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Emily Botts

C/o Eric Opoku Agyemang

PO Box 344

Kasoa Central Region, Ghana 

(Be sure to get a tracking number if anything larger than a letter)

I would love to hear from you!

Easter Weekend at Busua Beach

Thursday afternoon, the four obrunis of Kasoa commenced a weekend journey to the beach. 

The journey began by tro-tro. Tro-tro: Definition: rickety vehicle equivalent in size to an airport shuttle van, crammed with 30+ cranky Ghanaians and, on this Thursday, four naive  obrunis trying to soak up some holiday sun. Five  massively sweaty hours later we transferred to a taxi, and another hour later we rolled into the blacked-out town (brief electrical failures are very common all across Ghana) of Busua. We had just travelled a little less than the equivalent of Seattle to Portland on roughly six American dollars.

We checked into our homestay at "Auntie Elizabeth's" for another 10 cedi per night each, or less than 5 American dollars. The locks on our doors were literally identical to the one I had on my diary in fourth grade. Super safe, right? We optimistically decided yes, dropped our minimal belongings and headed to the beach. 

That night I had my first Ghanian beer, served in 750 ml bottles. After sweating all day in the tro-tro, we were all starving and parched and the Ghanaian equivalent of PBR beer was like heaven. Our food took forever to arrive, cooked by "Auntie Florence" in a little shack-like restaurant feeding the town from a Coleman stove. We headed to bed happy, stuffed and buzzed.The next morning I paid the price. Dehydration had set in, paired with the beer and strange food. My stomach was not a happy camper. However, Auntie Eliabeth had cooked amazing fried crepe-like "special pancakes" served with sliced bananas and avocado. We also had the luxury of coffee! Who cared if it was instant Nescafé powder? We were thrilled. I managed a little special pancake and a cup of coffee and hoped it would settle the unpleasantness I was feeling.

That day we spent on the beach with another female traveler we met at breakfast, from England. The other great part about this town, there were more obrunis! It was nice to be a little bit less of the minority than in Kasoa, where we live as the only white people and get heckled and stared at consistently. That day we slack-lined on a line set up on the beach, kicked a soccer ball around with locals, played in the water, surfed, and burned in the African sun. (...fine, I speak for myself here. The other girls toasted nicely. I am the unfortunate lone tomato of the crew.) 

We met Ben, the owner of the Black Star Surf Shop. Ben is a mid-twenties blonde from the UK who was awarded a grant to start a business in Busua after falling in love with the town while volunteering short-term. He moved to Ghana permanently and opened up the shop, which along with its rival surf business, is by far the main attraction of the area. He's regarded as a local and is beloved and respected by both visiting obrunis and the Ghanaians alike. I was beyond impressed with his story and life track.

There were many activities planned for the Easter weekend, the highlight being a widely advertised but vaguely described "Jungle Party" planned for Saturday night in, you guessed it, the jungle. It was the talk of the town from the moment we arrived. There was plenty of action on the beach that evening too, a huge sound system had been set up at Black Star and there were several young locals participating in a rap-off. It was wild, mostly a very distinct electronicy reggae-ish beat style peppered with the "rap air horn" and a lot of putting your hands in the air. 

We enjoyed the action on the beach for awhile. At one point a few Ghanaian little girls came up and started playing with my hair. They spent a good twenty minutes "braiding" it into a tangled mess (that would later lead to significant hair loss while trying to run a brush through it). I loved how bold the girls were though, and how much fun they had playing hair salon with the obruni. 

Saturday morning the other girls decided to check out a semi-nearby village built on stilts. My stomach was definitely not going to cooperate with a two hour tro-tro ride. I had also made endless promises to my family before leaving that I would avoid rivers and canoes after hearing about a crocodile incident in Tanzania (doesn't matter that it's a completely different country) years ago. My two year old niece Sam had warned me with a giant "chomp chomp chomp!" complete with arm motions of crocodile jaws, and my silly fear combined with upset stomach were reason enough for me to stay behind from the excursion that day.

I spent the day with Dave Eggers's "Zeitoun" in a hammock. I also drank out of a real coconut, just to complete the cliche. No complaints about missing out on alligators here.

