(A warning: this post is a bit melodramatic, but it really does bug me.)
It's hard to define exactly what Ghanaians mean by 'oboruni,' but the word follows us everywhere. I think a strict definition is a foreigner of any kind, from England, America, or any other country outside of Africa. Practically speaking, oboruni ends up being the word that Ghanaians speak to refer to anyone who isn't West African. Black Americans routinely get called oboruni, once it's understood that they are not from Africa. (It's often clear anyway because most of them are lighter than most Africans, and dress slightly more American, even though so many Ghanaians dress so American...I digreee.) Even light-skinned Ghanaians have said that they are often mistaken for oborunis.
There are an endless number of blogs written by international visitors to Ghana who discuss their personal reactions to being called an oboruni. Ghanaians uniformly deny that there is any racism in the word, and that they don't mean it in any derogatory way. It's just a word used to refer to white people, a description, a tag.
Yeah, whatever, Ghana. I've said it before, and I will keep saying it. You're wrong. It's offensive- I'm offended. I don't call you 'black person.' I call you by your name, and if I don't know it, I say 'Excuse me,' or I tap you.
Obibini is the Ghanaian word for black people, but I only know that from Twi class, not because anyone would ever call someone else an obibini in public. I guess you could argue that one wouldn't call out "Obibini!" to get someone's attention because everyone is black. But it doesn't matter- if there are one white student and one black student are trying together to get a cab, they will call "Oboruni." Because they want the white person to answer; because they want to mock ("Good-heartedly!") the white kids. Just because. People walking by just scream out "oboruni!" for absolutely no reason.
And it's one thing when it's the women in the markets, or the taxi drivers, or people who are either uneducated, or in a different generation, or just have literally never met a white person before. I don't like it, but I can try to understand.
Before our dance final, four of us were sitting on a bench outside the studio and one student wanted to shift over the bench. Everyone stood up, but I didn't notice what he was doing, so to get my attention, the girl tapped me and said, "Oboruni, stand up, please." This girl was not a stranger, we had been in class together all semester. Even if she didn't know my name, she could have tapped me and said the exact same sentence without saying oboruni.
The word 'oboruni' has a function to separate, to make people different, to say 'you are not like me.' And that's offensive in and of itself. To constantly remind someone who is not of your culture just how different they are is insulting and unnecessary, and as is pretty clear, it bothers me. A lot.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Monday, May 10, 2010
accountability, Denise
Conversation with the lady who works at the gas station store.
Me: Is there any more milk?
Her, looking over to where I’m pointing: No, we’re out.
Me: Is there going to be more?
Her: Maybe.
Me: Um. When?
Her: Maybe tomorrow. Maybe.
Me: Okay. Great. Thanks.
Conversation with the tro-tro mate on my way back from Shoprite.
The ride costs 20 pesewas. I had given him 50, and he gave me 20 change.
Me: You owe me 10 pesewas.
Him: I don’t have a 10 pesewas coin.
Me: So give me 20 pesewas.
*Laugh track of people on the bus*
2 minutes later, a woman gets on and pays in small coins.
I stick out my hand.
Me: You owe me money.
Him: I said I’m sorry.
Me: Oh, I forgive you, but you still owe me money.
*Laugh track*
He looks through his bag of coins and hands me 10 pesewas.
Me: Is there any more milk?
Her, looking over to where I’m pointing: No, we’re out.
Me: Is there going to be more?
Her: Maybe.
Me: Um. When?
Her: Maybe tomorrow. Maybe.
Me: Okay. Great. Thanks.
Conversation with the tro-tro mate on my way back from Shoprite.
The ride costs 20 pesewas. I had given him 50, and he gave me 20 change.
Me: You owe me 10 pesewas.
Him: I don’t have a 10 pesewas coin.
Me: So give me 20 pesewas.
*Laugh track of people on the bus*
2 minutes later, a woman gets on and pays in small coins.
I stick out my hand.
Me: You owe me money.
Him: I said I’m sorry.
Me: Oh, I forgive you, but you still owe me money.
