The End

I have been back in the UK for two weeks now. In many ways it doesn’t seem like I ever went away. Occasionally I can see that things have moved on, but most of the time it appears seamless.

This will be the final blog entry. I'm not going to make any profound statement about my time in Ghana and how it changed me. I'm not sure I know that yet. I do know that I will follow Ghana's progress with keen interest. I was fortunate enough to be there at an important time - the end of the celebration of the country's 50th anniversary celebrations, the hosting of the Africa Cup and most importantly the peaceful transition to the NDC government and the recognition of Ghana's democratic maturity internationally. Ghana is now celebrating the 100th anniversary of the birth of Nkrumah and next year will see the start of commercial oil production off its coast.

I am sure I will keep an eye out for all things Ghanaian and West African. I had some spare time in London the other day. I visited the British Museum to see what they had from West Africa (the V & A had nothing on display from its permanent collection). There was a large basement room devoted to Africa. The most obviously Ghanaian exhibit was a chief's stool. In Savile Row I noticed a tailors' with the Ghanaian name, Ozwald Boateng. In the nearby National Geographic Store on Regent Street, I was stunned by the prices being charged for Malian wooden items. One was over a thousand pounds. I wondered how much of this would end up with the carver.

I was wearing a Ghanaian batik shirt that day and when I was buying the latest editon of 'New African' in WH Smiths at Victoria, I am almost certain the black assistant thanked me quietly for the payment in the main Ghanaian language.

There was a BBC documentary on the porn industry last weekend. The journalist was stressing the profits being made by big respectable hotel chains and mobile phone companies from selling porn. In one sequence he visited Ghana to look at the impact of cheap porn DVDs there. I had to smile when he was virtually mobbed by a class of over enthusiastic school children in a small northern village. He met a Ghanaian youth who had written to a film maker in Los Angeles asking for work. The Ghanaian, painfully camera shy and a virgin, was clearly unsuited to the work. While I was in Ghana I was regularly asked, usually by young men, for help to get into the UK, or the US or anywhere that wasn't Ghana. They seemed to think that I would be able to magically get them a visa. I sympathised with their position but had to tell them I couldn't help. They just wanted something which I had by the fluke of where I was born. It was always difficult to respond to these pleas, particularly as I didn't know what I would do if I were in their positions.

Of All The Airports in All the World

My last day in Ghana required a lot of co-ordination and provided no time at all to actually think about the end of nearly two years in West Africa. The Pitts had arrived the previous evening in advance of a meeting for representatives of local disabled peoples’ organisations. After breakfast with the end of season mangoes (I shall really miss the fruit – the avocados and pineapples), Kiran kindly drove all the household items to Dan’s house. I went to the meeting and said farewells there before returning to the house. There was space in my cases for everything but I could barely lift the bigger one. I did a little cleaning and then headed to the office. I was given a very touching send off by the agric. staff as well as two batik shirts and a mass of beads. As one of the VSO cars was in town, I was given the rare luxury of a lift to the airport. Most volunteers are left to make their own way.

I had been booked to fly with Royal Air Maroc. VSO were not prepared to pay almost double the price for the BA ticket. The RAM flight was scheduled to leave Accra at 3am roughly four hours after the last flight and four before the next. I would have a ten hour stop over in Casablanca and reach London at 9 pm. This was not an attractive prospect but alternative carriers had entirely European legs and a fraction of the luggage allowance. Gradually the terminal emptied as the other flights left. At our midnight check-in we were told the flight would not leave until midday Friday and we were dispatched to a hotel in East Legon. We were brought back later in morning and told it would now be 2 pm. I spent my last few cedis on a bar of Cadbury’s chocolate. On the same flight was a lady from the same school as two VSO volunteers who left in the spring, another who had done a brief volunteering stint on the Kwahu Plateau not too far from Koforidua and another who knew Danielle and Jill, the other volunteers on the Cadbury project. RAM provided lunch and the flight left at after 3 pm. We were joined by passengers who had connected from Abidjan and waited even longer than us. In Casablanca, the connecting flights had long gone and we were taken to the Atlas Airport Hotel for dinner, bed and breakfast. On Saturday morning we returned to the airport and all the dealyed passengers were crammed into the lunch time flight to Heathrow.

Although the overall journey took more than 48 hours, the actual flight times were more civilized than the scheduled ones. The night in Casablanca provided some acclimatization on the way back to Europe.

Out of Africa

I have pulled out the big black suitcase on wheels from behind my bed, it was too big to store away neatly. I have removed the layers of dust from two Harmattans and located the key to its lock. I have decided which of my clothes, destroyed by a combination of long soaks, hand washing, punishing sunshine and Omo, will not be going in the suitcase. I would be too embarrassed to give them away. They will go in the skip near the house and good luck to anybody who wants to fish them out again. I have told VSO which items belong to them, if the lease on the house is not renewed for another volunteer and they need to retrieve them. The desks, gas rings, gas cylinder and fridge/freezer will be relatively easy to transport. The water tank, plumbed in on a plinth eight feet high, may present more of a problem. I have thrown away the accumulated bottles, jars and plastic bags. I have closed my bank account, receiving a free Coke as I queued to withdraw the remaining balance. I have taken half a dozen paperbacks to the VSO library in Accra and decided who will receive my bicycle, radio and rechargeable lamp.

I am currently probably the busiest I have been since I arrived in Ghana. It is slowly dawning on people that I will be leaving in just a handful of days and this is the last chance to get things done. Before I go I must complete reports on both placements, run a workshop for two NGOs and be involved in running a forum on the Cadbury project at the Municipal Assembly. There is also the small matter of emptying and cleaning the house.

On Monday morning I sat in on an interview panel. As part of a separate project with the Ministry of Food and Agriculture in the north of Ghana, VSO had introduced a programme of voluntary female agricultural extension workers. The volunteers would be selected from the communities that were to benefit from the scheme. They would receive some training, a bicycle and a little additional support from the Ministry and they in turn would help improve the farms in their areas. VSO wants to repeat the process in the cocoa growing communities.

Our interviews were carried out by the Agric. Director and two of his team, the Municipal Planning Officer and the Deputy Regional Director of Community Development. We saw 13 women from our communities. Their ages ranged from 18 to 60, but were mainly clustered near the two extremes. The older women were composed and not remotely fazed by a room with five interviewers and one almost silent white man. They had generally left school early and in some cases this was more than forty years ago, but when asked to read a passage in English, they were confident, clear and accurate. They had relevant experience and appeared well motivated for the work on offer. The younger candidates, in some cases barely out of school, were shy and nervous. One girl constantly raised the English script to cover her face as she responded to questions. Despite recent and longer educations, they stumbled and struggled over the English and few of them showed any kind of motivation for the work.

There was much discussion by the panel on how this reflected on the current state of public education in Ghana. At the end of the session one of the team started to say that, one of the problems in Ghana is that young people want everything now. They seem to expect good jobs to just be handed to them. This was my cue to say that, this is by no means a specifically Ghanaian problem, but that it is far more widespread.

The environment, conditions and customs may be completely different in Ghana, but not everything is so unlike home.

Abidjan

Abidjan

If we hadn’t been unnerved by the UN people carriers and troops in a range of camouflage uniforms, the appearance of a sheet of A4 on the windscreen of our STC coach with the words ‘Securite Convoi Humanitaire’, probably did it.

Dan and I had decided that our last trip before leaving Ghana should be to Abidjan. We stayed in Accra last Thursday night so that we could take the 4 am bus to Abidjan on Friday morning. The bus left at 5:10, we were in Cape Coast two hours later thanks to almost deserted roads and Takoradi by 8:30. We then had a long delay waiting to merge with a bus from Kumasi but we reached Elubo on the Ivorian Border in the early afternoon.

