The Raiders of the Temple of the Last Crusade for the Crystal Skull….

08/24/2009

The next day we left Accra and headed for Cape Coast. We are staying in a town called Anomabo and are nestled right between Ft. Amsterdam and Elmina Castle. Cape Coast Castle (the site of Obama’s visit) is nearby in Cape Coast proper. These are the sites of the Trans Atlantic Slave trade. It takes a strong man to walk the very spaces where slaves were stored, abused, raped, sold, and shipped off to a foreign land. More than anything the thought of the countless tens of thousands that died and were tossed into the sea is so palpable…visceral really. Not one of them received a decent burial…merely a stone around their waist to keep their bodies at the murky depths of the ocean floor. Each of us has taken our turn feeling the pain and suffering that seem inextricably bound to the very stones that make the structures in which we have spent these past few days.

One of the female dungeons in particular has a sour stench and the guide informed us that women from age 6 and up were locked there…no baths, no toilets, and you can imagine the rest. We learned that women weren’t bathed unless they were about to have the company of the Governor…if you catch my drift. Oddly enough, the chapel at the fort lay just meters from these dungeons and it was from a balcony above that the Governor of the day would select the slave that he would rape later that same evening. All in the name of God and Country, right? The advent of the entire Mulatto race is a direct byproduct of the abuses of countless African slave women in institutions such as these. Manifest destiny indeed….

I’d like to say that these tours have put me in touch with the fact that I am really here, in Africa. Quite a reality check. If you had told me 6 or 7 years ago that I’d be standing in those castles and furthermore that I’d be capable of processing my emotions and feeling anything like sympathy for those that had suffered there….well….I’d have laughed you right out of the room. Yet, here I am and all the better for it. What an atrocity that man has participated in. Interestingly, the guides are all very clear about the fact that slavery was a well developed institution prior to the arrival of any European nation. Prisoners of war and captives generated by the advent of inter tribal warfare were often taken from their homelands and made to be slaves. However, this was more of an indentured servitude and the slaves had rights, could marry, buy their freedom, etc. The instance of the European arrival and the transformation to what we think of as slavery was to come later. For this, many of the people that we have met express their singular (and collective) sorrow at the notion of Africa’s own contribution to the convention that was the Trans Atlantic slave trade.









Can you say archaeology?

Finally, we have been visiting the village of Kormantse. Many slaves that ended up in Jamaica were processed here on the way to the forts. In fact, the village is of particular interest to our Professor and is the focus of his current work here. In so, we have all become archaeologists over the past few days. We have drawn grids, mapped out units, turned soil 20 cm. at a time….and most of all, found artifacts!!! Indiana Jones look out….I love this stuff! The site is rich with pottery, metal slag for smelting, beads, shell, and today we found HUMAN BONES! The forensic anthropologist inside me is peeing in his shorts…but just a little!!! The jaw and teeth are small and definitely from a child. I held them in my hand and found rib fragments, more teeth, and a long bone. One of the chief archaeologists said it is most likely a composite site, containing many bodies, and not a full on burial site. He even went on to postulate that they may have been moved within the past couple of hundred years as the people that own the land have done some rearranging for their farming efforts.

The sun was very hot on our backs as we were hunched over our screens, rummaging through the rust-red clay. It was an invigorating experience, and discerning the rocks from pottery and learning basic archaeology in a hands-on manner was something that I’ll never forget. In addition to the field work, we took a long hike into the bush and saw an old site that the locals refer to as the Mango Shrine. It is suspected that this was an old ritual site and that continued efforts to clear and excavate here would be productive.

There is an interesting phenomenon at Kormantse. Two years ago when Kofi was just beginning his work at the site he arrived to find bulldozers clearing land for a cell phone tower. Immediately he and his team tried to stop them from continuing ass their actions were disturbing the stratification of the soil…and thus, the scientific merit and integrity of the artifacts. Fast forward two years and there is a huge cell phone tower atop the hill that the village occupies and a furrow cut into the earth that is almost ½ a mile long. As a result there are pipe stems, pottery shards, and most of all human bones littering the surface and scattered all about. Moreover, almost no one knows about it because the village is so isolated…and even fewer people care.

