The Thing About Moms....

After the trials and tribulations of Cote d'Ivoire - the confrontations with rebels, the religious revelations, remembering French again (or in Peter's case, comprehension issues), poisson brasse and Drogbas, and the relaxing coastal resorts - we were anxious to cross the border into Ghana.

Dan's mom, Elaine, is working for Doctors Without Borders in Uganda and, as we were roughly in the neighbourhood, decided to take her vacation with us. In Ghana. At a five-star resort. To quote Elaine, "I've been camping for 8 months. I see real Africa every day. We're not roughing it." Music to our ears.

Now you can't just dive headfirst into tranquility. Preparation is essential. After crossing the border, we decided to embark on a preparatory exercise and test our relax mettle at the Green Turtle Ecolodge. We are happy to report that the initial relax was an overwhelming success and, worries waylaid, we headed off to Elmina Bay Resort for the real deal.

Now close your eyes and imagine a windswept, deserted tropical beach. Coconut palms swaying in the wind, pool glittering in the late afternoon sunlight, a scantily clad waitress with a tray of...... wait! Your eyes are still open!

In any case, you get the picture. The resort digs were quite the change from our daily deal. Pizza vs. weird spaghetti, rice and sauce, pterodactyl wing combo plate. Warm shower vs. no shower or cold bucket shower. Flushing toilets vs. flushing toilets (long story but there is a big difference). Clean towels vs. mildew and iron-ore stained towels (we're sure we all still have towels in there somewhere). All of us in different beds vs. all of us in one bed. It was a splendid week and we left feeling recharged and ready to once again pile into 15 passenger vans with 20 other people.

In all seriousness though, the relative affluence of Ghana has been overwhelming and in stark contrast with the last three countries visited (Liberia, Sierra Leone, and Cote d'Ivoire). There is a large middle class with fancy cars, clothes, and disposable income. Much to our delight, ATMs are everywhere. However, counter-intuitively, Ghana, with seemingly the least pressing need, appears to be the nation with the highest number of NGOs and ongoing 'development' projects. Our interactions with volunteers and practitioners have pitched us headlong into the African aid debate but we'll leave that for a different forum.

The beach is done and it's time to head inland. In fact, it's time to go to Togo. Indeed.

The thing about moms is they seem to be turning up in all the right places. Thanks moms. In the spirit of our new 'Leave No Mom Behind' initiative, we can't wait for the last stop on the Umoja tour - Victoria, BC, where, after high tea at the Empress Hotel, Deb Hartwick will lead us on a tour of their new kitchen. There will no doubt be tasty treats whipped up on the new stove.

The Thing About TacomaDome....

The following post is to be read in the aggressive, red-neck voice of monster truck rally advertisements.

Youve heard about it, you've read about it, you've even dreamed about it!! One night only, September 10th, 1990 - The Consecration!!!

161 meters of unadulterated piety.
Over 350,000,000 reasons to see this baby in action. That's one for every dollar spent.
Featuring 7400 square meters of pristine stained glass ridiculosity! Including all your favorite colours and Saints.
It's taller than St. Peter's, houses more people than GM Place, and is sure to be louder than Talledega Racetrack on Maxxxxxxxxxxx.
Only 150,000 tickets available. You'll pay for the whole pew but you'll only need your personally air-conditioned edge!

Bridging the gap between the divine and the earthly, we bring you an entire den of lions vs. one man, Daniel. Big Mama Mary Africa vs. St. Peter and the Apostle Dream Team. The final act, Jesus vs. Basilicasaurous.
You'll think you've died and gone to Evan!

'Pious Riot' will be churning out your favorite hymms all night looonnnggg. Dont miss the grand finale.

Coming straight out of Yamoussoukro, Cote D'Ivoire: Basilica de Notre Dame de la Paix.

One night only
The Pope will be there. Will you?



The thing about the TacomaDome is it's got nothing on Basilicasaurous.

The Thing About Rebels....

Ahoy ye scurvy sea dogs!
Things have sure changed since the last time we spoke, or we spoke to you. No comments again! Does anyone read this?

Departing from the lap of luxury outside Monrovia, Evan immediately falls victim to the unthinkable, the uncurable. Well, kind of curable. Okay, he's fine now. Malaria! This latest development stranded us in downtown Monrovia for a few days longer than expected.

Back on the road, comfort is at a premium and the price is going up, as we're crammed into the back seat with an elderly man for 8 hours. Arriving at the Liberia - Cote D'Ivoire border, comfort is indeed a distant memory, as evidenced by the UN fortress that separates the two countries. On the Ivoirian side we have our first encounter with rebels. Lots of them! From every angle! We gingerly walk across the frontier straight into a small hut filled with fatigue wearing, gun toting teens. And to be even more cliche, they want money - how original.

Now before we proceed, a little history, Cote D'Ivoire is still in the midst of a lengthy civil war. Recently, however, the Forces Nouvelles (rebel forces in the North) have begun working with the government army and in certain aspects of civil service.

So, back at the border post, we reluctantly hand over some money to the rebels, and continue on to the government passport hut. We pass the majority of the government border patrol playing a huge game of checkers, huge not for the stakes, but for its literally oversized novelty board. Immediately after entering the "office" we're asked for a second bribe of the same amount as the one paid to the rebels. Explaining that we just paid this amount and weren't keen to pay again the officer loses it. But not at us. He storms off down the hill yelling at the rebels. Apparently we're only supposed to pay one bribe per crossing, and it goes to him. An argument ensues, highlighting the absurdity of a conflict where both sides are highly corrupt, and exposing the thin veil of recent cooperation between these two sides. The conclusion of the argument was that the sheepish rebels, surprisingly, gave us our money back, which of course was promptly passed on to the other guy. No money, no stamp is the rule. A model for success and a happy democracy.

Stamps stamped, things grind to a halt. After already having traveled for 8 hours, little do we know it will take us 4 hours to travel the 25km, through rebel territory, to the nearest town. The short trip couldn't get underway until the car filled up. Only problem, no one else was crossing the border that day; or ever. Once underway, this time 5 of us in the back seat, a thunder, lightning, and rain storm in a leaky hunk of junk, ensured that we were soaked through. Gigantic potholes and incessant road blocks with requisite bribe demands (elongated by our polite refusals to pay)ensured that we arrived sore, hangry, frustrated, and well after dark. Party!

The thing about rebels is travelling in their zone gets awkward. Especially if you don't want to be a traveling ATM.