Spring Break?

Mauritius: Semester at Sea’s “Spring Break”—the European “Hawaii”—the “most beautiful place in the world.” For me, Mauritius was very underwhelming and not like this at all. Of course, the beaches were absolutely gorgeous, but the rest of the island was definitely not what I expected. I knew that Mauritius was a third world country, but I guess I still expected it to be blue water, white sand, and coconut trees all around. It wasn’t. There were tin shacks everywhere. Many people on the island live without access to electricity or running water. The streets and market places are littered with garbage, sewage, and rotting and overripe fruits and vegetables. The streets are unbelievably crowded. All sorts of strange smells were present. Yet, if you walked only half a mile towards the beaches, there were (only) 5-star resorts, an upscale shopping mall, and restaurants where an entrée costs most than the monthly salary of a Mauritian teacher. I guess I was just expecting paradise, and when I got there I just found real people who live and work and survive in a real environment where hardships still exist and life goes on despite the tourists sitting on the beach, drinking their pina coladas as the sun goes down.

We arrived in Port Louis, Mauritius bright and early on Thursday morning. The customs officials boarded the ship as soon as we docked and they informed us that they were requiring each of the 900+ passengers on our ship to file through with our passports to get our entry visas. Fortunately, after the first 100 people, they decided that that “random sampling” of students, life long learners, faculty, and staff was enough and we were all free to disembark the ship. Mackenzie, Carren, and I got of the ship quickly and boarded a water taxi (an old motor boat that ferries people from the port to the center of the city). It was not a very far ride, but if we would have walked, it would have taken almost an hour. We were first on a quest to find an ATM so that we could get Mauritian Rupees (the exchange rate was 30 rupees to $1USD). The walk was not difficult, but there is a lot of traffic, and since they drive on the opposite side of the road than we do, we had to be paying pretty close attention to where we were walking. We met a taxi driver named Isshaud who agreed to drive us around the north end of the island to all of the places that he deemed worthy of seeing during our short stay and then we would end at the beach. He was a fabulous guide. He took us to the infamous Jummah Mosque, several different cathedrals and Hindu temples, the Mauritian citadel, and the post office. Since we only had 2 days on the island, we were pressed for time to get our postcards and stamps.

Isshaud took us to Grand Baie beach. It was very small, but it was perfect for what we had in mind: laying in the sun and reading. We did go swimming for a bit (so far I’ve swum in the Atlantic Ocean, the Mediterranean Sea, and the Indian Ocean), but we spent most of our time soaking up the sun. We ate lunch at a Chinese/Mauritian restaurant. It was so delicious—I had some sort of shrimp over rice covered in a red sauce with coconut and pineapple.

The three of us made it back to Port Louis a little after 7:00PM. We headed to Namaste, a really nice Indian/Mauritian restaurant. It was amazing. Mine was very spicy though and ended up giving me a very bad stomach ache. I thought that I would make it out of Africa without ever getting sick from the food, but since Mauritius is still technically Africa, I failed. Lame. Maybe I can escape all of Asia (south, southeast, and east) without getting sick?

Mackenzie has an Iphone that can make calls via Skype to US-based cell phones and landlines. We found a wifi hotspot, so we were able to spend a few minutes calling home before we headed back to the ship for a few hours sleep.

Friday morning I had to be up with the sun because I was on a Semester at Sea service trip to Terre De Paix Children’s Shelter in Albion. Only 6 students showed up; I guess the rest were too hungover from their one night of “spring break.” The drive to the children’s shelter was not too far, but it took us an hour and a half because we were going right in the middle of rush hour.

Terre De Paix serves children who have been removed from their homes because of abuse.  It is not an orphanage, like we were told prior to going there. The children are all in foster care, but this foster care is not run by the state. Although the education system in Mauritius is “free,” at least 20% of the kids there are not in school because their parents cannot afford to buy the books and uniform. The classes are so big that 1/3 of the students who are in school fail out by age 12. The rest fail out by the time that they are 15. Terre De Paix is also classified as a “special school” and they try to keep the “problem” children in school and learning. They do a series of workshops that help kids with their creativity and expressing themselves, as well as teaching them the regular subject in small groups of 6-8 students and in their language, Creole. That is one of the biggest problems is that school in Mauritius is taught in either French or English, which most of the children don’t speak so they become disengaged at an early age from the classroom.

We were able to go to several of these different workshops. I made a mask out of papier-mâché with the 5th graders, learned a Creole poem with the 6th graders, and learned about agriculture in Mauritius with the 3rd graders during my day there.
Here is the Creole poem that I was taught:

Si pena ou, pena nou
Si pena nou, pena ou
Ou se nou, nou se ou
Ou ou ou
Nou nou nou

It basically means that without other people, I cannot become a person.

We were also able to go to the day care/preschool that Terre De Paix runs. It was the most beautiful, state of the art preschool/day care I have ever seen. It was just built with money donated from the EU and it was amazing. Everything there is run off of solar panels and with water collected during rain. There are bright fun murals everywhere. They have little walled gazebos surrounding the main building where the kids learn to play instruments, play with paint, etc. All the little kids were gone on a field trip, but the babies were there so we got to see them for a while. This day care is free and is only for the poor women who can’t afford any help, especially single women who have been the victims of sexual assault or whose boyfriends have left them when they became pregnant (a huge problem in Mauritius). Soon, Terre De Paix will be building a new building for the older children, which they are very excited about.

I brought another one of the One World Futbols that one of the professors brought onboard with him. They are indestructible soccer balls made out of the croc shoe material. They are named after the song by Sting, One World. The children were SO excited for this soccer ball, and they even knew the song and sang it for us.

