Ghana
Sunday
We are awakened by bird call. I try to identify the culprit but, although I can tell which tree the call is coming from, the bird is concealed. And so we rise to see the aftermath of the storm – bits of trees everywhere. Not big bits, but lots of ‘em. We breakfast (more very fine eggs: the menu promised “Ham and eggs”, or rather to be completely accurate “Han and eggs”, with toast, butter and jam. Butter and jam are absent, the “Han” is the size of my thumbnail, or less.) We then head for the private bit of lakefront beach which the hotel owns.
The hotel dog adopts us, and charges about excitedly. He’s digging holes, rolling in the sand, viciously attacking dead palm fronds, and nesting in the fisherman’s nets. I find a nice stick for him, the handle of a dead tennis racquet. I fling it as far as I can, Dog watches it go, and looks pointedly at me as if to say “YOU threw it. YOU go get it.” Maybe “fetch” isn’t a game Ghanaians play with their dogs.
The view from the waterfront is spectacular, Damn, I think, something that makes a hole in the ground five miles across must’ve made a helluva noise. The water is fresh and clean. We contemplate a swim, but we’re not entirely sure what lives in the water. Drawn up close to us is what I would describe as a plank, about eighteen inches across and eight foot long, tapered at either end and painted white. Yelbert assures us that this is a fishing boat. Basically, you sit astride it with your legs in the water, and paddle out to where you’ve left your fishing nets. We ask Yelbert if he’s ever done this, but he also agrees he’d be nervous about having his legs dangling in unknown waters – who knows what’s down there?
This prompts me to ask, is the crater in the path of previous river channels? If not, how did the fish get in there? God must have put them there, suggests Yelbert. I wonder how isolated the lake is from other waters and whether there are any unique species here. I don’t have an answer to this one yet, but Google may help me find out once I’m home.
Incidentally, this is where we see the grasscutters being bred for the table.
We pack up and head out along a path which, while rough, doesn’t seem anything like the hell-ride we came in on. We drive further around the lake to the next village, a dry and dusty place. We learn that it has a population of just a few hundred people. There is an information hut which is surprisingly well kept, and covered with posters about the lake and the crater which contain hugely detailed information which a geologist would find fascinating, but which is far too technical for me. We negotiate a boat ride, and Paul our guide also persuades us to donate 60 cedis to a project to seed the entire shoreline with coconut palms. The reason for this is that the main local crop is cocoa, which has roots that spread quickly and which take up a lot of water – so much so that the lake, after centuries of expansion, is now beginning to recede. The palm trees will help prevent the cocoa trees from getting too near the shore.
We are obviously the most exciting thing to happen here in days – a bunch of lads, maybe 8-15 years old, gather around. One wears an England football t-shirt, which he is anxious we should notice. The boys insist that while we are out in the boat, they’ll give the car a good wash. True, it does need it, but we’re going to be trekking through miles more dust before we get back to Accra, and thus it’s a little pointless. But we don’t have the heart to turn them down, and when we return from the boat trip, the car is positively gleaming. We give them a few cedis for their sterling work.
As we board the boat, we see another “fishing boat” nearby. This makes the first one look like the Queen Mary II. It obviously was a plank at one time, but it has seen better days, and is now warped, mis-shapen and worn in various places, with just the vaguest suggestion of paint still clinging to it. At heart, it is just a large stick. Maybe this is why the locals don’t play “fetch” with their dogs – they’re afraid they’ll keep bringing the boats back to shore. Nevertheless it still floats and no doubt does the job for which it is intended.
Our excursion boat is a little more seaworthy, but still appears to be the result of years of random patching-up with whatever materials are to hand. Our guide would be happy not to give us lifejackets once we assure him we can swim, but Yelbert insists we wear them, afraid perhaps of returning to the Boss without Liz.
From the water we see more muddy villages, and also some impressive houses here and there. The surrounding hills are misty with distance and covered in trees of various sorts. It is a beautiful setting. Here and there, a hundred feet or so from the shoreline, are tall trees, mostly dead now, which have been submerged over the years as the lake expanded. One of them has a new young tree growing from its jagged top. This seems symbolic of something, though I’m not quite sure what.
After the tour, we move on, having admired the thorough job that the youngsters have done with the car. We are not intending to do any more touristing, other than looking out the windows, before we get back to Accra.
It’s Sunday, and attending to us has kept Yelbert from his regular churchgoing, so he tunes into a religious broadcast in which an enthusiastic lady drones on about faith, death, the afterlife, God’s grace and… I don’t know, that’s when I fell fast asleep until she’d done.
