This time around, Ghana seems to resemble a post-apocalyptic Eden. Lush and green, with magnificent skies over head and structures sprouting up from below. The half completed highway over pass that has stood though two presidents, the dust roads which spill like river deltas onto the paved highway and the frequent power outages give it the feeling of a civilization that is just beginning to materialize.
On the main streets, at night the only light comes from open flame gas lamps. Built out of old tin cans, their light flickers and dodges unevenly across the road where dozens walk with large loads on their heads. Off the main roads the only light is from cars, headlights cutting through the thick dust and casting absurdly long shadows over the pot holes. After a long rainy spell the pot holes become pot holes no longer. They connect in a fairly uniform pattern and the road dons the appearance of a brown, mougled mountain side that only a five year-old ski prodigy could find joy in. After sometime, the government sends out what is basically a snow plow to scrape the road back into shape.
Water for everything but drinking comes from the sky. Funneled into to streams, it gushes off the tin roof horizontally to waiting buckets below, several to either and each one placed in a line extending out from the house, ready to catch all the water as it comes down in different strengths. Most drinking water comes in the form of water packets (a sturdy, square plastic water balloon that one opens by ripping a corner off with your teeth, all the while imagining the look on your dentist's face when you tell him about it.) There are signs around for "Silver Spring Tonic Water" which claims to be scientifically proven as a disinfect, and a treatment for HIV/AIDS, sexual weakness, prostate cancer, high blood pressure, infected sores, sleeplessness, eye problems, depression, and lack of faith in the lord. The other main type of water is called Voltic. As far as I can tell a simple bottled water, but it seems to be a delicacy amongst those indulging the local ganja. Several have talked almost mythically about how amazing it tastes after smoking. They are probably on to something, a lot of the water packets have a very unappetizing aftertaste of chemicals and plastic or else whatever the person who handed it to you last ate.
At the same time as civilization is rising out of the landscape, a feverishly passionate religious movement has swept over the country. Pentecostalism, as crazy as I think Christianity can get while still claiming to believe in an interpretation of the Bible, has taken over the lives of many. Some, not all, go to church every single day and all abstain from alcohol and smoking. Their services consist of a preacher bellowing literal interpretations of scriptures at an enthralled audience who will soon break into a frenzy of song and dance accompanied by drums. Late on Friday nights and into the early hours of Saturday, they beat out over the single story buildings as the only sign of life. One night, when they got an especially late start due to the rain, I slipped out of the house and went walking towards the next town over. I came out of the darkness into a dimly lit road that branched off in several directions. A loud bass could be heard coming from down one street and I walked towards it. This area is middle class by developing world standards and I thought maybe there would a be a decent bar, maybe even some sort of club or hangout spot. As I got within a few blocks though, I was able to see it clearly. Half a dozen men slumped deadly in a barely lit entrance to a garage with a bar inside. I retreated, figuring they would be the same guys I'd see slumped over outside the liquor store on Sunday morning as the rest of the community thumped their chests and Bibles, heeding the words of the local radio stations that it was very important to attend mass everyday - especially on Sundays.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Sunday, September 26, 2010
better late than ever: more from india
From Chennai, I traveled to the ancient ruins of a capitol city in Hampei via a twenty hour stay on the Indian railway system, the world's largest employer and possibly the largest source of delays in the world. At one point we were stopped for so long that a good number of people got off three hours in to a standing room only trip, walked to a hole in the chain link fence ringing the track and hailed a bus to take them the rest of the way. The Indian railroad company also injects an ample amount of excitement and confusion into an otherwise sedated mode of transportation. There were seldom signs posted to show which train would be arriving at which track and it was not printed on the tickets either, people just seem to know where to go. Fine for them but this caused me to move to three different tracks in an hour while waiting at one stop and the first train I got on I had to hop off as it pulled away from the station. I don't know where it was going but I knew it was the wrong way. Later I would get on the right train but only after consulting five different people and being told by three that it was going to Hospet (my destination), one that it was not and by the last that it was going to Mysore. I figured three out of five was pretty good and if I ended up in Mysore I would be just in time for the birthday of a friend who was staying there. The lack of signage is made worse by an incredibly loud automated announcement system which is under the impression that every train is on time. The 5 o'clock express to Bangalore could be running three hours late but at 5 the loud speakers will proclaim in blaring fashion that the train is ready to depart from track 1 - even though an entirely different train is sitting on those tracks probably about to take off in the opposite direction.
