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.
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