we went to Tafi – eight of us went to Tafi, an incredible landscape. we hiked in the jungle, swam in waterfalls, drank coffee, dark local coffee, and fed bananas to mona monkeys.
polo!
we went to Keta, for the installation of the paramount chief
get a life, shroud of turin. anna-marie sweats a happy face on her back
there is a boys’ house at our house (behind the dog). that is what they call a bunky here
four people live in our boy’s house. it has a bathroom and 2 other rooms.
C & his wife S. he is a gardener. she sells roast plantain. they help us a great deal with the house and neighbourhood
They have 2 kids. M 10 & K 9
G also lives with us. she is a national service student in the philosophy dept. G has a couple rooms & a separate entrance. before she moved in with us she traveled by tro-tro 2-3hr trips between home & campus.
inside is space for yoga
and we cook
there are no water pipes in our neighbourhood; our water is delivered to us
this is our mosquito net
this cat found us. its the smallest cat ever, a stump. it lives in the yard
We left Canada on August 2: two humans, a dog, and a pile of baggage. Since then, a number of people have asked about Chai's experience of the flight. We asked her to share her thoughts about air travel but she's kept her cards close to her vest, though perhaps her yawning and butt-licking are to be understood as editorial.
There was a fair bit of stress involved in shipping Chai, mostly because of unknowns about what documents we needed and what fees we were to pay, where, when, and to whom. Even obtaining a crate with the correct dimensions and characteristics had us worried. Everywhere we turned we got different stories about the shipment process.
The worst moment was the call made to the airline one week before departure to confirm Chai as baggage. An extremely ill-informed (as it turned out) employee told us pets weren’t allowed on our flight. I immediately called my travel agent, we both called the airline again, she called a manager at the airline. Everyone now said the dog was allowed, but the confirmation would not show up until the next day. This led to a sleepless night until it all got straightened out the next day.
Another example of blood pressure elevating pre-flight problem occurred a few weeks before flying when I noticed an obscure reference on a website stating that all pets brought into Ghana would require an import permit, only obtainable in person two weeks prior to arrival, from the Chief Veterinarian in Accra. Seriously???
The Consulate in Toronto had never heard of such a requirement and I could find nothing online or anywhere else about a Chief Veterinarian. An email to the National Veterinary Service went unanswered.
Before departing we settled on a country-specific strategy for flying with Chai: In all countries we will smile and be nice; if absolutely necessary in Canada or Holland, we will endeavor produce tears, quivering lips, and polite, earnest answers directed at resolving whatever roadblock is in our way. In Ghana, however, our plan is to skip the tears, maintain our eager courtesy, and dispense whatever hard cash is needed into whichever hands appear most useful.
It turns out that we did require an import permit to bring the dog into Ghana and - happily - we are able to obtain it at the airport without incident. We even got an official receipt for the money that was handed over, meaning no palms were greased during the importation of our dog. The funds we paid covered the import permit plus our fine for not having secured the permit before arriving.
Chai's treatment during travel seems to have been excellent. As far as we can tell, she arrived sans trauma – if a little disoriented and badly in need of stretching her legs – in an unsoiled crate after about twenty hours apart from us and more than 27 hours after we left Waterloo. She did, however, release what may be the longest single stream of urine ever deposited on a sidewalk outside of international arrivals at the Accra airport.
Before
After
Check-in at the Toronto airport took over an hour, with much shuffling from self-serve kiosk to baggage check-in to payment counter. Chai even had her crate x-rayed in a special area. Her crate had multiple labels, documents and objects attached — “live animal”, “this end up”, a veterinarian's certificate, her passport, ownership claim, flight information, and a bottle of water and a bag of kibble.
After a long wait and repeated calls to get the ground crew to fetch Chai, two workers in overalls appeared, sans dolly. In fact, frankly, they looked like they had lost the dolly on the way up from the airplane. Chai was tucked into her crate and the crate was then perched upon a regular suitcase cart. With each move of the dog or the cart, the crate rocked from side-to-side. Our last Canadian glimpse of our dog was of her literally teetering toward Africa.
