Wheel of Misfortune

A game Booboo and I played on our trip, through which we rewarded ourselves for misfortunes... Here is the score-board:

1. Event
2. Number of Occurrences
3. Points Earned

1. Received actual Dowry Payment
2. Booboo: 1 (money was given to me FOR Booboo)
3. Booboo: 25

1. Awkward *** pimples with heads and blisters
2. Booboo: 5
3. Booboo: 25 (5 points each)

1. Painful pus-oozing body pimples
2. K: 2 (armpit and eye-lid)
3. K: 100 (50 each)

1. Vomiting
2. Booboo: 2, K:2 (alcohol was unfortunately no way involved)
3. Booboo: 40, K:40 (20 each)

1. Weird dinosaur skin bubble blister
2. Booboo:1
3. Booboo: 5

1. Sexual assault by gear shift
2. K:1
3. K:5

1. Mosquito net exploding onto road in the middle of a moto-ride
2. K:1
3. K: 5

1. Bribe standoffs
2. Booboo: 3, K: 3
3. Booboo: 30, K: 30 (10 each)

1. Bags written on according to bogus border rules
2. Booboo: 1, K:1
3. Booboo: 5, K:5

1. Rats held up within inches of face
2. K:1
3. K:5

1. Incorrect stamp in passport
2. Booboo:1, K:1
3. Booboo:5, K:5

1. Replacement of water with car gas, in own personal bottle
2. K:1
3. K:5

1. Blood-spilling thorn incident
2. Booboo:1
3. Booboo:5

1. Car break-downs (at least 10 min sitting)
2. Booboo: 3, K:3
3. Booboo: 15, K:15 (5 each)

1. Fording flooded bridges by foot
2. Booboo: 1, K:1
3. Booboo: 50, K:50

1. Getting taped eating plantain chips in a very gross way
2. Booboo:1
3. Booboo: 5

1. Eating staple
2. Booboo:1
3. Booboo:5

1. Eating rocks:
2. Booboo: 10, K: statistically must have as well but doesn't seem to have noticed
3. Booboo: 10 (1 each)

1. Near robbery
2. K:1
3. K: 5

1. Brink of bladder blast
2. Booboo: 2, K: 1
3. Booboo: 10, K: 5

1. Walking into gaping cockroach den dirt hole instead of shower at "Beverly Hills Hotel"
2. Booboo: 1, K: 1
3. Booboo: 5, K: 5

1. Falling/ flying gracefully off moto
2. K: 1
3. K:5

1. Burn from moto's exhaust pipe
2. Booboo: 1
3. Booboo: 5

1. Fever
2. Booboo: 1
3. Booboo: 20

1. Limping to market to replace broken flip-flop and hearing everyone along the way tell her to stop, her flip-flop is broken!
2. K:1
3. K: 5

1. Listening to Shaggy's "It wasn't me" on the same car trip
2. Booboo: 5, K:5
3. Booboo: 5, K: 5

1. Dealing with drunk guy visit to our hut at night while the other of us pretended to be asleep, thus removing his chance to drunkenly woo us in french
2. Booboo: 1
3. Booboo: 5

1. Leaving Burkina in a rage of near-tears each suddenly with $200 less due to surprise border dues
2. Booboo: 1, K: 1
3. Booboo: 5, K: 5

BONUS! UNQUANTIFIABLE POINTS OF MISERY!

1. diarrhea: +100 each
2. personal space violations: + 200
3. Guinea trip +150
4. Persistent African-Flirting aka harassment: + 100
5. Al Qaida ruining plans: +50

FINAL SCORE:

Booboo: 895
K: 900!

you should've gotten another ass pimple, Booboo!

BOOYAh!

My Favorite Things-- about West Africa

Raindrops on corn husks and whiskers on catrats
Bright striped a** kettles and warm running sh**s
Brown rat-chewed packages three months waiting
These are a few of my favorite things!

Cream-colored cattle and crisp unripe mangos
Door breaks and day breaks and street children gang-os
Wild bats that fly with the moon on their wings
These are a few of my favorite things!

Girls in bright pagnes with mismatched head sashes
Sweat drops that drip from my nose and eyelashes
Silver-white toubabs that melt into drinks
These are a few of my favorite things!

When the mosquito bites! When the killer-bees sting,
When I'm feeling sad
I simply remember my favorite things,
And then I don't feel so bad!