Of Ghana’s immediate neighbours, Cote d’Ivoire has seen the greatest change in fortune. For twenty years the economy grew nearly ten per cent annually, based largely on cocoa and other agricultural produce. It was easily the most successful country in West Africa and the high rise skyline of Abidjan, capital in all but name, is testament to this. The world recession in the 1980s and the death of Felix Houphouet-Boigny, the country’s first president in 1993 started the country on a downward spiral, ultimately leading to civil war and the intervention of French and UN troops.

When I arrived in Ghana in 2007, the UK Foreign and Commonwealth Office was discouraging British nationals from entering the country at all, putting it in the same category as only one other country, Somalia. Since then, the fighting has reduced, but democratic elections postponed since 2005 have still not taken place. They are now scheduled for the end of 2009. In January 2009, the United Nations Security Council passed a resolution which would keep UN troops and police in the country until the end of July 2009, at the earliest. The Council cited human rights violations and the need to enhance the country’s capacity to manage a democratic and transparent election as reasons for staying. In May 2009 there were more than 9,000 uniformed UN personnel in the country, most in the north and west.

Nevertheless, the F & CO has relaxed its warnings. The north of Cote d’Ivoire should still be avoided but Abidjan can be visited with caution. It suggests that the biggest risks are not violence but street crime and scams.

We were at Elubo and Noe its Ivorian equivalent for a couple of hours. Abidjan is only 122 km from the border, but a lengthy customs inspection west of Aboisso meant we did not arrive until after 8 pm. The hotel receptionist took us along the road to a place where we could get tasty grilled chicken and chips and we shared a beer with him.

Abidjan is occasionally referred to as the Paris of West Africa but at first glance, New York would be a more appropriate comparator. The city is divided into distinct areas by the Ebrie Lagoon. The various districts are linked by a modern, efficient and frequent ferry service. We stayed in Treichville, a broad promontory with docks on its west bank and inland a mix of housing, shops, bars and mosques. On Saturday morning we walked to the lagoon, stopping at the well stocked, Chinese built market on the way. From the Gare Lagunaire we could see the skyline of Plateau, the central business district (second from left in collage). We spent the day exploring Plateau. The cathedral of St Paul was the highlight, the tower a stylised representation of the saint himself and the church itself taking the place of flowing robes (far right). Unfortunately we could only glimpse the vast and colourful stained glass windows. As usual we marvelled at the quality of food and the service in restaurants – a hallmark of the former French colonies.

On Sunday morning we went in search of washerwomen near the Parc du Banco, a spectacle recommended by Lonely Planet. Maybe we were in the wrong place or maybe they do not work on Sunday. We did find a policeman at one of the ubiquitous road blocks. He wanted ‘cafe’ money. We also saw a very striking building on the top of a ridge (third from left). We did not hang around, partly because escaped convicts were rumoured to live in the area. We were welcomed enthusiastically by the craft stall holders in Cocody Market. We had a couple of Flag beers, with complimentary coconut and peanuts at the Hotel Ivoire, once West Africa’s premier hotel and now a vast scruffy shell (far left). The pool was long drained and the thatch on the night club was balding. We returned to Treichville and sat in a bar sharing the local drink of choice – a box of Argentine red wine. We ended the day with substantial burgers and cokes at a Lebanese restaurant and took cake back to the hotel. Dan would want me to point out that I sat on the cake box, miraculously squashing his cake but not mine. Maybe my recently purchased Baoule power stick protected mine.

On Monday morning we walked to Gare du Bassam for transport back to Ghana. On the way we found the most impressive omelette sandwiches we had seen in West Africa – French bread with a layer of tinned peas, onion, tomato, mayonnaise, Magi sauce and the omelette itself flavoured with a little crumbled chicken stock cube. Lonely Planet in 2006 reckoned 5,000 CFA was a good price for the fare. We found an empty car and were offered seats for 6,000 CFA, or the whole car for 24,000. We were happy to wait for two more passengers to turn up. The driver didn’t say much but the hangers on were keen we buy the other seats. We paid for our two and then the driver decided to leave anyway. He asked for a ‘cadeau’, so we gave him another 1,000. We couldn’t understand why he had left without a full car, denying himself half his potential income. He bought petrol for 7,000 which was enough to get us to Noe but not back again. He had said he was a policeman when we got in and quickly showed us an ID card. He was certainly known at the checkpoints and consequently we were only stopped twice and then only to show his papers and not ours. We picked up another passenger from a broken down bus and made it to Noe by noon, in less than three hours. In relief and gratitude we each gave the driver another 1,000 CFA. The border formalities were swift and our early arrival encouraged us to try and get back to Koforidua within the day rather than spend a night in Western Region. We found a tro to Accra. We were at the Kaneshie station by 6:30 but it was nearly 8 pm before we left Circle for Koforidua.

Not unsurprisingly we think we only saw two other tourists during our weekend. Abidjan is unlikely to make it as a tourist destination even when peace returns but it provides a very striking contrast to anything in Ghana.

Volunteers in Ghana are told that greeting is hugely important. The handshakes, sometimes with the special clicks, and the ‘how are you/I am fines’ come thick and fast as you go about your daily business. If you do not greet, you can upset people and you may get picked up on that at some later date. We are also told that it is customary to say you are fine even if you are not.

The effect of all these greetings, the smiles, the waves and even the salutes is to lull you into a feeling that all is well in the land of Ghana. It can come as quite a shock, then, whenever you realise that Ghana, in line with everywhere else, is not always like that. The theft of my bicycle, within weeks of my buying it, was an annoyance, but something I put down to experience. It led to a curious meeting under a mango tree with the parents of the suspected thief, with our case being argued by one of Dan’s colleagues in full black toga funeral outfit. Unlike the tree, the meeting was fruitless. It also got me a lot of sympathy from friends and colleagues, the former generously providing a replacement as a birthday present.

The incident clearly stayed in the mind of one of my colleagues. Recently he asked me if I had many friends in Ghana. I said I had a few, but that I mainly socialised with other volunteers. He said that it was good that I didn’t have a lot of friends. He went on to say that the problem with friends is that they think that they treat your possessions as if they were their own. As part of the cocoa project, each of the district agriculture offices had received a motorbike. My colleague was responsible for the bike in our district. He said he had divided his bedroom with a sheet on a line so that the bike could be kept there at night. That way it would not be visible and would be less likely to be stolen. However, he genuinely felt that the more people he knew, the greater the chance that the motorbike would be taken.

On a less gloomy, more superficial but related matter, I have stopped breaking at least one local bye law. I might be inadvertently breaking others but I would have to plead ignorance if accused. Yesterday morning I purchased a bicycle licence. For the princely sum of two Ghana cedis, the cash office at the New Juaben Municipal Assembly provided me with a piece of thin metal adorned with licence number and a small Ghana flag, which I should attach to my bicycle. My name and the bike’s frame number were entered into vast ledgers and I was issued with a carefully written pre-numbered receipt. The accountant in me suspects that the effort involved in producing this licence will have entirely absorbed the two cedis I paid, but I have done my duty. Most people do not have licences. They know that nobody is interested in catching offenders. The same applies to TV licences here. They are very cheap, but almost nobody buys one because unlike the UK they are not enforced.

Beads

Of all the traditional crafts in Ghana, beadmaking is the one most closely associated with the Eastern Region and in particular the Krobo people. On Tuesday we visited the bead factory in Odumase-Krobo, just short of an hour east of Koforidua by tro tro. The ‘factory’, a collection of spacious shelters, is set back about a kilometre from the main road in a very peaceful setting. We were welcomed and introduced to the various processes that go into bead making.

