Cape Coast and Away

Hello!

Conr and I spent the rest of the week having adventuring in Accra and Cape Coast. Our only complaint about Cape Caost is that the bug population is exponentially higher....and more aggressive...and there was no mosquitoe nets this time. The bites are strange though...small red bumps...not like the usual welts. Conor and I have finally established that I am not immune to being bit by mosquitoes (I have also had bites all over me from this week) I am simply not allergic to them in a way that I don't get itchy. Conor, unfortunately, does not share this trait.

Speaking of Conor...before leaving the Osu area of Accra for something a little less expensive, we came across something that she likes even more than Sidney Crosby and the Senators put together. Apparently she rarely eats Indian food but was entirely supportive of my dashing around Osu trying to find some ethnic food for dinner. As much as I am having trouble with the monotony of Ghanaian food everyday, we can only eat so many french fries and hamburgers before that too is monotonous. We found a small place named Haveli (it was right outside our old hotel, I have no idea how I missed it so many times). We went in and discovered a place entirely unlike anything else we've seen in Ghana. A real restaurant, set to the theme of the food it was serving (lots of Hindu statues and Indian art) inside and being served by a tiny Indian lady (the expats who own establishments in Ghana seem to rarely actually run or work in them). It was so good!!!! And the biggest surprise, it was Kerala food! The woman who runs the restaurant is even Syro Malabar. Conor thought the food was so good....she almost wept at the first bite of naan.



We journeyed the next day to Cape Coast. What a beautiful area! You can see the sea everywhere you go (also, it was nice and warm). Its much smaller than Accra, much friendlier too. It was also much more tourist friendly (without beng like Niagara Falls) and prettier than Ho. The people are somewhat used to tourists and have no shame in trying to make friends so that they can convince us to let them take us on a pricey trip to Kakum. Actually, that wasn't so bad, since its easy to brush off. The men can be divided into about 4 main identifiable categories: a) the ones that didn't bother us, b) HEY BABY men, c) the sexually liberated college male, d) Rastafarian Burkinabes and e) Oubadoubas.

A) The ones that didn't bother us
We don't actually know anything about them...but they are noteworthy, because they didn't bother us. These men exist and we don't give them enough spotlight. Please give a round of applause for men who just don't give a fuck. This category also includes friendly expats and men we meet in the ATM lines. ATM lines are the best place to meet friendly men who want to pass on interesting information (such as the death of Michael Jackson...thats right...we got the news from an ATM line up). Should also note, that women have never bothered us, tried to marry us, shout hey baby, profess enduring and instantaneous love for us and therefore they should get a mention for being awesome too.

B) The HEY BABY! men
We also don't know much about them....this is mostly because we refuse to respond. They are men who scream "HEY BABY!" when we pass...this may be an attempt to hit on us, but is equally likely an attempt to get us to buy things. They also yell "Its nice to be nice!" when we don't talk to them....implying that if I were a good person, I would have to stop and accomodate them. Right.....like that's gonna happen.

C) The sexually liberated college male
Cape Coast is a university town. From this, hordes of educated and horny young men descend on the local touristy night scene. They are friendly, courteous, ask us about school and never ask us to marry them. They also do not proclaim instantaneous love or expect love in return. They do however, try to determine the looseness of our morals by asking us roundabout questions about whether we enjoy drinking/alcohol/dancing/clubbing. Over all, friendly, easy to talk to and not really a threat.

D) The Rastafarian Burkinabe
These are our favourite men that we've encountered (outside our circle of close friends in Nyive). They are friendly Rastafarian artists who all flock to Cape Coast to sell their wares, play music at the local clubs and hotels and occasionally preach the Rasta religion. Almost all of them are from Burkina Faso and they really are great multi talented artists. They make everything from music to jewellery. One of them was a particularly talented musician and had that gift of being able to make up songs out of nothing and play them at the same time. These guys are even easier to talk to than the college guys and mellower about the sex thing. I should at that they are mellower in fron tof me...this could be because they were occasionally stoned when we were chatting with them (this is based on seeing them rolling joints rather than stereotype). Altogether, an awesome group. They don't ask for marriage, love, whether we like sex/boooze/clubbing or anything. Occasionally they mention "The wonderous thing when blacks and obrunis make little mocha babies."

E) Oubadouba
The Oubadouba is an annoying man who believes he is all that, addresses us in commands and has no understanding of why I want him to let go of me. We haven't met many of these over our time here, but we sure encountered one this week. In brief, Conor was buying a shirt and while she was talking to him, a large man grabs a shirt, tosses it at me and exclaims in a boisterous fashion "You! Put this on! I am going to buy it for you!" I told him that was ok, he didn't need to do that. he repeated himslelf and I told him I didn't want him. I ignored him a little while Conor picked out the right size of shirt and he continued trying to find a shirt as if I hadn't said anything. As Conor got up to pay, he sat down grabbed my arm and said "Baby, I LOVE you. I love you so much. Eh? Do you love me?"

"No" I said, thinking that simple would be best.

He thought I didn't understand what he was thinking. In an attenpt to transcend the non-existant language barrier, he repeated himself. "......love you so much, do you loveme? Do you LOVE me?" (Conor adds that my imitation of him is better in person)

Once again, I replied in the negative. Still thinking I don't understand, he tries a different route...persuasion. He asks me why I don't love him. I explain, with a great deal of patience, that I don't know who he is and therefore, cannt love him.

"But I love you! I seen you just now...and I LOOOOOOVE you! I love you, so when I tell you I love you, you should reply back. So, Do you Loooooooooooove me?"

"Nope."

While his thick skull attempts to process this latest flabbergatation....like Windows ME trying to process, well, anything, I notice Conor is ready to leave and I get up to exit the stall with her. Unfortunately, Oubadouba can sort of multitask....and when I say multitask, I mean he can just forget about what I said in order to take on other annoying ( but to him important) tasks (again, Windows ME). He reaches out and grabs my arm...and won't let go. Everyone here can both guess my reaction and admire my restraint when I assure you that his face cartilage is still intact...and still looking like a goats ass.

I explain very calmly that he should let go. He tell me to sit down. I say let go, he says we're not done. I say let go and Conor yells at him. He lets go, my skunk like three warning reflexes are not activated and the base of my palm does not threaten to push through his crania.

The world is fine. Until we go for dinner. He shows up at the same bloody restaurant. (Not a surpise...there aren't exactly many of them....but still. He comes up to us and wants to interact with me once more. He detects my coldness and mistakes it for, I kid you not, my not remembering him. He finds this tragic but is obviously willing to forgive as he booms out "You don't remember me! I am Papa Marcus! (or Papa Oubadouba as we have come to call him) Come! I will buy you a drink!" I point out that I really don't want his drink. He continues to remind me that we met earlier. I point out that we don't want to remember him. He finally goes away. I was a little worried that he would get unpleasant if things weren't going this way, but eventually he got distracted...either other women or a shiny object...we didn't check.

(For info about our awesome trip to Cape Coast Castle, please see Conor's blog...there is never enough time to write while we are here.)

So the conclusion for the trip....my daughters are going in to Martial Arts from the day they can walk and our favourite things about Ghana are a prime South Indian Restaurant and Burkinabe Rastas who dress like Jamaicans. I can't tell if this is sad or just one of the tentative joys of globalization.

Ciao for now!
-The Jessicat