But really:
-how drivers ALWAYS stop to help other broken-down drivers. Even with no tools or spares, they'll figure out some crazy way to tow it with a log (which I have seen) or push it, or something
-bissap juice, especially frozen
-the constant high-fiving congratulating any attempt to joke, even the quite clearly un-funny ones
-how laughter seems to always be on the tips of everyone's tongues, even when their words are sad or angry
-street food stands: meat skewer grillers, bean/omelette/spaghetti/caterpillar sandwich ladies, sweet tea and coffee tables, full meal cheb shacks... besides the excellent food, I love sitting at kids-low teetery tables in the middle of the sidewalk, chatting with nice strangers
-fanice! (Ghana and Burkina): ice cream in a bag, sold from carts wheeled around like wheelbarrows or on bikes. GENIUS!
-buying food through windows of public transport... how the hawkers will always run your change to you even if your car starts taking off
-that old people are respected and waited on and kids made to do it (we have this perversely reversed in the states)
-that no one whines about rough childhoods or neglectful parents. Everyone's had it rough here, so they all just get on with it. Furthermore, this extends into a drastically lower rate of creepy crimes. I know a lot of people have the idea that Africa is scary and dangerous, but the only real risk in the places I've talked about is pick-pocketing. And, isn't that an understandable crime? I'd do it too. In the US, as a girl, I sadly don't even stop for broken-down cars on the side of the road. This is because America has creepy creatively pschotic people who commit unspeakable crimes. I blame it on our self-absorbed whininess, among other things.
-singing, clapping, dancing, drumming
-men wearing pink boubous
-20 cent sandwiches
-mango, banana, papaya, coconut, pineapple, cacao, citrus--- trees
-peace corps house libraries
-peace corps volunteers, the greatest group of people I've ever met
-waterfalls outside of any guidebook
-being led to said off-the-map waterfalls by barefoot 7-year-olds scrambling effortlessly ahead, bush-wacking with homemade fishing poles
-starry, starry nights: shooting stars every 5 minutes
-sling shots, bamboo flutes, wooden hoops, and tied-trash soccer balls. Toys R Us ain't got nothin on creativity.
-washing clothes in sparkling rivers
-roasted corn made by 5 year-old siblings and dropped off lovingly like bouquets of flowers. or, made by street venders who wrap them in the husks as natural wrappers
-orange juice: squeezed straight from the orange to your mouth
-roasted peanuts and raw wet peanuts and picking or shucking peanuts with the family until you can't feel my finger-tips anymore
-mosquito net forts
-lanterns and candles that remind you to look at the world in romantic lighting
-wall-scrambling lizards
-fantastical birds
-hollowed-out baobabs
-tree-dwelling vines: the original jungle gym
-shaking everyone's hand when entering a room
-the circus acts of daily life
-inappropriate shirts with english writing no one but you understands ("Grandmas aren't supposed to be this sexy")
-the friendliness and readiness of everyone to always jump up and help with anything-- not just the white people, but EVERYONE
-that I could get free water, food, and shelter if broke, lost and homeless, in any village with any people. Why are the world's poorest people also the most generous people this Connecticut girl has ever met?
-Indiana Jones bridges
-Obama-gear, Obama shops, Obama music, Obama biscuits!
-hammocks
-rain winds
-postcard landscapes that make you wish you had fly eyes that could see all around you at once, and an even bigger soul to take it all in
-the ability to scatter terrified children with a jump and a "Boo!"
-4-year-old children with 3-year-old children on their backs
-group napping during the hot hours under the shades of trees
-being the most popular person in a 10 mile radius
-dug-out canoes
-simply putting down the phone without hanging up when lecherous guys call: they run out of credit and stop calling! wonderful system
-biere, grande modele
-not needing a towel
-being able to barge into restaurant kitchens to check out the ice cream, or ask for garlic cloves, or just to say hi
-tea
-"how is your family?"-- the fact that it matters yet is still so common
-the new levels of intimacy reached with friends once you know the details of their pus, snot, and especially other bodily secretions...
-NICE people
-gypsy funeral disney singer lady
-Touree's omelette sandwiches once I ride into Dindefello
-calling the Kamaras thieves, and hanging out with neene galle
-how cute Daby and Sadio are... they definitely win Best Couple in the Pellel superlatives!
-the little kids who chant my name and run at me like I'm Santa Claus (Houssey, Aliou, Mariama)
-the SOUARES, the entire reason to stay for two years in Senegal. The greatest family I could be adopted into. I miss them so much!
-people who actually read my blog. Thanks for sticking with it guys! You've made me feel much less alone and much more interesting than I perhaps have the right to feel! Hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have! Thanks so much!

Burkina Faso et fin

Burkina Faso:
Not so bad once al qaida's kidnapping plots make you get stuck there! It's beautiful and the people have the same warm teranga that they do in Senegal.