Ever since the GPS landed us, no, “stranded us” in the middle of Kumasi market, Yelbert has had no time for our directions. I point out that we seem to be heading north towards Kumasi once again, whereas Accra is south, but what do I know? Sure enough, 40 minutes later, after asking directions from a local, we turn around and head south.
Incidentally, unlike the classic Brit or US male driver, he is not averse to asking for directions. At times, he stops every few minutes, and carries on a conversation in Tri to determine which way we should go. Suggestions from me, Liz, or the GPS are treated with the contempt they deserve. Actually, I don’t speak Tri, so maybe he’s not asking directions – who knows what he might be discussing?
Passing up the roadside offers of bush meat, we decide we need a quick trip to the supermarket before returning to the apartment. As we leave the supermarket, we discover that it has started raining. And when I say “raining”, I mean that someone has just opened up a huge tap in the sky (that’s a “faucet” for US types), Although the rain has just started, it’s already coming through the front door of the supermarket. A lady worker is busily trying to sweep it back out, and mop up where arriving customers are leaving a watery trail. A team of supermarket employees with huge umbrellas are ushering customers to and from their vehicles. Even so, being exposed to the torrent for no more than two seconds as we get into the car, we are thoroughly soaked. Driving home we realize that Accra is not quite as flat as it looks. Everywhere there is the slightest inline, the road becomes a stream and the gutters a raging river, gushing up into the air every time there is the smallest obstacle.
Shops and dwelling are already being flooded. When we reach the apartment, our area is not so badly affected, but a little later the news informs us that most roads in the city are now impassable. Liz says that, so long as it stops raining, everything will be fine tomorrow, the water simply evaporates as soon as the sun comes out. Aware of the dreadful floods last year, which took many lives, I’m not so convinced. But the rain stops and the next day everything has returned to normal as she predicted. Well, not everywhere, but I’ll tell you more about that in the net episode.
END OF THE WEEKEND
"tap" will pass in American, but "hoardings" I had to look up. and who knew there are/were full-body kilts!
more great stuff, thanks for the tour!
yes, you definitely hit your stride on this segment
iwasmim said:
This is brilliant, truly. Publishable!!!
Everyone should read these installments. I feel like I am also visiting Ghana. So much better than a travel book.
Back in Accra
I’m going to bundle the next few days together again, partly for the sake of time (I’m only here another day) and partly because, although full of interest, they do again follow the pattern of working a bit, going for a wander, welcoming Liz home from work. It’s also an opportunity to mention a few things that somehow got forgotten in previous installments.
The rains: Sunday’s rain had indeed pretty well dried up by the next day, as Liz had predicted. But when I was wandering in an area new to me (and was, to be honest, a bit lost for a while), I found that this wasn’t true everywhere. A whole street was almost impassable, being still flooded on one side and a sticky red mud elsewhere. One poor guy was standing outside his “pub” (read, “wooden shack”) trying to find some way to restore access. However, the deep drains on either side of the road had overflowed – and had obviously been watery even before the torrential rain, for the green scum which had been growing in them had now spread out over the road. There was also a distinct smell of poop – someone’s cesspit had probably overflowed. It would take a lot more than a couple of planks laid over the mud to get me to drink in THAT pub, I can tell you…
Power: I mentioned that the power was out when we arrived at the crater lake – I haven’t mentioned power cuts before, but they are very common here. There was one while we were in the supermarket when it rained, although only momentary. And there’s one in the apartment every day or so. There’s a generator here, but someone has to go and get the fuel (and someone has to pay for it). It’s just a fact of life here. I was just congratulating myself one day on the fact that we cook with gas here, and thus power cuts don’t stop mealtimes – but then the gas gave out. And we’ve had no water now for several days – we persuaded someone to bring us a couple of buckets full, so it’s not desperate, but it is annoying. Now even a COLD shower would be a luxury. I was wondering why solar power isn’t hugely popular here – it would seem to be an obvious answer to the erratic supply (and I’m sure that more rural areas have far less reliable power, if any). I’m informed that solar panels attract a luxury tax, which puts people off. This may change soon – the new government does seem to be doing good things, or at least making the right noises.
Names: I said right at the beginning that it was hard to tell a church from an eating place, due to the habit of naming them “Jesus Love” or “God be Praised”. This actually extends to just about any sort of business. Now, although I can imagine getting a haircut at “God is Great Barber”, I’d hesitate before getting a haircut at “Trust in God”… I think I’d rather find a barber with a little more confidence in themselves. I’ve yet to see a “Jesus Saves” Bank, which is a shame, because you’d have an obvious advertising campaign – “Jesus Saves. So can you, with our high-interest deposit account.”
More about names: I hear that the crater lake, Bosomtwe, means “fetid antelope”. There is some odd Asante fable about this.
