University of Ghana- East Legon

DAYS FIVE AND SIX

The rain here falls in huge, heavy drops, flooding the deep gutters and causing families to huddle beneath their tin roofs on the sides of dusty roads. It only rains in short bursts, though, which makes it bearable. And its warm. You can't not stand in it, for the drops trickle down your face and feel like a soothing shower rather than a rainstorm. 

Days five and six of my African adventure are dedicated to studying at the University of Ghana's East Legon campus, where we'll hear from four lecturers about different types of journalism and problems of journalism in Ghana. The walk from our house to campus is only about a mile, but a treacherous mile at that. The streets have no shoulder here, so myself and my band of twelve obronis ramble up the road at 8:30 am (why does it feel earlier here) alongside huge trucks and trotros that feel close enough to brush the edges of my sleeve. Tro tro drivers yell things out the window that we can't understand and make strange gestures with their hands. I'm beginning to learn that not all Ghanaians speak English, as our director had previously alluded, and if they do they don't always speak it willingly. Instead, they shout out at us Obronis in short bursts of Twi- or was it Ewe? We defy death by jaunting across the busy stretch of highway as soon as we see the white stucco-like arches leading into campus. Campus is huge- too big to even fathom- but luckily, the School of Communication Studies is very near the entrance. Palm trees, not pines like in Oregon, dot the campus as we stroll toward the school. We have "the air conditioned room" as everyone in the school calls it- lucky us, since it's almost unbearably humid after the torrential downpours of the night. 

On day five, we listened to lectures from the director and founder of Orakle Advertising. He was happy to answer questions about the strong use of faith-based advertisements and talked about the history of advertising in oral tradition. Women here stack peanuts meticulously atop giant, shiny silver platters and carry them delicately atop their sturdy heads- this, he said, was a classic form of advertising, or displaying products attractively. We also listened to a Doctor of Philosophy who talked with us about an overview of the media in Ghana. Being a relatively young country (independence was in 1957), Ghana has development in the media sphere greatly in the past few decades. While radio remains the largest and most popular medium (there are many illiterate people here), TV and Internet has also grown in popularity. On day six, we listened to a woman who was heavily involved in broadcast journalism. She was particularly interested in studying women's role in the media, which is what my internship will involve. Finally, we heard an astonishing investigative reporter who has won numerous reporting awards for his work. He told us stories about working undercover in a flour plant to break a story about the use of moldy flour (maggots and all) in Ghanaian merchandise. Though he wore a funny floral bucket hat, he was an astonishing speaker and a fantastic reporter. Reporting is not exactly what I want to do, but he made me want to go out there and "bust the bad guys."

During the evening on day five, we went to a bar across the street (the one with the 12 year old bartender, Michael). As it turns out, the bar is called Wazzu and it costs 60 cent for a shot of gin and a coke. While this is not my ideal drink, how can you beat that price?! Michael's father owns the bar, which is really a slab of cement with a broken, peeling white fence blocking the street. A dirt path leads to where I assume Michael and his family must live, and I often see a white and orange cat emerging from its depths. A few drinks after arriving, and the thirteen Obronis are throwing a dance party, our light hair, pale skin and undoubtedly bad dance moves attracting the giggles of barefoot women in the streets. Soon, we've attracted a crowd and have filled the small bar with laughter. The smell of kabobs pervades my nostrils as we dance away, and I wind up meeting some great people. They now know us by name, and even flag down taxis for us so we don't get the Obroni price (much to the dismay of our disgruntled drivers). 

The evening on day six was amazing. We finished school and had a bit of downtime at the house before lacing up our sneakers and pulling on our athletic shorts. Sheena, one of my roomates, grabbed her soccer ball and we paraded half-a-mile up the road to a dirt soccer field behind an elementary school. By the time we reached the peach and maroon school, we had a following of children hoping to play with the brand new ball. Their grubby fingers pointed up at us questioningly as they muttered in Twi. They turned their gaze to Sheena, who might as well be God in their eyes for she holds the great soccer ball.  We settle on the small field for our game, since a group of 30+ teenagers have laid their claim to the larger field. I sit beneath the shade of a cool, big tree as the children divide into teams. I pull out my camera, and immediately I'm surrounded. One little girl, Linda, wears a turquoise dress and has pretty gold studs in her black ears. Her head is shaved and those gold studs stand out like stars in a dark night. She is completely in awe of us, and when I ask if she wants her picture taken she immediately tucks her head to her chest and smiles, her liquid brown eyes like chocolate looking up at me. The game rages behind us- a close one from what I can tell- but I spend my time talking with the children. They want to know what church I'm from, how old I am, where I live. They ask if they can come over and play at my house, see my things from America. If there's one thing Ghanians are it's friendly, right down to their littlest children. Children tug at my arm, and when I show them their picture in my camera, the squeal with joy. Seeing the light in their eyes is like waking up to a beautiful, cloudless day- it just doesn't get any better than this.