The other girls arrived home around five pm, one extremely sick and another feeling mildly unpleasant. The functioning among us gathered for dinner back at Auntie Florence's (I didn't have to wait for my dinner here. I had initiated a diet of bananas and Sprite, which would continue for the next four days.) By the time dinner was over, three of us were not doing well, me being in the best shape among us but definitely not 100%. 

Fast forward an hour, and our poor homestay had transformed to an infirmary. I'll spare most of the details, other than to say:

1. I was fine, just drained. And not totally comfortable. But not dying, unlike...

2. Our English friend (here's where you see the importance of anonymity). Who had the most unpleasant, awful, literally gut wrenching violent sickness I have ever seen, and I've been the unfortunate sufferer of some serious stomach flus.

3. Another girl in our group was in a 12 hour fetal position suffering from what was later self-diagnosed as food poisoning  from a hard boiled egg ingested over lunch.

Only two made it to the jungle party. 

One ended up rushed to the hospital 40 minutes away.

One remained in fetal position. 

The remaining was rendered paralyzed by fear over what she had just spent the night witnessing in the next bed over, and wondering what on earth was she doing in Africa!?!? Three guesses on which one that was.

The next morning (Happy Easter!) we got the rundown on our English friend who had been rushed to the hospital. She had malaria. Which she had contracted even while taking her anti-malarial medications, presumably because she had been sick a few weeks earlier and deducted that the medicine hadn't absorbed properly during that time. Terrifying. Once malaria is contracted, a person has it forever, and has to manage flare-ups for his or her life. It's fairly easy to treat if monitored correctly, but still. It's malaria! 

The rest of the trip had a bit of a damper on it. The girls who made it to the jungle party were not feeling hot from the festivities, I still had zero energy and a hateful digestive system, the food poisoning victim was still suffering from that episode, and, obviously, the malaria trumped all those things. We were a sorry crew. But we decided to stick out one more day, mostly to put off the trip back to Kasoa. 

We spent a quiet day recovering, but the fun had to end. In the morning we said our goodbyes to our malaria-ridden English friend, Auntie Elizabeth and Auntie Florence, and made the trip home. It was not a happy 5 hours for anyone on board that tro-tro, but I guarantee the four obrunis aboard were the happiest to arrive back in Kasoa. 

That night I celebrated making it through one week in Ghana. 

It got better.

I suppose I left off on a rather morbid note, given that it would be another five days until I'd write another update. Despite my harried arrival in Ghana, week one turned up.

On Tuesday, I was shown around Kasoa by Eric, the director of the foundation. He helped me exchange my US dollars and cents for Ghanian cedes and pesewas. (The exchange rate is 2.6 GHC to 1 USD, so an American dollar stretches a long way here.) We purchased a Ghanian cell phone and Sim card, and stopped by the healthcare clinic I will be working at to meet the head nurse Grace. Eric bought us  waachi - beans and rice topped with an oily, spicy tomato "stew" and shredded cabbage - at a stand selling traditional Ghanian food to go. I met the rest of the volunteers (there are 5 total, all girls spanning our twenties) and saw where the office where I can use Internet and do any writing side of my work.

The next morning I arrived at the clinic at 7:30 am. One other volunteer from CHF works there as well, so it was nice to have a familiar face. We helped with different projects however, her in vaccinations and me weighing babies. I spent the morning hanging babies that had been fitted into a cross between a diaper and a shoulder bag from a large scale and recording their weights. The babies were adorable, and oddly hilarious hanging from these weird getups. I was impressed with the diligence the mothers displayed by bringing their babies for these monthly weigh-ins. 

Thursday was different. During my time here, I will spend Mondays and Wednesdays at the clinic and Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays conducting interviews about local tuberculosis knowledge and giving informative presentations in schools about TB. I took a shared taxi with Priscilla, the head of the public health project, to a town about 20 minutes away called Nyanyano. We walked through the streets stopping to give locals a short interview about their knowledge of TB. Priscilla asked questions in the native language Twi ("chvee"). I attracted interviewees by being an obruni and recorded answers translated by Priscilla. 

Normally we would then go give a presentation in a school explaining the symptoms, prevention, and treatment of tuberculosis. Ghana has an alarmingly high prevalence of TB so the government recently started offering free screening and treatment for the disease. Unfortunately not many people in rural areas are aware of this and are undereducated about TB in general. 