Highlights:
-Riding a moto! You obviously don't need a license and it was cheaper to just learn rather than hire a driver. So much fun! Through sugar cane and peanut fields, down shaded tree-lined dirt avenues, past mountains and waterfalls and lilly-ponds and villages.... It was so unbelievably gorgeous, that I couldn't even help exclaiming about it out loud in "oohs" and "ahhhs."
I want one!

-Papa Noel: an eccentric previous-American with amulets and traditional clothes, who goes by Papa Noel... While sitting at an outside street tea table late one night, he sauntered down the street in a little cloud of magic. He came over to greet Ria and gave us anti-mousitque from him front bib pocket as well as a short american history lesson. Booboo and I were instantly infatuated and wanted to know everything about him. What an interesting guy! We saw him a few more times, but it'll never be enough of Papa Noel. The best thing about him is how he dances at the traditional music shows. It's like a robotic dashboard-doll shuffle. Afterwards, he leaves bags of bread in their money bowl. (I left two packages of underwear... long story.) We were sad to leave the place of P. Noel, but I at least am staying close to him in the form of my falling-apart copy of Lord of the Rings, the donation of which he merrily accepted. And so I gave a present to Papa Noel! What does that make me?

-Ria: a British special ed teacher who does things like hitchhike literally to Timbuktu. On that trip, she spent three weeks crossing the dessert with 56 toureg men and their giant guns, one old woman, 16 goats, and she-doesn't-know-how-many chickens. My favorite quote was (imagine in a cute british accent:) "All I brought into the desert with me was a dagger and nine goat skins." Why the goat skins? "Well, they're cheaper there!" Ahhh.
Meeting people like this is inspiring and otherwise enlightening. It's good to meet people more "hard-core" than you are, and it might be even better to realize you have no desire to be that hard-core yourself. I think we all kind of want to be like these exciting people, but the very fact that we want to tell these stories makes us already unlike them. I'm just glad they're around to have nighttime tea with!

-The Carpe Diem Cafe: I convinced the management to give me a free espresso after showing him my tattoo. Free advertising! They were baffled as to how and why the name of their restaurant came to be on my ankle. I was getting the feeling that they really had no idea it was anything but the name of their place, so I asked them to confirm the french translation. "Les plaisurs sur la table!" No, that's your motto, I see on the sign, but I mean the translation of the phrase, "carpe diem..." "Oui, oui, ca signifie 'les plaisurs sur la table!" And they could not be convinced otherwise. Wow.

-Fried caterpillars: surprisingly tasty! They sell them in sandwiches in La Vielle Quartiere in Bobo, and I really don't know why they don't sell them everywhere else too. The caterpillars eat up the shea trees, so I think it would be smart all around to eat them up first!

-The rest of La Vielle Quartiere: quite interesting. It's divided into sections for: Muslims, Animists, Griots, and Forgers. They make everything from millet beer to drums there. The largest "fetish" in the animist section is covered with blood and feathers for sacrifices. The sacred catfish river was a bit of a hoot. Besides being sacred, it also functions as the disgusting town dump. Pigs waded through, and filth and trash were everywhere. A kid was peeing a high golden arc into it as well. Perhaps the no-eating-the-catfish rule is for the best!

-Acrobatic dancers: We saw an amazing performance of stunts that are literally in Cirque du Soleil, non-stop. Holding each other up at ridiculous angles, standing and flipping off each other's heads, flipping in every other way, eating fire, balancing and juggling with spinning bowls... Absolutely hands-down the best show I've ever seen for $1.20!

We had to skip Mali to avoid being kidnapped, but I'll go back there some day. So instead we flew to Dakar (this transition was not exactly painless, but I'll leave it to Booboo to write about that...) Once in Dakar, we saw our favorite people, went to surf camp, and I bought $50 worth of parasite/ amoeba/ schisto medicines.

So concludes our magical journey! Good times!

BOOBOO GOT BRAIDED!

It was completely hillariously fullfilling for me, all the women involved, and all passersby who stopped mid-stride or peddel to gape. It was less of a positive experience for Booboo. I took about 100 photos because I figured the actual braids wouldn't last long enough for a great enough part of the world to bear witness. It's our duty to spread joy by sharing her rat-head with the masses. She wanted a mohawk in the middle at first (yet was ademently opposed to extensions that would look "ridiculous") but there was no way the woman would let her walk away from their braiding stand looking like a mad woman (unfinished braids are like insanity badges for women. For men, it's the complete lack of clothing). In the end, we all won, really. Less so for Booboo and her sore scalp.

