My first week and a half in Ghana felt a bit like a fever dream. Exhausted, dazed, and exceptionally sweaty, it was like I’d been dropped on another planet.
Part of it is the heat. There is a sweltering dampness that rises from the ground and sticks. It may also be the lack of sleep. Jet-lag and nausea from the malaria pills often kept me up until morning. After hours of restless tossing, I’d resign myself to watching the sunrise through the web of my mosquito net.
There is also a series of contradictions in Accra, Ghana, that feel far from the reality I am used to: poor and rich, educated and unschooled, pristine and littered worlds exist right next to one another.
Our house is grand, with a sliding gate to ensure only those who are supposed to, can enter. A security guard patrols the entrance at night. There are four large bedrooms with tall ceilings where we sleep. At night we gather on the balcony to play cards.
Just yards away, families live in makeshift shelters. Their houses consist of scraps of wood fastened to a sheet metal roof. I wonder if the ceiling leaks in the rain. We walk by this neighborhood on our way to a hotel pool, and mothers greet us with a wave. They hold colorful dresses against their body with one arm and pin them to a clothing line with another, the garments swaying in the breeze. At his mother’s legs, a baby pats the dirt.
How can such different realities exist only a street apart?
Some areas of Accra are pristinely beautiful. We visited the Aburi Botanical gardens on our second day and spent hours exploring the native flora. Some of the trees, leaves bigger than my torso, date back to the Portuguese colonization in the 1500s. Our tour guide led us through the expansive grounds, pointing out curry-powder and cinnamon plants.
Across the city, the only green visible is the lids of plastic water bottles that pile up in the gutters. The garbage reaches waist-high along some streets. Without a central refuse or sewage system, let alone recycling, many Ghanaians dump their waste in the roads. Shopping bags, cans, and plastic bottles float down streams, dyed a sickly yellow. Clouds rise from between the buildings, a scent of cooking meat and burning tires.
How can such beautiful land be so transformed?
My favorite experience in Accra so far was in one of the most impoverished and crowded neighborhoods, Nima. There we visited an international school and watched an hour-long song and dance performance by the kids. The children were adorable in their matching purple uniforms, giddy with excitement to have visitors. They were also amazing dancers. As they sang and recited poetry, I noticed people gathering outside the windows of the building. I realized it was the other children in the neighborhood–those who could not afford or otherwise were not able to go to school. They gripped the bars of the windows and peered inside.
How did they feel watching these children their age, experiencing such different lives?
The past week and a half have mostly revealed to me how much I have yet to learn about Ghana. While the stark divide in quality of living has surprised me, I realize that the U.S. experiences many of the same problems–our poverty and environmental degradation is simply hidden further out of view. Experiencing such a different culture is humbling, and the Ghanaians I’ve met have been overwhelmingly friendly and patient with my naive American perspective. I look forward to exploring more of Accra, and understanding this place a little bit more.