“Accra” is a corruption of a word which means “driver ants”. These are a variety of army ant. Often moving about in numbers up to several millions. Apparently when the Gar people arrived in the area, the Fante thought there were so many of them that they were like the ants. In fact “Gar” is from the word “gargar” which also means “driver ant”.
The Golden Stool: Many of the tribes, especially among the Akan, have a sacred stool in which the power of kingship is invested. When a king is officially installed, they don’t have a “coronation” (which literally means “crowning” of course), the have an “enstoolment”. The Asante royal stool is gold-plated and descended directly from heaven early in the 18th century due to the magic of Okomfo Anyake, a Merlin-like figure who served several powerful kings in succession. He seems to have been quite a character. The arrival of the stool in a thick cloud of smoke, was seen by many witnesses. In 1900 the British demanded to be given the stool, which led to the War of the Golden Stool. One story is that eventually they were given a copy, while the original was so well hidden that the Asante themselves couldn’t find it for some while. This last story was told to Liz by someone at the Asante museum, but I can find no trace of it in official sites.
The king (Asantehene) never actually sits on the stool, which is too sacred. He hovers over it at this ascension. It never is allowed to touch the ground, but must always sit on a blanket.
Buses: I wondered how the locals know which of the many little mini-buses which run around the city to get on: It seems that there is a hand-signal which tells you where the bus is going. The driver, or someone else, leans out the window and gestures appropriately. Or the hopeful passenger will make a sign to say “are you going to x?” – and the bus will stop if it is. Later I realized that taxi drivers employ a similar code – as I walk past a stationary cab, the driver will make hand gestures at me. I have to wonder if, before I realized they weren’t just trying to attract my attention, my waving of the hand palm-out in a “no thank you” gesture actually meant “please take me to the airport” or something. It would explain the puzzled expressions.
Now I just smile and shake my head. This puts me in mind of a scene in Greece many years ago. A tourist appeared to have learnt just one word: “Neh”. Unfortunately, she thought this meant “no”. It actually means “yes”. To compound this, when a Greek shakes their head, it can also mean “yes”.So when a shopkeeper offered her something and she backed out of the shop shaking her head and saying “Neh, neh, neh”, it confused the hell out of him. Why on earth was this crazy woman leaving the shop while muttering “yes, yes, yes” and giving him the nod (or rather giving him the shake).
Expaturbia: We were invited to dinner one evening in a different part of town, where the houses are much bigger and most of people are expats. As it happened, out hostess was herself a local, but I suspect this is unusual in that area. It was a very different part of town, and everything (except the roads) had a far more finished and permanent look to it. It was at that (very fine) dinner that I heard about the solar panel “luxury tax”.
Bookshops: anyone who knows me at all well will know that I am extremely fond of books, and am always reading. And that one of my favourite things to do in a new town is to visit the bookshops. Obviously this is of less interest in non-English-speaking places, but here the lingua franca is indeed English and I was hoping to spot some stores.
I have seen several, one of them being quite close to the apartment. But all of them are Christian bookshops, and their stock appears to consist almost entirely of Bibles, or of texts telling you how to read the Bible, or live your life according to the Bible, or illustrated childrens’ Bibles, etc etc. There are also book stalls, but when I stopped to look at one, the ONLY thing it had was Bibles. Some were beautiful leather-bound editions, some paperback for everyday reading, and all grades in between. But books as such are simply absent. I’m told that the posher European-style malls may have a bookshop in, but it seems that the local folk simply do not read anything other than Bibles and newspapers.
Crime: The larger, more affluent houses in the area all have formidable gates, and walls topped either with barbed wire or electric fences (the latter would be small use – just wait for a power cut. There’ll be one today or tomorrow). Many (like out apartment block) employ gatekeepers. So I have to deduce that property crime is common. But as I wander through the neighborhood, I have never felt any sense of personal threat. Obviously, people notice me, I’m the only white guy they’ve seen all day. People will nod, or smile, or ignore, but I have never felt any hostility. Maybe I’m naïve. But I think I have a fairly god inbuilt trouble meter – I grew up in a town (Basildon) where it paid to keep your eyes and ears open, and nevertheless I was beaten up for no reason more than once. I felt somewhat nervous when walking around the poorer parts of Baltimore, and distinctly edgy in Camden, NJ. But here my trouble-radar has not pinged once.
The shops: I have told you of the shops here, ranging from ramshackle scrapwood stalls to posh shops. I don’t know how strictly regulated these things are – but there is some sort of control – you might see a “for rent” sign on even the scrappiest of these structures, and I have often seen the word “remove!” written on the side of some, even quite elaborate, street shops. This seems to be official, although whoever is in charge of the operation is either not working very hard or is taking bribes. The notice is usually followed by a date, and I’ve seen several still in operation with a 2015 date. On others, though the date is more recent, and they are simply abandoned. Why would you bother to pull it down if there’s nowhere to move it to (and the authorities don’t know who you are)?
