Clearly, this is your first time to Africa.

As the plane was still taxiing towards the Accra airport, about half of the passengers stood up and began grabbing their overhead luggage. Confused, I turned to the flight attendant(AKA the only other white girl on the plane) and asked if we were allowed to stand and grab our luggage, despite the fact that the fasten seatbelt sign was still illuminated. She laughed, "Clearly, this is your first time to Africa. No rules here. "

That was my introduction. It felt even more real, as I was waiting for my backpack at the luggage carousel, and the power went out. Twice. Two times. And just like that, I realized I was really here. My little brother has been living in the Volta Region of Ghana, with the Peace Corps, since June. He was my guide and translator for this trip (despite the fact that many speak some form of English, I still struggled to understand them. Say what you will about Colonialization; it took a country with over 300 languages, and provided them with a much-needed lingua franca.)

We spent our vacation in 3 different locations:
1. Cape Coast: Bustling town, population 82,000, with a strong history of slave trading.
2. Busua: Small fishing town of about 2,000, slowing becoming aware of its own popularity.
3. Butre: Remote isolated village, no more than 500 people, next to a beach that is so perfect and untouched, I can't put it into words.
(4. I don't count Accra, because it's the worst city ever, and because we wouldn't have spent any time there had my flight not been drastically delayed.)

Ghana was incredibly hot this time of year. I came in the midst of the "dry season," so despite the lack of rain, the humidity was palpable. Corn rows (or as they call them, "corn rolls") were a life saver.

There were so many endearing cultural traits that I wish I could ramble off. Weird ones, like apparently the way I wave to people means, "Come here" in Ghana. So while I thought I was very popular with small children, apparently there were approaching me because I had beckoned them with my wave. Or their utter fascination with my hair and skin. It was quite common, while walking down the street, to have people rub my arm or head.

Religion is a big part of Ghanaian culture. Christianity is everything there. Probably 90% of businesses and stores had a bizarre religious themed name, such as "Christ's Blood Laundry," "Virgin Mary Bar," or "Never Deny The Lord Internet Cafe." Probably the best one I saw was called, "Jesus Didn't Have Any Friends Either Restaurant." True story.


Ghana is a right-handed culture, so you had to be very careful to always eat, transfer money, shake or high-five with your right hand. (Kind of ridiculous, only because everyone I know wipes with their right hand. Oh well.)

We took a cooking class there, where we prepared several traditional Ghanaian dishes. Here's a brief video clip from class.



After beaches, bon fires and banana pancakes (more like super thick crepes. They were tops!) it was time to head home. My trip ended much how it started: inefficiency at the airport. My flight was delayed 11 hours, and Delta put us up in a hotel, and told me to return the next day. After headache, after headache, eventually my plane touched down in the USA (with drug dogs inspecting each passenger that deplaned in Atlanta. Apparently drug trafficking from Africa is a big deal. Who knew?)

I owe thanks to a lot of people.

Thanks to my little brother, for orchestrating the best vacation imaginable.
Thanks to my husband, for not complaining about the fact that I left him for Christmas.
Thanks to the stranger at the Accra airport who sat with me while I cried my eyes out after saying goodbye to my brother.
Thanks to the travel nurse who gave me shots and pills before my trip: I only got mildly sick one night.
Thanks to cruise ships for not finding out about the beautiful beaches of Ghana and ruining them with your tacky tourism.

And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.