Another cup of hot sweet tea with Mrs 'G' and her extended family. It is quite apparent that Vivian is the bedrock of her community and so many depend on her and the shop and small bar that she runs towards the end of what I can only describe as a Shanty Town. Ghana is a Third World country, and to suggest otherwise would be self-deception. Those who can afford little, can always afford something at her small part of the World. An extended family that is not necessarily related kin, these are not just her blood relatives, but are friends from the community. No wonder so many call her "mother". Vivian' hospitality, like many others that I have met during my African journey will lead me to extend my value set even further. I thought that I was generous and extremely caring, but to be in the company of such people as the Ghanaian's that I have spent time with is a truly humbling experience. Lunch consisting of fu-fu, light soup and Chicken [around 4.30pm] was prepared by two women and a young man. The man lit the charcoal fire, and provided the heavy work for the fu-fu, while one woman cooked the chicken and the soup and the other woman took charge of the fu-fu. This is made from Yam, that is turned and watered with one hand like making dough. This might sound easy but while the single hand [clean right hand] is doing the dough like action, the yam is being mashed by a strong lad holding a six foot pole that is smashing itself down into the bowl where the moving hand is operating. Each crashing thump, landing exactly where the hand was only a second before. I had a go, the hand moved quickly. I don't blame her, it was a heavy pole, I didn't know what I was doing, some of my strokes landed no where near the yam, and everyone was laughing. Strangely, she wasn't.
The heavens opened up and more water fell on Ghana than I had seen in a lifetime. It probably came as no surprise to the others, that I fell. Slipping on the path as I made my way to the Bar. I bet the yam bowl lady was glad that I slipped after using the six foot stick and not while I was bashing away. Mind you, the nurse sprang into action and my African Minder applied the alcohol. Unfortunately not in a glass, this shot was straight onto my grazed knee. While we waited for lunch, I listened to Ghanaian traditional drum music with Cudjo the musician singing traditional songs. When he was not singing, he translated the Ghan into English so that I understood the music.
Lunch was fantastic. The light soup tasted like hot pepper soup but there is no pepper involved. Ginger, Garlic and Onions were present and a few things that I did not recognise. The meal was served at the table and as a European in line with Norbert Elias and his work on Manners; I was offered a spoon. I was also offered a small bowl in which to wash my hands prior to eating, in case I elected to eat with my right hand - not not the soup silly, the chicken on the bone! The yam sits in the plate like a stronger version of our mashed potato, but mashed potato it ain't. A new host, and yet again the host appears surprised that I am willing to try a traditional dish and that I finish the meal. Mind you, spooned bony chicken is a difficult task. But to my credit I managed it and after the initial shock of the heat of the soup [and I don't mean the temperature], I even managed all of the soup as well. The rest of the afternoon and into the evening was taken up by listening to my host and three others singing traditional African songs as we watched the waters run by the house. Slow songs, but fast water. The road had become two rivers and someone in a 4x4 got stuck outside of the house. I laughed, "should have bought a Landrover Discovery", I thought to myself. Mind you, his car was pretty good for Africa.
Vivian Gyapang, I salute you.
The heavens opened up and more water fell on Ghana than I had seen in a lifetime. It probably came as no surprise to the others, that I fell. Slipping on the path as I made my way to the Bar. I bet the yam bowl lady was glad that I slipped after using the six foot stick and not while I was bashing away. Mind you, the nurse sprang into action and my African Minder applied the alcohol. Unfortunately not in a glass, this shot was straight onto my grazed knee. While we waited for lunch, I listened to Ghanaian traditional drum music with Cudjo the musician singing traditional songs. When he was not singing, he translated the Ghan into English so that I understood the music.
Lunch was fantastic. The light soup tasted like hot pepper soup but there is no pepper involved. Ginger, Garlic and Onions were present and a few things that I did not recognise. The meal was served at the table and as a European in line with Norbert Elias and his work on Manners; I was offered a spoon. I was also offered a small bowl in which to wash my hands prior to eating, in case I elected to eat with my right hand - not not the soup silly, the chicken on the bone! The yam sits in the plate like a stronger version of our mashed potato, but mashed potato it ain't. A new host, and yet again the host appears surprised that I am willing to try a traditional dish and that I finish the meal. Mind you, spooned bony chicken is a difficult task. But to my credit I managed it and after the initial shock of the heat of the soup [and I don't mean the temperature], I even managed all of the soup as well. The rest of the afternoon and into the evening was taken up by listening to my host and three others singing traditional African songs as we watched the waters run by the house. Slow songs, but fast water. The road had become two rivers and someone in a 4x4 got stuck outside of the house. I laughed, "should have bought a Landrover Discovery", I thought to myself. Mind you, his car was pretty good for Africa.
Vivian Gyapang, I salute you.