*Laugh track*
He looks through his bag of coins and hands me 10 pesewas.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Three Days in Togo
Sorry for the delay, but the following is a quick account of our trip to Togo, Ghana's eastern neighbor. (Semi-written by Zahava, semi by Rivky. This is Rivky. Hi.) It was a completely crazy experience. It was all the ridiculousness of Ghana but in FRENCH! Surprisingly enough, our French skills (1) from Frisch did not come much in handy.
A couple of weeks ago, CIEE sent out an email to all of the students with a travel advisory not to go to Togo because they were holding elections. Because there was no major coup after the election, we figured our trip would be fine, but then two days before we left, we heard that the new president was being sworn in on Wednesday (our trip was Sunday to Tuesday) and that the opposition party had been rioting in Lome, the capitol city. We were told not to sleep in Lome until after Wednesday. On Sunday, when we got to the border, we were told that they actually pushed up the date, and the inauguration was going to be on Monday. Apparently, the government is trying to keep the rioters on their toes so they can't try anything. Fun how a country can just decide that.
When we got to the border of Ghana and Togo, it started raining. First we had to go to Ghana’s building to get checked out. We filled out a card (and will continue to fill out every time we enter or exit, about 4 times over this trip) called “Embarkation/Disembarkation Form” (as if that’s a word).
Crossing the border is so annoying and completely inefficient. Ridiculously enough, the Ghana side was actually more organized and more logical than the Togo side, and what's more is that in Togo, everything is in French. I know like it seems as if I'm harping on this, but we didn't realize how bad the language barrier would be until we actually got there. Most people didn't speak a word of English. The Togo side refused to help us for the first ten minutes we were standing there because it was raining. Eventually we got out and took “moto,” which was somewhere between a motorcycle and a motorbike, to the city center. They were awesome! I'm convinced that there is no better way to travel. We got dropped off around the market area and saw the capital monument. It was raining and Sunday so a lot of things were closed. We still got a feel for the city, but it would have been cooler if we had actually seen things. We had brought cookies and peanut butter, and in the market bought bananas. To take a break for a little bit, we sat under a building and had lunch. As we did, every single person there stared at us as if we came from Mars. From the way they were staring, it seemed as if they had never seen or never even heard of white people before.
We slept in Aflao, the border town, on Sunday night. It was beautiful; after a lovely dinner of tuna and crackers, we took a walk to the beach, where the waves were much stronger than in Accra. In Ghana, people always come up to white people to initiate conversation, just because they love the idea of speaking to such foreign people. In Togo, it's similar, but the language barrier quickly takes over and they walk away, which was pretty much a relief, actually.
We realized on Sunday night that we were going to run out of CFAs soon, but we decided against wasting time on Monday morning, and instead taking money out of an ATM once we got to Kpalime, where we would sleep, on Monday night. Readers, bad idea. I'll explain when we get to that part. So anyway, on Monday morning, we went back to Lome and took a tro-tro two hours north to the foot of Mt. Agou, the highest mountain in Togo. The drive was gorgeous, we were surrounded by beautiful scenery. Green everywhere! It seemed strange that so close to Ghana, a place so nature-y existed. Accra is dusty and dirty, and Togo was generally more similar to the Volta Region in the east of Ghana, lush and green.
At the bottom of the mountain, we tried to explain to the men working (2) there that we wanted to hike up the mountain and then take motorcycle cabs back down afterwards. Again, it obviously took 20 minutes to communicate that in French. We were dying of laughter the whole time, but luckily, the French-English dictionary we borrowed from our friend Dela came in handy. We looked up the word for “walk” (marcher). We pointed up and said “marcher.” Then we pointed down and said “moto.” Eventually they got it but were still advising against it, for unknown reasons. (3) The road up the mountain is 12 kilometers, but there is a more vertical hike through the bush, instead of on the road, which is both faster and prettier. Along the hike, there are small villages and lots of fruit trees. We were able to pick cocoa (4), mango, and guava. Fresh guava is awful, FYI. There were also hundreds of cocoa beans drying on the side of the road. We made it up halfway, and then we called some motorcycle cabs to take us the rest of the way up. When we got to the top, right before the peak, there was a man standing there in an Addis jersey saying that he was a soldier, and we need authorization to pass and it costs 2000 CFAs ($4). Clearly it was a bribe for no reason, but after yelling about bribery and the inappropriateness of the entire system, we paid our $4 and sat at the top for a little while. Almost ten guys followed us the whole way: our three drivers and a bunch of other guys who worked (5) there. They were being loud and rowdy and ruining our peaceful scene.
