A little bit of spice...

Life in Accra seemed pretty dull after our great adventure to the north. After seeing elephants fighting, baboons howling and magnificent waterfalls roaring, the hustle and bustle of city life just couldn’t compare. We all went back to our internships on Tuesday—my research is coming along well and I think overall, the project will turn out great. I’ve become pretty close friends with the Canadian intern, Narges, and we often take the trotro home together. But even the best day at work couldn’t make up for the lack of excitement relative to our recent adventure, so a few of us decided that on Wednesday, we really needed to spice things up.

Molly, Ryan, Katie, Jessica and I piled into a cab, the four of us girls manipulating space in the back seat by sitting sideways with half of our rear dangling off the side of the seat. We paid our silent cab driver four cedi and he zipped down the narrow lanes of traffic to the Regency Coconut Grove Hotel. This hotel was the sister resort of the beach villa we stayed at in Cape Coast, so we had a feeling it might be nice. We were right. The building itself looked like a Tuscan villa, tall and inviting and encrusted in weathered red brick that gave it a certain charm. The pool was clean and inviting and palm trees waved back at us through the cool night breeze.

One of our roommates, Josh, has decided to stay in Ghana after the program and was hired by the manager of the Coconut Grove in Cape Coast to help set up a radio station. In talking with his new boss, Josh discovered the Wednesday night at the Coconut Grove was salsa night, which is precisely why we decided to go. Apparently, salsa has some roots in traditional West African beats and rhythms that made their way to South America. Now, that saucy, sexy style of dancing has reclaimed its popularity in Ghanaian youth and salsa night is one of the resort’s most popular activities.

Strolling through the big iron gates, we weren’t sure exactly what to expect and thought maybe, just maybe, it might be sort of lame—we couldn’t have been more wrong. Once we entered the main deck, hundreds of Ghanaians stood poolside, twisting and turning their bodies in tune with the music blaring from the speakers overhead. Men formed five or six neat lines and faced the ladies, who formed five or six neat lines of their own. Their hips swayed and heads bobbed and it seemed that everyone except us knew the next move in the elaborate, choreographed dance. We joined in anyway, always a step behind but laughing the whole way through. After just a few minutes, the DJ announced that the lessons were over but the music would keep bumping until 10:15. Instead of dismantling their lines completely, the men and women joined forces, swinging around to face the pool. A few of the really experienced dancers moved to the front of the group, moving their bodies in ways we white folks could never imitate. We danced a slightly modified version of the electric slide and grooved to unrecognizable tunes, too. Katie and I sprung for the four cedi vodka-pineapples since our parched throats simply begged for them. I felt like Baby in “Dirty Dancing” the way my awkward body tried to keep up with the fast steps of the Ghanaians, but I eventually got the hang of it…sort of.

Salsa night will be regular thing for our last three Wednesdays in Ghana because, though it doesn’t compare to elephant fights, it’s enough spice to keep our Accra experience from being too mild.