the obruni has landed

It's Harmattan season in Ghana, which means that the air was the first thing to hit me when I stepped off the plane and onto the tarmac of the runway at Kotoka International Airport last Wednesday. I landed in Accra and was immediately reminded what it felt like to sweat without moving. I am trying to plow through this unfamiliar and uncomfortable phase as efficiently as possible, reminding myself that it takes at least a couple weeks to start letting down your guard a little. But for now... the glares and calls of the locals feel hostile; the five-paved-road system in the suburbs of Accra seems incredibly complicated; the accents, maneurisms and expressions are difficult to parse. I amass a collection of landmarks to find my way, waiting impatiently for that moment when everything begins to look just a tad familiar.

Yet some things already are... like the national obsession with football (soccer), or the sound of Shakira and Wyclef Jean at 6 a.m. in the streets of 'my neighborhood'. If all else fails, we should seriously consider the role that Shakira and football might be able to play in establishing world peace.

I stay with a family in Adenta, a suburb north of Accra. Dominic and Ester are wonderful, welcoming me with a generosity that would seem strange back home. They refuse rent. They forcefully stop me from cleaning their dishes. And they offer to make me dinner every night. Dominic enjoys wine and the fact that he now has someone to drink it with, so I even get to enjoy a glass of red every now and then. I'm at a loss for how to thank them. Dominic assures me it's ok, that this is the 'Fra-Fra way' (Fra-Fra's are one of the many tribes here). I've realized that the only way I will be able to thank them or pay them back will be by sneaking in groceries on a regular basis, and rent money the day that I leave. That's the 'Western way', I suppose.

Adenta has no running water, not because it cannot afford it or does not have the infrastructure for it, but rather because the suppliers of water tanks pay off Adenta's MP to maintain the status quo. So I'm learning to 'shower' as efficiently as possible with one bucket of cold water, which isn't such a bad way to fight off the weight of Ghana's humidity on my poor little obruni body.

It's the little daily victories that bring the most hope and excitement in my days (beside sitting around Dominic's living room and watching his 5-year old and 2-year old boys misbehave). My greatest feat so far has been learning the language of the tro-tro conductors and feeling empowered by getting to know Accra's public transportation system. The tro-tro, just like the matatu of East Africa, is a 10-passenger van seldom carrying less than 15 passengers. It has one driver, whose job it is to find that makeshift lane on the side of the road to curtail traffic (think L.A. rush hour on one lane), and one conductor whose job it is to yell out unidentifiable destinations and wave his hand in such a way that everyone knows where we're going except for me. Five days into this adventure, I've gotten to know those key destinations that are somehow missing from my little Ghana Bradt Guide, and I'm learning where the roads go when the maps end. This, too, is fieldwork?

But if these observations sound like complaints, I will not have done my first week in Ghana justice. True, the locals do stare at me curiously. As Dominic remarked, they stared at him just as much in Pleasanton, California. And if I actually overcome my timidity and say hello to them, they break into a wide smile and reply enthusiastically. It is also the case that every single person I have met, from Dominic's friends to perfect strangers, has gone out of his/her way to help me out somehow. And now and then, when I catch a glimpse of what this place will feel like once I have gained familiarity with it, my heart thumps into my throat in excitement, to the beat of the sound of Shakira.