The saving grace of the Indian Railroad are the people on it. Those sitting in unreserved 2nd class will madly dash to any door as an incoming train slows, bumping and pushing anyone in their way and then turn around smiling to off you part of their snack once you get aboard. There was a family of girls on a train that were very friendly and kept asking me questions for the twenty mins I sat with them before having to jump off as the train began to move in the wrong direction. Probably a good thing since the mother seemed determined that I should marry at least one of them, a thirteen year age gap not being her biggest concern. On another train, a small boy of twelve or thirteen and myself wordlessly exchanged funny faces for several hours while the track caused the train to rattle and shake with deafening noise. On my first overnight train I slept a few feet away from a mother and daughter with a skin disease that caused it to flake off revealing a pink layer beneath their light brown skin. Waking up next to a bench with dusting of skin like big snow flakes and then being offered to share their breakfast was certainly one of the less appetizing moments of the trip.
Going from Goa to Mumbai I shared a berth with a young engineering couple who spoke prefect English and seemed to be doing very well for themselves judging by the plethora of gold they wore. I later learned that most of it had been given by their families at their marriage a few years earlier. Even though they married for love, her father had still given a dowry as a sign of social status that included much of the gold he wore and either a car or a house, I can't recall which. I also learned that before they began seeing each other, her family had considered an arranged marriage and set up a number of interviews. These interviews were not with the prospective husband, but with his friends. Up to a dozen of them would sit across from her while she kept her head down and never made eye contact with a single one. They would ask her questions, vetting her for their friend and then leave. They two of them seemed very happy to be married to one another.
After speaking for awhile, they told me that they very much wished to travel to Europe, specifically Switzerland and Venice. I never found out exactly why those two places but they were set on going as part of a big tour group. When I advised that they might find it more enjoyable to go on their own he responded by saying, "But we are scared."
"Why? Most westerners would be more scared to travel through India, I think."
"No you see, Indians are born scared."
"What do you mean?"
"Ever since we are young we are told not to go to this part of the city or that part of the city because it is not safe. Maybe you will be mugged or kidnapped. So we are scared."
The saving grace of the Indian Railroad are the people on it. Those sitting in unreserved 2nd class will madly dash to any door as an incoming train slows, bumping and pushing anyone in their way and then turn around smiling to off you part of their snack once you get aboard. There was a family of girls on a train that were very friendly and kept asking me questions for the twenty mins I sat with them before having to jump off as the train began to move in the wrong direction. Probably a good thing since the mother seemed determined that I should marry at least one of them, a thirteen year age gap not being her biggest concern. On another train, a small boy of twelve or thirteen and myself wordlessly exchanged funny faces for several hours while the track caused the train to rattle and shake with deafening noise. On my first overnight train I slept a few feet away from a mother and daughter with a skin disease that caused it to flake off revealing a pink layer beneath their light brown skin. Waking up next to a bench with dusting of skin like big snow flakes and then being offered to share their breakfast was certainly one of the less appetizing moments of the trip.
Going from Goa to Mumbai I shared a berth with a young engineering couple who spoke prefect English and seemed to be doing very well for themselves judging by the plethora of gold they wore. I later learned that most of it had been given by their families at their marriage a few years earlier. Even though they married for love, her father had still given a dowry as a sign of social status that included much of the gold he wore and either a car or a house, I can't recall which. I also learned that before they began seeing each other, her family had considered an arranged marriage and set up a number of interviews. These interviews were not with the prospective husband, but with his friends. Up to a dozen of them would sit across from her while she kept her head down and never made eye contact with a single one. They would ask her questions, vetting her for their friend and then leave. They two of them seemed very happy to be married to one another.
After speaking for awhile, they told me that they very much wished to travel to Europe, specifically Switzerland and Venice. I never found out exactly why those two places but they were set on going as part of a big tour group. When I advised that they might find it more enjoyable to go on their own he responded by saying, "But we are scared."
"Why? Most westerners would be more scared to travel through India, I think."
"No you see, Indians are born scared."
"What do you mean?"
"Ever since we are young we are told not to go to this part of the city or that part of the city because it is not safe. Maybe you will be mugged or kidnapped. So we are scared."
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