"Terrifying. I am Darth Vader taking the helmet off... with 4 chins."
--Booboo's reaction to a photo of her scary white-girl braids

The Great Race

So I've been of a minority race for two and a half years now. It's an annoying but enlightening experience. Within this time, I must say, I've noticed a few differences between white and black people. I know I'm supposed to say we're all the same, and of course fundamentally or spiritually or whatever, that's true. But still-- we're not. We're all different and it's ok. We don't need to be "color blind" because it's good and necessary to all be different from each other. And there's one difference in particular which maybe I shouldn't say as it might get me in trouble... But I would like to get it off my chest. So here goes, the racist conclusion I've come to: black people.... are better.
I'm sorry! I'm sorry, the majority of my family and friends; I'm sorry world leaders; I'm sorry fellow prep-school kids. It's true and it's time to accept our defeat as gracefully as we can. Which really isn't that graceful, and I think this proves my point.
You know when you are faced with that inconveniently-located caution tape once you've already set out on the straightest path to your parking spot and you really don't want to re-set your course? Or, for the more rurally inclined, when you want to somehow get on the other side of a fence? Hands on your hips, you pause breifly to consider this nuissance of a barrier. Of course you can do it, you just need a minute to figure out the best way... Can you stretch your leg over it? Are your pants too tight for that sort of thing? Maybe under? Can you still bend that way? Could your body scrunch small enough to go through?
Meanwhile, Mariama Diallo (the Sarah Smith of Senegal) has stepped over as daintily as a tight-rope walker-- with 8 gallons of water balanced on her head, a baby on her back, malaria coursing through her veins, a cup of corn in her tiny stomach, and she's probably clapping and singing while she's at it.
In her wake, you suddenly see the possibility in her steps. And there you go!-- with just the smallest grunt and stumble on the other side. Maybe we weren't always like this, but somewhere along the way, the majority of white people seem to have lost their natural grace, the autonomy of their body parts in sync getting somewhere. Maybe we're just out of practice. Not so, here.
Still not convinced with my revelation? So you go to the gym and haven't lost the natural ease of your legs? Fair enough. In that case, let me take you on an imaginary journey to My Life. Please get on the imaginary carpet. A little quicker... Watch how Mariama does it... There we go!
*****(imaginary journey music)*****
Here we are, in a beautiful but HOT land. The local people welcome you kindly and press roasted cobs of corn in your hand. How sweet! And delicious! But focus, now.
What do you notice about everyone around you? #1. They're beautiful. Like models. Chisled, sculpted, smooth, hairless, glowing... Now I personally have gone through, in my lifetime: several years of braces and teeth cleanings, pimples, tubes put in my ears, my tonsils taken out, high-power contacts, and countless medicines, vitamins, and gym classes just to stand here next to them, quite literally pale in comparison. And you? Well you're sweating even from your eyelids, you feel a heat rash spreading, and your skin is already burning from the sun. In short, you're in my boat, buddy.
But let's not get down on ourselves-- at least our hair is easier to deal with, for the most part. So that's... something...
Anyway, let's just lather on some sunblock and appreciate #2: mad skillz, yo. Everyday life here is filled with amazing cirque du soleil-type acts. I don't just mean the clown cars in Guinea, although they are impressive..
First and foremost, the balancing thing is just ridiculous. We literally cannot even carry our own bodies down this street without stumbling over the rocks, trash, and potholes. And you, I might add, are nearly bent over, staring at the rocky ground just missing Sherlock Holmes' magnifying glass. You look ridiculous. Stand up and get yourself together! OK, now look at all the women walking by us. They glide like phantoms or music box ice-skaters, never looking down or tripping, with any number of strange cargo balancing improbably on their heads.
At the summer youth camp Peace Corps Kédougou puts on (started by Willie Adams and Dan Egan), we had a games day. We planned to do that race in which you balance an egg on a spoon and run as quickly as you can without dropping it. Once we had the contenders all lined up with their eggs, we realized we were missing the spoons and the kitchen hut was locked. Uhhh... carry them on your heads! -one of us joked. But suddenly, they were. Every participant was successfully balancing an egg on his or her head (except the PCV rep...) and the joke was on us. The winner of the race was a bald guy.
Back to our street scene, you are now gaping at a girl biking on this bumpy not-quite-road with a large bucket of bread balancing on her head. Yeah. Hawking women walk by with three foot tall stacks of biscuits on their heads. Since we are greedy Americans, we stop them. With a gleam in you nefarious little eye, you spot the brown ones at the very bottom of the stack. "Les chocolats?" we ask, half apologetically, half challengingly. And her friend helps her extract them like a jenga piece, all while leaving both loads perched perfectly on each of their heads, as if they're glued on. Even little girls around us are performing these impressive feats. "Jeez!" you say, while stuffing biscuits above your double chins (sorry for pointing them out). I myself have started clapping for the women like a slow-moving seal.
I'm not even going to get into dancing as I think it's rather evident. Face it, dude. The Africans win. But it's ok. It's cooler in the shade of their shadows. Let's follow Mariama.