The art of bead making is long established and it is rare to see a traditionally dressed Ghanaian lady or chief who is not adorned with some type of bead. For me, however, the most striking thing about the process was the prominence of recycling, a very modern phenomenon. The ovens in which the beads are baked are constructed from termite mounds. The type of mud produced bonds particularly well and is less prone to cracking at high temperatures than alternatives. This is a bit tough on the termites but new ovens are not needed too often. Most beads are produced from crushed glass bottles. There is always interest in the rarer coloured bottles link red and pink. You can take your own bottles along. Antique beads are re-fired to give them a new lease of life. Tools for threading the beads and other processes have been fabricated from palm leaf fronds, pieces of bamboo and spokes from old bike wheels. In times when it is almost impossible to mention ‘tourism’ without adding the adjectives ‘sustainable’ and ‘eco-friendly’, the beadmakers of Ghana can hold their heads up high.

Obama in Ghana

We agonised for some time about whether we should try and see Obama in the flesh. When would the opportunity present itself again and if it ever did, would it be on such a significant occasion as the first visit by the first African American president to sub-Saharan Africa?

At the beginning of the week, the press was suggesting there would be a big durbar (a meeting, often a colourful occasion involving traditional drumming and dancing) on Independence Square in Accra. This would be similar to an event held in honour of President Clinton. By the end of the week it was made clear that the problematic rainy season and security concerns would prevent this from happening. Instead, Obama would make his keynote address on Africa to a selected audience in the Accra International Conference Centre.

A sighting would have needed trips to either Accra or Cape Coast. I was leaving Accra on Friday, the day he flew in (as, by coincidence, I had been the day Bush came). There were already international TV crews around, all apparently recording the same souvenir cloth and T shirt seller in Osu. There were rumours that roads around the airport and the route to Koforidua would close early in the afternoon. I was taking no chances and even in the late morning the outbound traffic was more like the rush hour peak. The difficulty in getting to either venue and the very limited opportunity of actually seeing the man at them persuaded us against even trying.

I listened to coverage of the arrival of Air Force One at Kotoka International Airport that evening on Joy FM. After a mammoth handshaking session with President Atta Mills, the VP, their respective wives, minsters, leading minority group politicians and top officials, the whole Obama family was quickly whisked away in the Beast. For the crowds gathered patiently near the airport’s VIP lounge, there was not a glimpse of them. This proved to be the pattern for the rest of the 22 hour visit.

The following day I cycled to Dan’s house to watch the TV coverage. Unfortunately his TV was producing a clear picture but no audible sound. We had to follow events from a weak FM radio signal, struggling to get over the Akuapem Hills from Accra and pictures which followed several seconds behind. We saw a brief sequence from the breakfast meeting with the current and two former Ghanaian presidents. We saw the keynote address and parts of the tour of Cape Coast Castle. The last, without any commentary, was a little confusing. While the Obamas explored the castle, President Atta Mills turned up in eye catching white robes. He appeared to wander the streets waving for a while, before thinking better of it and heading off again in a car. What was clear, was that the crowd was kept well away from the castle. You might have been lucky to catch sight of the US president waving, but you probably would not.

We decided we had done the right thing. It must have been a day of mixed emotions for Ghanaians and indeed the many Africans who travelled here from other countries to see him. There must have been great pride that he had come to Ghana, but tinged with disappointment that he had not been more visible. The visit, though largely symbolic, will have enhanced Ghana’s international standing and hopefully her tourist industry. I cycled home as the light was fading. In the house, I put the radio on in good time for the 7pm World Service news. A plane flew over. Koforidua is on one of Accra’s flight paths. When the news began, the Obama in Ghana story started with the statement that he had left Accra in the last few minutes. Maybe I got quite close to him without even trying.

The Nubuke Foundation

My visit to Legon had been to a new art gallery, the Nubuke Foundation. (‘Nubuke’ means ‘a new dawn has broken’ in one of the local languages). The walk to the gallery from the Koforidua tro took me through one of Accra’s more affluent suburbs, complete with upmarket hotels, coffee shops and vast imposing, gated, guarded and barb-wire enclosed residences. The Foundation compound greets you with a huge, joyful, rainbow-coloured, wall-filling mural. Created by Bernard Akoi-Jackson, the intricate, Kente cloth inspired design hides a variety of indigenous creatures – from a crocodile to mice.

I had come to see an exhibition of black and white photographs of Accra’s architectural heritage (in part, to see if it would convince me to change the views I expressed in May). There was a sequence of rooms with views of Achimota School, Korle Bu Hospital, the main Post Office and an extraordinary number of government bungalows. I was particularly taken with a selection of interpretations of the prints in oil paint by S C Decker. The use of colour, to lift otherwise very one dimensional images, was imaginative. The Foundation newspaper noted that many of these structures are under threat from developers and that, therefore, this photographic record was important. I was disappointed, however, that the pictures were new. It would have been good to see archive images of the buildings in their heyday. Unfortunately they all look rather scruffy, worn and neglected now.

Nevertheless, I was inspired. On Republic Day this week, I cycled round the centre of Koforidua. Within an hour I had collected a series of images of the town’s colonial past. I had easily found classical pillars, elegant balustrades, graceful arches, colonnades and even a set of caryatides. Many of these buildings could rival anything Accra has to offer.

The Great Oburoni Debate

A recent letter in the “Daily Graphic”, from an American volunteer in Ghana fed up with being hailed by one and all as “oburoni (white man)” and asking for an end to such behaviour, produced a predictable pair of responses. There was a letter from a hospitable Ghanaian who felt that maybe the practice was inappropriate and probably should stop. A second response, from a British lady, married to a Ghanaian, thought that the American was being completely unreasonable. She pointed out that Ghanaians are amongst the most hospitable people on the planet, there was nothing insulting in the action and that, frankly, the correspondent should “...go and get yourself a life and while you’re at it, take a chill pill.”

I veer more towards the second view. I am less impressed when I am addressed as ‘oburoni’ by an adult, but children, the usual instigators; clearly get great pleasure from it. Why should I deny them this? It will be odd to be back in the UK and find that I am not being verbally bombarded from all directions, often with no obvious sign of the source of the voice. There are, however, one or two peripheral practices which do need attention. Firstly, I strongly believe that the child his- or herself should decide whether to engage with an oburoni, however briefly. I provide the following illustration.

I was in a tro between Legon and Madina on Saturday afternoon. I was in the corner of the back row. The lady immediately beside me was holding her toddler son. The boy had eyed me up and down and then quickly averted his gaze by looking down at the floor. I took this as the sign that he was not happy to have a white man in quite such close proximity and made no attempt to connect with him either with a smile or wave. Some mothers realise what is going on and turn their children away from this nightmare inducing sight. This mother had other ideas. She wanted her son to interact with the oburoni now sharing the seat with her. She turned the boy directly towards me and whispered ‘oburoni’ to him encouragingly. With no alternative to looking at me, he looked more and more distressed and soon began to bawl, disturbing an otherwise peaceful tro-full of passengers. Fortunately we then reached my stop. As I stood in the road and the tro pulled off, I could clearly hear the now hysterical crying above the Madina traffic. From the back window the child’s mother, apparently oblivious to the turn of events, smiled and waved at me. I hope the boy will eventually overcome this traumatic event.

The Adomi Bridge

Spent a peaceful weekend with Catherine and Carla at Aylos Bay beside the River Volta. We would have appalled the VSO Ghana doctor, if she had known that we had been rashly swimming in the river and eating fresh water prawns. At least we didn’t eat incorrectly prepared fruit or bread from a polythene bag into which a small boy may have previously blown. The only mild annoyance was the occasional bored youth in a canoe bobbing up to ask if he could paddle us to the other side.

Aylos Bay lies ten minutes walk from the Adomi Bridge. The bridge was opened mere weeks before independence in 1957 and is one of only two which crosses the Volta south of the Volta Lake. Curiously, the plaques at either end state that the bridge was opened by His Excellency Sir Charles Noble Arden-Clarke GCMG, Governor of the Gold Coast but that the plaques themselves were unveiled by the Honourable Kwame Nkrumah LLD MLA, Prime Minister of the Gold Coast.