On arrival in Accra, one of our bags is missing. It turns out that it is just sitting on the ground on the very far side of the baggage carousel. But also missing is our dog.
So while we try to watch over our claimed bags and hunt around for the missing bag - this involves standing next to each other and shouting to be heard because our fellow passengers are unruly and loud - we also try to figure out what has become of Chai.
We noticed a commotion over where the baggage carousel enters the building and saw three baggage handlers struggling to lift the crate onto the belt and jam it through a low opening in the wall. With assistance from the inside we manage to squeeze the crate into the building. Then, after banging around our dog, three arms were extended through the opening and we were commanded to deliver "dash" into their eager palms, a tip for their good work. Or as I put it, for merely doing their job poorly.
Now picture this: Five bags ranging in size from merely large to dauntingly massive along with one large dog crate are loaded onto three carts steered by two tired and disoriented yet determinedly polite Canadians are sideswiped and slammed by other travellers intent on squeezing their carts through the throngs and being first out the door. It is the closest we have ever been to being in an actual roller derby and, unbeknownst to us, an experience that also anticipates what its like to be in traffic in Accra.
We also have a growing posse of local "help" who surround us and cause us to swell into a knot of people who surround a nucleus of carts, which, while very useful for getting through the crowd also fosters a feeling that we are as freaky as an arriving circus. At the exit to the building we are greeted by Mr Lartey and another driver from the University — this one with a pickup truck with a crew cab.
Outside the building the night air is thick and filled with scent and sound. As soon as we leave the building Chai is released from the crate. Now we are a real sight. Two obrunis, a big black dog, three carts of luggage, and three, four, five, six helpers. We load the luggage into the bed of the truck and five of us get into the truck along with Chai. Before we get in I give a tip to they guy who helped with the cart, and the rest of our accumulated posse want a little something. After all, they explain, they kept the crowds back from us as we made our way from the terminal to the truck.
The head of the philosophy department has extended a wealth of useful information to help us adapt to Accra. One gem is Milton Sterilizing Fluid, which is useful for cleaning vegetables that you might not want to peel because of nutrients lost with the discarded skin or that you can’t peel, such as lettuce. Basically, the stuff makes it possible to have salad – and salad is for sure a delight. The fluid is intended “for sterilizing baby bottles and teats without boiling” and claims to “kill all known germs including thrush.” The only thing in Milton Sterilizing Fluid is sodium but a light rinse removes any taste of it. An alternative is to dip produce in a dilute bleach solution and, well, ick to that.
You can find containers of toothpicks on each table in the guesthouse dining room. Their label announces that they are beautiful and practical. I had never thought of this before but why yes, indeed, toothpicks are. I mean, practical I get right away. But have you ever really looked at a toothpick? It’s a dandy – and delightful – example of minimal, streamlined and simple design aesthetic married to function.
In a place where electricity is a kind of random event, any time you flick a switch and power up a fan, a light, or a burner brings a sense of delight. There are two advantages to the switch with a little light; it both tells you that power is coming to the switch and reminds you that power is coming to the switch.
This particular switch turns on the small hot water tank hidden in a bathroom cupboard. There seems to be no temperature control on the tank, so five minutes of power in morning provides (literally) scalding hot water for a shower and regular hot water for the rest of the day. As cheesy as this sounds, the light is a delight, reminding us to not waste a precious commodity by keeping unused water unreasonably hot. (BTW, the down position is on over here.)
Getting mail is always a delight, but you might need some back-story for why this particular piece of mail moved us from mere delight to something closer to ecstasy. See, we don’t use paper towels. All our mopping up is done with cloth that can be re-used. Here, absorbent cloth is difficult to locate and, when you do find it, distressingly expensive given its poor quality. So I sent a distress signal to my parental units and in mere weeks received a fat bundle of permeable delight. (Thanks folks!)