Round-the-World Cup

It's been so much fun to travel through Africa during LA COUPE DU MONDE!
Even during everyday life, TVs are almost always tuned into soccer matches. Badji's waiting room pavillion hut and every boutique in Kédougou are constantly host to crowds squinting at tiny players for teams like Manchester United. But now, Manchester United is watching OUR teams. It's time for Africa! (Shakira reference... what a great song!)
This year participating African nations included: Algeria, Cameroon, Ghana, Ivory Coast, Nigeria, and host South Africa. I got to be in Côte D'Ivoire for one of their games and Ghana for three of theirs (their last one in Burkina). It is the Most Exciting Thing Ever. I've never seen such universal support across the country for anything. There is nothing in America that compares. The Superbowl is more for eating and meeting up and even then only a percentage care. Most people seem to be more on the "Oh yeahh.. when is that? Who's playing?" side of things. (Guilty.) I think the presidential elections are more similar because at least everyone's more or less paying attention. But that only divided the country! The World Cup is a beautiful unifying event of the collective heart. (I realize I sound gooey cheesy, but I don't care! I'm swept away by the festive mood! Weeee!)
For the Ghana vs Germany match, we were dismayed to find out that it wasn't an afternoon game like we'd thought. It was scheduled during our bus-ride. Nooo! So we dejectedly boarded the bus in our Ghana hats (and slap bracelet thank you very much!) bummed to be missing out. But at every slow-down of the bus, we stuck our heads out the windows to catch glipses of boutique TVs which are so considerately posted all along the roads. A few other passengers had phones or radios stuck to their ears and gave secondary running commentary. So it ended up being kind of fun and amazing how connected we all still were.
Ghana lost that game as we arrived in Hohoe, but you wouldn't know it by looking at the streets! As we climbed down the stairs we were able to join in right away with the dancing, singing, marching, cheering, and chanting of "BLACK STARS!" Street party! People honked all around and zoomed by doing acrobatic tricks on motorcycles (which made me tut and worry at the time, like the old woman I've become.)
Ghana was still in the tournament and there were absolutely no hard feelings about the loss. Booboo and I marvelled at this because we're used to more critical fandom. She said in New Zealand, they turn on their teams with wrath at every loss. I thought of the most zealous Yankee fan I know who one day angrily thrust his Yankees keychain at me after they lost. Fair-weather fans! I wouldn't want to play for you!
"See the champions
Take the field now
You define us
Make us feel proud!"
(If you don't know this song, you are unforgiveably estranged from the rest of the world!)
The most exciting game was of course the Ghana vs US game. I imagine other citizens of World Cup countries had trouble visiting rivals with some overenthusiastic fans showing actual animosity. But here it was all the friendliest rivalry I've seen! There was only a jovial "IIII'm gonna getchu!" atmosphere. It was actually fun telling everyone I was an American before the match. Although it helped that I was on the right side...
Now I'm not a total traitor. I wanted the US to score... once. Then we could still hold our heads up. But I definitely wanted Ghana to score more!
We were returning late that day from a pottery site village of an aquired friend (who is in love with Booboo, incidentally). The traffic jammed up as we all became frantic to see the game. It's starting! We raced into a cab whose driver then jumped out to fiddle with the engine. Nooo! We thought about jumping out to find a different cab, but then we heard the crackle of static and announcer voices. He was only fixing the radio to hear the game! Hear, and see too, as it turned out. It's no exaggeration that every single TV was tuned into the game. As soon as we passed one set, we came into view of another. As we drove down the streets of boutiques, masses of men, women, and children glowed before the boxes, bouncing with excitement.
Ghana scored the first goal while we were still in the car. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLL!" (the world all nationalities can understand!) The crowds in front of the boutiques starting jumping up and down. People starting running around with airplane arms as if they'd scored it themselves. Cars all over the road blasted their horns and carried pumping fists out their windows. I waved my own yellow, green, and red hat back at the festive world. Party in transit!
We finally stopped at a crowded restaurant when we couldn't stand it anymore. I had the best burger of my life and joined heartily in the merry-making. A lot of Africans are quite theatrical (I blame the soap operas) which makes events like game-watching all the more entertaining. These fans were passionately invested: moved to tears or stomping tantrums at small losses and even stronger reactions to success. And I found myself heppily carried along.
I felt a little bad for the US team, mentally comparing that moment in America to the one here. How many people were watching quietly in brightly lit rooms on large couches over there? Who are not actually immigrants? I hear crickets. Which is why I wanted our goal. But for all the fans on this continent, I really wanted Ghana to win. For all the people on their tiptoes in the back of starlit crowds... for all the little barefoot boys thinking, "That could be me!" for the first time... for all billions of breaths held here... GO BLACK STARS!
When they did win, it was like the ball dropped on New Year's. Or like we'd all just won the lottery. Screams, jumping, overturned chairs, sudden abnormal-to-the-culture embraces between strangers, hands shaking every single other hand in communal congratulations... What deserved joy on a continent of hard lives!
Since then, Ghana has unfortunately lost to Uraguay, thus ending our dreams of African victory-- for now. But the fans are still as proud and loyal as ever. And the party is not over!
It never will be.

