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.