Harmattan

It has been almost one month since I arrived here in Accra, Ghana. Today, however, I found myself reflecting on my days of travel. I left the Newark airport on a freezing Sunday afternoon. As I said goodbye to my parents, I handed them my winter coat, knowing I wouldn’t need it for the next five months.

Sure enough, after being indoors for the next twenty-four hours, I stepped out of the plane onto African soil and felt as though I had stumbled into a furnace. I found out later that week that this was the cold season, or “harmattan.” From January until about April, the dry season in the north of Africa causes dust from the Sahara to blow south and cover the continent in a cloud of dust. The sky is a haze of brown and the sun peeks through only due to its sheer brightness. Fluffy white clouds, blue sky, and stars all vanish during this season, and any moisture in the air is sucked up by the dehydrated earth.

As I was escorted home by our Ghanaian RA, I was struck by the traffic pattern on the streets. I suddenly understood what my travel guide meant when it said that Ghanaian driving could be roughly equated to a country-wide game of chicken. Taxis were zooming in and out of the unmarked lanes, very much uninhibited by the lack of road signs. Buses crammed with locals flew past our car; I later found out that they were “tro-tros,” the primary method of cheap transportation utilized by Ghanaians. I saw women carrying large baskets of goods on their heads, which fascinated me at first but I have now come to see as part of the beauty that is Africa.

The next day, I was introduced to “Auntie Marian,” the academic director of the NYU in Accra campus. It is customary in Ghana to address your elders or superiors as “auntie” or “uncle,” while classmates and friends are your “sisters” and “brothers.” While I was hesitant to use these titles at first, feeling unnatural calling people who I had just met my uncles and aunts, I have in fact come to love the unity that this custom promotes. In a weird way, this is a microcosm of my experience in Ghana thus far: although the traditions and ways of life here are entirely foreign to me, they are all part of what makes this place beautiful; a center of love and togetherness, full of the most generous and caring people I have ever met.

I took the following photos at the Shai Hills Reserve. I went hiking with a few friends in the midday African sun. We were not expecting to be hiking this day, only to visit the baboons that the reserve is famous for.

Regardless of the fact that some of us (including me) were wearing sandals and had not brought more than a splash of water, we decided to hike the most challenging trail, to the tallest mountain in the reserve. After a few miles we were all dehydrated; by the time we got to the end I felt like I was going to die.

Our tour guide brought us to the staff housing and gave us Fantas and Sprites to ease our pain. The women were entirely welcoming of a group of “obrunis” traipsing into their home, and their children delighted in having their pictures taken.