At the top of the mountain, we had lunch (cookies and peanut butter again). Then we left the mountain, and these three motorcyclists drove us to Kpalime, the town we were staying in. We wanted to stay there to visit the Cascades, which are a collection of waterfalls that are supposed to be beautiful. We had them drive us first to an ATM, but all three of the ATMs that they tried driving us to were broken. Eventually, we just had them drop us off at the hotel, assuming that the hotel would either take credit card or know where the nearest ATM is. Bad call on our part, because the hotel only took cash and the receptionist doesn’t know where an ATM is. Don’t forget that no one speaks English! (I know, I'm sorry I keep mentioning it, but it’s just important to keep in the back of your mind because that makes every situation so much funnier.) He told us not to worry about the ATM now; we’ll go to a bank in the morning and pay then. So we didn’t worry about it; we settled in a little. Then we went out at night to walk around the town, buying bananas and avocado. While trying to communicate with the avocado boy, a Nigerian guy came up to us and began to translate. (Nigeria is an English-speaking country, but he's lived in Togo in a while, so he was fluent in both languages. Sweet.) He ended up walking with us all over town. We explained that we needed an ATM, and he walked us to the one the motorcyclist had brought us to. It was still broken. We said that we were planning on going to the Cascades in the area tomorrow, and he said he would come with us because we need a guide. However, I was getting more and more anxious, working backwards in time. I had a final on Wednesday (went really well, thanks!) and didn't want to get back really late on Tuesday night, because obviously I had no clue when the exam was. We knew we also had to figure out how to get money in the morning, so we didn't want to risk taking the time to go to the Cascades. It was slightly disappointing, because the Cascades were a big reason why we came to Kpalime, but Mt. Agou was awesome, so it definitely wasn't a waste. He walked us back to the hotel, and we can had excellent dinner of, you guessed it, more tuna and crackers, took showers, played squinch for a little and watched CNN (the only channel in English) and fell asleep.
On Tuesday morning, Yamit and I woke up bright at early, telling a groggy Zahava at 8:45 that we were leaving and we would be back in about half an hour. We spent the next two hours wandering around Kpalime, and I don't think I exaggerate when I say that most people in the center of town were familiar with us and knew that we were broke Ghanaian exchange students. The ATMs weren't working, fine, but the language barrier was the worst part. We managed to find a sketchy money changer in the middle of the market, and we exchanged some cedis for CFAs, but we still didn't have enough to pay the hotel. When we got back, Yamit told the receptionist plainly that we couldn't pay the hotel, but obviously she had no clue what we were saying, so we just shrugged and went back to the room, where we woke Zahava up and the three of us sat to ponder our situation.