After we left the children’s shelter, Mackenzie, Carren, and I headed for some good Indian/Mauritian lunch. It was delicious! We got a HUGE tray of naan, different curries, rice, some veggies, and a bottle of water for less than $4 USD, AND I didn’t get sick from it. It was a much better deal than the night before. We found a little grocery store down one of the side streets, so we bought some snacks for our 6-day crossing of the Indian Ocean to India, and then we grabbed a water taxi, and headed back to the ship.

Apparently, most Semester at Sea students just stayed in villas and drank the whole time—so much so that Mauritius has asked Semester at Sea to never port there again. I was so embarrassed to be in any way associated with these people. Most of them are just treating this as a “booze cruise” or a party around the world, which is ridiculous. But then again, these are probably the students whose parents are paying for the trip and the ones who have daddy’s credit card to foot the bill. We did not even have our post-port reflection groups last night like we usually do after a port because so many of the students were still drunk, and the administration was going crazy trying to figure out how to deal with them all. More than 100 Semester at Sea students got “dock time” for not being back to the ship on time—this means that they’ll have to stay on the ship while everyone gets off in India. For every 15 minutes you are late, you get 3 hours of dock time. However, according to a lot of professors who have been on Semester at Sea, India is a big wake up call for the students. Hopefully that happens because these kids are getting ridiculous.

I really did like Mauritius despite the fact that it was so different than I expected. I enjoyed the day at the children’s shelter and our R&R day at the beach. I wish we could have had at least one more day there, so that we could have had time to make it a little further into the island. We only have four more days until we are in India—let the second half of the trip begin! ☺

Life in South Africa

**I apologize for the delay in posting about South Africa. I got really sick after we left Cape Town, and I am just now recovering. I also had all of my midterm exams and papers due in the past few days. I learned so much though in Cape Town, so I hope you enjoy reading this post!



South Africa was a difficult port for me. Right outside of the ship was one of the most luxurious and upscale malls I’ve ever been to. Think: Frontenac in St. Louis. The stores ranged from Gucci to Louis Vuitton, and there were no budget options. Even the coffee shops charged upwards of $8USD for a latte. But most of S. Africa does not live like that. Most live in little “shanty town” townships on the outskirts of the city. The V & A Waterfront where the MV Explorer was docked is just a facade for the rich tourists and the small community of white South African elites.

One of the challenging parts for me is that I really did enjoy going to the mall and using their free wi-fi to skype Ben and instant message my mom. I’m sure you’ve all seen the new photo albums on Facebook, all courtesy of the free wi-fi at Myatt’s Chocolatier and Café. You should have seen me when I went into a grocery store for the first time in two months. It felt amazing. There were so many options. It was so good to just go and buy shampoo and granola bars. But the second I stepped outside the waterfront though, I did not want to go back to the luxurious mall. . . to the fancy and expensive meals. . . to our own luxurious ship where stewards make your bed and fold your clothes. I felt so guilty.

The first day in Cape Town was one of the best I’ve ever had. My friends and I got up at 4:00AM to watch the sunrise over Table Mountain as we pulled into the Cape Town harbor. It was beautiful. We all had to file through the faculty lounge one-by-one starting at 0545 to have visas issued. By 9:00AM we were cleared by immigration and ready to disembark. But then we had to listen, unfortunately, to the American diplomat in Cape Town who was such a jerk. He’d make comments like, “if you get into trouble, run and let them catch the Germans. It’s less paperwork for me.” If he would have said it once, it might have been funny, but he said it over and over and he was clearly not joking. One of my good friends on the ship is German and she was definitely not amused. He scared everyone to the point of not wanting to get off the ship.

Mackenzie and I braved it though to go get money from the ATM and meet the man who was going to take us skydiving. You probably don’t believe that I did it, so that’s why I made sure to upload some photos before we left Cape Town to my blog of my sky diving adventure. The man picked us up at 11:00 outside the Cape Town Aquarium. We were so nervous. Well, I was at least. Mackenzie seemed a little less nervous, and she managed to keep the conversation going between the driver and herself. I was just trying not to throw up. The place was about a 45 minutes drive from the port. I was a little nervous since their headquarters was just an old, dilapidated building in the middle of a field. But I signed my life away to them anyways. My tandem jumper’s name was Gerry. He hooked me into a harness and then suddenly we were walking towards this little plane. Gerry decided that he and I would go first, so Mackenzie, her tandem jumper, and her camera guy got in first, followed by me and my crew. There were no seats. We all sat on the floor between each others’ legs. On the 25-minute plane ride up to the 9000 foot altitude where we were going to jump, the pilot took us over Table Mountain and Robben Island. The view was breathtaking…too bad my breath was already busy trying not to hyperventilate, so I wasn’t able to take it all in properly. Suddenly, the pilot gave us a two-minute warning, Gerry started hooking me in, told me to sit on his lap and then he scooted us over to the door. He had me hang my feet out of the plane, tip my head back, he rocked a couple times and then he hurled us out of the plane. It was exhilarating. It didn’t even cross my mind to think that we were about to die. Our free fall was just under 40 seconds and then we had 5 minutes once the parachute came out to enjoy the view. Gerry let me control the parachute. We spun around a bunch. It was fun, but I was pretty nauseous on the way down. I actually landed on my feet, when we finally came in for our landing. But once Gerry disconnected me, he had to hold me up for a few seconds because I was shaking so badly. I think I’ll do it again though—it was amazing.

That night I went with a group of girls and guys from Bible study to Hillsong S. Africa. It was amazing. Considering how recent Apartheid is, it was so awesome to see people of all races worshipping together. There were at least 5,000 people in the auditorium, a huge worship band on stage, and we heard sermons from 3 different pastors. As soon as the songs started though, I was a huge sobbing mess. Something about not having church for almost two months and being there at 7pm which would have been right when my family was at church in Kansas just made me super emotional. They were really good sermons though—very pertinent to our trip. The people were so welcoming too.


