Ghana

The month has past. I am alone in Ghana. No more bitching from NYU kiddies, no more of Tante Marie's "discount Pan-African" foods from the meal plan that gave me the shits. It's just T'wat (Todd Watson), Rollo Romig, Sarah Lynch, and Rhema and me, and the sea, and a bunch of Ghanians, and Lebanese, and Hustlers and Hoes, which are the only women of color who really are at bars here. Accra, Ghana's capital on the sea, is, well, Accra. It smells like defecation--literally. I would parallel living here to jumping in a hot Port-a-Potty that is rolling down a pothole-ridden street on an incline. But it's simply the best. There is this endless energy in the streets. The people are marvelous and the diversity is second to none in Ghana. And the humor here is endless. So, hence begins my near month long journal of Accra and West Africa, sans NYU.