the heat of the sun and the beat of the drum

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "a plan to prosper and not to harm you. Plans to give you a future and hope." - Jeremiah 29:11

I wrote this on my wrist for Ghana, and it was very, very true.

Christianity was everywhere in Ghana- in a very IN YOUR FACE way as well. The businesses on the side of the rod had names such as ""Jesus Saves Phone Repairs", "Thy Will Catering", and "Peace and Love Auto Parts". One night, Dawn and I followed music from our hotel and ended up at a midnight church service. It was one of the LOUDEST things I have ever heard. We danced for an hour or so and then left when we started falling asleep during the sermon. We were told it would go until 4 AM.

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Ghana was another country that was so incredibly hot that you, with every drop of sweat, felt incredibly grateful for being alive.

On the third morning we visited Cape Coast Castle, which was one of the main places where African slaves were shipped out to the Americas. We saw the governors room, with an incredible ocean and beach view, and then the condemned cells, a windowless room where disobedient slaves were locked until they died.



The Door of No Return, called so because slaves would pass through here to boats to the ships, and many never returned home. Our guide, a fantastic storyteller, told us that normally Door of Return is printed on the outside but had been removed because of recent storms, and it symbolizes the ability of wronged people to return to their homeland.

This felt like an important place to visit.



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My brother and I, in my opinion, have never been overly mischievous children. In fact, it was once said that we "fight politely". Regardless, when we were young enough to have a babysitter, it was often a young friend of the family. Also named Rebecca, and known as 'Big Becca', she is actually only four years older than me, but as a child that felt like an enormous difference.

We figured it had been about 10 years since we had last seen each other when I met her on a beach in a fishing village.



I left Cape Coast in the early afternoon, and an uneventful two hour cab later I was in Busua, a place infamous for its surfing. I knew I had to get to Butre, the next village over, but I was unsure how to do that. I went to the fancy beach resort that I was dropped off by (primarily to use their nice bathroom... one of my favourite travel things, visiting fancy places to use their bathroom then leave) and asked if I could walk to Butre. They were like, "Oh, no, it's too far and highly discouraged, very unsafe". I didn't feel like finding and negotiating for yet another taxi just then, so I decided to visit Busua Black Star Surf School, founded by the guy who basically introduced surfing to Ghana.

I was immediately approached by the friendly owners, and a volunteer there (a young girl from the UK there for a month on her gap year, teaching lessons part time and surfing the rest of the time, I'm still in awe of her sense of adventure). I talked about my uncle who loves surfing and my brother who is far better than me at surfing. When I came around to mentioning I was looking for a friend, as soon as I said, "Rebecca", they both said, "Oh yeah, the ginger!". And when I asked if I could walk to Butre the answer was "Yeah, of course".

Beach, path, road, up a hill, down a hill, Butre. Those were my directions. I asked a couple fishermen to help me find the path.

The moment I crested the hill, I saw Butre spread out before me, a castle on a hill, and the turquoise ocean. The sense of accomplishment and wonder took my breath away. I stood there and realized why people fall in love with travel. I would do anything for that feeling again.

I was the only white person walking through Butre, and people would smile and wave and say "hello" but not approach me (although a teenage girl did tell me she liked my hair), until I met Francis. He had a similar reaction as the surf shop folk when I mentioned Rebecca, and the feeling of getting closer and closer to her was wonderful. He crossed with me over this bridge, then pointed me in the direction of Hideout Lodge.



The guidebook really didn't do justice to this beautiful little resort on the side of beach, with an eclectic mix of tree houses and bungalows.



I ordered dinner and got to know a staff worker named Isaac before Rebecca arrived in a taxi. I was afraid I wouldn't recognize her, but I did. We spent hours talking of Bancroft, our families, traveling, and it was incredibly insightful to hear about the realities of working for a non-profit overseas from someone I really respect.

When I started shaking and ran a fever it was like she was my babysitter again. I moved from my treehouse to a bungalow with a bathroom and slept fitfully but knowing that help was just a short walk away if I felt worse. Looking back, it was likely heat exhaustion- I had little water throughout the morning and then the hike to Butre was in the hot sun, and I only started
drinking water when I realized I was a little loopy.

The next morning I felt better and we spent the morning lounging and talking. Rebecca showed me the house she is building and designing with her boyfriend George (a lovely, hard-working man) on the beach.

We got a taxi to Takoradi, and on the way she showed me the village where Free the Children is working.

We said good bye just outside the port, laughing that the next time we might see each might be in Bancroft, but it could very well be Ghana again.

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On my last in Ghana my Acting class participated in a drumming and dance workshop and I was reminded why I struggled in music class in middle school. The knuckles of my hands are still bruised.



The whole day wasn't a bust though, as Acting is a relatively small class and as a result we all rather enjoy each other's company. When we had a break we all headed straight for the ocean. Our lifestyle on ship and traveling somehow has resulted in never having an opportunity to run- to full out, head long run. We took a couple minutes during our break to do this.



And I found a beautiful sand dollar. I found an equally perfect sand dollar in California when we were down for my uncle's funeral but it didn't survive the journey back to Canada. I feel like I was given a second chance.

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I understand the concept "weary traveler". I am very excited for Morocco (you can hear people playing the Aladdin soundtrack around the ship), but I am tired. I am tried of planning, researching places to stay and things to do, scams to watch for and neighborhoods to avoid. Being flung into the unknown is an adventure, but it also takes so much energy.

This could very well also be because in this next week of school I feel like I have 90% of my schoolwork for this semester. There's a lot to get done, and not a lot of time left.