Lonyae, Mackenzie, and I went out to a very nice dinner afterwards. It was Italian food, but since we still had a week left in the port, we felt that it was okay to skip out on the South African dishes and go for some delicious pasta. We were especially celebrating the fact that we had jumped out of airplanes and survived. ☺


Day two was also an amazing day. Kate, Lonyae, and I went up to the top of Table Mountain. We took the cable car, which was $30 well spent. Some people hiked to the top, but you have to pay a guide or else you are really risking getting mugged somewhere a long the way. It is a four hour hike up and then four hours down, but we did it in 4 minutes up, an hour at the top, and four minutes down. The cable car spins as it goes up to the top so that you get a panoramic view of Cape Town. Desmond Tutu had told us to raise our hands at the top of the mountain and say a prayer since Apartheid is now over, so we did. The view at the top was breathtaking.

The three of us came down about lunchtime, so we found a fish and chips restaurant to eat. Lonyae and I had to be back to the ship at 3pm so that we could leave for our home stays. The township where I stayed was Tambo Township. It was much more upscale than some of the ones we passed on the way. In this township, everyone had a brick home and electricity. Not everyone had running water, but the family that I stayed with did. They did not have a water heater though, so they heated water for baths by boiling it on the stove. They had electricity, but they only turned it on at night. 

Mama Irene was my homestay mother for the night. She was the wisest, funniest, and most amazing woman. She told us all about South African life for the black communities. She told us about the injustices of Apartheid—she was never allowed to learn to read, she was forcefully displaced from her home and relocated to a township where they slept in an old box turned home. Something that I noticed right away going into Tambo Township was the distinct lack of men. I asked Mama Irene about it. She said that the young and middle-aged men never had proper role models, nor were they encouraged to become upstanding citizens, since to the government they were third-class citizens, so they all left. They drink. They get the girls pregnant. They leave them. They eventually contract HIV/AIDS. They die. Mama Irene says that she never wants her daughters to marry because that age group of men are horrible. So, all of her daughters live with her, unmarried, with all of their babies (two were younger than a month old).

Mama Irene used to run a daycare for children who had lost one or both of their parents to HIV/AIDS in the townships. She was the township mother and spent a long time nurturing all of the children. One of her daughters is actually a dancer who runs a non-profit organization, which keeps the kids off the streets and away from drugs by teaching them dance and giving them one square meal after school everyday.

Mama Irene cooked each of us a huge plate of bean stew with a hunk of some sort of meat in the middle. She said she killed it in the field. Yum? We drank lots of rooibos tea and for breakfast, we had big steaming bowls of porridge.

Three of the granddaughters latched onto me, and they dragged me around from house to house to show me off to their friends. Mama Irene gave them a couple rand to take us to the little tuck shop on the corner to get popsicles. In the morning, Mama Irene woke us before the sun was up to say goodbye to all the grandkids before they left for school. She kept saying that the “school bus” was coming. Turns out, the school bus is actually a pickup truck and all the kids from the township just pile in the back.

I didn’t want to leave, but eventually I had to. That afternoon Mackenzie showed me the spot where she had gotten wifi. I decided to go for a few minutes, but my mom was on the chat, so I ended up staying for several hours to chat with her. I got a few pictures uploaded, did some journaling on my township homestay and got to bed early.

Wednesday was a busy day. I volunteered at the Amy Biehl Foundation Trust. Amy Biehl was a Fulbright Scholar who had gone to South Africa to help in the struggle against Apartheid. Unfortunately, she was murdered in a riot by four men who did not realize that she was there to help them not oppress them. They just saw her as the enemy for being white. Her parents did an amazing thing though. Through the Truth and Reconciliation Committee, which Desmond Tutu started, her parents came to South Africa, forgave the young men, asked for their release from prison, and then started the foundation, which reaches thousands of youth and families daily in the townships. They have music programs, they run schools and orphanages, and they run feeding programs. Two of the men who murdered Amy now run the foundation, and they were our guides for the day.

When I realized after watching the short informational clip that they had the volunteers watch that our guides were two of the men who killed Amy Biehl, I was a little uncomfortable. It was hard to figure out how to interact with people who murdered another human being—violently. She was stoned with bricks and then stabbed. But eventually, it got easier to interact, more comfortable. One of them showed me pictures of his two-year old daughter. Whenever we went to a different feeding site or school program run by The Amy Biehl Foundation Trust, the kids would flock to these men. According to most of the directors at the different sites, these guys have dedicated their whole lives to making Amy Biehl’s dream of a future for the black communities come true. It’s still weird to think about, and I’m definitely still processing everything that happened that day, but it was an eye-opening experience.

We went to three different Amy Biehl sites to do work. The first was a huge community garden at a primary school. Each child has his or her own plot of land, and they are helped to cultivate it and to grow certain vegetables. All the food goes home to their families. The second one we went to was an after-school program for kids to keep them off the streets and out of trouble. The third was another after-school program, which teaches dance, choir, and different musical instruments. The students performed for us; they were so talented!

Somethings that struck me as a little off key were the differences between the South African children and the Ghanaan children. I know that my experiences in both countries are not comparable at all, but the children in Ghana totally still have my heart. They were just so excited to be with us and thankful for the things that we brought with us. The kids at these programs run by the Amy Biehl Foundation must get a lot of tourist visitors because they were constantly demanding that we give them our watches, hats, cameras, etc. If we said that we couldn’t, they’d try to get us to give them money. Some of the kids would hit us if we said no. It was heartbreaking to see—they had to learn all of the violence somewhere. But it all goes back to what Mama Irene said about the lack of positive adult role models for the young kids because of the AIDS death rates, the lack of men in the community, the number of orphans due to anti-Apartheid violence. It is a vicious cycle.