About a year ago this crucial link between the Volta Region and the rest of Ghana was threatened, when cracks were spotted in the superstructure. Worryingly the cracks were, apparently, spotted by passing fishermen rather than any regular inspection team. The bridge was briefly shut and then reopened on a part time basis while repairs were undertaken. Representatives of the original contractors Dorman Long have since given the repair work a clean bill of health. Like most bridges, however, the Adomi was not designed to carry the heavy trucks and buses that now ply this route. The inevitable future repairs and maintenance would cause havoc on the roads, but at least they might provide a few benefits for the youths with canoes.

One of the benefits of a long volunteer placement is the opportunity to see changes in your adopted second home. Regular readers will know that I make regular trips to Boti Falls with visitors to Koforidua. A visit yesterday provided examples of both the positive and negative changes that are occurring in Ghana.

The waterfall itself had seen little rain in the last few days and was no more impressive than it had been in April, but there is always something new to see. Yesterday it was a gently swaying preying mantis and a quite alarming pair of large smooth limbed spiders in vast webs.

We had left the waterfall and had just made the descent through the lush green undergrowth to a dry stream bed. There were strips of bark and wood littering valley bottom, clear indication of illegal logging at some point in the past few weeks. When visiting cocoa growing communities we are regularly told that one of the threats faced is tree felling. To reinforce this, it is a rare visit when you cannot hear a distant chain saw. The environmental damage is permanent, but there seems to be little interest from the authorities in dealing with the problem.

Further along the path, beyond Umbrella Rock, we began to hear children singing and the sound of drumming. Under a tree, in a clearing to the left of the path, children were enjoying their mid-morning break. They were running around excitedly and dancing and hitting anything they could find as makeshift drums. One was using a plastic bottle. The school building was new. I had seen it maybe once or twice before on earlier trips, but this was the first time I had seen it in operation. Probably not recognisable as a school, it consisted of a shiny silver corrugated roof supported by wooden posts. At ground level below it, a block of three classrooms was marked out in cement blocks up to a foot or so in height. The intention, no doubt, is to complete the walls when money becomes a available, but in the mean time there was no reason why classes could not start. Each ‘room’ had a blackboard but little else. Many of the smaller communities in the Eastern Region, even those within a few miles of the regional capital, have limited access to schools, so it is good to see a new one open. Local villagers themselves will have done much of the work to make it happen, probably including the actual construction.

Obama Coming

Coming from a country with a long established democratic process, I take peaceful elections and changes in government for granted. Sadly, Ghana is currently one of the very few examples of an African country which can claim such elections. Ghana’s fifth peaceful election and second change in ruling party, late in 2008 continues to draw praise and accolades from across Africa and beyond. There was little mention of President Mills’ recent visit to the UK by the British press (as they seemed more preoccupied with ride-on lawnmowers, pet food and moat cleaning) but the Ghanaian media recorded Gordon Brown’s complimentary remarks on Ghana’s democratic maturity. However, just to prove that some things are the same the world over, the ‘Daily Guide’ published photographs of the lavish Kensington hotel and even the bed where Mills slept. It was clearly indignant about the cost to Ghanaians of taking a party of thirty to London. (A subsequent government statement noted that the majority of the places were actually paid for the British government. Ironically, the Ghanaian government paid for the accompanying journalists!)

For many, however, the ultimate reward for Ghana’s performance will come in July, when Barack Obama will make a one night stop here on his return journey from the G8 summit. Within hours of the announcement by the White House, attention was being drawn to the fact that Obama’s first trip to sub-Saharan Africa (he will be in Egypt in June) will not be to Kenya, his ancestral home, as many expected. Kenya, as the New York Times put it, is ‘deemed to troubled to visit’.

Ghana has clearly caught the attention of the US. It is only fifteen months since Ghana hosted Obama’s immediate predecessor. The image of George W. Bush pounding shea nuts while Laura looked on, in a newspaper photograph is still fresh in the mind, as is the lengthy list of roads which had to close in Accra for security reasons. Added to a visit by Bill Clinton in 1998, this must make Ghana one of a very small number of countries to host three successive American presidents.

To say that Obama will get an enthusiastic welcome here is obviously an under statement. He will be regarded as one of their own by Ghanaians, despite his considerably more eastern origins. In 2008 his election victory was, to my recollection, the only non-domestic news story to make the front page of the ‘Daily Graphic’. I am looking forward to the local souvenir business going into overdrive.

One article I found on the internet was not concerned about Kenya, but was more interested in the fact that Obama would be visiting Ghana, rather than nearby Nigeria. The rivalry between the two most important English-speaking countries in West Africa can be very tense sometimes. Nigeria, the dominant country in the sub-region and comfortably the most populous country in Africa is regarded by many Ghanaians as a very bad place. One timely illustration of this mutual dislike is the ‘sex scandal’ which is currently ‘rocking’ Koforidua. In the past week the ‘Daily Guide’ has reported that a Nigerian videoed himself having sex with a Koforidua woman and them posted the footage on-line. The footage has been widely downloaded. Even the picture on the front of the paper drew large crowds around local newsstands, as Koforiduans tried to identify the woman. She is alleged to come from my district of town. There are certainly Nigerians in Koforidua, but with no actual proof of the identity of the perpetrator, the article on the second day referred to a student from a ‘neighbouring country’. Nigeria was not mentioned at all. The local women, famously known throughout Ghana as ‘Koforidua flowers’, are not amused at this slur on their character. According to the second article, they intend to demonstrate against ‘foreigners’.

Accra

One of the reasons I like Koforidua is that it isn’t Accra, but it is convenient distance – an easy day trip – from Accra. Accra is a something of a necessary evil. If I need to visit the VSO office, want any shopping which Koforidua cannot offer or, more extremely, want to leave the country, I have to go to Accra.

Accra has been the capital of the Gold Coast and later Ghana since the colonial administration decided to move there from Cape Coast in 1877. Also the largest city in the country, it lacks the tradition and ceremony of Kumasi and the history of Cape Coast. It has no real centre, but is rather a collection of smaller communities submerged into one big traffic congested sprawl.

Much of the early development was along the coast around the three remaining European forts – to the east Osu Castle, formerly Christiansborg Castle and for the time being the seat of government and to the west neighbouring Forts Ussher and James, most recently prisons and both now open to tourists. The British expanded the city from the forts. With the departure of the colonialists, Nkrumah created Independence Square between Osu and James Town. The square is a vast empty space bookended by two arches one classical in design to the north, the other more reminiscent of MacDonald’s ‘golden arches’. More recent development has come around the city’s ring roads – the Nkrumah Circle transport hub, embassies, hotels, NGO headquarters and the Osu shopping district off the inner Ring Road and the airport and Accra Mall on the outer one. Between these stands the brand new Jubilee House a replacement for the Osu Castle government offices, empty and awaiting the President’s decision to spend the $12 million needed to complete it. The coast in the centre of Accra has been ignored, other than as in an informal rubbish dump. Only to the east of the city is it nearly pleasant enough for a handful of large hotels to have opened. Their pool areas remain considerably more attractive options than the adjacent beaches.

Despite my dislike for the place, exploration of some of the older quarters has provided some rewards. Architecturally there is little of any consequence. What remains of the pre-independence era is not that striking and uniformly in a state of neglect. The newer stuff is on the whole ugly with only Jubilee House making any kind of visual impact, but the streets around Ussher and James Forts are of great historic value. Accra’s first school, hotel and some of its oldest churches are here. The fishing harbour was the most important in Ghana until the development of Tema and Takoradi and many of the streets are named after the mixed heritage British families who resided in the area. Nkrumah made many of his early speeches at the Palladium, a former music hall and his political party, the Convention People’s Party was launched there in 1949.

