First Day in Accra

Ghana is a linguistic blizzard. Maybe monsoon is a better word since we are only 5 degrees north of the equator. I have met a hundred Africans already, and they all speak at least four languages, even those who cannot read one.

All of western Africa seems represented here in Accra to some degree or other. Mustapha is a Beasa man and is one of our guides for the week. His 19-month-old son, Moses, can already get around in four languages. He speaks with all four laced together in one communication stream. One of his languages his own father does not know. Moses is learning it from his friend next door who is from a different tribe.

Tribal descent is vital to true understanding and truly confusing for a foreigner. If somebody hadn't told me, "That's a Songhai," I would have had no idea. Tribal markings help only if you know what you're looking for.

The live, giant snails, dried fish and a basket full of cow's feet were highlights of our trip through the Makola Market this afternoon. People were everywhere, generally sweet and polite, and we were wide-eyed white people more curious to everyone else than the agricultural anomalies impressing us.

Accra has 3 million people in it. I believe we passed them all at least once. This city is in motion. The sounds and smells are arresting. Construction is everywhere. A cubic foot of open sidewalk is an entrepreneurial opportunity. Taxis and tro-tros jam the roads. Drivers ride their horns while chatting with passing motorcyclists.

This is day one, and already Africa is overwhelming me!

For an interesting (yawn) story about our day, check out Anna's blog.