Lunch was also good. We went to a local Xhosa restaurant where we basically just ate huge piles of braii (BBQ) meat with our hands. They do not use utensils there. . . or napkins. Of course, it was delicious, and thankfully, my stomach did not suffer any ill effects.

Thursday found me at the Inverdoorn Game Reserve about three hours outside of Cape Town. I highly recommend it to any one going to Cape Town who isn’t able to make it up to Kruger National Park for a safari. We left the ship before sunrise, got to the game reserve about 10AM. We had about a two and a half hour game drive. It was absolutely incredible—so, so, so amazing. I saw cheetahs, giraffes, rhinos, zebras, lions, buffalo, spring buck, hippos, and many colorful birds and snakes. We had the most delicious meal I have ever eaten for lunch (quiches, fresh veggies, flatbread “pizzas” with caramelized onions and green olives, delicious dark breads and mango juice) before we piled back into the vans to go back to the ship. We stopped for a bathroom break at a rest stop and they were playing the Lion King soundtrack. . . it was amusing.

Friday was, sadly, our last day in Cape Town. Mackenzie and I headed over to The Green Market to buy some homemade crafts from some of our township homestay mamas. The walk there and back was so pleasant. We stopped for samosas and Milo (3 samosas and a big mug of Milo for seventy-five cents!). We basically just wandered around for the whole day. We ate a delicious lunch of these South Africa burrito/wrap things. They have braii (BBQ) sauce, pineapple, chicken, and cheese inside of them. I was starting to feel really sick, so we went back to the ship in the late afternoon, and the ship left about 6:00PM from the port.


I would definitely return to Cape Town in a heartbeat. It is a beautiful city. South Africa is a beautiful country. And the people are beautiful and full of so much resilience—especially all the women like Mama Irene. South Africa was really the first place where I had seen such great wealth and great poverty side-by-side. Of course, I was upset in Ghana when they took us to the nice restaurant after driving us through all the shacks, but South Africa is vastly different. South Africa has HUGE displays of wealth everywhere, yet they also have the poorest of the poor. Archbishop Desmond Tutu said that South Africa is a wonderful country, but a divided country that is slowly progressing. I agree with him, and I also agree that things are changing—even Mama Irene said that they are, and she, of all people, would know.

We arrive in Port Louis, Mauritius tomorrow morning—the weather? lows of 75 and highs of 88 for the next two days! I’m headed to the beach first thing in the morning and then the next day, Mackenzie and I are going to an orphanage to do some cleanup work and interact with the kids.  I’ll be timelier in getting the Mauritius blogpost out, I promise! ☺

I don't have time to compose a post for you, but I thought I'd share some sky diving photos while I have the internet access. My roommate and I went sky diving the first day in Cape Town. It was amazing. Best of all, I survived! :-)

Mmmm Fish Guts

The voyage from Takoradi, Ghana to Cape Town, South Africa has been exciting!

First of all, our stabilizers are broken. So, the ship violently rocks day-in, day-out. They’ve been broken since somewhere between Casablanca and Takoradi, but they weren’t able to get them fixed in Ghana, so we have to wait until South Africa. I have been wearing my anti-seasickness patches, which have really helped, but I still feel a bit nauseous all of the time. The only time that the rocking is nice is when you are sleeping. When I get home, it’s going to be so hard to sleep in a bed that doesn’t move.

On the 26th, we passed through the center of the world—0 degrees by 0 degrees. Apparently, one of the geography teachers begged our captain to veer off course a couple hundred miles so that we could all cross the point where the Prime Meridian and the Equator meet. We had a big huge party, stopped the ship on the line, where everyone put their feet in the northern hemisphere and hands in the southern. I was in four places at once!

Then, on the 28th, we had Neptune Day. Neptune Day is actually supposed to be the day that you cross the equator for the first time, but for some reason, we did it two days later. About 6AM, the crew, professors, and life long learners came through the halls dressed as sea creatures (well, more like sea royalty…think little mermaid … only without the mermaids) banging on pots and pans and drums, clanging cymbals together, banging on doors, etc. All of us pollywogs were instructed to go to the 7th deck. Once up there we met “King Neptune” aka our executive dean and we had to have fish guts poured on our heads, swim through the murky, nasty, fish gutty swimming pool, kiss a giant Atlantic Salmon, and then have our heads shaved. I did all of the above except shave my head. Once we went through the disgusting obstacle course, we were christened as Emerald Shellbacks and allowed to pass into the Southern Hemisphere (which we had done two days prior). Then, we had a big huge BBQ. It was pretty cool to BBQ in the middle of the ocean.

We’ll be in Cape Town in 2 days, so I’m off to plan more exciting adventures! ☺

Miracles in Ghana

I wish I had another few weeks to spend in Ghana. The people were so welcoming and friendly. Everyone wanted to shake our hands and greet us, and they all wanted to put their baby in my backpack for me to take back to America. When they asked us why we came to Takoradi, Ghana (which is not a tourist destination at all), it was embarrassing to try to explain, “oh, we’re on a trip around the world” when they’ve never left their little village. Most times I just said that we are 600 university students coming to Ghana to get to know the people. They seemed to like that answer.