When I was in Kumasi recently I picked up a booklet which provided a guide to this area. I had been to James Town once before, about 18 months ago. It had been a grey, damp day. The road was being completely rebuilt and there was dust and earth everywhere. The James Fort prison was still in use and the whole scene was very depressing. During the week, I visited the area again. It was a completely different place. It was sunny; the sea was aquamarine, the road complete, the prison shut and generally the tone was much more upbeat. The map in the guide was good and I found many of the landmarks mentioned. I visited the Ussher Fort Museum, although disappointingly the ruins are not safe to explore. I was able to catch a glimpse of one the rings in the local boxing clubs. I could see just enough to know it was being used as a washing line, rather than for a quick spar. I climbed to the top of the 30m high lighthouse for commanding views across the city and up and down the coast. Just as much fun though, was sitting on shaded benches with locals showing them the pictures of their neighbourhood in the booklet.

Jackson Park

It is a long time since I made specific mention of Jackson Park in the heart of Koforidua. By European standards, its hard surface and lack of grass makes it more a square than a park, but either way it is an excellent facility and as far as I am aware unique amongst regional capitals. It hosts everything, from the grandest funerals, parades and durbars to ping pong for the children, basketball for the wheelchair team and the weekly bead market.

For Ghana’s Golden Jubilee, each regional capital created a new Jubilee Park to perform a similar role to Jackson Park. For reasons which are not entirely clear to me, rather than refurbish Jackson Park, an entirely new ground was constructed near the regional police training school. It was said that refurbishment would have meant the loss of the name Jackson Park in favour of Jubilee Park. The result is that Jackson Park continues to get steadily scruffier and the new Jubilee Park stands almost entirely neglected. The police seem to use it for practice drills and I have seen it used as training ground for learner drivers but its inconvenient location means it is unlikely to have much of a future.

On Friday, Jackson Park was once again packed for a night of music sponsored by the French Embassy and the currently ubiquitous Vodafone. I arrived around six and sat on the edge of the stand to watch the final light and sound checks. After a couple of wet and overcast days, the sky had largely cleared but it remained pleasantly cool. Behind me the sun was sinking, creating a striking sunset and bathing the scene in a golden glow. The final egrets flew to their favourite tree in the corner of the square after a day spent stalking the local cattle. In front of me, the almost full moon emerged from behind Obuotabiri and began its ascent into the now inky blue sky.

A couple of rows of chairs had been set up in front of the stage. These had been monopolised by the local kids. Some of them were briefly distracted by the arrival of the tall white man but they were generally happy to watch the proceedings and dance to the test music booming from the speakers.

With the sun finally gone, the park was lit by a combination of strong moonlight and stronger stage lights. One or two Fan Milk boys tried to sell a few more meat pies and ice creams before calling it a day. The park gradually filled. The giant screen started showing looped Vodafone commercials. (Vodafone now owns a large chunk of Ghana Telecom and almost overnight it has rebranded it. It says something about the precarious quality of the mobile phone services here when Vodafone selects as its slogan: ‘The network that works’.) Eventually some hours after the billed start time, a DJ appeared and started the proceedings. It was 10:30 before the main act began, a mixture of rap, traditional drumming and some strong Malian influences. I had been joined by my friends by now. We enjoyed it and the audience was appreciative but it had been a long day and by 11:45 most of us had given in.

Zoom Lion and the Wheelie Bins

There is a new noise on the streets of Koforidua. If we didn’t have enough already, we now have to contend with the music which signals the arrival of the Zoom Lion refuse collection truck. The music is loud (of course) and mainly of the gospel variety. Fortunately they are not using Praye’s Zoom Lion Song produced for a ‘Keep Ghana Clean’ campaign. It has the inspiring lyric ‘next to Godliness is cleanliness (my brother), If you live on health, no more sickiness (my sister)’.

Zoom Lion is the intriguingly named contractor which is gradually sweeping up all the district assembly refuse contracts. They have done a good job in tidying up the skips (not sure whether they have designated these as civic amenity sites, but they probably will) and they do clean some public places.

Over the Easter weekend they began the next phase of their operation. I got back from the coast to find the neighbourhood dotted with smart blue or orange wheelie bins. There is even one in our compound. Nothing has been said about it. Nobody seems to know quite what to do with it. Still in its plastic wrapper, it keeps appearing in different places between the houses. They seem far too nice to put rubbish in and as Zoom Lion will charge to empty them they probably won’t get much use. While there are plenty of small boys to take your rubbish to the nearest skip and you can burn the flammable stuff in your yard, the wheelie bins seem a bit pointless. What will happen to them is anybody’s guess. Ghanaians have a knack of recycling otherwise redundant equipment. You can be looking at the girl carrying chilled water sachets on her head, when you realise the receptacle being used is a drawer from a fridge/freezer. The car wheel and oil drum barbeques are other favourites.

There is no doubt that Ghana could be significantly improved with some investment in tidying up and better disposal of waste materials, but are domestic wheelie bins really part of the solution?

A regular feature of the volunteer experience is playing host to friends and family from home. As I mentioned in the last item, we have had a run of visitors to Koforidua over the past month, often overlapping. Many itineraries have been planned and replanned, hotels booked and guidebooks thumbed. You want to make sure visitors have a good time and go home reassured that their distantly located friend or family member is in relative comfort and safety.

My parents have just returned to the UK after just short of two weeks in Ghana. They did not get off to a good start. Fog at Leeds/Bradford Airport led to them missing a connection in Amsterdam and a rerouting via Dubai. They arrived 17 hours late and had travelled more than twice as far as necessary. Their luggage arrived later that evening having waited in Amsterdam for the next direct flight. We hung around in Accra while we waited for it to show up.

Things improved. In Koforidua, neighbours and work colleagues were all delighted to meet them. I was a little surprised to find nodding acquaintances proudly claim that they were my sister or mother. They met all the Koforidua VSO volunteers and a few from other areas. We squeezed most of Ghana’s top tourist attractions into barely a week – Cape Coast Castle, Elmina, Kakum Canopy Walk, Kejetia Market, the Manhyia Palace and National Cultural Centre in Kumasi, Wli Falls, The Tafi Atome Monkey Sanctuary, the Nkrumah Mausoleum and Independence Square in Accra, Boti Falls and Lake Bosomtwi. They visited five out of Ghana’s ten regions. They used countless taxis and tros, they spent a morning in church, tried Ghanaian food (steering clear of the more ‘hardcore’ dishes), bought beads and cloth and waved at ‘obruni’ shouting children. They saw crocodiles, fed mona monkeys, watched drumming and dancing and waited for an hour on the roadside outside Asamankese while a replacement was found for a sick tro tro.

I returned them to the airport on Tuesday in roughly the condition they reached it in and was back in Koforidua before they took off.

Easter

The entries over the last month have been more of a travelog, than a blog about living in Ghana. There has been little happening on the project, so I have taken advantage of the free time. I shall be leaving Ghana in the next five months and I still have a few more things to do and see.

Easter was a bit of a mix. An opportunity to say goodbye to volunteers who will be leaving Ghana before me, a couple of days relaxation and good food at Big Milly's Backyard on Kokrobite Beach and a trip to the Boti Falls (unfortunately barely a trickle after a very dry fortnight) with Dan and his brother and sister. We seem to be very popular at the moment with a continuous run of family and friends visiting over April.

Ghanaians

I was recently asked to describe Ghanaians by somebody coming here in the near future. After saying how fortunate I was to be here and how welcoming and friendly Ghanaians are, I fell back on the words of the 'Imported Ghanaian' for some rather less flattering views. Alba Kunadu Sumprim is a lady with Ghanaian parents, who was brought up in the UK before moving to Ghana. In her book, The Imported Ghanaian she lists a number of Ghanaian characteristics. Of course, I couldn't possibly say whether I agree with her views!