Going, Going, Ghana!

So far, we've gone through Guinea, Sierra Leone, Guinea again, Cote D'Ivoire, and now we've reached GHANA, the land of plenty-- of tourists. Despite feeling way less badass, we are loving all that Ghana has to offer. Highlights so far include:

1. Not getting asked for a bribe at the border! First time in the entire trip! They checked EVERYONE"S papers, not just the whites' and it was the most organized crossing we've ever had!
2. Green Turtle Lodge in Dixcove. Backpacker paradise on the ebach, complete with a giant boat-bar, happy hour when it rains, ping pong, pool table, lots of other games, young people, and a fun camp feel. Although, as excited as I was at first to see other white poeple, it got kind of old.
3. Dixcove's crazy riptide. I was trying to converse with a fellow expat while out in the water. He dove neatly under each wave and continued easily wherever he'd left off. I however, was trying to look as cool as possible while recovering from some washing machine tumbles, coming up spluttering and readjusting my ill-fitted bathing suit.
4. Cape Coast-- got in just in time to see the Ghana vs. Aussie match. They DOMINATED, but it still unfortunately ended only in a tie. (We are about to watch the Ghana vs. Germany match in a bus station. I have a sweet patriotic hat and SNAP BRACELET and Booboo has a headband/sash.)
5. Ice cream venders on bicylces. What a wonderful world.
6. English language bookstores! Almost better than food!
7. Street food: red-red, fried chicken, fufu, fish, octopus, popcorn... the best street food yet!
8. Kakum Park: the canopy walkways are quite cool. The views are absolutely gorgeous and it's an incredibly enjoyable experience being up so high but still completely safe. I have to admit I had a bit of a superiority complex come in when the other people on our tour were freaking out a little. I personally felt disappointed by how completely unscary it was-- couldn't even raise my pulse! So I was rolling my eyes at the other peoples' squeals and at the "I survived the Walkway" tee-shirts. Come on! There's a huge sturdy safety net encompassing every bridge, sturdy fenced-in railings, and the walkway is so secure, they say it could take the weight of an elephant! These people should try carrying their bikes over the bridge to Ingli! (Which, it should be noted, I myself was too scared to do-- thanks, Matt and Jordan!) So, very immaturely, I danced across the bridges and boycotted the railings. (Mother, I can hear your gasping protests from here... Sorrrry!)


9. We were going to camp in the "platforms among the trees" but it ended up being kind of a rip-off to camp a foot off the ground in a closed-up park. The flight crew from our tour somehow rejected our charming plea for a ride out, but karma may have had its way with them later. Their and our destination, Accra, was unreachable. The two bridges were washed out completely by the floods. It was crazy. So far, I've heard 35 people died from it all. But when our tro-tro hit the traffic jam at the river, we didn't know any of that. The car emptied out and the other passengers walked about a mile through stopped-up taffic to cross the rushing waters by foot. We hung around for a while, hoping for a refund for the other half of the trip. When it was clear our driver was nowhere around, we hoisted our bags (I HATE MY BAKCPACK) and set out after the others. Most people stayed in their cars and gaped as we passed them. If they were in a high-engine car, some could brave it eventually, but the others had to turn back. As we finally got to the water ourselves, the offers of, "I carry your bags across just two ceedis!" increased exponentially. I pulled up my pant legs and we took off our flip flops to wade through. Booboo was a bit nervous about the dirty water, but I already have schisto. I've also waded through many many many dirty waters in Senegal, sometimes up to my chin with my backpack on my head or my bike on my shoulder, so this didn't really phase me. It was more fun, if anything. With the miles of stuck cars and fellow barefoot waders, there was a great feeling of community. We laughed and waved and shook our heads as we passed each other. Everyone had their arms around each other and helds held to steady one another in the current. I had Billy Joel's "And we will all go down together" song in my head, though of course I was trying to change it from "go down" to "cross over safetly". It was sweet, really.

