Art Worlds in Ghana

When I was in Ada, I was always around welcoming people. As I walked down the road, everyone would greet me. Little kids would run out to say hello. I was constantly running into kids from school who would smile and shyly nod, “Miss Robin.” I knew plenty of people in the village, though they were either mostly younger students and older teachers, so I didn’t have any real contemporaries. But I was okay with that.

My first few nights at the hostel, I had a lot of “single-serving friends,” as Edward Norton says in Fight Club. There would be other girls in the room who would stay for a night or two. We might go out to eat or to a spot bar. Maybe we’d chat about the places we missed in the U.S. while drying out our hair or sharing the mirror. And then they would leave – they would go off to their flight, their village, or their internship assignment – and I would stay. The Salvation Army hostel is a place most people stay in for a night or two, but I was there for four weeks. For good.

There was Sugandi, a lady from Sri Lanka who was in the room too with her daughter Lisa (Lisaline). The poor lady had been in the hostel for nine months. She was waiting to get a visa to meet her husband in Paris. As far as I know, she’s still there. She keeps on going to the embassy, and they keep on telling her, “Two weeks.” Such a sad story, and such a kind lady. In the morning, she would make tea or Milo, a Ghanaian version of hot chocolate. Lisa would approach me and present the cup with a little smile. Sugandi could not be nicer, and Lisa could not be cuter. But I still didn’t have any friends. I knew a few locals through Kelvin or other guests at the hostel, but at least at that point, we weren’t that close. I didn’t have any girlfriends I could just chat with, grab a bite with, or easily relate to.

With Annie and Saskia, when I finally had real friends in Accra — at Asimoah Gyan's (from the Black Stars) party at Club Infiniti.

And then Annie came. Annie is from England. She has bright blond hair, a cheery smile, a great accent, and is one of the friendliest, silliest people I know.

When I walked into the room my first week there, after a long day at work and an evening at the beach with one of my local friends, I saw two new bags in the room. I didn’t bother making conversation beyond “hey what’s your name where are you from.” They would be gone the next day anyway.

But the next day came, and Annie was still there. “How long are you here for?” she asked as I set my bag down on my bed. “I saw they have a sign that says you can only stay for a week?”

I laughed bitterly. “Yeah, that’s not true. I’m here for four.”

“Really? That’s awesome. Cause I think I might be here for a while. I’m in Ghana til September and I haven’t worked out any other place to stay.”

My heart fluttered. Could I have a friend? At last?

We went out for gelato at Arlecchino’s that night (expensive, but so worth it). We laughed, gushed, and commiserated over Ghana. She was doing research on the effectiveness of volunteerism, having come back two years after being a volunteer herself. On the way back to the hostel, we ran into some of the guys who sell things on the street who had been bothering me for the past few days. I steeled my shoulders and got ready brush past them with, “No thank you, sir.” That’s when she greeted them with, “Hey, Calobash! Black Rasta! This is my friend Robin.” Our friendship was cemented.

And then Saskia came.

I was coming back late one Thursday after being at the village for the day. I climbed the steps to the second floor courtyard of the hostel, half-asleep. Suddenly a tall, elegant girl in blue slacks and a peasant top stopped me.

“Excuse me, are you Robin?”

“Yes,” I wrinkled my forehead, surprised.

“I am Saskia,” she said in a slight accent.

“Oh my God, Saskia, hey! Kelvin told me you might be coming.”

Saskia was my professor Jesse Shipley’s assistant, for Jesse’s documentary on the Black Stars. Jesse had called Kelvin because Saskia was looking for a place to stay, so Kelvin of course recommended the same place he’d suggested to me: the lovely Salvation Army hostel.

By a great stroke of luck, Saskia ended up in my room. We got to talking, and it turned out we shared a ton of interests: art, culture, hip life music, getting the local experience. Saskia is a student in Berlin writing her thesis on hip life – what Jesse’s work is on; a type of music in Ghana that combines traditional African high life with contemporary hip hop. Saskia models too, and she sure looks like one with her high cheekbones, long amber hair, and chic gray dresses.