1. Ghanaians know everything and are always right.
2. Ghanaians answer a question with another question or a reply that has nothing to do with the original question asked.
3. Ghanaians are no respecters of time.
4. Ghanaians love to tell people to exercise patience but to get any results and quickly you have to shout and get upset.

5. Ghanaians will do anything for you – as long as you are not Ghanaian.
6. Ghanaians are snobs and will quickly look down on anyone they do not consider to be worthy.
7. The surest way to test your popularity is to keel over and die. Ghanaians love funerals. It’s the number one form of entertainment.
8. Though a peaceful people, it doesn’t take much to offend Ghanaians.
9. Ghanaians are very honest but they rarely mean what they say or say what they mean.
10.Ghanaians don’t like to say no, any other word but no. They prefer words such as ‘yes’, ‘we’ll see’, ‘go and come’ or other combinations of words which always end up meaning no.

11. Ghanaians rarely listen to anything properly. When a Ghanaian doesn’t understand something, they seldom ask for clarification and will do what they want.
12. Ghanaians are very religious. Church is the second biggest form of entertainment.
13. Ghanaians don’t like taking responsibility; they prefer to rely on or blame someone else.
14. Ghanaians will always feel free to butt into your business and dish out advice, even if unwanted.
15. Ghanaians take themselves too seriously, even though they generate humorous situations, at times frustrating, at every turn.

"Are you crossing?"

Wherever you go in Ghana you will be asked ‘how are you?’ and ‘where are you going?’ or just ‘where to?’ The first is very polite and automatically leads to ‘I am fine. How are you?’ and then ‘I am also fine’. As to the second question, there appears to be a constant fascination in the destination of obrunis. The answer, whether it be ‘to the market/ to Accra/over there’, usually just leads to approval and rarely a supplemental question. In lorry parks the question is asked by tro mates and usually becomes ‘Where are you going, white man?’ (This leads to regular discussions between volunteers on the subject of when it is appropriate to draw attention to the ethnic origin of the other interlocutor in the opening statement of a conversation.)

For a couple of days last week the question I was asked most often became ‘Are you crossing?’ I was travelling across the Afram Plains. Despite its relatively central location within Ghana it is one of the most remote districts. During the 2008 elections there was big delay in voting here because the necessary materials did not arrive on time. The construction of the Akosombo Dam in the early 1960s dammed the Volta River. Between 1962 and 1966, the level of water behind the dam gradually rose eventually creating Lake Volta, the biggest manmade lake in the world. 80,000 people from 700 villages, 1 % of Ghana’s total population at the time, were moved to 52 resettlement communities. One consequence was that the Eastern Region’s northernmost district, the Afram Plains, lost its land connection with rest of the region. The Bradt guide book on Ghana describes an interesting journey between the Volta Region and the Ashanti Region via the Afram Plains using two ferries across the lake. I decided I would make this journey.

On Thursday morning I took a tro to Nkawkaw on the Accra-Kumasi road and at the base of the escarpment that forms the Kwahu Plateau. The plateau provides the south-west border to Lake Volta and rises to nearly 800 metres above sea level. The tro made good time and I was soon in a shared taxi zigzagging the steep road to Mpaeso on the top of the plateau. Mpaeso was pleasant and noticeably cooler than Nkawkaw, but there was little to keep me there. I picked another shared taxi to the next town, Kwahu Tafo. I was soon the only the passenger and the driver was keen that I charter him to Adawsu the southern ferry terminus. He couldn’t make his mind up what to charge me, but eventually decided on 20 Ghana cedis. I declined this offer and got out in Kwahu Tafo. He drove on as I fastened up my rucksack. Almost as soon as turned the corner I was approached by a taxi driver asking if I was going to Adawsu. He needed one more passenger to fill his car. The fare was 2 Ghana cedis. I agreed. It was not until we were nearly there that I realised it was the same taxi I had just left. In my defence I had only seen the driver in profile on the first journey and most of the taxis in these parts are Opel Astras.

Adawsu is little more than a collection of mud and thatch houses a short distance from the shore line with a few stalls selling food to waiting truck drivers. I ate egg and bread on a bench and talked to a group of drivers. Christopher said that the ferry off the Afram Plains to Kpando was broken and not running at the moment. I pondered turning back but decided I would continue and get a second opinion in Donkorkrom, the district capital. The ferry arrived and disgorged its cargo of vastly overloaded tros and trucks. There was even a Metrobus on board. There was a pause while the north bound vehicles were marshalled to make most efficient use of the available space. I was relieved to see that these vehicles were more modestly loaded. Christopher found a tro that would take me on to Donkorkrom. The crossing was short. As a reminder of the lake’s origin the ferry passed tree tops sticking out of the water. Most trees were left untouched when the lake was created and they have been a navigational hazard ever since.

At Ekye I joined the big Mercedes tro. It was probably the slowest tro I had ever used. It trundled sedately along the untarred but mercifully rut free road to Donkorkrom. I had expected the Afram Plains to rather barren, but they were just as lushly green as the rest of the Eastern Region, if rather less developed and more sparsely populated. I reached Donkorkrom at around 4 pm. I sat near a man from Kumasi who had come for a quick meeting at the hospital there. He had hoped to return to Kumasi that day but had rather underestimated the duration of the journey. I didn’t see him again but he would have been lucky to catch the last ferry back. I couldn’t find the Bradt recommended accommodation and somebody was in the only room at the Oasis, a smart new bar and restaurant opposite the Assembly building. I found a more than adequate room at the well signposted Genesis Guesthouse, in a quiet area just off the main road. I returned to the Oasis with my Daily Graphic and had a couple of Stars and jollof rice with fish at a shaded table as the sun rapidly sank. A brief power cut was a distinct improvement, depriving the handful of customers of the loud music and the satellite TV.

Not sure of what lay ahead I left the guesthouse just after 6:30 am the following morning. In the town centre there were a few tros but strangely nobody was boarding any of them. It was explained to me that nothing would happen until the first transport arrived from the Adawso ferry. The tros would then set out to the various communities across the plain. I found a shared taxi to Agordeke. The driver insisted in putting two passengers in the front next to him and four behind. This caused a lot of grumbling and when he took a very leisurely approach to refuelling and chatting to the filling station staff, there were some very dark mutterings from my fellow sardines. We set off. The reddish brown dust from the road gradually infiltrated the taxi and liberally coated those of us near the windows. By now Wilfred had attached himself to me. After about an hour we reached Agordeke. Wilfred took me to his brother’s house and we wiped the worst of the dust of with a towel. Later in the day though, I still seemed to be sweating brown liquid. We were still about a mile from the lake but Wilfred decided he wanted to visit almost every house on the way. Strangely and fortunately, everybody he wanted to greet was out.

At the water’s edge lay the ferry, The Fourth Republic. Gently rusting, occasionally creaking and slowly dissolving into the lake it was clearly a very long time since it had made the journey to Kpando. Its main purpose now seemed to provide covered seating to protect waiting passengers from sun and rain. As we arrived on the beach the long wooden passenger boat that now plies the route was just mooring along side The Fourth Republic. It was not yet 8 am. The crew abandoned the boat and found shady spots to rest in. A couple of cars and heavily loaded tros arrived. A white couple arrived but quickly returned the way they had come. Maybe they did not fancy 20 kilometres plus in the narrow wooden boat. After 10 am attention was turned to loading the boat with cargo and passengers. I reckon there were about sixty of us on board plus a fair amount of luggage. We were near casting off when another tro arrived. A huge argument erupted. The new arrivals wanted to board the boat and started unpacking their tro with this in mind. They pointed to small gaps on the benches where they could be shoehorned in. The passengers on the boat were divided. Some agreed that there were indeed gaps, but others were vehemently opposed to this not wanting to (further) compromise their safety. I sat quietly, reasoning that this would be the only time I would ever use this boat and the chances of it sinking on that one trip must be infinitesimally slim. The crew, wisely, did not seem to get involved in the shouting and continued their preparation to leave. At stem and stern were men with long bamboo poles. We were gently pushed away from the side of The Fourth Republic preventing the new arrivals from boarding. Once it became apparent that the boat was going to leave without them the decibels rose. Even when the outboard motor had started, drowning out the shore based protests, the debate continued on the boat for a good ten minutes and it was occasionally revived over the course of the journey.