 

The Ghanaan port was not like any of the others we’ve been to so far. When I stepped off the ship, I was instantly enveloped in a sticky, humid heat, smells that I did not even know existed assaulted my nose, and instantly I was swatting giant mosquitoes away. I was praying that they wouldn’t bite me and infect with Malaria, or worse—Dengue Fever. I actually hopped on a Semester at Sea bus immediately for my city orientation tour of Takoradi and Sekondi, the twin cities of Ghana. To be honest, I didn’t notice the difference between the two. The homes that lined the roads were made of scrap pieces of wood nailed together. Most didn’t have a door or even a fourth wall, but somewhere on each house there was a huge sign that said something like “God is Good” or “Praise God” or “God Gives Blessings To Us.” People were stark naked, bathing on the side of the road. Women carried huge baskets on their heads, full of all sorts of miscellaneous goods, including giant snails. In the tour bus, I felt conspicuous. Since they never have tourists to Takoradi and very few people even have little cars, a huge tour bus was very unusual. Children ran after us yelling, “white men, white men,” and everyone stopped what they were doing and waved at us. I was offended that the bus drove us through all of the poverty in Takoradi and Sekondi and then took us straight to a gourmet restaurant (the only restaurant in the two cities) with air conditioning. I could not eat I was so upset over what we had just seen.

 

 

I had been planning on going to the Egyam Orphanage independently, maybe taking a couple friends with me for the three days we were in Ghana. Two days after we left Morocco and numerous emails between myself and the orphanage director, I realized that the children at the orphanage didn’t have shoes, and since they didn’t have shoes, they weren’t allowed to go to school. So, I got up in front of the Global Studies classrooms (the one class that everyone is required to take), and asked for donations of shoes. I was not allowed to ask for money, but between people leaving it under my door and handing it to me on the sly at meal times, there were 52 pairs of shoes donated (the exact number of children living in the orphanage) and about $800. Then, my email inbox was flooded with students, life long learners, and professors asking if they could go with me. I put together a list of about 20-30 people each day. At first I was worried that there were too many people, but there were so many orphans that we needed that many people in order for every child to feel like they got some individualized attention.

 

The second day I was in Ghana, I got up early with my roommate Mackenzie and a couple other girls, and we went to the market to exchange the $800 USD into Ghanaan cedis. We then went through the market buying shoes of all sizes. We ended up taking over 100 pairs of shoes, new socks and underwear for everyone, toothbrushes and toothpaste for everyone, and lots of school supplies (crayons, colored pencils, books, paper, pencils, pens, etc.) We were also able to pay for all the children’s school fees, buy paint for the building (we couldn’t actually paint it for them because it rained everyday), and give them a donation of over 500 cedis (about $300 USD).

 

While we were in the market, children followed us. By the time we finished 2 ½ hours later, we had an entourage of more than 20 kids. I made a really bad decision and bought a bag of lollipops from a street vendor. Instantly we were swarmed—but not just by children. Old men and women pushed their way through to us, trying to grab the entire bag of suckers. It was frightening, and the police had to break up the riot that we created. I felt horrible. All I wanted to do was give the kids a sucker.

 

Getting to Egyam Orphanage the first day took forever. It is only 20 kilometers from the ship, yet it took us more than 3 hours to get there. We started walking from the ship to the port gate at 12:45. It was pouring rain, and a shuttle bus offered us a ride, which we accepted. This driver even offered to take us all the way to the orphanage, which he assured me, he knew where is was. He didn’t. We stopped for directions more than 10 times, and then he took us to the wrong orphanage. He ran inside, and came back out and said, “Don’t worry. They said they’ll take you.” I called the orphanage director who explained to the driver where the orphanage was. He said he was unable to take us that far…even after we paid him 60 cedis between ourselves (about $40—a small fortune in Takoradi). So, we piled into taxis, but not before our bus driver ran into another car as he was driving on the wrong side of the road. Fortunately, no one was hurt. The taxis charged us 20 cedis per every four people each way. Everyone was complaining to me about the price, but really, they paid less than $7 USD to go to an orphanage for the day and play with kids. Is it really that big of a deal?

 

We had to drive for about 10 kilometers on a dirt road to get to the orphanage. It was pouring rain, and the road was full of pot holes. Our taxis got stuck numerous times in the red African mud…sometimes, the water that we drove through was so deep it would touch our windows. As we drove along this dirt road, I saw poverty like I’ve never seen it before. I don’t even think that the US media would put this up for fear of offending Americans’ delicate minds. Children ran around practically naked. No one had shoes. Most of the homes were just a piece of tarp strung between two trees. Everyone came to us asking not for money, but just for food. All I had was a granola bar, but the taxi driver wouldn’t let us give it to them because we would cause a riot.

 

The stressful trip to the orphanage was totally worth it though. The children were so excited to see us. Many had never seen a white person before, and so they just wanted to touch our skin (trying to rub the paint off) and play with our hair. They were all obsessed with our cameras, and they loved being able to see their pictures. We unloaded all 105 pairs of shoes, toothbrushes, and toothpaste, and then we just played with the kids until the taxi drivers came back for us around 7 pm. We were able to serve the children their dinner—a scoop of rice with some gravy on top. Pitiful.

 

One ten-year old girl, Mercy, asked me to come to the girls’ bedroom to speak with her sisters. But when we got there, there actually weren’t any other girls in there. Mercy then told me that she was the one who actually wanted to talk with me. She asked me to teach her how to be smart so that one day she could be a pilot. Then, she offered me her earrings as a thank you gift for coming to visit them. When I said that I couldn’t take those from her, she started crying and asked me what she did wrong. So I took the earrings. Luckily, I had a pair in my purse that I could swap her for. She was so excited about her new pair of earrings. After that, she was my shadow—always following me around.