I see that I haven’t mentioned the bicycle-driven vendors so far. These are guys (so far as I’ve seen, always guys, though I don’t know if this is universal) with a bike and some food to sell. Usually it’s a variety of things that look a little like Cornish pasties, carried in a glass case. There may also be a cool box, which I think contains ice creams. These guys sell mainly to shopkeepers, and they announce their arrival by sounding an old-fashioned bicycle horn. Or you may have seen clowns with these – there’s a rubber bulb at one end, and a sort of tiny megaphone attached. They sound rather like the “honkers” from Sesame Street.
Not for sale: I was puzzled to see, painted on signs or on the walls surrounding small pieces of land, the notice “This land is NOT for sale”. In one case that was followed by “Buyer Beware!”. It seems that this is what this is about: when someone dies, the disposition of their property, if there is no indisputable will, is a matter for the whole family. Naturally there are sometimes disputes, and of course sometimes someone will try to pull a fast one, and sell the land without the permission of the rest of the family. The sale might or might not hold up legally, hence the notices, and hence “Buyer Beware!”.
White faces: In our immediate vicinity, there are none. I’ve seen white people when shopping at the European-style supermarkets, and in hotels and restaurants, but otherwise, except for our dinner in expaturbia, none. Actually, that’s not quite true – the other white faces I’ve seen have been on tailors’ mannequins. Quite why nobody has decided to make black mannequins for black countries is a puzzle. It’s probably a good commercial idea for an entrepreneur out there somewhere.
Children, especially of the pre-school age, find me fascinating. When we ate at an outdoor restaurant in Tema, one adorable little girl passing by could not take her eyes off me - when I waved at her, she broke away from Mother and ran over to simply stare at me, smiling angelically. Slightly older kids will give you a huge smile, a wave, and very wide eyes. It is charming.
I’ll try to get time before I leave tomorrow to relate our trip out to the river Volta, but if I don’t get time I’ll wrap the whole thing up when I’m back home in California. In a while, I’ll edit the whole thing and maybe add pictures, and put it on another blog page.
END OF WEEK TWO
mjc said:
"tap" will pass in American, but "hoardings" I had to look up. and who knew there are/were full-body kilts!
more great stuff, thanks for the tour!
Even after more than ten years in the US, I am still tripped up now and then by the fact that people have no idea what I mean by a word or phrase. I guess what I should have said here was "billboard"?
I dropped a bit from my stand-up routine when it constantly fell flat. Only later did I discover that in the US the word "pong" does NOT mean a nasty smell, which completely spoiled the line.
When I first moved to Cali, I asked the local hardware store for a "clothes horse". "What on God's earth is a clothes horse?" he said. After some discussion we decided that in Americanese it's called a "drying rack". More descriptive, but not as colourful.
So I’ve been back at home for a few weeks now, and (for reasons which are not relevant here) I’ve effectively moved house three times in the last few months, so there has been much organizing and unpacking to do – but I thought I should update this journal/blog/whatever you want to call it before the details get too vague in my memory.
So we were now approaching my second weekend. Liz again wangled the Friday off from work, and we borrowed the driver for a couple of days. The plan at this point is, Liz is due to leave on the Saturday evening, so this is a slightly rushed outing. She’s stopping off in the UK to see her Mum, and we’ll reunite in California .
There’s again a slight snag at the beginning of trip. Liz attempts to buy an electricity card on her way home (that’s how you top up the meter), but there’s such a queue she decides to do it the next day before we go. Unbeknown to us, and important figure has just died and all the shops will be closed in mourning for three days. It was an important local priest, apparently. I’ve been trying to find more information on this, so far unsuccessfully.
On Saturday morning, Yelbert goes off to find somewhere open. He has to drive some way, but eventually is successful. When we leave, we see that most places are indeed closed until we get some considerable distance away.
This time we headed East, to the Volga river, and the town of Akasumbo. The landscape was more interesting than much of the country, but the villages are the same mixture of dusty, often ramshackle, places with a plethora of churches. We pass an army base and a training barracks. At the training place is the motto “Train Hard, Battle Easy”, which I thought should be the title of the next Bond movie. We do see more street (or rather road) vendors than we’ve seen before. In one area, there are several miles of stalls (well, mainly benches) selling some basic, but good-looking pottery. All the vendors appear to be selling exactly the same range of goods. I can’t help but wonder why someone would stop and buy from the 36th stall, rather than the 3rd or 4th.
