Don't Drink the Water (Caits in Ghana): 1 CEDI, 50 PESEWAS

At the tiny airport in Accra waiting for our bus. Truth is, reality hasn't laid claim yet. Am I really in Africa? Surprisingly, I am calm. The New York control freak living in me dies a little bit more each moment of waiting. Finally, a van arrives and stops off at the NYU dorms to drop off luggage. I know you New Yorkers are picturing a looming modern building, much like the ones that inhabit much of Manhattan's downtown. Think again. The dorms are new, empty, white walled rooms (think something like a nunnery, minus the cross above the bed), with a touch of Ghanaian architecture. Two stories and echoing hallways, situated in rural Labone, Accra. Not much of a site, but not too shabby considering, either. The saving grace is the palm trees surrounding, but good luck finding some decent food. Note, the water isn't yet running and from this day forward showering will be a luck-of-the-draw sort of deal.

My room at the NYU dorms

View from the NYU dorms (our neighborhood)

After exchanging our money at the small Forex Bureau in Osu (with painted photos of different world currencies on the sign), second stop is the Afia Beach hotel, where most of the conference go-ers are stationed: a gorgeous resort, situated at the very end of a long dirt road, consisting of small huts peppered between palm trees, just steps from the beach (which, much to our dismay, is un-swimmable due to the trash and heavy tide.) There is one lone bench looking out onto the water and Malaika and I sit, still in disbelief that we are, in fact, in Accra and not New York. As if an answer to the doubt, a band of cattle walk by us, proving Brooklyn to be world's away, indeed. The restaurant at the Afia is where I will make my home for most meals, taking particular joy in Red Red, a traditional Ghanaian meal of black eyed peas, plantains and Tilapia.

Ghana Cedis

The Afia Beach Hotel Restaurant

Afia Beach

Tired and sweaty, three of the dorm-dwellers and I take a cab back "home." The cabs here account for much of the road traffic, and beep as they drive by. They are probably the only thing that is significantly cheaper than New York by comparison and we pay two cedi (the equivalent of two American dollars) for the ride. I am amazed at my own sense of calm here, not one bit worried about finding our way back, despite the fact that Ghana is devoid of road signs and everything is signaled by demarcations. This requires a near photographic memory at times (two cheers for a visual arts background!) We are told to say "Alisa Hotel in Labone," though we are not actually at the Alisa Hotel, but an unmarked building somewhere near by. Luckily, I remember the sign for "Beulah Nursery" and point us in the right direction, in good spirits over the back seat passenger's worries. Perhaps this new spirit of adventure has something to do with the psychics who have promised me life until my late-eighties. Take me anywhere; I'm not dying for a long time yet! Before finding our way, we drift on dirt roads through shanty towns, dozens of small store fronts (most boasting "God" in their title), crowded on top of one another. Women carry enormous baskets of fruit and laundry on their heads, an incredible feat of gravity that looks somewhat archaic, and stunningly impressive, to us Western women. While the poverty is visceral and shocking, I already get a deep feeling in my gut that I could be here longer than the prescribed 2.5 weeks.

Roadsigns in Accra

Later that night a few of us finally meander to the NYU center. A small, one story building with three rooms. Again, please readjust your imagination away from anything remotely resembling New York's NYU. Pshaw, please. This is Ghana! The group checks their email, touching base with various significant others and family. I pop on for a quick note home and feel physically ill, the internet a direct portal into the painful world I left behind. My heart hung heavy with the sadness of the past year and I left to sit outside with the security guard, reminding myself the phantom buzzing I felt was not my cell phone. That world is far, far behind.