children, indulgent and vaguely bewitched.
My first week culminated with a weekend trip to the Volta region and the promise of monkeys eating bananas from my hands. Nadine, Nathan, and Ursula asked me to join them and I immediately accepted. We’d become fast friends the way only travelers can, meeting each evening at Ama’s restaurant for drinks and dinner together at the long table in the center of the veranda.
Vincenzo and scowling Marta had left two days ago for Mole National Park in the North after sharing travel tips with me. The elephants of northern Ghana topped my “must see” list, but the two day drive in each direction would have to wait a few months.
Kofi had exchanged his sedan for a tro-tro style Toyota van to accommodate the four of us more comfortably for the hours’ long drive east. His selection of “High Life” music set an upbeat tone to the trip. I bounced in my seat to the mix of Ska, Reggae, and dance music.
Beyond Accra and its sprawling new developments, everything became greener and rural. Fields dotted with towering termite mounds, mango farms, and smaller villages flanked the two lane road we traveled. Vultures picked through plastic-filled trash dumps at the edge of the road. In the distance, verdant, round mountains broke up the flat landscape.
Kofi pulled over at a convenience store/gas station, which would have been at home anywhere in the States. However, here it sat awkwardly alongside a road where a man herded two large white cows with a long stick and random goats chewed who-knows-what in the adjacent ditch.
Ursula bought me a frozen strawberry yogurt called Fanmilk. The name was appropriate. I was a big fan of my pink rectangular packet filled with strawberry flavored delicious coldness. I happily sucked on the sweet frozen treat from my spot in the last row of the van. Memories of family road trips around the Western US came to mind.
I pulled out my phone to text my mother. Another text message from Gerhard caught my eye. We had texted intermittently throughout the week. Him asking questions about my stay, and me telling him what I ate and drank. Nothing flirty or romantic, but I grinned when his name appeared on my phone.
* Staying in Rotterdam for the weekend. Sadly, no monkeys for me. Have fun. *
I replied.
* Knowing my luck, there will be fecal flinging or embarrassing displays of monkey love. *
I texted my mom an update of my adventures.
Another message from Gerhard pinged after I hit send.
* As long as you’re not the one engaging in either behavior. *
I laughed. Ursula glanced over her shoulder at me, raising her eyebrow.
“Ignore me.” I held up my phone.
Chuckling, and maybe blushing a little at the thought of monkey sex with Gerhard, I typed my response before putting my phone away.
* Never the former and only the latter with the right man. *
My Fanmilk frozen brain made me bold. Thoughts of monkey sex with Gerhard made me horny. Damn. I left Dutch BOB at Ama’s.
*Good to know.*
We drove over the Volta River and into the hills of the east, heading for the Hohoe region. Signs giving kilometers to Ho and Hohoe informed us we were getting closer to the monkey sanctuary.
Upon arrival at Tafi Atome, Kofi parked near the guest house in the village. I bounced out of the van, succumbing to my monkey excitement.
We were surrounded by the cinnamon-colored earth I had expected to find in Ghana. The dusty, unpaved road led into the forest beyond a small cluster of buildings, a pastel painted school house, open stall shops, and the guest house with a dozen brightly painted huts serving as rooms.
Inside the lobby/gift store/sanctuary entrance, I bought a room temperature orange Fanta and a large bottle of water. After collecting the keys for our rooms, Ezekiel, the man behind the counter, told us we should wait until later in the afternoon for the monkeys. With a promise of meeting up at the entrance, I wandered over to my room in a red painted hut with a tin
My first week culminated with a weekend trip to the Volta region and the promise of monkeys eating bananas from my hands. Nadine, Nathan, and Ursula asked me to join them and I immediately accepted. We’d become fast friends the way only travelers can, meeting each evening at Ama’s restaurant for drinks and dinner together at the long table in the center of the veranda.
Vincenzo and scowling Marta had left two days ago for Mole National Park in the North after sharing travel tips with me. The elephants of northern Ghana topped my “must see” list, but the two day drive in each direction would have to wait a few months.
Kofi had exchanged his sedan for a tro-tro style Toyota van to accommodate the four of us more comfortably for the hours’ long drive east. His selection of “High Life” music set an upbeat tone to the trip. I bounced in my seat to the mix of Ska, Reggae, and dance music.
Beyond Accra and its sprawling new developments, everything became greener and rural. Fields dotted with towering termite mounds, mango farms, and smaller villages flanked the two lane road we traveled. Vultures picked through plastic-filled trash dumps at the edge of the road. In the distance, verdant, round mountains broke up the flat landscape.
Kofi pulled over at a convenience store/gas station, which would have been at home anywhere in the States. However, here it sat awkwardly alongside a road where a man herded two large white cows with a long stick and random goats chewed who-knows-what in the adjacent ditch.
Ursula bought me a frozen strawberry yogurt called Fanmilk. The name was appropriate. I was a big fan of my pink rectangular packet filled with strawberry flavored delicious coldness. I happily sucked on the sweet frozen treat from my spot in the last row of the van. Memories of family road trips around the Western US came to mind.
I pulled out my phone to text my mother. Another text message from Gerhard caught my eye. We had texted intermittently throughout the week. Him asking questions about my stay, and me telling him what I ate and drank. Nothing flirty or romantic, but I grinned when his name appeared on my phone.
* Staying in Rotterdam for the weekend. Sadly, no monkeys for me. Have fun. *
I replied.
* Knowing my luck, there will be fecal flinging or embarrassing displays of monkey love. *
I texted my mom an update of my adventures.
Another message from Gerhard pinged after I hit send.
* As long as you’re not the one engaging in either behavior. *
I laughed. Ursula glanced over her shoulder at me, raising her eyebrow.
“Ignore me.” I held up my phone.
Chuckling, and maybe blushing a little at the thought of monkey sex with Gerhard, I typed my response before putting my phone away.
* Never the former and only the latter with the right man. *
My Fanmilk frozen brain made me bold. Thoughts of monkey sex with Gerhard made me horny. Damn. I left Dutch BOB at Ama’s.
*Good to know.*
We drove over the Volta River and into the hills of the east, heading for the Hohoe region. Signs giving kilometers to Ho and Hohoe informed us we were getting closer to the monkey sanctuary.
Upon arrival at Tafi Atome, Kofi parked near the guest house in the village. I bounced out of the van, succumbing to my monkey excitement.
We were surrounded by the cinnamon-colored earth I had expected to find in Ghana. The dusty, unpaved road led into the forest beyond a small cluster of buildings, a pastel painted school house, open stall shops, and the guest house with a dozen brightly painted huts serving as rooms.
Inside the lobby/gift store/sanctuary entrance, I bought a room temperature orange Fanta and a large bottle of water. After collecting the keys for our rooms, Ezekiel, the man behind the counter, told us we should wait until later in the afternoon for the monkeys. With a promise of meeting up at the entrance, I wandered over to my room in a red painted hut with a tin
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