We pulled out all the CFAs (19,500) and cedis (25) that we had. The hotel cost 16,000, and we needed 6,000 for the motos to get to the border. We decided to go down to the receptionist, put 13,500 CFAs on the table and say, sorry that’s all we have and there is no working ATM in this entire freaking city. So that’s what we did. We promised to send her the money, and that this whole situation was completely unintentional, and we felt horrible, etc. Obviously, she didn't understand what we were even talking about, but then when she finally got it (probably around the time that Yamit opened her empty wallet), she sort of shrugged and took the 13,500 CFAs. What else could she do?She wrote down the phone number of the hotel on a piece of paper (unclear why she didn't write the address, so we could send her money, but I wasn't going to press), and we left. We got motos to the border. On the way, there were three checkpoint type things, even though we hadn’t yet left Togo. At one of the checkpoints, they made us go into this room and this guy wrote down our passport information, unclear why. Eventually we crossed the border and walked to the tro-tro station. And by tro-tro station, I mean a dirt paved parking lot with a tree in the corner that two tro-tros were parked under. We waited for the one going to Ho to fill up, which took about 30 minutes, but while waiting, we entertained ourselves by making friends with some guys who were trying on Yamit’s pink sunglasses and dancing to the music on my iPod. I think they were impressed by my West African hip hop collection, what can I say? I'm a music connoisseur. At Ho, we finally found an ATM, but obviously, it was the only ATM working in the whole city, so the line was about 15 people deep. Eventually we got on a tro-tro to Madina. Once we were on it, we decided we were gonna try for lunch, and as I opened my baf to take out the peanut butter, I realized that both the peanut butter and my deodorant had opened and were all over each other and everything else. It's actually kind of great, because we're always so gross here, with our disgusting clothing and hair flying everywhere, and, you know, deodorant in the peanut butter, and Ghanaian women are so much more classy than we are. They probably think Americans are pigs. So we spent a significant amount of time on the tro-tro and energy on the tro-tro trying to clean that up. (While the Ghanaians looked at us like we were insane.) When that was over, we had a lovely lunch of cookies (sans peanut butter).
And that's basically the full story! I left out a bunch of things that are too complicated for a written account, but this is the gist of the tale. If the internet were fast(er), I'd upload some great pictures, but for now, we must be content with words. Sorry, guys.
Oh, and 7 days until our flight home! If you're lucky, maybe Zahava or myself will write a post about feelings leaving Ghana. We'll see.
(1) Oh, internet sarcasm.
(2) More sarcasm!
(3) It's sad that this lack of communication cannot be blamed entirely on the French. There is a genuinely different way Americans and West Africans speak; their logic is different. It's hard to explain.
(4) Cocoa plant is delicious! We had it for the first time in the first week of Ghana, on a tiyul with our program, and it's amazing.
(5) Are you picking up on these yet?
A couple of weeks ago, CIEE sent out an email to all of the students with a travel advisory not to go to Togo because they were holding elections. Because there was no major coup after the election, we figured our trip would be fine, but then two days before we left, we heard that the new president was being sworn in on Wednesday (our trip was Sunday to Tuesday) and that the opposition party had been rioting in Lome, the capitol city. We were told not to sleep in Lome until after Wednesday. On Sunday, when we got to the border, we were told that they actually pushed up the date, and the inauguration was going to be on Monday. Apparently, the government is trying to keep the rioters on their toes so they can't try anything. Fun how a country can just decide that.
When we got to the border of Ghana and Togo, it started raining. First we had to go to Ghana’s building to get checked out. We filled out a card (and will continue to fill out every time we enter or exit, about 4 times over this trip) called “Embarkation/Disembarkation Form” (as if that’s a word).
Crossing the border is so annoying and completely inefficient. Ridiculously enough, the Ghana side was actually more organized and more logical than the Togo side, and what's more is that in Togo, everything is in French. I know like it seems as if I'm harping on this, but we didn't realize how bad the language barrier would be until we actually got there. Most people didn't speak a word of English. The Togo side refused to help us for the first ten minutes we were standing there because it was raining. Eventually we got out and took “moto,” which was somewhere between a motorcycle and a motorbike, to the city center. They were awesome! I'm convinced that there is no better way to travel. We got dropped off around the market area and saw the capital monument. It was raining and Sunday so a lot of things were closed. We still got a feel for the city, but it would have been cooler if we had actually seen things. We had brought cookies and peanut butter, and in the market bought bananas. To take a break for a little bit, we sat under a building and had lunch. As we did, every single person there stared at us as if we came from Mars. From the way they were staring, it seemed as if they had never seen or never even heard of white people before.
We slept in Aflao, the border town, on Sunday night. It was beautiful; after a lovely dinner of tuna and crackers, we took a walk to the beach, where the waves were much stronger than in Accra. In Ghana, people always come up to white people to initiate conversation, just because they love the idea of speaking to such foreign people. In Togo, it's similar, but the language barrier quickly takes over and they walk away, which was pretty much a relief, actually.