We pass a nature reserve, and the road is lined with troops of what I believe are some sort of baboon. They sit, idly, watching the traffic go by, and now and again there will be some small argument within a troop.
The people here look a little different to Accra, I think, somewhat lighter in skin tone and often taller.. The food being sold by the road side gradually changes too. The local “shrimp” are much in evidence. They are the size of langoustines, or bigger. Liz had some at one meal in a restaurant. I don’t think I’d like to try the street version, they’ve been carried around, maybe for hours, on these ladies’ heads . Shrimp and similar crustaceans are notoriously susceptible to salmonella and other gut-busting bacteria.
Another local delicacy is the snail kebab. I’m not talking about delicate little Escargots here, like you’d get in France (or in Cornwall). These chaps are the size of a clenched fist. They’re a big item in the local cuisine , and this seems to be where they come from. Again, there are dozens of people with a head full of these peculiar snacks. And again, who knows how long they’ve been sitting atop a vendor’s head in the hot sun?
On the subject of food, I have been forced to ditch my plan to try some of the local street food – I had decided to risk the slightly worrying fact that most of the guys have no water or refrigeration, but I had a slight but definite case of tourist tummy this week anyhow, and thought that upping the ante was a silly idea. Memories of staying close to the facilities for some days in Kenya many years ago surface.
As we approach Akasumbo, we are obviously in a seriously touristy area, at least for Ghana. There are more hotels and lodges, many of them actually completed, than I have seen before, Also more eating places, some looking pretty tempting. And casinos (though don’t imagine Las Vegas here, more a gambling den from the Wild West) - and, wonder of wonders! Public toilets!
We pass through the town itself, to a hotel right on the river. We didn’t choose it ourselves – this is Yelbert the driver’s recommendation. He spent his honeymoon here, and remembers it fondly. The room we take is not that amazing in itself, though it is a nice one, But it is literally right on the river. There is a little balcony outside. And beyond that a platform floating on the river itself. You can swim in the river here, they say, and I see people doing so – also using it for laundry. It is fast-flowing, and looks clean enough. Again, perhaps I’m too fussy, but I’m not sure what the sanitary arrangements are here, or where the sewage goes, so I’m a little wary. Nevertheless, I sit on the jetty with my socks and shoes off, and my feet dangling in the water.
On a hot day (and there’s no other sort in Ghana so far), it is heavenly.
There has obviously been considerable rain recently, and the river is higher than normal – you can tell simply because some of the riverside pavilions where people can be served food looking out over the river are flooded to a depth of several inches. One guy is taking advantage of this as a way to cool off. He’s sitting in a chair, shoes and socks off, trousers rolled up, feet in the water and fast asleep.
The hotel has considerable grounds, and very nicely laid out. All the rooms are single-story affairs in huts. The reception is also the bar and restaurant, and is obviously used for enterainment and dancing too – I expect there’ll be a fair amount of that for the wedding. At the center of the thing is a remarkable set of drums, formed it seems from single hollowed-out tree trunks. One is taken from the place where the trunk divides in two, and is adorned with a carving of a face.
Liz and I decide to hire a canoe for a paddle (is that the correct term technically?). It was fun, though harder work coming back against the current than it was going with it. It was a lot harder to steer too than I thought. I guess the only other times I’d been in one of these was in a boating pond, with no current. They also had what we Brits call a pedallo, a pedal-boat, which are a thing I’ve loved since I was but a small person. I’m quite glad I didn’t have to pedal one of those against the current, or indeed attempt to steer it.
At the hotel preparations for a wedding are in progress. Tables and trees are bedecked with ribbons, a whole area is marked out for the celebration – there are a number of women busily engaged in numerous tasks for the ceremony the next day. All are giggling and having a fine time as various decorative things are made for tables and the whole area. Or maybe it’s the trees who are getting married- who can tell? We won’t be there for the ceremony, which’ll take place on Saturday afternoon. I’m rather sorry about that, I’d love to see it.
We eat at the hotel in the evening, another good but not remarkable meal. In the evening, a remarkable noise issues from right outside our room (and thus directly in or over the water). At first I think it’s ducks, sitting right outside the window. US readers will know what I mean if I say it sounded like an ongoing live “Afflac” advert. It was extremely loud (and this is a pretty deaf person saying so)
. But the noise doesn’t move., like a duck or goose would in the water. Eventually, we guess that it’s probably some variety of very noisy frog – and when we ask the next morning, this guess turns out to be right.
