So imagine San Francisco set amid a backdrop of poverty and a history of slavery. I go walking
through the town unfettered. The things I am seeing are difficult to convey. I have a ton of pics and vids I would love to upload, but all I am getting is that stupid circle going around and around.
If Accra was Toronto, then Cape Coast is Vancouver.. Set on a hilly locale next to the ocean, the town is teeming with activity. Having received tips from a couple of different people in Kokrobite, I opt for The Oasis Hotel. As I am led to my room, I involuntarily mutter “fuck me” under my breath. Not the bad “fuck me”, but the good “fuck me”. I am staying in a classic African cabana. My room is large and round, with a vaunted grass roof that peaks at about 25 feet in height, the beach is about six feet from my front door and Cape Coast Castle is a few hundred meters down the beach. At $29cdn per night including my own bathroom I am quite happy. As mentioned I am able to walk through the town without being bothered for the most part. However, make no mistake, all eyes are upon me as I stroll through an unending sea of stalls that mask a labyrinth of poverty. Nonetheless, I find the same spirit of life here that trancends the mundanity of mere commerce.. The people here are incredibly warm and friendly, though some do have ulterior motives. Many young men and boys here have approached me seeking help with school fees or trying to raise money so they can get jerseys for their soccer team or wanting to take me on a tour somewhere or entreating me to go buy something at their friends stall. It is difficult to blame them, and I would probably be doing the same thing if I was in their shoes, but it does wear you down after awhile. On the upside a firm “no thank you” is usually enough to deter them.
Michael Essien
Michael Essien is to Ghana, what Derek Jeter is to America., only bigger. Essien is a footballer who plays for Chelsea in the English Premiership, the top soccer league in the world. Currently the UEFA Champions Cup, a tournament pitting the best European clubs against each other is underway. Chelsea is playing Liverpool in the semi final matchup and given the scarcity of television in these parts, the game is being shown live at the local theatre, admission fifty cents.The theatre is very large, and I would put capacity at at least 1000. I arrive a bit late, and the moment I enter, Liverpool scores. The entire place sags, but for the joyous outbursts from a few Liverpool fans. It is standing room only, and I find myself at the back of the theatre, a lone Obruni in a sea of locals, craning to see the big screen. The crowd is so boisterous that it is impossible to hear the audio. Drums, horns and chants dominate the ears, the crowd hanging on every play, with good plays drawing racous applause. In the thirty ninth minute Chelsea scores, unleashing a tsunami of joy, the likes of which I have never experienced. The theatre throbs, a bedlam of human expression. At the half, I am among the first out for a smoke. A young girl asks me what the score is, and when I tell her she immediately races off to dispatch the news to her family. Outside the air pulses with frenzied chatter. I speak with one man who confides that he is for Chelsea, but does not like to divulge this, for fear of getting into altercations. I file that in the back of my mind, making a note to leave before the final whistle, if the result appears secure. Back inside for the second half, Chelsea scores to take the lead. This time I do not cheer, I want to feel as much of this as possible, I breathe it all in deeply, letting the pulse of energy rip through me. As soon as the goal is scored, people rush by me to the exit to dispatch the news to friends and family. Then another goal by Chelsea and more religious fervour. I was there on Yonge street for both of the Blue Jays wins, but tha tjust seems like a distant tea party in comparison. With about 15 minutes left, I decide to leave,and as I
arrive at my hotel two blocks away I hear what sounds like another Chelsea goal. Being a good guest, I head straight for the bar to dispatch the good news to the bartender, who is of course, a Chelsea fan.
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