We realized on Sunday night that we were going to run out of CFAs soon, but we decided against wasting time on Monday morning, and instead taking money out of an ATM once we got to Kpalime, where we would sleep, on Monday night. Readers, bad idea. I'll explain when we get to that part. So anyway, on Monday morning, we went back to Lome and took a tro-tro two hours north to the foot of Mt. Agou, the highest mountain in Togo. The drive was gorgeous, we were surrounded by beautiful scenery. Green everywhere! It seemed strange that so close to Ghana, a place so nature-y existed. Accra is dusty and dirty, and Togo was generally more similar to the Volta Region in the east of Ghana, lush and green.
At the bottom of the mountain, we tried to explain to the men working (2) there that we wanted to hike up the mountain and then take motorcycle cabs back down afterwards. Again, it obviously took 20 minutes to communicate that in French. We were dying of laughter the whole time, but luckily, the French-English dictionary we borrowed from our friend Dela came in handy. We looked up the word for “walk” (marcher). We pointed up and said “marcher.” Then we pointed down and said “moto.” Eventually they got it but were still advising against it, for unknown reasons. (3) The road up the mountain is 12 kilometers, but there is a more vertical hike through the bush, instead of on the road, which is both faster and prettier. Along the hike, there are small villages and lots of fruit trees. We were able to pick cocoa (4), mango, and guava. Fresh guava is awful, FYI. There were also hundreds of cocoa beans drying on the side of the road. We made it up halfway, and then we called some motorcycle cabs to take us the rest of the way up. When we got to the top, right before the peak, there was a man standing there in an Addis jersey saying that he was a soldier, and we need authorization to pass and it costs 2000 CFAs ($4). Clearly it was a bribe for no reason, but after yelling about bribery and the inappropriateness of the entire system, we paid our $4 and sat at the top for a little while. Almost ten guys followed us the whole way: our three drivers and a bunch of other guys who worked (5) there. They were being loud and rowdy and ruining our peaceful scene.
At the top of the mountain, we had lunch (cookies and peanut butter again). Then we left the mountain, and these three motorcyclists drove us to Kpalime, the town we were staying in. We wanted to stay there to visit the Cascades, which are a collection of waterfalls that are supposed to be beautiful. We had them drive us first to an ATM, but all three of the ATMs that they tried driving us to were broken. Eventually, we just had them drop us off at the hotel, assuming that the hotel would either take credit card or know where the nearest ATM is. Bad call on our part, because the hotel only took cash and the receptionist doesn’t know where an ATM is. Don’t forget that no one speaks English! (I know, I'm sorry I keep mentioning it, but it’s just important to keep in the back of your mind because that makes every situation so much funnier.) He told us not to worry about the ATM now; we’ll go to a bank in the morning and pay then. So we didn’t worry about it; we settled in a little. Then we went out at night to walk around the town, buying bananas and avocado. While trying to communicate with the avocado boy, a Nigerian guy came up to us and began to translate. (Nigeria is an English-speaking country, but he's lived in Togo in a while, so he was fluent in both languages. Sweet.) He ended up walking with us all over town. We explained that we needed an ATM, and he walked us to the one the motorcyclist had brought us to. It was still broken. We said that we were planning on going to the Cascades in the area tomorrow, and he said he would come with us because we need a guide. However, I was getting more and more anxious, working backwards in time. I had a final on Wednesday (went really well, thanks!) and didn't want to get back really late on Tuesday night, because obviously I had no clue when the exam was. We knew we also had to figure out how to get money in the morning, so we didn't want to risk taking the time to go to the Cascades. It was slightly disappointing, because the Cascades were a big reason why we came to Kpalime, but Mt. Agou was awesome, so it definitely wasn't a waste. He walked us back to the hotel, and we can had excellent dinner of, you guessed it, more tuna and crackers, took showers, played squinch for a little and watched CNN (the only channel in English) and fell asleep.