While we’re here we do two other things: on the driver’s advice, we first go next door to another hotel, where they have some local wildlife on display. We are sorry that we did this, they are not in good conditions. Ok, so you can keep crocodiles in fairly basic conditions, they spend most of their lives just sitting still anyhow – the same goes for snakes. But there’s some kind of wildcat I’ve not seen before in a concrete room with no distractions, looking lonely and sad, and a very pathetic monkey alone in a cage with only a stick to climb. It’s impossibly cramped, and the poor little chap seems incredibly grateful for someone just stopping to chat with him. I wish they’d let these guys go. Nobody but us is here to look, the whole thing seems completely pointless.
Our other outing is rather more rewarding – a trip along the river in a powered boat to see the hydro-electric dam. Liz has seen this before from above, but now we approach it from below. It is an impressive sight, and along the way we see a number of other things too. There are islands in the middle of the river which the little boy who still operates a lot of my psyche wants to get off and explore, especially if nobody lives there. We see enclosures in the river which I assume ae some sort of “stews”, i.e., places where you raise fish in captivity. And the air is full, absolutely full, of some sort of pollen, or seed system. For a crazy moment I think it’s snowing. I don’t suppose any of the local languages even have a word for “snow”. There are puffballs of a feathery, cottony, I don’t know how to describe it, material – from snowflake size up to apple size, each of which (when I capture a few) have a single black dot in the middle, which with the first one I assume is a speck of dirt. Soon I figure that this is the actual seed, the reason for the whole shebang. In places the river is almost covered with these seed distributors.
The air above is full of some sort of kites (the raptors, not the toys), and they almost look to be guiding the rush of seedlings into the air -they appear to be becoming airborne from a single source just out of sight. Really, of course, the kites are hovering (or rather gliding and wandering around a fixed point– they don’t hover in one spot like, say, a kestrel) and waiting for prey. Our boat guy stops to pick up a fish which one of the kites has tried to pick up, too ambitiously, the weight has proved too much and the raptor let it drop. Which would have been lucky for the fish (it looks like a tilapia – but we’re pretty far up into freshwater territory here, so maybe not.), except the poor thing was already dead.
We ride out to the hydro-electric dam which supplies a huge percentage of Ghana’s electricity. It’s an impressive sight, though Liz says it looks even more impressive from the upriver side. During this ride, there are a number of fishing boats, usually long kayak-like affairs with two fishermen in. They fish with small nets, and they seem to be out all day and all night.
This is a great spot, and I wish we could stay a little longer and spend some time in the town too, but I’m going home shortly and Liz is coming back for a while too, to celebrate her birthday, so it’s just a short visit.
We drive back on Saturday, and make three stops. The first is to buy some bananas. The second is to distribute them to the baboons. I don’t know if this is why they sit by the road, I don’t know if a lot of people do this, but the troop (is that the right word?) seem excited by the prospect, although not hugely surprised. They seem very organized, in a I’m-bigger-than-you-are sort of way. When a banana lands near several of them, the smallest one charges in desperately, and tries to eat it before someone bigger cuffs him, or just bares teeth and looms. If the smaller one is bold or desperate enough, it will run like hell with the ‘nana, eating all the time (“Never run while you’re eating, my mother always told me. Well, she wasn’t gonna get the lunch taken away by large and aggressive relatives, was she?).
A guy who is obviously Alpha-male, Big Boss, the Don, whatever you want to call it, turns up. He is a bad-tempered little dictator (well, not all THAT little actually – he’s far bigger than the others, probably because he gets to eat more). He’s stronger, meaner, and has some alarming-looking teeth. We start to throw the bananas in random directions, as far as we can. The others rush to get them and eat them practically in one bite, then run like hell as king nasty bears down on them like an express train. He gets about half the bananas, no matter what we do.
And no, we don’t leave the car while we’re doing this. I for one am not going to argue with King Ugly-Baboon.
The third stop is for some food – Liz will be leaving in the evening, and who knows if there’ll be power, gas, water?
We get most of the way back before stopping, at an intriguing place, which covers several acres and contains a number of different restaurants serving a wide variety of foods – the most elaborate arrangement I’ve seen yet here. Not all of them are open at this point. We eat outside which is very pleasant. The food is ok, except that I order a steak, and they don’t seem to realize in Ghana that some cuts of steak can be grilled or fried, others need to be stewed. When I first started cooking, this was a mistake I made too, and of course if you fry the tough one it might taste nice, but you need steel dentures to actually chew the darn thing. The driver has foofoo, which still doesn’t look very appetizing.
At one point a lady walks by with a very cute little girl, about two years old. She can’t help staring at me – I don’t think she’s seen a white guy before, except on TV. I give her a wave, and she breaks away from her momma and runs over to me to touch my arm and just stare at me with her huge eyes. It’s a very touching moment.
When we get home we have gas and power, but the water has run out and the standpipe outside is dry too.
