Sunday, August 12

The following morning, we woke up to a bustling Ebekawopa. Roosters crowing, women sweeping the dirt into little piles of detritus dropped the previous day, children happily playing. We had been told that the ceremony would begin around 9 AM because some members of the village had to attend a funeral one village over.

One of the cocoa farmers took us on a tour of his property, which was extensive. We discussed the need for sprayers, the ever-present yield-sucking myrids, and other tactics for controlling their damage. The pods on this tree are red, long, and pointy--a sign that they contain some Criollo blood. Most West African cocoa is predominantly of the Forastero variety.


Here's a picture of the farmer, who is the son of the Cape Coast area chief, showing us a pile of ripe cocoa pods. In his left hand, he is holding the pod of a hybrid tree. Note how much larger it is. Hybrid cocoa also yields sooner--often in its fourth year of life.





As we walked through his farm, we came to a low spot where was situated a little shack occupied by a ruddy old man tending a primitive still.

He was feeding a wood fire, and a copper tube extended from the still through an organic pond. He happily showed us the first drops that were coming off the still and falling into the dirty yellow bucket. We happily shared tastes of palm wine and Koutoukou or Schnapps, our pre-breakfast apéritif.

After an hour of this, we returned to the village, where the cermonies had begun. This included young girls daubed with kaolin clay, alternating between line-dancing and breaking out into individual dances.

We ate breakfast while the bamboo percussion orchestra warmed up and the young girls danced. Our breakfast consisted of red-red: aloto or plantain fried in palm oil, cowpeas into which one stirred onions browned in palm oil (absolutely scrumptious!), fufu, and chicken stewed in hot pepper.











Accompanying the dancers was this rhythm section that consisted of old plastic jugs serving as drums as well as lengths of bamboo jammed onto rocks to produce their own percussive sounds. The plastic jugs are not seen in the photo.



Many adults also joined in the dancing. We joined in the dancing, and Mark, as usual, received rave reviews for his abilities to move with the music. I, in contrast, inspired mirth as I stomped my feet quite ungracefully to the music.



After the dancing and music, we presented the machetes, boots, t-shirts- and chocolate to the village. The man receiving on behalf of the village is the Lutheran minister.


The rest of the morning was spent walking around. Each of us walked around the village taking his own pictures or interacting in his own way.

These women were preparing fritters. You can see the wheat flour in the large bowl, ready to be made into fritter batter. The fat woman (obesity probably related to the huge goiter in her neck) is stirring the fritters as they fry. Oil for frying is usually palm kernel oil, which is clear and colorless. Palm oil is bright orange. Goiters used to be common in the U.S., but thanks to our current health-care system, such problems are now uncommon. West African villagers, who make less than $200 each per year, cannot afford trips to the doctor. They rely heavily on native medicine.

In the kitchen next to the church where we slept, people were preparing fufu, made by boiling cassava or manioc, then pounding it in a large mortar with a pestle. You can see mortars and pestles for sale along the road in some villages. Fufu is very gluey and takes on the flavor of the sauce it sits. Most Americans, accustomed to potatoes, do not like fufu, complaining that it is too gluey and heavy--worse than overcooked oatmeal.


Stan took this picture of cocoa drying--right at the beginning, when the beans have been transported from the farm in a plastic bag and spread out to dry on this bamboo mat. If it starts to rain, then simply roll the mat up.


This is a pantry--a raised box with roof surrounded by wire mesh. It allows free exchange of air, so things don't mold and it keeps chickens and other varmints out. I never saw a lock on one, so the varmints are not Homo sapiens.

Two sisters enjoying a plate of cowpeas for Sunday breakfast. This picture illustrates a miracle of West African village life: living on dirt while wearing very clean clothes. How do they do it? After 5 years of visiting villages, I still do not have a good grasp. Laundry is done in large, plastic tubs. The Dutch company, xxx, has a large share of the detergent market.



Sisters



As our stay at Ebekawopa drew to an end, Kate got to play African mom.