Walking along I had collected a small collection of long bones…femurs and ulnas mostly, a myriad of finger/feet bones, and a tooth. In addition, I had collected several stems from 200 year old pipes brought over from Britain, and a black ceramic bead. The villagers consider the items to be garbage…literally garbage. They have no interest in or draw/claim to them. The scientists don’t care about them as they have no scientific value without the context provided by their location in the strata of the layers of soils and clay. I found myself standing there wondering if I was the only person that actually cared about these pieces of history…and that was the thing…I was holding history in my hands!!! No plexi-glass barrier or red velvet rope was keeping me from feeling the past with my very own hands…no LCD screen creating a fairly accurate likeness of what these things might look like…and I was enraptured. It took me two days worth of thinking and searching my moral center to decide as to whether or not to keep some of the artifacts…and I guess if you really want to know, you’ll have to come over and ask me upon my return.

Zane…if you are reading, this whole part of my adventure has had me thinking of you the entire time. It was so amazing to be out there in the bush walking around and seeing undisturbed tropical forests and digging in the dirt with pick axes and hand trowels….I know that you would have loved it so very much. I miss you so much, Bear, and I can’t wait to bring you back here some day…to see you see the world, and watch you grow up with a global vision. I know that your kind heart and beautiful smile would be so well received here. I love you.

Dr. Pitts

08/22/2009

It has been several days since I was last able to have an internet connection and much has transpired. On our last day in Accra the van pulled up to the house to get us….ladies from the hotel in tow. I threw open the side door to find one of my comrades with her head buried in a plastic bag with her face flush, and tears rolling down her face. I took one look at her and said, “Stay cool….I’ll be right back!” One of my Dr. friends back in the States advised me on the taking of antibiotics in the bush…take one at the first sign of “Danger Will Robinson!!!” and another in the evening… most nasty little bugs will resolve themselves shortly and then save the rest of the doses for the remainder of the trip. On that advice I gave her a powerful antibiotic and then our fearless leader Kofi whisked us off the hospital. Please note: I had my suspicions about malaria and wondered how much drinking had happened the night before. Hmmmmm…

Upon arrival, it was clear that we would have to wait in line behind the some 150 to 200 people waiting for the Doc, who hadn’t arrived as of 9 AM and was not expected for another 90 minutes. Visions of waiting to see my Doc at OHSU are dancing through my head and I have to say that I never thought that I’d have gratitude for my usual 20 minute delay. I guess it’s all really relative isn’t it?

From here it was to a private clinic for initial consult and 20 minutes later we are on our way to a medical testing lab with hand written orders form the Doc. The testing lab was above a market and next to a paint store. The waiting room had prices painted on the wall and the patient room was a closet of a space with a chair, some blood collection equipment, and a desk. The technician wore no gloves, did not wash his hands, and did not clean or dress the area that he poked for blood. Rapid malaria tests take 20 minutes, and fresh fried doughnuts ensued in the meantime. Mmmmmm

Back to the clinic and, “What do we have for our lovely contestant behind door number 3, Bob?” That’s right: malaria parasites present! As well as food poisoning, stomach cramps, possible bacterial infection, and a nasty hangover to boot. Shame, shame…and she thought we wouldn’t find out. What an adventure….I was able to participate in the consult and the Doc appreciated my help and asked her to continue the course of antibiotics that I had started her on. Not bad for my first dose of practicing medicine in the rough….lol.

