Ghana! A Travel Journal of Ghana and West Africa

I came out of our hotel yesterday right as the last wails of the call to prayer drifted from atop the countless minarets that dot Ouagadougou and the crescent moon hung brilliantly just beyond the reach of the afterglow of the fading remnants of dusk. The air had a hint of Saharan dust to it, just enough to add some seasoning to the sunset and a familiar spice to the breeze. It feels good to be going up north, towards the desert. I can feel it pulling me and as we get closer, as the jungles and forests of Ghana drop away to the scrub bush and plains of the northern lands I sense an anticipation rising in me like my body knows its going home.

Its kind of an odd thing to be feeling as I have never in my life stepped foot (nor even heard of for that matter) the countries I’m going to. But oh well, I’m sure I’m merely romanticising.

It's strqnge to be off of camp and I’m not entirely sure what my take on the whole experience is yet. It’s a lot of information to sort through. I know that I do not, for one minute, regret having come this sumer as what I took away from the experience is invaluable. The people I met, especially on the other international volunteers and the locals on the Wat/San team were great, to say the least. Thrown together in such an environment was a great way to get close to some great people quickly. The flip side of this of course is that they leave as quickly as they come. Back in Tamale Malcolm and I parted ways with Renee and Kalie. I know Ill see Kalie again as she’ll be in Peth this Christmas and I’m sure Kendra and I (or at least I) will be dying for some under 50 years olds to hang out with (as hip as you guys are mom and dad…). But who knows when Ill bump into Renee again. Hopefully soon, and after the little Cairo rendezvous in Accra, I can confidently hold out some hope that this will be true.

However, the value of what I have back to the Liberians is debatable; I can’t shake the feeling that we were essentially glorified tourists on camp. That, however, is for a separate posting. For now is time to scour this dusty place for some breakfast. Ouagadougou, contrary to the guidebook’s description, is proving a finicky place for food. Far from “overflowing with patisserie and sidewalk cafes from where you can watch the city pass you by” we have managed, in two days time, to find one shanty café infested with flies (which, by now, we hardly even notice) and one patisserie, if you could call a barren concrete room with baguettes laying on one corner that. Kayla, do you remember where you stayed and where those pastries are that you were raving about? That would be awesome if you could pass that along!