On Tuesday morning, Yamit and I woke up bright at early, telling a groggy Zahava at 8:45 that we were leaving and we would be back in about half an hour. We spent the next two hours wandering around Kpalime, and I don't think I exaggerate when I say that most people in the center of town were familiar with us and knew that we were broke Ghanaian exchange students. The ATMs weren't working, fine, but the language barrier was the worst part. We managed to find a sketchy money changer in the middle of the market, and we exchanged some cedis for CFAs, but we still didn't have enough to pay the hotel. When we got back, Yamit told the receptionist plainly that we couldn't pay the hotel, but obviously she had no clue what we were saying, so we just shrugged and went back to the room, where we woke Zahava up and the three of us sat to ponder our situation.
We pulled out all the CFAs (19,500) and cedis (25) that we had. The hotel cost 16,000, and we needed 6,000 for the motos to get to the border. We decided to go down to the receptionist, put 13,500 CFAs on the table and say, sorry that’s all we have and there is no working ATM in this entire freaking city. So that’s what we did. We promised to send her the money, and that this whole situation was completely unintentional, and we felt horrible, etc. Obviously, she didn't understand what we were even talking about, but then when she finally got it (probably around the time that Yamit opened her empty wallet), she sort of shrugged and took the 13,500 CFAs. What else could she do?She wrote down the phone number of the hotel on a piece of paper (unclear why she didn't write the address, so we could send her money, but I wasn't going to press), and we left. We got motos to the border. On the way, there were three checkpoint type things, even though we hadn’t yet left Togo. At one of the checkpoints, they made us go into this room and this guy wrote down our passport information, unclear why. Eventually we crossed the border and walked to the tro-tro station. And by tro-tro station, I mean a dirt paved parking lot with a tree in the corner that two tro-tros were parked under. We waited for the one going to Ho to fill up, which took about 30 minutes, but while waiting, we entertained ourselves by making friends with some guys who were trying on Yamit’s pink sunglasses and dancing to the music on my iPod. I think they were impressed by my West African hip hop collection, what can I say? I'm a music connoisseur. At Ho, we finally found an ATM, but obviously, it was the only ATM working in the whole city, so the line was about 15 people deep. Eventually we got on a tro-tro to Madina. Once we were on it, we decided we were gonna try for lunch, and as I opened my baf to take out the peanut butter, I realized that both the peanut butter and my deodorant had opened and were all over each other and everything else. It's actually kind of great, because we're always so gross here, with our disgusting clothing and hair flying everywhere, and, you know, deodorant in the peanut butter, and Ghanaian women are so much more classy than we are. They probably think Americans are pigs. So we spent a significant amount of time on the tro-tro and energy on the tro-tro trying to clean that up. (While the Ghanaians looked at us like we were insane.) When that was over, we had a lovely lunch of cookies (sans peanut butter).
And that's basically the full story! I left out a bunch of things that are too complicated for a written account, but this is the gist of the tale. If the internet were fast(er), I'd upload some great pictures, but for now, we must be content with words. Sorry, guys.
Oh, and 7 days until our flight home! If you're lucky, maybe Zahava or myself will write a post about feelings leaving Ghana. We'll see.
(1) Oh, internet sarcasm.
(2) More sarcasm!
(3) It's sad that this lack of communication cannot be blamed entirely on the French. There is a genuinely different way Americans and West Africans speak; their logic is different. It's hard to explain.
(4) Cocoa plant is delicious! We had it for the first time in the first week of Ghana, on a tiyul with our program, and it's amazing.
(5) Are you picking up on these yet?
Our morning in the post office!
Because I have the most amazing friends in the world (1), Zahava and I set out on Thursday morning to pick up a package sent to me from New York. (2) I don't think I detailed our last visit to the post office, but to be concise, it took around three hours, my wallet was stolen, and I almost cried numerous time. By some miracle, on Thursday, we got to the post office at around 11:45, and less than 15 minutes later, the package was sitting in front of us!
