How I spent my summer

My trip to Ghana, like my first trip to Paris, was the result of a television.

Like many Americans, I had created a nonviolent hatred of the French. They are just so arrogant and evil. On my list of cities to visit before to die, Paris was on it but not near the top. But then Paula Deen changed that. I always felt an affinity for Paula. A few years ago, she went to Paris and was so overwhelmed by what she saw, ate and experienced that she cried. OK, if this city had this affect on my hero, I I knew I had to go.

I had a similar experience with Anthony Bourdain. The sour chef goes all over the world and complains and bitches and moans his way through life. Many love his deft hand creating putdowns that immediate put a picture in your mind. However, I find that the most boring part. It is extremely easy for man to create negative quips. I was impressed with his intrepid adventures. He ate what people who lived in a locale ate; he drank what they drank; he took part in what they took part in. I, the lover of comfort, saw his immersion and was impressed. There are a few places where he seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself. In 2007, Ghana was one of them. I kept that place in my back pocket until it fit my life. That time was this year.

Last fall Asmus and I decided to make our big trip to Ghana this year. We expected some major changes in 2012 and this trip was going to be the last adventure. I was so excited. My resolve to be positive almost died during preparation. I love my Black brothers and sisters but around the world, we all have problems with clear instructions. We were trying to figure out how to get a visa but the website didn't give clear directions and I couldn't get a person on the telephone. Plus, we had to get immunizations that stretched out over about five weeks. Then we had to figure out what to bring because we needed clothes to accommodate the high heat and humidity and then to protect against malaria-carrying mosquitoes. Once all that was figured out, I relaxed. That occasion occurred about five days before we left.

The view of the town of Ho from our hotel. We were living at cloud level.

I was determined to enjoy Ghana for what it was and not what it wasn't. I brought wet wipes to deal with hole in the ground that served as toilets. I brought bottled water to drink and rinse my teeth with after brushing because people are supposed to avoid drinking it. I filled up my iPad with season 5 of Entourage to entertain myself at night. I was not staying at the Hotel Adlon or eating at Michelin-starred restaurants and that was cool.

What actually happened was that I was smacked in the face with poor people everywhere, bad roads or no roads, dilapidated homes, and other bad things. I was also surrounded by people working hard, villages using tourism to build a school, delicious local food, cool and economical [for a foreigner] fashion, and other great things. Those positives far outweighed the negatives.

Many people cannot gather the money to pay for their children to finish high school. Those that do have trouble finding jobs in a nation without a lot of industry. Instead of grumbling, they get to work. People are selling something wherever there is an empty space. It is impossible to find out where the official boundaries of Accra's Makola market are. Sellers even sell things on the street next to the sidewalk. There are people selling things right next to embassy gates, with the exception of the American embassy [everywhere around the earth, people harbor a strong hatred of America. To accommodate the latter, there are barriers around American diplomatic outposts]. Some artisans create and sell rattan furniture outside the Australian embassy. At night, prostitutes sell their wares on the grass outside the British embassy.

In ten days in Ghana, one person begged us for money. We were sitting at sidewalk table at a chop bar [a casual bar] in the small town of Ho.  A drunk man asked us for money. Before I could fully understand what was happening, someone from the restaurant fly out and pushed him into the street and out of sight. It was surreal.

I was so struck by how positive everyone is. Ghana has borders created by the British. Various peoples called this area home for centuries. Now they live peacefully within the nation. One taxi driver told me, "Whether you are Ashante, Ga or whatever, we are all one. We are Ghana."

Unlike America, where there is a sense of unfairness that often evolves into anger, which often creates theft, murder and vandalism, Ghana has little crime. People just make due. We gave a woman who had a baby strapped to her back a ride. Until she bumped into us, she was prepared to walk about three miles in the sun. People cannot find jobs and the government does not have enough money to support them or train them or spur job growth, so people just start selling something. It can be annoying and a bit sad but I am so impressed.

I am not proud because I am not Ghanaian. I am not African. While all the people we met treated my like a cousin, no one treated me like a sister. When I walked through Accra's chaotic Makola market, my dress, backpack and hair required calls of "America! America!" People I spoke to were happy to see me and told how they really wanted to visit America one day [and they didn't think they ever could. Ghanaians must have a lot of money in the bank before the American government will bless them with a visa to visit.]. However, I was not one of them. That's cool with me.

Everyone in Ghana was also nice to my white husband. We were prepared for them to yell out "Obruni!" [White person!] but no one did. Guidebooks noted this and our white tour guide at an Accra museum told us to be prepared. He was no big deal.

Even though I am not Ghanaian, it was nice to be one of crowd of brown faces. In Germany, I am one brown face in a crowd of white faces. Strangers remember me after I have walked by a place twice. It was relaxing not to stick out.

Meda ase, Ghana. [Thank you, Ghana.]

An advertisement for a breakfast drink.