Human Traffic and the 60KG + ladies

The journey into the market was well timed, as although we beat many with our Dawn adventure, the roads were still busy. Vivian, or Mrs 'G' to you, drove well especially seeing that there were two African neighbours in the back of her car from the Mountain region. Both in traditional dress and one with a very large basket. Made worse by the absence of handles. We dodged the various examples of the African Bus, the street sellers who stand in the middle of three lane roads and even overtook one car. Mrs 'G' has a lovely car, I believe it was a gift from her Doctor son. We dropped off the basket lady and parked the car in the main car park. I quickly realised that Cudjo [Pronounce Koojoe] in his African splendor was there to protect me. I was unable to turn or cross the road without his guiding arm on my back. For once, no one came near the European. Mrs 'G' may be retired, but she sets a mean pace. Tamara like Patricia is also from good stock! I now realised why we left as dawn broke. This was no ordinary shopping trip, I thought we were there to find the best fresh produce at the best prices. No we were there to beat the Human Traffic. In and out of many alleyways we walked, nearly everyone chatting to Vivian as we passed and many as a result wanting to chat to me. A regular and popular customer of great standing in front of the shop keepers. Wherever we went, people stood up and beckoned Vivian to sit. I now realised who the slight girl carrying a large and empty metal basin was. This girl had approached as and chatted as we entered the market. This was an epic adventure and no weekly shop. Item after item was bought and the slight girl was to carry the lot. There we were, three adults, two of whom were strong male adults and this slight girl from the Northern Region was about to do all of the work. Head balancing carrying is a fine art of poise, strength and balance. Three ladies walked past, each carrying 6 plastic tubs with each tub weighing 10KG. To your average Aberystwythian this would have been considered as a feat of huge proportion. But hey ho, this was the week after the Olympics and my money was on the slight girl to walk away with the Gold Medal. And boy was I right. One bag, which I hasten to add was one of three, was too heavy for me to lift and took two people to put it into the basin and to lift it up to head height. I could hear the Ghanaian National Anthem and the people of the Northern Region cheering their success. The different tribes are identifiable by facial and body characteristics. I can identify someone from the Northern Region now, mainly because so many of them work hard in the market carrying produce and goods for the customers. I am also beginning to recognise Ashanti and other groups. The thing that strikes me as a European is the facial markings that must have been inflicted using a scalpel or similar tool. Europeans may cringe at this practice, but the reader must recognise that we are considering tradition that in the main stemmed from real need. In a time of crisis such as combat or flight, it is essential that you instantly recognise your kin, or you will kill or flee from the wrong person. We wondered through the market and I enjoyed hot sweet tea and an egg sandwich. Well to be quite honest, we all did. Mrs 'G' bought me a cup for the occasion, no not a cup of tea, but the actual cup to put my tea in to ensure that it was clean - and instructed the teamaker to boil the water. Basic stuff really when you are a nurse. Mrs 'G' worked in hospitals in the UK, Germany and Ghana. She is a proud and strong mother who cares for everyone in her community and is proud of her children. Her daughter is fluent in Ga (spoken in and around Accra), English, German, Ewe and Twi (spoken by about 15m people in Ghana). And I mean fluent, she reads German magazines and changes from language to language without hesitation. Now you only get that good with an education, and this is Africa and education costs money. Education unfortunately is not open to all, and the social commentary in the newspapers that I have read consider that slavery is still in Africa. Slavery of children who clean, or work for their family instead of going to school and receiving and education. While we were in the market I found some pieces of slate that had addition, multiplication and tables imprinted on them. "Fine things" said Mrs 'G', "from those you can make a doctor, a teacher and a judge". Jeff is a teacher, so all is well there then. Education is so important, and I am so impressed by how my host sets off to teach sometime around 0630 and returns at 2000 to settle down and to prepare his lesson plans before retiring after 2300 to get up again. With these work ethics and desire to do good for his community, weekends must be so precious. Work ethics is something the girls from the Northern Region do not lack. Very hard working, extremely polite and instantly to the aid of their sponsor at that moment in time. There is no slacking on their shift and quite rightly so our slight girl was well looked after. As we broke for breakfast I bought her water, and when we finished the epic shopping expedition, Vivian handed her more than most adult workers would receive for a day's wage, and I tipped her at 50% of her final payment. Those stood around were genuinely surprised and pleased for her. But boy, oh boy could she lift some serious weight. 60KG, ladies? Nah do yourself a favour and find someone from the North, they can carry more.