Our driver promises to find some water for us, later. Meanwhile, Liz gets ready to leave, and we bid a fond farewell. I’m not fated to see her quite as soon as planned, because her mother is not well, and Liz stays on in the U.K. there a few days. In the meantime, I’m in Accra on my own for about 36 hours.
That final stint will be the subject of the next entry.
Last days in Ghana
In a way, it is a lot easier for me to become acquainted with the everyday life of the city of Accra than it has been for Liz. After all, she works during the day, and it is a different proposition for a single, very noticeable woman to go out in the ill-lit streets in the evening than it is for a guy to go out during the daytime. She has walked about a bit when she had a specific place to go such as the gym, but hasn’t wandered about a lot just for the sake of nosing around like I have.
But having said that, I’ve not been out of an evening except when driven, so I’m curious to see what the nighttime is like here.
So, feeling slightly smelly since I’ve only been able to wash in the water from the bucket, I head out.
In the area immediately around the apartment, it’s very quiet. A few people are sitting outside in the (relative) cool of the evening, chatting or sewing.
One of the tiny one-room beauty businesses has a customer, the girl is doing her hair. They’re sitting outside to do so.
The goats and chickens are still wandering about busily or lazily depending on individual temperament.
As I get nearer to the main street of Spintex Road, things begin to liven up. Food stalls are busy, and many establishments which I haven’t seen open before reveal themselves to be bars or snack bars. The traffic is almost completely gridlocked.
I decide against the “Hook Me Up” Lounge, which doesn’t sound like the sort of place I want to visit. Maybe it’s just a singles bar (which is not what I want anyway…), but maybe it’s something a little shadier.
I wander for a while, just taking things in. Some people are just wandering, like I am I guess, others are dressed up for a night out.
I end up in the bar which I found on my first outing. It’s a friendly place, though it looks a little different in the evening. Firstly, there’s a British football match on the TV. It’s a big TV, much more state-of-the-art than you usually expect of things here. But then, they do LOVE their football. I’d tell you who was playing, but as I say, I take no interest in that.
The odd thing was that it was by now very dark, and there were no lights in the bar so the audience could see the TV more clearly. I couldn’t see how many people were ranged around the TV set – dark people in a dark place, after all. There was a lot of loud cheering and other encouragement – the fans seemed about equally divided between the teams. I sat on the other side of the bar.
Those who know me well will remember that, if I go into a bar, and don’t become involved in a conversation or (less likely) engrossed in the TV, then I’ll sit and read. Currently I was deep in the History of Ghana.
But here conversation is impossible (everyone else is deep in the footie) and there’s not enough light to read, so I only stay for a while before heading back to the apartment.
Next morning, Yelbert has brought us a huge container of water from somewhere, bless him, and left it on the doorstep. I can barely drag it into the apartment.
Later in the day, it turns out someone has managed to arrange for a tanker to come and replenish the tanks. Naturally, this involves parting with some cash, but I’m happy enough to do that. Much of the day is taken up with packing and other preparations for the return home. Sorting through papers, deciding what food will last until Liz gets back, tidying and cleaning, that sort of thing.
I take a little wander, I visit the little store around the corner for a couple of things to eat, and I return to the apartment. Most people I see are in go-to-church clothes, either because they’re on their way there or on their way back.
Every so often I hear church singing. It’s more enthusiastic than we Brits are used to, and involved clapping too. Brits tend to pretend to sing, or mumble quietly. I’ve always thought that if God wants us to praise him, he’ll probably think more of people who do it happily rather than as if they’re slightly embarrassed..
That evening I venture out again. I visit a place I’ve walked past often enough, but not been in before. As I approach it, I’m hearing a number of happy conversations, which tempts me to go in. This is a place which has a menu outside that promises all sorts of things, but every day (if you walk past at the right moment) the real menu is revealed by a chalked notice … “foofoo ready now.”
Inside it’s a small bar/restaurant, about the size of someone’s front room. there’s a really friendly atmosphere – I think many of these people are family. For the first time, either going into, or walking or driving past, anything which looks at all like a bar, there are a lot of women here as well as men, relaxing. I think some of them are related to the girl who seems to be running the place. A small girl, maybe three or four, comes over and talks to me, shows me her phone, and her purse which featured “Dora Explorer”. She was amazed I knew who Dora was. I give her the set of colored pencils I brought in case I got a chance to do some sketching (that’s not gonna happen now, and we have tons at home). She rewards me with the biggest smile ever.
After a while, and some fairly-clear conversations (despite the language/accent problems), I decide to move on.
I find a bar which looks quite pleasant from the outside, but which has always been dark during the daytime. I don’t think I passed it last night, or if I did it wasn’t open yet.