 

The children who lived there were so precious. One little boy, Nathaniel, was only 3. He always wanted me to be holding him, and he would cry every time I put him down. The first day, he peed all over me. Cecillia was 7 and was the biggest goofball. She was always dancing and trying to make everyone laugh; she had just lost her first tooth. Florence was 5. For the first two days that I was at the orphanage, she never once spoke. She just sat on my lap and smiled. On the last day, she started talking. It was the first time she had spoke since coming to the orphanage, and she said to me, “I love you.” I cried, and so did everyone else because she had finally spoken. They had actually thought that Florence was mute.

 

There are so many children there, and every single one of them captured my heart and made me never want to leave.

 

The second day went a lot smoother. We only had 17 people with us, so Daniel, the orphanage director, was able to take us back to the ship in his van. It was a van meant for 8, but we made it work. We brought so many stickers, coloring books, crayons, colored pencils, books, and paper with us that day. Since it was raining, we spent the majority of the day coloring and drumming and dancing.

 

We actually had the opportunity to go to the village school, where more than 780 students attend, but they only have 10 full-time teachers and 3 part-time teachers. The children were so excited to see us. We each went into a different classroom and “taught” a lesson. Basically, we were just asked to talk about where we were from in the US and then the students asked us questions. Five children from the ship came with us, and it was neat to see them interacting with the students at the school. When we were leaving the school, all the students followed us as we walked back to the orphanage. We must have been a sight: 17 American students walking down an African dirt road, followed by 800 elementary school kids clamoring to hold our hands and have their picture taken with us. The kids who live at the orphanage were proudly telling their friends that we were their Americans.

 

 

The last day in Ghana was an emotional day. First it started out very stressful because people who had never emailed me about wanting to come with me showed up, so instead of the 22 that I was expecting, there were more than 40 students. Then, they were all arguing with the taxi drivers about the price of the trip. I almost flipped out on all of them—if they weren’t willing to pay $7 each for the day, then they shouldn’t have been there. Those taxi drivers had to drive their cars down that horrible road, getting stuck several times, so we definitely should have been paying them more. Besides, they have families to feed, and $7 definitely isn’t a big deal to most, if not all, of the students on the ship. When we finally arrived at the orphanage (all 10 taxis), students just started grabbing kids and taking pictures with them. I got really frustrated because I felt like they were just coming so that they could say that they did their service project for the ship, they’ll take their picture with an African orphan for their facebook profile picture, and then they’ll leave, probably without even getting the name of the child they grabbed to take a picture with in the first place. People were coming to me, complaining because they weren’t going to get lunch, since we were gone from 9AM-3PM. Seriously, they could stand to miss a few meals. The orphans didn’t get lunch either.

 

Most people left early (some even took taxis back without a full cab, leaving us stranded in the middle of nowhere Ghana without a taxi—we had to send one taxi to go find a couple more because of all the inconsiderate people who left without letting anyone know).  After the majority of the people left, the rest of us actually played and had fun with the kids.  

 

It was definitely an emotional goodbye. One little boy that I got close to, Samuel, wouldn’t let go of my leg as I was getting into the taxi. He was just crying and screaming, “Take me with you. You can be my mother. I promise I’ll obey!” It broke my heart. After that, all the tears I had been holding back came, and I was one big sobbing mess. I got out of the taxi, and all the children rushed to me and we had one very long group hug, which eventually and unfortunately had to end.

 

On the way back to the ship, some friends and I stopped by the market to say goodbye to some of the street vendors whom we met earlier in the week. Once we were back on the ship, I just slept. I think that I would have slept for a week if I could have. Ghana was emotionally, physically, and mentally exhausting, but I can’t wait to get back there, especially to Egyam Orphanage and all the children.

 

 

6 Days in Morocco

I’m not really sure what I can say about Morocco. I loved it. I hated it. It was an adventure.

 

On September 9^th, the ship ported in Casablanca. The Casablanca port is vastly different than the one in Cadiz. In the Cadiz port, we walked for maybe 1/10 of a mile and then we were in the beautiful old cobbled streets of Cadiz. We felt safe walking there. In Casablanca, we had to walk for almost two miles to get out of the port. There were cars, semi-trucks, and motorbikes everywhere. Really, only a few traffic laws exist in Morocco: 1. go! and 2. don’t get hit! So every time we ventured off of the ship, we were taking our lives into our own hands just trying to get out of the port.

 

The first day I did not have to deal with the traffic that much, since as soon as we disembarked, I was on a yellow, Moroccan school bus bound for the SOS Children’s Village. Before we got to the orphanage, we made a stop by the only private school in Casablanca: The George Washington Academy. The school obviously catered to the privileged Moroccans, as the parking lot was filled with shiny BMWs, Porsches, and the like. The children were all well behaved, well dressed, and they, apparently, were taught four languages at the school—all of which they had to prove fluent in to pass from junior high into high school. Then, we boarded the bus again to head to the SOS Children’s Village. The disparity between the prep school and the world outside it was stark. We drove past barefoot and dirty children who were chasing after their mothers who carried huge baskets of over ripe fruits and vegetables on their heads, saw little old men sitting in rags on the side of the trash-filled streets, and witnessed men working in their dry, rock-filled fields along side their starving donkeys. It was heartbreaking to see the normal, everyday lives of the Moroccans.

 

 

Eventually, we made it to the orphanage; the children were so happy to see us. As soon as I got off the bus a little girl, Aziza, ran up to me, lifted her arms so I’d pick her up, and started kissing my face. She clung to me for the entire day that we were there. Another little boy, Rasheed, smiled at everyone constantly. His home “mom” told us that he was actually sixteen, and he was suffering from a severe liver disorder, which will soon claim his life. He smiled at me, and I did not know what to do, so I just smiled back. One of the couples on the ship donated a One World Football to the group home. The soccer ball is made out of the croc shoe material, and they are virtually indestructible. They even gave one to the tiger at the Johannesburg Zoo in S. Africa, and it still didn’t pop.  No one wanted to leave to go back to the ship that night. Aziza cried as I left, and so did I.

