at this end and Cynthia throughout, have made this a very special experience.
Today is a chance to poke around Bolga, witness a huge funeral, and begin to make plans for the rest of the week. The villages we passed along the way are looking more and more like Nyobok-Nkunzsei, with their round huts and thatched roofs, and at least from the outside, look much more liveable that some of places made of patched boards and tin roofs or reconverted shipping containers that we saw closer to the coast.
Once again, you are all missed, please keep those comments coming and we’ll be answering you soon. Jan will be putting together her own thoughts too, now that we are able to set up a modem. Watch for regular updates.
Cindy