Affection









It was time to leave Ebekawopa; we did so amid much celebration and proceeded north to just 2 Km before the national park. We turned off onto another dirt road, which became quite rutted. Four-wheel drive wasn’t even enough; the ruts were quite deep. I made the mistake of letting my right wheels off the rutted road, thinking that I would get more friction on the grass. The edges turned out to be quite soft and my vehicle sank on the right and the sides of the car wedged against the sides of the embankment. Switching into the various forms of 4 wheel drive did not help, and the tires began to smoke as they spun uselessly against the gravel and dirt.

It was hot and muggy, no time to do physical labor. We tried various combinations of rocks under the tires. To no avail. Then several of us found some lengths of bamboo, which we wedged under the back tires. I backed the car down the road and with a combination of wheel turning and jerking, managed to get all four wheels back on the heavily rutted surface.

Now much smarter about maneuvering heavily rutted roads (i.e., don’t think the shoulder is better just because it’s smooth), we proceeded down the road. After another couple of kilometers, we arrived at Gyaware, which means “Too far to come to marry you.”.


After some pleasantries, we left on a walk toward the Kakum reserve, walking about a km to an area often visited by elephants. Most of the plants had been trampled. We were told that elephants came out of the reserve to feast on the goodies, despite a wire strung in their path and despite all effortts at noise-making. “When an elephant is hungry, no noise will deter it.” we were told. This problem might be perfect for some young student engineer: how to outsmart an elephant with a high-tech machine run on solar energy?

The boundary between the fields and the reserv; the sheer thickness of the forest was astouncing--although there were clear tunnels where elephants had pushed through the undergrowth, destroying all in their paths.



In this picture, shock is written on our faces. It's not that we spotted an elephant. We're just gawking at the damage a single elephant can do as it lumbers (more accurately, barrels) through the forest, crushing so much vegetation.

We returned to Gyaware and had our customary ceremonies, including dances and music.

The usual donation of 40 machetes, 20 t-shirts, and a dozen boots being received by the chief, who is a very talented mimic of elephant calls. He had regaled us earlier while we were tromping around in the bush, with his sophisticated and complex repertoire of elephant noises.


Stan took this picture of a fetching young woman in another gorgeous African dress.


Another one of Stan's gems.








Afterwards, we returned to the main road, picked up Padmore, a young student whose education I have funded for several years, and drove 1 hour to Takoradi, where we checked into the Naakoff Chinese Hotel and dined at a restaurant that specialized in Ghanaian food.

Monday, August 13

This morning, we visited the port of Takoradi. We wanted also to visit a grinding plant, West African Cocoa Company, but they were unwilling to cooperate. The port tour was very worthwhile: we watched three ships being unloaded. I took videos of men hurriedly loading 141-lb cocoa bags into containers by carrying them on their heads. We also watched a container-lifter pick up the 76,000 lb metal box as if it were a toy.

This container has been set down so that cocoa bags can be loaded into it. The system must be somewhat complex, because you pay your money sight-unseen and have faith that the quality of cocoa you ordered actually ends up in the container.



These men are standing in the cocoa shed, waiting for their next job.





The men are running with 64 Kg (140 lbs) bags on their heads. They are very athletic.





The wharf holds three ships. Takoradi is one of the most efficient ports in the world, having won prizes for it. At the time we were standing there, there was this blue, Italian container ship and a grain ship that was off-loading wheat. Takoradi has an export-to-import ratio of 7:30. It exports wood, cocoa, and bauxite. It imports oil and wheat. We saw warehouses of wood and cocoa and piles of bauxite. We also saw the oil pipeline leading away from the port and wheat being offloaded into dumptrucks.

In the afternoon, we ate lunch at the Africa Beach Hotel and enjoyed walking on the beach which was littered with junk, including this dead sea-snake. Even though we had enjoyed excellent West African food, Mark seemed drawn to this snake.

A rogue wave washed up and soaked Stan while he had his back turned. Despite that, I managed to capture Mark with this defunct lightbulb.




The beach showed obvious signs of heavy erosion, and a major chunk of the restaurant’s property had been eroded since last year’s visit.

