Welcome to Ghana

Ghana welcomes those who come with goodwill.
Ghana does not welcome paedophiles or other social deviants.

So read the sign on the other side of the immigration barrier, behind an officer who, I noticed too late, seemed to be taking particular pleasure in questioning, documenting and lecturing at length each person who came to his window. Why hadn’t I moved into the other line when I’d had a chance? I watched the look of condescension on his face as he argued with a man ahead of me, and prepared for battle: I hadn’t been able to produce a precise address or a telephone number for the organization I’m working for, so I was pretty sure I was going to be labeled a socially deviant meddling immigrant obruni (white person) and denied entrance. Maybe it wasn’t too late to switch to the line behind that friendly-looking officer?

Of course, when I approached, he flashed a bright smile and asked if I was going to come visit him in Ghana. Um, yeah sure! Oh great – smile, stamp, stamp, fingerprints, picture – and I was welcomed to Ghana, goodwill and all.

At the airport, I met Saleh, a very friendly Sudanese-Ghanaian civil engineer who has been covering the gap between the departure of the organization’s previous education fellow and my arrival. A word on why I’m in Ghana: I’m working as the Education Fellow for an organization that helps African students apply to American universities. Over the course of the year, I’ll be running standardized test preparation, helping students select the universities to which they’ll apply, and managing their applications.

Saleh brought me to the apartment I’ll be living in for the next year, and it is beautiful. I’m up on the third floor, which, in a country with few tall buildings, is high enough to get a delightful breeze through the North- and West-facing windows (though I’ve been told that this breeze is a bit of a fluke, and will soon be gone once the dry season begins). There’s a balcony facing North with a bench and table, a large (orange colored!) living room/dining room, and a decent-sized and well-equipped kitchen. We just have to deal with the trash heap outside the building entrance, which apparently the trash collectors have decided to ignore, and the lack of running water due to an empty water tank. Otherwise, it’s amazing.


The living room/dining room.


The view from my room down the hall.
(Ok, these pictures are taking forever to upload, you'll just have to take my word for it)

The apartment is located in Osu, just off of Oxford St, one of the main streets in Accra and a popular tourist area. I haven’t spent much time exploring yet, but hope to do so today. Last night, I met most of the staff at a West African restaurant—oh, and lest you thought I’d escape posho/ugali, I have already discovered the Ghanaian version called gari (or ebe if you’re ordering a Nigerian dish, as I did last night). Richard, one of the organization co-founders, requested that the restaurant switch from the very short CD of American songs playing on repeat to some Ghanaian music, and they promptly began to play music from Côte d’Ivoire, Nigeria, Burkina Faso, Cameroon… basically everywhere but Ghana. Richard laughed and said, “Ah, here in Ghana we have to squeeze the culture out!” Sure enough, the jazz concert we went to after dinner featured an obruni saxophonist, and I heard of plans to open a KFC—the first chain restaurant in Accra. But listening to the church service next door, already well into its third hour at least, I’d be loath to jump to the conclusion that Accra’s development has somehow suppressed its culture.

So far, Accra has been more like East Africa than I expected (and I feel well prepared, having mastered key skills like the appropriate use of “Eh!” and “Ah!” to communicate surprise, joy, disappointment, displeasure, etc.) That smoky smell pervades, and our neighbor’s rooster is fast becoming a real nuisance. Most familiar is the excitement of adventure: time to go exploring.