Inside, it’s brightly lit, and has several pool tables, all in use and with a queue of coins laid by people waiting a turn. I consider adding myself to the queue, but decide against it. I do enjoy playing pool, but I’m pretty awful at it – and seeing the standard these guys are playing to, I’d only embarrass myself. I realize that I’m paying more for a beer here than I’ve done anywhere in Accra before (it still only works out at about $2.50 a beer). For the second time tonight, this place has several females in it. But, um, they seem a little underdressed, and a little friendly (not towards me, I’m the weird white guy reading a book). After one rather nervous drink, I head to the place where I watched the soccer last night for a final beer, where I am greeted warmly, and then back to the apartment.
One thing which has surprised me this weekend is that there is no fuss at all about the upcoming Ghanaian Independence Day on Monday - 60 years to the day since they became independent. I've noticed a couple of posters, normal commercial adverts with an added line of congratulations, and there's a logo on some TV programs - but I see no parties, or decorations, or anything else. Initially when I found out that I was going home on Independence Day, I was a little disappointed - I wanted to see how it was celebrated. The answer seems to be, hardly at all. I think there will be some dull speeches from politicians, but I was expecting a lot more fuss.
And I guess this blog is done. I’m gonna revise it, pretty it up, and add pictures, then republish elsewhere. At that point I’ll add some general observations which don’t seem to have fitted in anywhere convenient so far.
Meanwhile, if you’ve enjoyed my writing style, be aware that there’s a novel out there which you can buy from Barnes & Noble, or from Amazon, print version or e-book. It’s “The Dragon’s Run” by Gareth John Jones. There’s also my first “panto”, called “Arrr!” which New Jerseyans may well remember. My second panto. “Wotcha! Gotcha!” is available too, though from elsewhere.
THE DRAGON’S RUN
At Barnes & Noble http://www.barnesandnoble.com/...
At amazon.co.uk https://www.amazon.co.uk/Drago...
ARRR!
At Barnes & Noble http://www.barnesandnoble.com/...
At amazon.co.uk https://www.amazon.co.uk/Arrr-Pantomime-Gareth-John-Jones/dp/1533333130/ref=sr_1_5?ie=UTF8&qid=1492566251&sr=8-5&keywords=gareth+john+jones
And the script of Wotcha! Gotcha! Can be obtained from Off the Wall plays. http://offthewallplays.com/201...
OK so I've
https://itsjonesey.wixsite.com...
New entry in the updated, edited, illustrated version of my Ghana adventures. Please subscribe- the more people that do, the easier it'll be for me to get writing work.
Thanks. Latest revised blog with pics added at https://itsjonesey.wixsite.com...
-please everybody take a look. If you want to be kept up to date, you can subscribe in the box at the top right-hand corner of the page you enter through.
So there's another updated entry with pics. Quite a short one this time, but it does incorporate some research that I've done since getting home.
PS if you subscribe, all it does is to add you to my mailing list, it doesn't cost anything.
Another edited, illustrated, chapter of the Ghana blog is up. Feel free to read, like, share, join the mailing list. This one brings us up to my departure. Still to come, a new entry wrapping the whole thing up and giving some of my reflections on the whole experience, and then some photo galleries.
itsjonesey.wixsite.com/mysite
OK, my final, post-Ghana thoughts, blog is up now. I'll be adding some photo galleries later, but in terms of chat that's it for now. I will be adding to "JOnesey's Journeys" from time to time.
https://itsjonesey.wixsite.com...
Do please go read, like, share, or whatever.
Hi everyone.
Those of you who enjoyed the Ghana stuff might want to read my latest entry, which is more about me and why I'm effectively a "traveller" wherever I happen to be. There will be more entries about new and previous trips as and when I get time. Possibility of returning to Ghana for a short while sometime in the next year also quite feasible.
https://itsjonesey.wixsite.com/mysite/single-post/2017/11/06/Jonesey---man-with-no-roots
Very interesting and your ability to tell a story is captivating.
You say you're a traveller wherever you go; what are you in search of?
MrSuburbs said:
Very interesting and your ability to tell a story is captivating.
You say you're a traveller wherever you go; what are you in search of?
I don't think I'm searching for anything - except perhaps a beer or two. Seriously though, some people have lives which go according to a plan, mine has been more picaresque.
ANyhow, there's another episode up, this time telling about a more local outing. Liz, meanwhile, is back in Ghana for a couple of weeks on a new project which will probably have her returning there about once a quarter. No concrete plans to join her just now, but you never know.
https://itsjonesey.wixsite.com/mysite/single-post/2018/01/13/The-Devils-Mountain
There's two more episodes of the blog, though the title "Ghana" is a misnomer by now... though Liz is back there once again at the moment.
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Great stuff! Thanks jonesey!