Tuesday, August 14

This was an action-packed day. We drove back to Cape Coast, and then north to Kakum Nature Preserve. There, we did the canopy walk, which takes a certain amount of nerve, walking over 100 feet above the forest floor while zephyrs of wind vibrate the wires separating you from a fatal plunge. Does one scream when one falls head-first? They say not. The total walk is almost 1 km and there are 7 suspended bridges.

If you can suspend your fear, you can truly appreciate the beauty of the environment in the canopy of a rainforest. I looked up from time to time, but mostly I was concentrating on not feeling fear.


After our escape from the Jaws of Death, we also took a little hike through the rainforest, which is pretty much in pristine condition. We talked about various types of trees growing there, including one whose bark fosters virility, another used for deworming, and another pounded to make clothing.

In the early afternoon, we drove south to Cape Coast and then took another northward route to Kumasi. This was a long drive--over 5 hours. We were stopped once for speeding (although it’s almost impossible to know what speed to go because it’s hard to know where a village starts and where it stops.) The officer started to write us up for a court appearance in Cape Coast on Friday.

I explained to the officer that we would be in Ada Foah, about 200 Km east of Cape Coast on Friday, and that we had just visited 5 villages, donating boots and machetes to them. He stared at us, saying “that’s nice” and then asked us to give him $20. I did this quite readily and thanked him profusely.

The last 50 km before Kumasi was murder. The road had been removed from last year and was abominably rutted. We had to drive very slowly, so our progress was frustrating.

It was dark when we entered the city limits. It took a full hour to find the Treasure Land Hotel, located in a small neighborhood just off the road to Accra. Peter was in contact with the owner of the car, who graciously provided us navigational information.

We spent the night at Treasure Land Hotel. There was a computer with internet in the lobby, and the connection was the fastest I’ve seen in West Africa. My room was quite nice--roomy, excellent appearance, balcony, and gorgeous Ghanaian furniture. However, the plumbing didn’t work--no hot water. Most Ghanaian hotel room bathrooms have a large bucket and a small bucket in the corner. You fill the large bucket with cold water, then you use the small bucket to pour the cold water over your formerly warm skin. Of course, in the tropics, this really isn’t the torture you might think.

Wednesday, August 15

We met with four officials of Kuapa Kokoo at around 9AM. My old contact, Nicholas Agyei-Gyan arranged the meeting. The meeting started on a defensive note, as the assumption of the Kuapa Kokoo people seemed to be that we were somehow a threat to them. They asked some pointed questions, which I answered, assuring them that Project Hope and Fairness is devoted to the welfare of the cocoa farmer and not in any way intended to compete with them. We talked about the Fair Trade chocolate business. I asked them what percentage of their cocoa is sold Fair Trade, and they answered “4%”, which is double that of several years ago.

There are those in the U.S. who criticize Fair Trade, claiming it does not accomplish what it claims. In my opinion, how can you judge the effectiveness of a system when the consumers won't even purchase the product? 4% is a pathetically low number, and that's WITH the sales to the Day Chocolate Company which manufactures the Divine Bar. Until Kuapa Kokoo's numbers are closer to 50%, I don't see how one can fairly criticize Fair Trade as a system.



Exterior of Kuapa Kokoo offices. This cooperative has around 40,000 members and represents one of the largest fair trade cocoa cooperatives in the world. Conacado in Dominican Republic is of a similar size, except it is also certified organic. Unfortunately, Kuapa Kokoo is not organically certified--partly because of the Ghanaian government.


These doors to our meeting room represent the excellent wood-carving skills in West Africa. The adinkra symbols at the base of the doors represent the most important of all the symbols. Translated, they mean "Except God" and they refer to the belief that only God knows all.












Before embarking on our afternoon trip, we started with lunch. Stan and I ordered Green-Green. Up until then, Stan was quite interested in eating whatever I ordered. However, this lunch represented a threshold for him and from then on, he was a little more circumspect. Green-green is all about vegetation and the varmints that eat it. The sauce is green, and it bathes the cooked corpses of two vegetation consumers--the Grasscutter, which is a relative of the porcupine, and the African snail, which is about 100X the size of a French snail. In the picture, you can see the foot of the snail projecting above the sauce, like Sydney Opera House above the harbor. Grasscutter is very musky tasting, and green sauce sort of plays up the earthy under- and overtones.