The trip lasted about an hour and we passed more trees and several islands or former hills. We moored in a sheltered cove at Torkor. Wilfred found a taxi to take us to Kpando. Once there we parted before he could start dragging me around all his Kpando acquaintances. I had a Pepsi and bought oranges and an avocado. I was first to board the Kpando-Kpong tro - both towns sharing silent ‘K’ names. At Kpong I changed tros and was back in Koforidua before sunset.

Larabanga

There is, of course, a flip side to Mole. A short distance from the park’s main gate is the village of Larabanga. The creation of the game reserve and later the national park meant that many people had to be relocated. Compensation may have been provided, but it may not have gone to those who deserved or needed it. While it is illegal to kill the animals in the park, this does not stop the animals causing a nuisance when they come to the village. There are four villagers currently in prison because of incidents involving the killing of animals. Sentences can be in excess of five years.

Some attempts have been made to tap into the tourist dollars and cedis being spent up the road in Mole. There are a couple of guest houses and the village has its own attraction – its mosque, which is probably the oldest building standing in Ghana. Without written records there is no real way of telling just how old it is particularly as its mud and straw structure needs regular maintenance. I visited it with local guide A.D. He showed me the exterior and the interior of a building with a similar structure, to give the impression of what I would see inside if I were Muslim. The mosque itself is in the West Sudanese style and was looking very striking after its most recent repair and repaint job against a back drop of blue skies. Its small size, compared to the larger mosques in Burkina Faso, gives it a more intimate feel and reminds me of the modest Saxon churches in north-east England. A.D. said that the doorways were purposely made small to force those entering into bowing as they did so.

I was making mental comparisons between the conditions in Larabanga and those in the Eastern Region cocoa communities. Without the rich soils and vegetation and the abundant if unpredictable rainfall there are few potential sources of income here. There was evidence of charcoal making and I was shown the mill used to process maize and cassava. I was also taken to see a couple of the women involved in turning nuts into shea butter. Public transport is almost non-existent here and even the tourist office has almost entirely collapsed. A.D. believed that education was the key to improving livelihoods. He is studying at the polytechnic in Tamale, about four hours away. There are plans to build an Islamic school. The only school is Christian and the population is entirely Muslim.

The Bradt guide to Ghana devotes a few paragraphs to the experiences of visitors to Larabanga. Several were frustrated by the hassle they got from people asking for money and insisting on acting as guides. This behaviour is frustrating but you understand why the locals try it. I was fortunate and was not pestered at all. Maybe things have changed and there is an understanding that this kind of conduct will discourage visitors. Alternatively, there was a big wedding in town and it was Friday, the Muslim holy day. These may have provided a lucky distraction for me.

Mole

This is a guess, but I don’t there are many game reserves where you can get two nights bed and breakfast, two evening meals, a few beers, park fees and a two hour guided walk across the park for about $50. Mole (mo-lay) National Park, Ghana’s most important reserve is never going to compete with Kenya or South Africa as a destination for seeing wildlife. The journey to Mole is an invigorating experience. A couple of hours spent in a Metrobus rattling along a ridged, sun dried mud track (worse in the rainy season) is not to everybody’s taste. The Mole Motel is nearly fifty years old and in a need of major overhaul, but it is well staffed, has a pool, good food and great views of two waterholes. The range of wildlife you are likely to see is small but we saw elephants at close quarters and later watched them bathe in the waterhole. We saw green monkeys, bush buck, kop and baboons. Warthogs kept turning up all over the motel.

The new minister responsible for tourism has said that she is looking for ways to increase the numbers of tourists coming to Ghana. There have been plans to upgrade Mole Motel for some time and even talk of flying in tourists. With a sensitive upgrade and improved road connection more people could be attracted and most would be happy to pay a lot more than $50 for the experience.

No Sweat!

Tuesday was a first. As I may have mentioned it gets quite warm here, regularly in the mid thirties and very humid. Consequently I sweat almost constantly. My clothes are rarely dry and I can sometimes almost wring my shirt out when I get home.

On Tuesday I has a meeting in Accra. I was collected from the house in the ministry pick up, driven to the CARE International office in Osu. I spent the day in an air conditioned office and was then driven back to the house. For the first time in Ghana, I didn't break a sweat all day.

Posuban Shrines

On Thursday I returned to the coast of Central Region for a couple of days visiting a few more of the ruined European forts. I reached Mankessim on the Accra – Cape Coast road just before noon. Mankessim seems like little more than a busy transport junction today, but it was the first capital of the Fante people and it is home to the most impressive posuban shrine in Ghana. Posubans were constructed by military companies called asafo, who were responsible for defending their towns. The posubans, unique to the central coastal area of Ghana, were originally used for storage of arms and company regalia and are now of mainly ceremonial use. They are generally highly and bizarrely decorated.

The Mankessim Posuban is tucked away on a quiet road a few hundred metres from the town centre. Three storeys high and adorned with a range of exotic figures and creatures, the posuban serves as a memorial to the founding fathers of Mankessim, a tribute to the gods and a series of symbolic pieces of advice. Don’t judge by outward appearance, be prepared, listen to well meaning people and do not take them for granted and so on.

I found jollof rice at the tro station and took a shared taxi on to Saltpond. The custodian wanted ten cedis to see the posuban there and although he quickly dropped to five, it was still too much and I moved on down the coast to Anomabu, home to a number of posubans and Fort William, one of the most complete remaining forts. I checked into the Hotel Mariesabelle and found I was sharing it with a contingent of students from the Department of Architecture and Planning at the Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology in Kumasi. They were down to do a couple of days’ work at Fort William.

Friday was Independence Day (Ghana’s 52nd birthday) and I started with a short ride to Cape Coast to see the regional parade and march past. The salute was taken by Ms Ama Benyiwa Doe, the new NDC regional minister. When the parade was over I browsed for a while in the Black Star Bookshop. A TV in the corner was showing the president’s address at the main celebration in Accra. I had lunch overlooking the sea at the Castle Restaurant and then bumped into VSO volunteers Eddie, Behi and Paulo at a nearby coffee shop. While they had lunch, I took a taxi back up the coast to see Fort Nassau in Moree. The first Dutch fort in Ghana (1612) and built with Dutch bricks, what little is left has now been taken over by fish ovens and easily excited children. The views along the coast paid off the walk.

On Saturday the custodian at Fort William showed me a couple of the posubans in Anomabu, including one shaped like a large scale model of a European style war ship. I then walked east along the coast road to Fort Amsterdam at Abanze. Despite the name, this was actually the first British fort built on the coast (1631). It is now a substantial ruin with a prominent location. I picked a tro back to Mankessim. When the onward tro to Swedru lost power completely and gently glided to a halt, the driver carried out temporary repairs using the unwound metal ring from the ignition key. This turned out to be very temporary indeed as we stopped again a few metres on, but fortunately near enough to a roadside mechanic’s stall.

