This little pig went to market

Ghana

Accra (Ah – craw) is not just any town. I discovered this today as I explored the markets of this West African city. I am on a layover from Monrovia to Kigali. I am eventually heading to Nairobi for a conference, but I thought a stop in Kigali would be aperpeu, if not fantastically nostalgic.

The question of “what to do?” is always pertinent on a 30 hour layover. I spent the majority of the day catching up on some work, but after I cleared that away I was out and about to do some urban exploring. Accra has a very interesting market. It amazes me how much we can learn while walking down the streets of a different country. From the women selling brightly coloured veggies, jeans and pigs feet to the man wearing nothing more than old tattered garbage bags. This man gave me reason to pause. Here he was standing on the edge of the road, looking lost and forlorn. Perhaps he is a vagabond or a man with severe mental problems. He seemed to stand there wondering with a question smeared across his face: “Why me?” It was a bit of a reflective moment on my walk that was more light hearted than anything else.

I left the hotel in search of an internet café. I wandered for some time down the roads of Accra. My first memorable moment was a full out fist fight. I was meandering along some unkown road, taking in the beautiful morning when I heard noise and shouting. I looked up and to my surprise there were two women slugging it out. They were pulling each others shirts off and throwing punches. I walked past and tried to avoid the mob. There is one thing I am sure of in this life - never get in the middle of two women fighting in a foreign country.

I found a Net café, but they were staunch folks. “Sorry, no flash disks allowed” was their answer to me. So, I continued on my journey to what was seemingly a difficult end. I pondered my surroundings and concluded that Accra is a far cry from Monrovia. Or maybe Monrovia is a further cry from Accra. In the capital of Ghana, you have roads with no potholes, there is running water and electricity, among other things. There is also a market that spills onto nearly every street of the downtown.

I am swept away in the sensory…brightly coloured produce swirling by my feet; women’s tightly braided hair clinging to the scalp like a rockclimber on a cliff; buses narrowly avoiding pedestrians with horns honking; cars streaming by; sellers and buyers hassling and haggling; and the raw smell of three day old garbage. Aw yes, Africa!

[I am going off on a tangent.] The media portrays Africa as a backward continent full of despair and poverty. You know what I refering to…the starving babies on the TV on Sunday mornings; civil war headlines in Time magazine; corruption allegations mentioned on the end of the nightly news. That’s it right? This is Africa? I do not attest to the popular media’s portrayal of Africa. The majority of media is tainted and follows stories of despair because that is what sells. For reasons that make us pause, we somehow desire (on a subconcious level) to hear stories of death and horror. Why are we not interested in the good news stories that happen all over the world daily? I am guilty of this and have come to realize that I need a more realistic picture of the continent, a balanced perspective. Visit Nairobi, Kampala or Cape Town and we see industry, banking, and commerce that has grown. Look at the recent National Geographic to see the other side of black Africa. One last comment on this issue. This topic is obviously widely debated. I was not intending to form any substanial argument here; I simply wanted to mention that media gives us only half of a biased story. [feel free to post comments]

So, back to the market in Accra. Walking along I see colour: brilliant orange, bright reds, attractive greens and sublte pinks. Pink? Yep, nothing but good wholesome pig’s feet. Perhaps it is common grub in some parts of the world, but I still find it strange / different that people eat the bottom of a pig’s leg – the dirtiest part of the most unclean animal (for a jew of muslim). I asked the lady if I could take a picture of her with her pigs feet. She thought it would be ok to take a pic of the pig’s feet, but she avoided being in the picture at all costs. She rose and in a rushed fashion escaped the view frame. As she got up to leave, I noticed the vendor behind her cover her face. I found this all very interesting, as I realized that I was breaking yet more cultural rules.

I love to walk down the markets with some time to spare. You see the beauty of life: people laughing, chatting it up, shooting the breeze with a smile. You see colours that you swore you have never seen before. You walk by a child hitting his aluminum pot with an offbeat rhythm and you add in an extra beat for fun. He looks up in amazement, as you crack a wide smile. The shock turns to joy, as he continues to hammer out his syncopated beat with a big grin.

I never did find the internet café, but I didn’t need to. The streets of Accra were my entertainment and burst of life. To travel is to become…

Cerebral Antics
Dreamer of design
In capitulating fears
Dare I drink the wine?

Destiny’s guide
Fate’s forever
An enduring fire
Why this sacred desire?

Truth unknown
Fragrant solace
With intense devotion
Can you console us?

Present moment
Flower blossom
Deep love connection
Is this more than emotion?

That’s all she wrote. I hope you are living well. I welcome you to post any comments, questions, bizarre thoughts or philosophical connundrums you are facing.

Peace out los amigos,
Marcel