The schools here take a two week holiday for Easter though, so I will be unable to join for a school presentation until May 5 when classes resume.

We obrunis decided to take advantage of the holiday as well and have an adventure for the long weekend (all businesses are closed Friday and Monday of Easter weekend). After realizing we were too late to book accommodations at the huge Easter festival in the Eastern Region city of Kwahu, we decided on a trip to the beach instead. 

3 days in and I was about to become an expert of African travel...

Akwaabe

24 hours in Ghana as I'm starting this post and it seems like actual years ago that I was boarding a subway in Manhattan, Starbucks in hand and texting my goodbyes. This is truly another world. I sit here typing in the notepad of my borrowed iPad, watching a lizard squirm its way up the opposing wall above the shelf housing my bug spray, sunscreen, sanitizer, malaria medications, and other Obruni necessities.

I'm thankful to be here though, given the horrific start to my time in this country. I arrived in Accra last night at 7:30 pm, after leaving Istanbul 6 hours prior and New York City another 13 before that. It was an uneventful but mostly sleepless journey, and I was looking forward to connecting with one of the two Cheerful Hearts Foundation directors who had assured me they would be there to meet me at the arrivals gate. 

After passing through customs, I made my way into the waiting area. None of the many African men holding signs had one with my name on it. I took a few laps, hoping to find a wireless connection on my dying iPhone, which was now useless for any activity requiring cellular data. No dice. I passed two blonde boys wearing backpacks, and one called out to me, "Hey! German?" I said "no, American." And he gave me a sheepish wave and turned around. 

I took a few laps and doubled back to the  boy who had called out, who was now alone and sitting. I introduced myself and explained my situation. He was also a volunteer, and had been in ghana for 3 months. He was waiting to pick up a visiting friend at the airport. He shared a plastic satchel of water with me and let me use his phone. 

I connected with the program director, who sounded confused but assured me he would arrive in thirty minutes. My new friend Jacob bet that meant two hours. He was right. At 9:30 I was approached by an unfamiliar looking man, who told me he was sent by Eric and would take me the 45 minutes back to Kasoa. He knew my name and who I was (the only Obruni in the airport) so I hesitantly trusted him and followed him to his waiting car.

And then the panic set in. I suddenly knew the true meaning of the term "sheer terror." It hit me that my life was in the hands of a stranger driving like a maniac in the most foreign setting I could possibly imagine. I knew no one on the continent, had no form of communication, and the vulnerability set up camp on my lungs as I had a literal panic attack, unable to breathe and praying harder than ever before in the backseat. The unknowing driver blasted reggae all the way to Kasoa.

An hour later we turned off the main drag and stopped on the side of a dirt village road. Isaac called Eric, the director. Within minutes he pulled up next to us, and i had never been so relieved as I was when I saw another white girl in the car with him. I immediately lost it and began an unprecedented outpour of relieved tears. Eric apologized profusely for the confusion while thanking Isaac for the pickup. My fellow volunteer and roommate Sarah gave me a hug and welcomed me to my home for the next two months. And I cried my face off.

Akwaabe (welcome) to Africa...

In the beginning...

The backstory:

I moved to Seattle in October 2012, dissatisfied with the relevant job opportunities and rent costs in San Francisco, with the intent of pursuing a pathway into the field of global health.

Why Seattle?

Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation. PATH. Seattle BioMed. Infectious Disease Research Institute. Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center. University of Washington Medicine. Seattle is home to some of the most innovative health NGO's and institutions in the world; I figured my shot here was as good as any. Plus, I heard somewhere they have good coffee.

After a few weeks living in the Pacific Northwest I secured a position at Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center as a program assistant in the Development department. I worked with wonderful people and gained invaluable professional experience, but discovered after a year and a half that the cubicle life is not for me.

I wanted to be more hands-on and more focused on the global part of global health. I began researching both volunteer and paid outreach positions in developing countries. It's been a goal of mine since college to spend time overseas, whether it be on volunteer basis or for career development. However, I had never traveled past Mexico or Canada other than a short trip to Hungary in college. It was time to walk the walk.

Fast forward a few months... I put in my two weeks at the Hutch, pawned off my apartment lease for a few months, and bought a pair of zip-off shorts/pants.

Ghana? Game on.