Booboo was a bit nervous at the second and deeper section. We paused and while a group of guys and I tried to give her a pep-talk, a truck with a long empty flatbed splashed through. We all cheered and clambored on (I was completely ungraceful scrambling from the tire and over the ledge with my huge backpack pulling me like a magnet back towards the ground). It was a great ride with 10 other grinning guys. The wind pipi longstocking-ed my hair, but it was still a great way to see the place.

10. The best part of the ride came from a guy who was creepily filming us with his camera phone. Usually I try to step away from these, but since I couldn't on the truck, he got a film of me boringly sitting there. Booboo, however, was completely oblivious of his camera work and he got a FANTASTIC one of her shoving plantain chips very unattractively into her mouth. I'm laughing just writing it. She was truly and gruesomely Stuffing Her Face, and joke's on him if he wanted some hot video of the white chicks he rode with! He showed us these videos on the tro-tro we shared to get to the same neighborhood in Accra. We cracked up until I had tears streaming down my face. One time Booboo took MB and me to an Angels game and we watched this lady i front of us more than the game. She was sucking all the salt off her unshelled peanuts at a frantic pace with a specific process to it. We and about 6 other people stared fascinated at her as she did this and dropped the whole unshelled peanuts on the ground. This strange behavior in addition to her ridiculously 45 degree angle penciled-in eyebrows inspired all of us to snap photos and videos of her while the less interesting game continued in the background. I share this warm memory with all of you because my theory is that, in Ghana, at least, BOOBOO IS THE PEANUT LADY! This video is the greatest part of my trip so far.
11. Accra: we are staying at "The Beverly Hills Hotel." Except that this Beverly hills has a boatload of cockroaches and replaced the shower in the middle of our stay so we couldn't use it. I'd still recommend it though-- just don't buy the 3 ceedi nescafe!
12. Touristy things: markets, art gallery, Cape Coast Castle (complete with Obama plaque), Sunday church services, lighthouse...
13. Sign advertising "Emergency Ambulence/ Hearse Services!" I'd count on them for the second thing only!

Well with that, we've still got half of Ghana to go! Stay tuned! (By the way is anyone reading this? I feel kind of stupid if I'm writing to next to no one.. Could you comment if you're reading?)

Woman Enters Man...

Since we didn't have Liberian visas, Booboo and I decided to go back through the forest region of Guinea, on the Most Gorgeous Roads of our collective lives and enter Cote D'Ivoire on the west, in the region called Man. The more we learned about the rebel strong-hold there, the more nervous we became about having to deal with that when every single border control officer was already demanding bribes. The others weren't so bad: in Sierra Leone, they suggested giving an additional sum, although they didn't recquire it. Ha! The second time back in Guinea, the small soft-spoken Very Pulaar man said, "Wait but you have to pay us!" I got little farther in my speech beyond, "No we don't!" before he settled back with a little giggle and said, "Okaaaay." Bless the pulaars.

On the way out of Guinea, we literally woke up some guards who quickly tried to look as important and professional as they could, while wiping the sleep from their eyes. My favorite part was when the "security officer" said in english that he should really check our bags, otherwise how would he know what's in them? Booboo said, "I just told you!" in a petulent 8 year old voice. Then the best part: she fist pumped to the said, and in the way that you'd hiss, "Yessss!" she said, "Trust!" I bit my lip to keeo from busting out laughing and tried to solemnly nod along instead. They all let us go with their phone numbers.

It wasn't quite so funny in Cote D'Ivoire. Our reservations were not unfounded. The rebel soldiers were all high on power trips and carrying their guns showily everywhere. (Ahh, compensation.) The plan Booboo and I decided on beforehand was that I didn't speak french well-- only pulaar and english. My goal was to channel Reece Witherspoon from Legally Blonde, but less annoyingly. So we smiled and said, "What???" a lot, and giggled. At one point I was having trouble summoning a credible giggle (since I actually understood the lewd things they were saying), so I literally said out loud in english, "Giggle....!" and the ridiculousness of that in turn got a few good ones out of each of us.