Fast forward a few days and I am in the village of Kormantse (see next blog for many of the detail of how we got here, and what we have been doing). It has come to my attention that a few of the young girls in the village have wounds on their feet that are not doing well. With the help of their Assemblyman, or Mayor for all intents and purposes, and a whole lot of on-lookers I was able to administer basic first aid, clean the wounds, dress them ,and teach a woman in the village how to use some of the medical supplies that I brought along so that she might continue to clean and dress the wounds. There was a serious language barrier, but we had a translator and everything went jsut fine. Never in my entire life in and around healthcare have I seen such unfailing bravery as in the case of these 2 young girls. Not a peep out of them, and a genuine curiosity about the process and what I was doing. They were perfect patients. Interestingly, a man in his forties had a similar wound and would not let me help him. It took ten minutes of convincing to even get a look a the wound on his foot, which was wrapped in a filthy rag. The rag help a green paste of traditional medicine on the wound and he had an interior liner made out of a recycled water bag. Oh...yeah, for those who haven't been here, the water is sold in 500 ml baggies. I know, it took some getting used to...as suckling a 500 ml baggie is...well....awkward.

A Tiger’s Stripes….and other such tales

08/18/09

It is midnight here and I have already written part of this blog once tonight. Just as I was close to posting it from the internet café that I was in just a few short hours ago...tick, tick, BOOM….my browser crashed and there went all of that hard work. Alas, the fight must go on. However, now I am sitting under a fan in Kofi’s house and working my way through a delicious Ghanaian chocolate bar. I had very little idea that the cocoa culture here was so HUGE. Apparently, the cocoa bean was brought here by the Spanish for favorable growing conditions, and the rest is history. You know… subjugation of indigenous peoples, deprivation of fair wages and labor standards, human slavery, and 400 years later….a delightful way to ruin 7 months worth of Weight Watchers.

Moving on…I should round out the trip a little here. There have been so few chances to actually write at length that I have skipped several key moments of the trip. On arrival at Kofi’s house, our van and Tro Tro (taxi) were greeted by three feet and forty pounds of young Ghanaian boy that I would come to know as Na Na. I still am not sure where it comes from, because he tells me that his name is Jason….but Na Na persists and when in Rome…

Na Na held his head high and carried his small hands as tightly clenched fists at his sides. He saw the car and immediately sized all of us (and the car) up as if to say, “Who are you?” in a bellowing tone reminiscent of the Great Oz at the Emerald Palace upon meeting Dorothy for the first time. I introduced myself right away and we were quick friends (I know…weird, right?). As I settled in he and I were playing and I took out my camera. After the 1^st picture he exclaimed, “Capture me as a tiger! A giraffe! A Spider-Man!!!” and so it was. I began to grow tired and I told him that he could stay in my room but that I needed a nap. I asked him to nap with me and he crawled up beside me, laid his head down and we were among the clouds in minutes.

When I woke up almost three hours later, he was sleeping next to me still. Um yeah….killing me with the cute (thanks for the borrowed vernacular Mr. Landis and by the way…Lolcats don’t have shit on this kid!) Shortly after the nap I presented Na Na with some of the donated school supplies that I had brought along, and was promised a return gift of a picture of “Tiger with stripe!!!”. Each day upon my return to the home, Na Na runs out of the house and throws his arms around me and inquires as to what I might have brought him. I have informed him that I really would not like to give him anything, as my picture of a tiger with stripes has not materialized. I have also informed his father Kojo that his son is a very shrewd business man. So far he is up one pad, a box of crayons, a pencil, a package of colored pencils, a sharpener, most of my granola bars, and several baggies full of sugar cane.

I still have no tiger.

By the way, we went to the Ghanaian Cultural History Museum in Accra today and it was very moving. Truly a peaceful and beautiful people and there is so much to say about this…I will write another separate entry…needless to say, most of us were O.K. until we got to the room about the slave trade and the display of fetters and chains and shackles was enough to move us to tears….especially the child’s set. I just can’t imagine the sorrow and fear that a child in that situation must have felt.

Insert uncomfortable moment of silence.

The Strength of a Gesture.

Walking down the street the other day I saw 2 men walking holding hands. They were young and I wasn't about to believe that they were sexually involved, but who knew? I asked my dear friend Kojo (picture to follow tomorrow), with whom I have become very good friends, what was up...

He said that here good friends will walk hand in hand...fingers interlaced...it is a sign of endearment, trust, and friendship. I smiled and we went about our tour of the craft market.