 

The next morning, I had to leave bright and early for my camel trek. My group took a bus from Casablanca to Marrakech. I thought that the traffic in Casablanca was bad, so I was in for a rude awakening when I got to Marrakech. Traffic was ten times worse. The first place we went was the Old Medina. That was an assault on all of my senses. There were monkeys running around trying to steal your purse for their owners, there were snake charmers and people trying to put a spell on you, there were owners of the little stores pulling you into their stall and trying to force you to buy their goods, there were motorbike plowing their way through the crowds, and there were donkeys and goats running free. It was loud. It was smelly. It was scary. But I survived. It was kind of like the Missouri State Fair—only really, really frightening. Once I got acclimated to the people, everything went a lot smoother. I had to be really assertive, because the store owners would even reach into purses to grab the money they wanted and then they would throw whatever they were trying to sell you at you.

 

Even so, Moroccans are very friendly; they want to offer you mint tea (which we couldn’t drink because we were not sure that the water had been boiled completely) and talk about America. But then they’d try to offer the guy that we were with (my girl friends and I always had a guy with us), a few camels for each of us. They were usually serious.

 

That day we ate such good food. For lunch, we ate couscous and for dinner, a lemon chicken tagine. We even got to see a belly dancing show during dinner. Moroccan desserts are amazing. They are always so light and fruity—sometimes the waiters would just bring us orange slices sprinkled with cinnamon sugar. So delicious.

 

The next morning, we set out almost before the sun was up to drive to the nomad camp. We were on the bus for more than 12 hours. Within a few hours we were in the Sahara Desert, and since our bus’s air conditioning did not really work, we were roasting the entire time. It was totally worth it though. We drove through the Atlas Mountains, and I saw the most beautiful views I have ever seen. I saw little Berber villages carved into the side of the mountains, and when the bus passed through the little villages, the children would come running out to meet us. The bus driver said that the children rarely see cars, and that they have probably never even been in one. Before we went to the nomad camp, we drove about an hour out of the way to a place where there were big dunes. The dunes were breathtaking. They look just like they do in the pictures. I climbed all the way to the top of one really big dune, and slid down the other side.

 

The nomad camp was a very .  . . interesting . . . experience. There were camels everywhere. The Berber nomads were dressed in all white robes and they did a little performance for us of some of their traditional songs and dances. They even made us a really yummy dinner. We all slept outside under the stars, although I moved back inside my tent during the night because I woke up shivering from the cold. I woke up before sunrise so that I could watch the sunrise over the Sahara and the dunes. It was amazing.

 

By 6:30 that morning, we were all on camels, ready to begin our long trek. When they said that our trek would only be a few hours, I was really disappointed because we had driven so far for this. However, after 20 minutes on that camel, I was done. It was the most uncomfortable thing ever. It is nowhere near like riding a horse. Even today—4 days later—I’m so sore I can barely walk up the stairs. After the camel trek, we cooked lunch with our nomad families, and then we piled back into the bus for our 12-hour trip back to Marrakech. We did not get back until really late, but some of my friends and I went back to the market to see what it was like at night. I did not think that it was possible, but the night market is even busier than during the day! We all ate on this rooftop terrace restaurant, where we could observe the craziness below.

 

My roommate at the hotel had left the trip early to go stay with some of her other friends in Marrakech, so I had my room all to myself that night. It was nice, but it was also a little lonely. The air conditioning did not work in my hotel room, so it was very, very hot.

 

The next morning, I went with the same group of friends to the Gardens Marjelle in Marrakech. The garden was actually pretty little and there were very few flowers, but it was shaded, cool, and quiet. If I had to live in Morocco, I think I’d spend all my time there because it is the only place you can get away from all the car horns and people yelling in Arabic. My friend, Erica, and I were parched when we got there so we decided to sit in their café and have some ice cream. It was the most expensive ice cream I’ve ever had ($10), but it was so delicious and we got a free COLD bottle of water. Cold as in some of the water was still frozen. It was totally worth it, especially after four days of drinking warm water that we had brought with us from the ship.

 

The ride back to Casablanca was uneventful. I was so thankful to see the ship though. Sometimes during that trip, I thought that we’d never make it, that we’d get stuck in the desert and have to travel by camel to Ghana. But we made it, and I got to sleep in my own bed that night.

 

The last day I spent with Carren in Casablanca. It was actually my favorite day because Casablanca is such a booming metropolis that guys and street vendors really did not bother us. Carren and I just walked around the downtown area. We did some shopping, and then ate lunch. It was the best meal I had in Morocco, hands down. It was a chicken chawarma with an amazing sauce and veggies and french fries with spicy honey mustard and a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice that had a hint of rosewater. So delicious. And then Carren and I had ice cream—of course. It was a bad experience though. This random guy started following us and would not leave. He was so obnoxious, and he followed us for a good three blocks before we made eye contact with another guy who pointed to a store. We took it to mean that we should go into the store, which we did, and then the other guy started talking to our stalker so that we could get away. By the time we got away our ice cream had melted all over us and our shopping bags. It was sad.

 

I did not have the same feelings when we left Morocco as I did when we left Spain. While Morocco was fun, eye-opening, and full of adventures, I was too exhausted to want to stay longer. I’m sure I will go back though, especially to see Aziza and the rest of the children. But for now, I’m off to plan my week in Ghana—only 4 days until my next adventure.

Adventures in Spain

I love Spain. Actually, I just love Europe. I love the narrow, old streets, the architecture of the buildings, the little old ladies who pull little carts full of groceries behind them, the little old men who sit outside cafés smoking cigars, and of course, I love the chocolate croissants.