This is a grasscutter. The wild one is quite large. When dead and held by the feet, it is almost 3 feet long. This domesticated version is quite a bit smallesr. The grasscutter is a favorite--consumed at almost any meal. Its flavor, however, is unpleasantly musky.


These are pictures of snails growing on a farm in Cameroon. Throughout West Africa, growing snails is an important way of diversifying one's earning power.


We also asked if we could visit one of their villages, and they assigned one of their members to act as a guide both to the village (KokoFu) but also to Lake Bosumtwi.

We stopped off at the Kokofu society shed. In Ghana, a society is another name for village. This shed, which is "downtown", is really quite small, as you can tell from the picture. It is empty because we are at the beginning of the dry season and the cocoa has all been delivered to Kuapa Kokoo depots, which are regional warehouses.

We then continued to KokoFu. The visit being spur of the moment, we only garnered about 25 farmers. They were not a particularly cheery lot--probably because we were not bearing gifts--and the children were especially disruptive. We stood in an airy screened in building used for raising Grasscutters and had a conversation with the farmers.

After about a half hour conversation, we continued to Lake Bosumtwi, where we were accosted by the usual stream of “guides” all looking to make a buck. Is Lake Bosumtwi an exploded volcano or a meteor impact crater? I think the latter, but for some reason, the matter has not been settled scientifically.

After paying off the lads who had washed our car, we returned to Treasure Land Hotel in the evening.

Thursday, August 16

We started out early--by 10AM--in order to reach Peter’s hometown, Ada Foah, before dark. On the way, we stopped at a kente-cloth weaving village. We were driving down the road and off to the right we espied three children sitting in their looms, weaving. Kente cloth is typically Ghanaian, but the weaving machines are also found in Côte d'Ivoire.

Padmore holds up one of the kente cloths. Typically, weaving is a child's business, as children have the nimblest fingers. It's a good way to earn money for going to school. In the U.S., children earn money for football uniforms or musical instruments. In West Africa, children earn money to pay for books, pens, and school uniforms.

By noon, we reached Nkawkaw, a bustling town near an escarpment that separates the Kumasi side of Ghana from the Volta region. Everyone but Kate and I went off in search of lunch. They didn’t return for the better part of an hour, which was a little worrisome. They never did find the grilled meats which were to be our lunch.


As we continued south, we ran into a group of young men selling bushmeat. This is a common sight in West Africa, where people hunt the wild animals and sell them in order to make a little money. Some of the animals are getting close to being considered endangered--the antelope, for example, which is on the left. The animal on the right, which is still quite alive, is a pangoline, a scaly anteater. It's quite delicious.

Around 3 PM we entered the northern Accra area and traffic slowed to 0. At one point, we spent almost 45 minutes not moving an inch. Finally, drivers started getting out and physically hindering those who were cheating and looping around causing us honest folks to make no progress whatsoever.

By 4 PM, we were on the one piece of superhighway in Ghana, the link between Accra and Tema, the other deepwater port. We sped along to Tema, then turned east toward Ada Foah. As we drove east, the countryside turned to grassland, and baobab trees started to pop up. First time for me (other than the National Geographic).

We immediately drove to Peter’s mother’s village and were introduced to her. As the light was dwindling and we wanted to do a boat ride on the Volta estuary, we told her we’d come back to see her in the morning. We drove to the fanciest hotel in town, situated right on the water. It’s a favorite spot of Europeans seeking cheap but luxurious surroundings. Although the river is quite suitable for swimming, the pool is “safer”.


We boarded the traditional West African boat, which could have seated 10 more and we tootled toward the mouth of the estuary, passing within hailing distance several villages. We drove past the mouth of the river, and felt the Atlantic swell surging under our feet. We then turned back and in pitch darkness motored past several islands, each with its own fishing village.

There are hundreds of villages on islands, and such boats serve them. In fact, one craft passed us with about 50 islanders returning from selling at the market in Ada Foah.
Peter informed us that islanders communicate with each other by drum and that regular sentences can be transmitted in this way. We did not have the privilege of hearing such transmissions, however.