Unlike in America, when you pick up a package, you can't just sign for it and walk out; you have to open the package in front of them and they charge you different amounts based on what is contained in the package. So Zahava and I opened it, revealing loads of candy, Purell, letters, disposable cameras (awesome!), a dance mix CD (guess if that was from Rachel or Peter?) and season 3 of The Office. (3) The woman looked inside and declared that I owed 10 cedis for this package.
I would have shrugged and paid the 10 cedis, but Zahava immediately started arguing that it was too much, so the woman offered to make us a chart explaining the cost. She had all these additional costs- VAT, health insurance (yes, for a package. Zahava and I were cracking up in front of her), etc. That added up to 6 cedis, and then she said that there was a blanket 3 cedi expense on all packages for transportation from the airport. Zahava started freaking out, "If I went to the airport, picked up a single package, and then took a cab straight here, it would be 3 cedis! Is that how the post office works? Do you guys not have a truck? How inefficient!" Obviously the post office workers were confused, and Zahava and I were cracking up. She asked how much we think transportation should cost, and I said that it shouldn't be more than 30 pesewas per package. She was loving us and our chutzpah; both women working with us were laughing and repeating what was going on (in Twi) to the other post office workers in a clear tone of 'sheesh, get a load of these white girls.' (4)
Bottom line, they agreed, and we ended up paying 6 cedis and 30 pesewas for the package. A satisfying morning, especially when we got to spend the tro tro back eating Mentos and taking pictures of ourselves with a disposable camera.
It just baffles the mind that we were able to convince the postal workers to lower the price of receiving a package by arguing with them. (Of course, it also baffles the mind that we have to pay to receive a package in any case, but that's neither here nor there.) In retrospect, the bureaucracy, like the experiences with the post office and the university, made our experience in the Ghanaian embassy before we came here make so much more sense.
(1) Hey Peter and Rachel!
(2) The package had gotten in a week earlier, but because of finals and Togo, my first free day was yesterday.
(3) Again, how much do my friends rock??
(4) I hear that tone a lot, especially when I'm with Zahava.
Unlike in America, when you pick up a package, you can't just sign for it and walk out; you have to open the package in front of them and they charge you different amounts based on what is contained in the package. So Zahava and I opened it, revealing loads of candy, Purell, letters, disposable cameras (awesome!), a dance mix CD (guess if that was from Rachel or Peter?) and season 3 of The Office. (3) The woman looked inside and declared that I owed 10 cedis for this package.
I would have shrugged and paid the 10 cedis, but Zahava immediately started arguing that it was too much, so the woman offered to make us a chart explaining the cost. She had all these additional costs- VAT, health insurance (yes, for a package. Zahava and I were cracking up in front of her), etc. That added up to 6 cedis, and then she said that there was a blanket 3 cedi expense on all packages for transportation from the airport. Zahava started freaking out, "If I went to the airport, picked up a single package, and then took a cab straight here, it would be 3 cedis! Is that how the post office works? Do you guys not have a truck? How inefficient!" Obviously the post office workers were confused, and Zahava and I were cracking up. She asked how much we think transportation should cost, and I said that it shouldn't be more than 30 pesewas per package. She was loving us and our chutzpah; both women working with us were laughing and repeating what was going on (in Twi) to the other post office workers in a clear tone of 'sheesh, get a load of these white girls.' (4)
Bottom line, they agreed, and we ended up paying 6 cedis and 30 pesewas for the package. A satisfying morning, especially when we got to spend the tro tro back eating Mentos and taking pictures of ourselves with a disposable camera.
It just baffles the mind that we were able to convince the postal workers to lower the price of receiving a package by arguing with them. (Of course, it also baffles the mind that we have to pay to receive a package in any case, but that's neither here nor there.) In retrospect, the bureaucracy, like the experiences with the post office and the university, made our experience in the Ghanaian embassy before we came here make so much more sense.
(1) Hey Peter and Rachel!
(2) The package had gotten in a week earlier, but because of finals and Togo, my first free day was yesterday.
(3) Again, how much do my friends rock??
(4) I hear that tone a lot, especially when I'm with Zahava.
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