Market in Accra

Our last day in Accra with nothing short of phenomenal; we took full advantage of what would be our last day in ‘tourist’ mode before we were to head up north and begin work.

Mid-way through the day we went to what one of the larger markets in Accra, which spanned a couple city blocks and whose centre was a three story building that was as big as a city block itself. The market was busy with foods, cloths, various trinkets, and smiling faces; and we got a lot of waves and people saying “ete sen?” (“how are you?”), to which we reply “eh yeh!”

There were nine of us at the market, so we broke up into smaller groups. I headed off with Ben, Luke, and Samina to find oranges, mangos and fried yams. After getting our food we stood around eating them in a small, unoccupied spot near the middle of the market. Not two minutes after we get there a woman calls us over to her stall as those around her scurry to find chairs for us. We’re all a little more than uneasy at this display of white privilege, but Luke assures us that it’d be worse to decline and we sit down anyway. As we ate, a small (and incredibly cute) girl summons the courage to come up to us. Ben says hello and asks her what her name is in Twi (“Ya fre we sen?”), to which she whispered something inaudible. One of the women sitting at the counter eventually shoos the girl away, despite our protests.

After saying thank you to the women (“madasi”), we make out way to the top floor of the market, where clothes and fabric are being sold. We stop and see a finished pinkish traditional shirt that is priced at 60 000 cedis. I tried to barter with the woman to bring down the price but she wouldn’t budge. After wandering away for a bit, surrounded by bright colours and the sounds of sewing machines, we head back to the first lady. The lady still won’t budge on the price and brings out another shirt with the same pattern, but in blue/purple, likely thinking that I didn’t like the colour of the pink one. Eventually I gave in and bought the pink shirt for 60 000. Not long after putting on my new shirt Ben ran back to the lady in order to buy the second one—which was rather funny considering we had already been mistaken as twins several times early in the day. After excitedly taking a picture with the woman, we make our way out of the market and down to the tro-tros.

Many people were enthusiastic to see our attempts to fit in, but I couldn’t help but feel slightly nervous about it. We couldn’t be sure whether or not it looked like we were trying to buy our acceptance into their culture ($6+ for a shirt is a lot here). Ben mused that we might be perceived as mocking them by thinking that we’re any closer to belonging here by simply purchasing a shirt; an interesting thought that I was left to mull over as we boarded the tro-tro and headed for the beach.

I’ll have to continue this story tomorrow. Time is precious in these (unreliable) internet cafés, and the bulk of my time is spent uploading pictures (speaking of which, I managed to get most of the pictures for my past couple entries up... pictures for this one will come next time).