Suddenly I had gone from no friends, to two. Saskia, Annie, and I made a team. In the morning, we would buy pineapple from the ladies on the street and walk over to Frankie’s café for a loaf of warm brioche. We would go out to spot bars at night, or during the day get taken around by Saskia’s Ghanaian friends. When I developed an allergic reaction to massive mosquito bites on my legs, they took me to the hospital and picked me up fried rice. When we would get back at any hour past 9 pm and Sugandi would have the lights off and door locked, we would knock on the door and cower outside together.

I had friends. Life was looking up.

Thursday, July 8

I’m sorry I’ve been so absent from the blog again. I’ve been busy settling into Accra, and when I was in the village, I ran short on money toward the end and there are no banks there, which meant no Internet café for me.

(Getting sick is fun in an isolated village, where there are no doctors past 2 pm and they run out of malaria test kits at night, you don’t have any minutes on your phone, and internet is nonexistent except at the one café which you don’t have money for. It was just a fever as I suspected, and I woke up in the morning feeling fine, but you’re supposed to be safe and get tested. Going to the hospital clinic at 7 pm in a car with Euphemia and Kofi, wrapped in a blanket with my hair flying everywhere, and no help available at the clinic, was, umm, an experience. I’d been dreaming of white-washed walls, that over-sanitized hospital smell, and bathrooms, oh, bathrooms. Foolish me to think the clinic would be any different from the rest of the village. Which, don’t get me wrong, I love, but still it’s a lot to get used to.)

Anyway, now I’m in Accra, but first I have to fill you in on Ada.

My last days in the village were perfect. There wasn’t much class because the kids had sports competitions during the day (just with their own school, cause the government postponed the village-wide ones as you’ll soon read). I was just hanging out with the kids, getting to know them, then in the afternoons running play rehearsal. They discovered my camera and had quite a time taking pictures. They taught me some Dangme, the local language (“study hard,” they said), and I would talk with them about home or ask them about what they want to do when they’re older. We would just chat, and I tried to fill in some of the huge gaps in their current events knowledge. I told them that they should study hard and apply to Haverford, cause we have some Ghanaian students. Justice and Andrews, two of my kids from the play, even wrote down the name of my high school. Justice said he wants to email them and say he knows me so he can make friends? Haha okay…

In a way I feel I accomplished more with them outside of class. I could give them individual attention, and we didn’t have those stupid rows of desks. In class, I was always subbing for just one day, with no lesson plan, no idea what they’ve studied before, and little chance to follow up on the lesson. When I would just talk with them, they would crowd around me in a big circle, and they all wanted to be there. It was relaxed, but I think we both learned more.

Meanwhile, I’ve been in Accra. At the JAC, I’ve been looking into grants and working on proposals. Outside the office, I’ve met with some of the top artists in Ghana – Larry Otoo, who is awesome and took me to his studio; Ablade Glover, who is pretty much the number one artist in Ghana (perhaps Africa?) and runs the Artists Alliance, and amazing collection of contemporary Ghanaian and African art that I told him sure beats the National Museum; and Ato and Adwoa from the Foundation for Contemporary Art (FCA), which promotes young artists and stimulates (/makes) the young contemporary art scene. My professor Ruti Talmor, who does anthropology work on art in Ghana, has actually done some work with the FCA. I’m going back to the village each week to work on the play, which is still going on. We had a dress rehearsal just before I left, are having another one today, and will have performances next week and the week after.

And the rest of time in Accra has been busy, busy, busy. I came here knowing basically no one, but I’ve made some friends at the hostel and met some of their friends, and Kelvin knows people, so there’s always someone around. Last weekend I saw Naa from Haverford and Debbie from Bryn Mawr. It was great to see familiar faces, and we had an amazing lunch at Naa’s aunt’s house (tilapia, stew, banku, rice, chicken, and mango). Professor Jesse Shipley was in town to film the Black Stars’ arrival. I went to the airport too, but I just missed Jesse. As for the Black Stars, they hopped right onto their bus so you could barely see them, but it was cool to be there. Yesterday I went to the Holiday Inn pool bar with Kelvin and some friends, and guess who was a couple tables away from us…the Black Stars coach. With his wife and translator. She was wearing a light purple top and some great heels.

Whew, so that’s Accra for you. Loud, crowded, and a million people bothering you, but exciting and plenty to do. Now, back to Ada.