At the first post, the men were all over us and it wasn't too hard to be legally blonde until they were tired of asking for money. We accepted banana cookies and nodded a lot and shook everyone's hand and didn't say or "understand" much more beyond answering our destination and saying, "touristes!" The other guys in our car with whom I'd talked to a bit must have been suspicious, but they didn't rat me out.

The next one was the worst. A camo-clad guy on the back of a moto demanded my passport and shouted about it not being stamped. So we had to leave all our bags and our arguments with the massa bus people and trudge over to the gendarmerie.

I said, "Assala Malykum" and the leader rebel soldier answered, "But I'm Christian! How dare you greet me like that!" and his underlings cackled. I tried not to roll my eyes and said, "Well then greetings under the eyes of god..."

Oops! First Legally Blonde slip! I quickly stuttered some unintelligable ameri-french, but his eyes were narrowed. So we began our worst exchange with the rebel soldiers. This guy was ridiculous, not used to ever hearing "no," and a fan of playing with his gun.

The rest of my L.B. performance should win me an Oscar, if I do say so myself. Things went mostly like this:

Rebel Leader: "I don't care that you have your rubbish visa! It doesn't matter here! This is a war-zone and now you need to answer to us. We don't work with that embassy, so now you must pay us too! It's the only way!"

Me: "Yes... visa?... we have... no to-pay..."

The guys were all quite scary and prone to shouting and on the inside my heart was racing and I kept having to swallow. On the outside, I did my best to maintain the same L.B. placid expression. I concentrated on appropriately balancing my three weapons: stupidity, charming feminine wiles, and the side of justice. Mostly the first two.

When things fell too much on the last point, "You... here... to live?... is good?" + smile + small giggle. Woo, back in balance.

When we still weren't paying, he brought in a "translater." Luckily his english was almost as bad as my fake french. I batted my eyelashes at him. (Who knew people could successfully bat eyelashes outside of loony toons? But, YOU CAN.)

After a very long and tiring interrogation; I finally stammered that we didn't even have enough CFA to give them-- just enough for the bus that was waiting for us! This was not far from the truth. I asked them if there were banks and hotels in Man. The mood wasn't at all set for this touristy question, but I wanted to blatently ignore the mood and make them feel in some sort of authority still.

They finally let us go after getting our numbers and giving us theirs. (They wouldn't have rested otherwise-- with all the other soldiers bound to ask them what they got out of us, they needed to be able to show off something.) Of all the preposterous ideas, though. Like I'm really going to call up some power-tripping jerk and try to have another terrifying conversation with him? What are they thinking? I almost can't wait for them to call my American cell phone while I'm in line at Starbucks or something. I'll say to the cashier, "Hold on, it's a corrupt rebel soldier leader in Cote D'Ivoire... just a second... but I'll have a cappucino..."

There were many more soldier checkpoints after this and over and over we took out our passports, refused bribe demands, summoned fake smiles, and took peoples' numbers. If we weren't young women, I honestly don't think we could have ever gotten through all those with any money left. But instead of feeling celebratory about it, our terror kept growing. On the road, every spotted outfit and farming machete slung over regular peoples' shoulders looked like camo-clad soldiers with guns. Over and over, our hearts hammered from the psychological mirage. When we finally got into a hotel room and locked the door, we hugged each other and tried to laugh. But all night our terror still reigned and we both had camo-clad nightmares.

This experience has given me a new respect for people who go through battles and war. If we were so affected by a single day without even any true threat of being killed, I truly can't imagine what it's like for soldiers or the civilians caught among them. At the same time, I feel like I hate the concept of soldiers more than ever. I know so many poeple becomesoldiers, but I really think it's hard to impossible for this to not negatively affect them. The uniforms, the guns, the power, the separation from "regular people", the tangled responsibilities of following any order and dismissing previous independent philosophies of what's right and what's wrong. What else but these philosophies makes us humans?

I hope I'm not offending anyone by this. I know it's a sensative subject to criticize a practice for which so many of our loved ones have died. But I mean to criticize the system that killed or broke them, not the original people who enter into it.

Anyway, being on the side of the somewhat hunted, I began to wonder what exactly the differences were between rebel army occupation of northern Cote D'Ivoire and American army occupation elseware. I know we're more organized, with at least some official systems in place for answering for your actions. And we have fancier equipment and sweeter rides. But in how many people's nightmares do our American soldiers feature?

To end lightly, I'll share a bizarrely coincidental message from the fates: As I wearily settled back into my half-seat on the bus after yet another check-point, I was starting to doubt the way I was dealing with it all. Suddenly, a moto comes by, and in pink letters on the driver's shirt says: LEGALLY BLONDE. If that's not a sign that it'll all be okay, I don't know what is!