Insert pee story here:

I had to pee. Unfortunately sometimes a bathroom is like finding an honest politician. Not happening. So At the market a few young men, who kept telling me, "I like your style...you have much niceness...and I like you" ad nauseum...etc, etc, etc....it is the tattoos, I'm telling you everyone loves it. Moving on, one took me to pee, and the bathroom we finally found was locked. Then 2, then 3 then 4, then 5...and finally 12 Ghanaian young me were escorting me to piss. Elvis and Jesus have nothing on me here...lol...lol. Then we ran out of places to look. They took me to where the trash dump met the ocean and said, "Piss on the Wall". how punk.

After offering to take my picture while pissing, and trekking over much refuse in all manner of decay, I finally...couldn't go. Go figure. All the fuss just killed it.

Anyway.

Later on in the afternoon, Kojo and I were walking and talking on our way to eat, and next thing I knew he had grabbed my hand and we were holding hands. In a million years in America this would never happen. I love my best friends, and you all know who you are, but we have never walked hand in hand down the sidewalk...it just isn't Western...or something. I wish that each of us could have shared this moment.

I was overcome with shock, and touched at the notion, and comforted by my new friend in a strange land.

And it was good. Perfect, simple, and good.

So many moments here that make me think of all of you...and love you all the more.

M

Two steps back...the flight here and such things.

from 08/13/2009

For as much as I’d like to imagine myself able to visualize what deplaning in Accra will be like, I’m afraid that it is still an ethereal notion. After all, I’ve spent hours peering through picture books and reading cultural guides. I know that Ghana prides itself on being, “the Friendliest Country on the Planet!” but for all of my experience, that might as well read, “The Greatest Show on Earth!” What I’m getting at here is that due to my lack of experience in traveling like this; that means internationally for those folks out there in the cheap seats, I’m quite sure that setting foot on the red earth that is Ghana will be nothing short of absolute spectacle and I look forward to the sense of awe and wonder that I have imagined experiencing every day since this whole endeavor began.

Seems like I’ve told the story a lot, but here’s the quick and dirty version: almost exactly 2 years ago a friend’s then-fiancee mentioned her excitement about an impending trip….to Ghana (bet you weren’t ready for that one). When I found out that this trip was a bi-annual occurrence and open to all PSU students as a Capstone (senior project) I swore that I wanted to make the trip myself. In all truth, I never really thought that this would come to be true. Let’s face it, before getting sober just over 5 years ago I was incapable of making plans that involved anything outside of an hour’s time frame, and they usually involved getting or staying loaded.

Fast forward through the job, the school, the scholarship, the amazing rebuilding of my relationships with EVERYONE in my life, and the fact that I have allowed myself to become the father that I always knew that I could be….and here I am, on a plane from JFK in New York to Accra, the capital city of Ghana. Walking through the airport in NYC is really a cultural experience of its own. There are people from everywhere…literally everywhere and they all have that same road-weary yet motivated-the-fight-must –go-on look about them. As we neared our gate, after having downed a 6 shots-on-ice from S’bux (boo-hoo…insert manufactured crying at the notion of not having real coffee for a month), it was obvious that we were nearing the international flights. Gate 5 to Moscow, Gate 4 to Accra, etc….

Here’s the great part…in boarding the plane I was waived over by a customs/security/you-get-the idea. I thought, “Here we go...” and I was ready for the run-around. He was shocked that I was a student, wanted to know how much money I was carrying, etc. The ladies that I am traveling with thought the whole thing was unfortunate, but it ended quickly. Not 5 steps inside of the plane a beautiful Ghanaian woman who was also a flight attendant stopped me, laid her hands on my arms, and exclaimed, “Look at you!!” She was so interested in who I was and loved the tattoos, etc. Just before dinner she visited me again and asked about the nature of my trip. Upon learning that it was my first time traveling to Africa and my first international venture as well, she bent down, threw her arms around me, and said, “Welcome aboard, Baby! We’re going to take good care of you. You’ll be just fine.” My favorite moment came next when she told me that in her opinion, every American needs to travel to Africa. I’m getting the feeling that she might be right….