The ship docked in Cadiz, Spain on Saturday. My friend, Carren, and I managed to get off the ship really quickly (ahead of the other 600 students trying to disembark) and head to a café for some breakfast. I had a chocolate croissant—of course. We had to be back to the pier by 0945 since we were both going on the Cadiz City Orientation. The tour was definitely worth it, since in the space of about four hours, we got a good feel for the history of Cadiz and the province of Andalousia. We first did a panoramic driving tour of the little peninsula. Then, we walked to the Old and the New Cathedral, the Archaeological Museum, and the City Hall. By the time it was over, we were tired and hungry. Somewhere along the way back to the ship, we picked up about eight more Semester at Sea friends, and we headed for our first Spanish meal. I had seafood paella. It was delicious.

It was almost four pm by the time we were finished eating. Something interesting about Spain, is that every day, the shops close from about 2pm to 5pm for the siesta, and they are closed every Saturday afternoon and all day Sunday. Time is not important in Spain—the Spaniards spend hours at meals, they have long weekends almost every week, and they spend hours upon hours chatting with friends in the city squares. They also eat their meals at odd times of the day: breakfast is served between 10 and 11, lunch between 2-4, and dinner at about 11pm. Good luck finding a place to eat lunch at noon—no restaurant will even thinking about serving you until close to two.

The Semester at Sea Field Program Office has a donation box for tickets to day trips that students either cannot sell or end up not being able to go on at the last moment. Saturday was my lucky day, and I got a free ticket to the Andalusian Flamenco Night. All my friends were going, and I had been looking forward to the evening alone so that I could catch up on some journaling. But, I am so glad I got the ticket. It was the best evening in Spain that I had. We boarded the bus about seven thirty, and embarked on a thirty-minute bus ride to neighboring Chichlana. We arrived at a small outdoor arena, where we were served homemade sherry while we watched an amazing flamenco show (it involved dancing horses) and then an amateur baby bull “fight”. It was basically just practice for the bulls to see how brave they are. Then we boarded the buses again to a reception hall where we ate delicious tapas and drank sangria and watched more flamenco. Eventually, the flamenco performance just dissolved into a huge dance party—even the life long learners were up on the stage doing the Macarena.

On Sunday, Carren, our friend Lonyae, and I headed to Tarifa. Tarifa is the southern most point of Spain. I stood on the beaches of Tarifa and looked out over the point where the Mediterranean and the Atlantic meet and caught my first glimpse of Africa. It was incredibly surreal. The girls and I did some window-shopping and laid out on the beach. The only problem was the brutal, brutal wind, which drove the sand into our skin at 1000mph. Lonyae ended up catching an earlier bus back than Carren and I did. Our bus left at 7:45; however, it left from a different point of town than we originally came into. That, in itself, was not the problem. The problem was getting directions to this obscure bus stop. We eventually got to the place where we were supposed to be. We were chatting with some Spanish girls at the stop who spoke a bit of English until one of them made a phone call, started yelling in Spanish, and broke into a run and motioned for us to follow her. Apparently, the bus just decided to come in and yet another little stop. But we made it—just in time to sit in traffic for almost two hours while a procession of hundreds of priests riding horses and carrying statues passed in front of the bus. We did eventually make it back to the port, even if someone **coughCarrencough** had us get off at the stop that was waaay too early. We just ended up jumping on another bus and somehow communicating to the bus driver that we needed to go to the MV Explorer. Charades goes a long way in a foreign country.

Monday was an even bigger adventure. Carren and I headed to the bus station again to catch a bus to Granada. The Semester at Sea field office had told us that the trip from Cadiz to Granada was about three hours. Wrong. It was more like six. We met some other Semester at Sea girls (Loralie and Natalie) who we ended up hanging out for a couple of days. Once we finally made it to Granada, we headed over to the Alhambra. The Alhambra was the last fortress of the Moors in Spain, and it is absolutely breathtaking. At the top of the fortress you can see for miles and miles. It took us almost five and a half hours to go through the whole thing; don’t worry, I took over six hundred photos while I was there. A tour agent at the bus station had secured us a very nice hostel for all four of us for very cheap—the only downside was the lack of air conditioning, which made for a very restless night.

The four of us caught an early train to Sevilla the next morning. In Sevilla, I was able to call my family for a bit before we went to see the cathedral where Christopher Columbus was buried. There was a lot to see, but travelling has a way of physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausting you, so Carren and I headed to a café where we sat and people watched for a few hours and caught up on our journaling. Something that intrigued me about Spain is that no one seems concerned about money. If you order food or even just a coffee, you don’t have to pay up front. You pay after a few hours of sitting and enjoying yourself. Even at our hostel, the front desk did not seemed concerned about when we paid.

 Carren, Natalie, and I headed back to Cadiz that night, and spent the last day in Cadiz soaking up the culture, writing our postcards, and enjoying our last tapas and sangrias.

As I watched the ship be pulled away from the dock by the little tugboat and the Old Cathedral of Cadiz’s outline get smaller and smaller, a wave of emotions hit me. Spain was fun, but did not take me outside of my comfort zone at all. I’ve been to Europe before, and even though I hadn’t been to Spain, I could easily (well, with charades) communicate and navigate their country. But what about tomorrow? Tomorrow, we will be in Casablanca. Tomorrow, I will be staying in an orphanage in a small Moroccan village and then heading to the Sahara Desert to stay with a nomad family. Of course I have a mental image of Morocco will look like, but I don’t actually know what to expect—and that scares me. But tomorrow is coming quickly (well, not super quickly because we gain two hours tonight!), so adios until after I return from Northern Africa!