Trials and Tribulations

Monday morning should have been straight forward. Charge up my electricity smart card and spend an hour or so on the internet. It started by a visit to my landlord’s brother’s house across the compound to insert the smart card in my meter before charging. This done, I walked the mile to the main electricity office. There was a short queue to pay. The lady at the window took the card and money but told me the card had not been inserted in the meter so it could not be charged. I walked home. The landlord’s brother confirmed that the card had been inserted and that it sounded like it had developed a fault, as his had. I took the card back to the office. Fortunately I was dealt with promptly and was soon in the back of a 4WD heading back to the house with an engineer. We made a couple of stops on the way and, fortunately (again) we passed the landlord’s brother on the way. He gave me the key to his house so we could get at the meter. At the house, the engineer confirmed the faulty card. Unfortunately the car was not returning to the office so I made my third trip to the office. When I arrived the power was off and the computer was unable to validate a replacement card for me. By the time I had bought a newspaper and a huge bo froot (doughnut equivalent) the power had returned. One of the clerks tried to charge me 2 cedis for a replacement card. I objected and he capitulated. I left with my new card and headed for the internet cafe. The new card had to be inserted into my meter before it could be charged up. It was now three hours after I had begun the process, I must have walked five miles and I was no nearer charging my card than I had been when I started.

This was of course all hugely frustrating, but could have been a lot worse, particularly if I had not been able to get the key to my landlord’s brother’s house so easily. Daily life in Ghana, particularly involving customer service, presents many such annoyances but I have to be careful that I remain objective about them. Are they caused by Ghanaians or is something else responsible? In this case it was a faulty (probably very cheap) card. The service I received from the Electricity Company of Ghana was actually very prompt and efficient. The only negative aspect was the cheeky attempt to charge me for the new card. I accept that I might have been getting the VIP white man service but it doesn’t happen very often and it makes a change from being overcharged. Customer service generally is poor, even by comparison with other African countries but there are signs of improvement. For every bartender whose attention you can never attract, even though she has nothing else to do, there is a DVD seller who will go through his entire stock looking for the disc you want.

Miscellany

A combination of the age and condition of the internal paint work and the ferocity of the current spells of rain, mean that there are now chunks of white gloss paint on the floors of most rooms in the house.

The local branch of Melcom (think Argos, if it had existed in communist era Russia) has a small stock of Waitrose own brand tinned mackerel fillets – in vegetable oil or alternatively brine.

As the average Ghanaian barber has only two cuts in his repertoire – very short and even shorter, I have managed to go nearly six months since my last cut. I reckon with a little trim around the edges, I could probably go a few months more.

Yam Chip Wife

I fancied yam chips and pepper sauce on Saturday. I hadn’t had them for a week or so. Most week day lunches recently have been taken in the cocoa growing communities – usually boiled plantain and coco yam with palaver sauce. Either that or I just walk into one of canteens in town, order light soup with fish and rice and say the Agric. Officer will pay for it. It’s a curious arrangement, but it works so I don’t question it.

Anyway, I cycled into town and as I suspected the normal yam chip lady was not there and her stall was deserted. I don’t think she does Saturdays. I tried to remember where I else I could get freshly fried chips. (Older ones tend to get a bitter taste.) Then I realised I would have to visit my third or possibly fourth wife. The good thing about Yam Chip Wife (YCW, yes she has got a real name, but I have forgotten it and it’s probably not a good idea to have to ask her what it is and this stage) is that she doesn’t make the same demands as the others. There is no ‘where have you been?’, ‘what did you bring me from Accra?’ why didn’t you phone?’ she just accepts me for what I am and is always pleased to see me, no questions asked. Her stall is on the main road, beside the cash and carry and opposite the Shell Garage. When I sit in the back of the pick up, because there is no room inside, my colleagues always shout at her as we pass so that she notices me. Sitting in the back of the pick up always arouses quite a bit of excitement. I don’t think it’s seen as appropriate behaviour for ‘obrunis’.

I reached YCW’s stall. She was there and she immediately started putting chips in a bag without asking what I wanted. She put seven big wedges in a bag (I would normally ask for four) and then offered sauce, which I accepted and fish which I turned down. It had been a very fishy week. I proffered a 1 Ghana Cedi note. ‘No’, she said, ‘you are my husband’. I hesitated but then thanked her earnestly and put the hot bag in my rucksack. I pedalled off pondering if or how I should reciprocate this generous gift. As I cycled the chips gently warmed the small of my back.

The Honorable Nana Adjei Boateng

The transitional period of President Atta Mills government continues. On Thursday he gave his first State of the Nation Address and among the various announcements made was the revocation of the appointments of every single local authority chief executive in Ghana – all 140 plus of them. These are political appointments and therefore every one of them, regardless of the political loyalties of the residents of their districts, belongs to the ruling party. The NPP chief executives must therefore be replaced with NDC ones.

In fairness, it was an announcement expected much sooner. The President’s failure to oust the NPP chief executives on day one had provoked the first outburst of dissatisfaction from former President Rawlings. In 2001, President Kufuor had sent the then NDC chief executives packing immediately and Rawlings expected the same treatment for their successors. It was left to a government spokesperson to state that clearly the NDC had failed to explain fully to Rawlings and others why it had not been appropriate to dismiss the chief executives sooner. The NPP chief executives stayed on in a kind of limbo for more than six weeks. There will now be a period without chief executives when the newly appointed regional ministers are expected to be held responsible for the authorities. No doubt, they will work closely with the co-ordinating directors, the most senior civil servant in each authority.

This means the end of the road for the Honorable Nana Adjei Boateng as Municipal Chief Executive of the New Juaben Municipal Assembly. Notionally he was my boss during my initial placement in Koforidua. An imposing figure, particularly when dressed in one of his traditional smocks, Nana has the gift of being able to talk off the cuff to any group of people on any subject at a moment’s notice. He came to the local launch of the Cadbury Cocoa Partnership. ‘So Richard,what’s all this about?’, ‘Er, helping cocoa farmers in deprived communities’ and he was off for ten minutes on the issues facing cocoa farmers with conclusions not dissimilar to the ones which Cadbury’s research had uncovered. I have seen him address everyone from meetings on inclusivity in education, to presentations on Farmers’ Day, to turf cutting for school extensions, to passing out parades for the local disaster recovery team. The most alarming was when he suddenly appeared as guest of honour at the local rotary club a.g.m. It’s a long story as to what I was doing there, but I think he took great relish in ensuring that I took part in the dance interlude.

There was usually a sting in the tale to any of his ad hoc speeches. They would usually contain some kind of reprimand to the group concerned. This was probably a throw back to his previous career in teaching, but it meant that nobody was immune from a quick telling off whether it be the municipal HIV/AIDS working group – ‘we need more commitment from you, if we are going to do something about having the highest prevalent rate of HIV infection in the country,’ or the local umbrella group for organisations for persons with disabilities – ‘you’re not going to get anywhere if you don’t work together.’ His views on the evils of discarded water sachet bags are well documented.

He would arrive at every appointment, however close to the assembly, in his chauffeur driven, freshly polished black 4WD with smoked glass windows. You could never tell if he was in it or not, but whenever he saw me at the Assembly, he would always say he had spotted me recently on some street corner or another.

Had the NPP won the election, Nana would have been assured some worthwhile kind of promotion. As it is I’m not sure what will happen to him next, but at least he won’t be watching me through the smoked glass windows.

Fire Starters

As I was leaving the house one day recently, the compound suddenly filled with butterflies. As I approached each bush or tree another group would appear. The landlord was irritated. The previous evening the compound had been invaded by smoke from bush fires lit on the banks of the nearby stream. (The picture was taken from the compound.) The butterflies had lost their homes in the process and set up a temporary base with us. The phenomenon lasted a couple of days before they found somewhere more appropriate.

Lighting fires is a popular Ghanaian past time. Particularly during the dry season, you will regularly see small patches of brush burning. I was walking home from Dan’s house very late one evening when I saw a largish one near the top of the mountain. On a smaller scale, many households, including my immediate neighbours, burn their rubbish. I regularly wake with the smell of smoke in my nostrils.

You rarely see anybody managing the fires. They are just left to run their own courses. Occasionally they do get out of control, but fortunately the generally very damp conditions mean we are never faced with situations like the appalling ones recently experienced in Australia. That said, they are frowned upon and you will occasionally see appeals in the press from small communities asking the perpetrators to desist from this activity.