Getting off of the plane and onto the tarmac at the air field was unreal...I felt like Dorothy when she stepped out of the Black and White house and into that Great Technicolor World of Oz...and then it hit me like a duck in the face at 20 knots...(check out the William Gibson reference...and you all thought I didn't read).

Zane – I wish that you could have been on the flight from NYC to Accra. There is a wonderful 5 year old boy sitting behind me. His name is JJ and he reminds me a lot of you when you were that age. He was very excited to tell me that he was from Ghana, and that he had been in the United States visiting his grandfather. He has kind eyes, a bright smile, and was very excited to talk. Then his mother went on to explain that they actually lived in Michigan, and that they have a summer home in Ghana. I miss you Bear, and I can’t wait to have the chance to talk to you. Take care and know how much I love you!!

An end to day 2

Alright, no promises on this blogging thing...it is all new to me. Where to begin??? First of all, let's just break down the psyche of the past 8 hours. The night/morning of the flight it was, "I can't believe that I am going to Ghana." and then the day we landed it was something along the lines of, "I can't believe that I'm here in Ghana." and now it has progressed to, "I can't believe that I get to be here for a month!" Call it the honeymoon phase or whatever, but this is AMAZING!!!

That all said, today was an experience...I woke up round 7 and was quickly ready. I am staying at Kofi's house, and all of the ladies are about 10 minutes (if the traffic is good, and usually it is not) away at a very plush hotel. What can I say, I am getting the authentic experience, and wouldn't change a thing. The water in the shower won't run out of the tap on the wall, so it is bath-out-of-a-bucket for me, and no waiting for the ladies to quit hogging it...lol. Shortly thereafter we went to the hotel, said g'morning to the ladies and had a lovely breakfast. Scrambled eggs w/ peppers, toast, and sausages (hot dogs). For the record, Nestle owns everything. In a very Fight Club moment, I wanted to be the, "I am not Mike's instant coffee" guy this morning....but for those of you that know me, who are we kidding, right?

After some food, the last two ladies arrived from the airport and we made our way, on foot no less, to the Madina Market. The streets are lined w/ shanty-like constructs and every sort of thing is for sale. I took all of this in stride, and got lots of photos. People in the cars immediately knew who we were, and for those of you tattooed folks that think we don't blend at home...yeah, you get the picture...it is like to the Nth Power here.

It was overcast at first, but when the sun broke through, I swear it was about 2 inches above my head. No joke. This equatorial business is, well, going to take some getting used to. Needless to say, my "Africa Hat" just about saved my life.

When we finally went into the market, it was sensory overload. People milling about like worker bees or soldier ants. A literal cacophony of strange Akan language, shrill horns from around the market, and smells most of which uncommon, and a few rancid ones from the gutters that were pungent to say the least. Saturday is market day and I must go back and get some photos of the food stuffs there: soft shelled blue crabs, meat and fish being butchered and cleaned, salted and dried fish everywhere, fruits, veggies, and spices, one man even selling dead rats...for EATING. um...no thanks, sorry. Anyway, it was totally overwhelming. It was so busy, and the group kept getting split up that we are going to have to go back for photos.

Afterward, we caught a Tro-Tro (taxi) back to Jampart (a restaurant) for lunch. Today I had Banku with Okra Stew and Beef. Banku is a fermented corn dough, very sticky and very filling. Last night I ate at the same place and had Omotuo (sp?) which is sticky rice balls, drowned in a spiced ground peanut sauce, and 2 pieces of chicken. It was delicious...weight watchers is just going to have to look forward to helping me shave off the "Africa" weigh, if I gain any that is, I sweat so much today it was ridiculous.

Anyway, I love you all, and Zane, baby, this is the most amazing adventure Dad has ever had. I think of you every minute and wonder so much what you would think of this. I am carrying you in my heart, just like I do every day at home. I love you, Buddy.

M