An African Dawn

I awoke at 0420 and saw Mr Jacko just above my head. Scary or what? But as I came to, I realised it was the light switch, phew! My bucket of water, or should I say as a new conservationist my half bucket of water, stretched to three tasks this morning. I shaved, showered and flushed the toilet with what was left. We are talking two full kettles of water here ladies and gents and not the Rheidol Dam. Shower, you may be thinking. How is that possible? Well you use one good flannel and squeeze water prior to applying the shampoo, and then the same flannel dipped in the bucket with the soap. Lot's of splashing and very little waste. I now understand why African's use a net as a shower flannel/sponge. It does not absorb sweat and does not need to be washed out frequently and is subsequently more hygenic than our European behaviour. A plus side is that the net will also remove dead skin and needs little water as there is no absorbtion. By 0515 I was outside and enjoying hearing the birds sing. Which was a welcome change to the Frogs! The frogs sang throughout the night, and at one stage I thought I was also croaking, but woke up just as my snoring finished. My breakfast this morning consisted of a large coffee [Nescafe in a tin], and apple juice with water. Well what did you really expect? Not even I can eat at this time of the night :-)

Back in Haatso

It is 9.15 pm and I have just got back into Jeff's home at Haatso, and I am enjoying a large coffee, banana cake and some orange biscuits. But not like anything you have eaten in the UK. It has been a great day, and I look forward to updating my Blog over the next hour or so. I had planned to have a very large beer, but unfortunately the shop was closed as we pulled up in the taxi.

Beep, beep, beep, beep

The last time I woke up at 5 am it was to get dressed and respond to an emergency call after my pager went off. Tomorrow's 0500 alarm [I have set two already] is to go shopping. Tamara’s Mum has offered to collect me at 5 a.m. and to take me shopping in Accra as she is driving in and likes to do her shopping early. My wife Pauline also likes to do her shopping early, but 5 a.m. – You can’t be serious. Mrs Gyapong is serious and I don’t mess with a serious lady. So my alarms are set and if I am lucky then I might get to see the beach or maybe one of the sites such as the National Theatre, New Parliament Building or my preferred option of a row of African huts being erected some two miles down the road. Anyway, it’s almost midnight here and I must get at least five hours sleep. But before I go, you may be asking yourself while all this blogging and not being out there living the experience further? Well, there are no street lights where I am staying [as in most of Africa], Mosquito’s come out after dark [not like WallJecko he is around all the time] and the heat is intense. So, settling down under a ceiling fan with one or two large beers, reliving the memories before they fade seemed like a good way to spend my vacation. Plus of course, those of you who haven’t been to Africa get to know a little bit more about this tiny part of a huge Continent. So, good night bloggers and remember “Ma we ni ngye” – Be Happy

Finger Food

What a meal, my hosts just cooked me a milled corn that is the size of a large bun and is called something that sounds not too dissimilar to ‘Kinky’. I think it is Kenke. Tamara is a great cook and the corn was accompanied by a fish and a separate [but on the same plate] hot tomato based sauce. I hesitated and looked around for the cutlery and the realisation dawned on me that this was to be eaten using my fingers. You must only use your right hand, and the idea is to break off a bit of the corn and spread it to scoop/soak the tomato sauce. A truly wonderful experience; in taste, and texture, use of my fingers. Sounds easy, but it’s quite difficult using just one hand when you are a finger virgin. Oh, and yes. It was washed down by another one of those exceedingly large beers!

Hi Roger, I seen you in Church on Sunday

Dozing in the mid day sun, Eleanor appeared. A pensioner of 60+ who looks like she is 48 – 49. A relative of Patricia’s, my friend Michael is marrying into good stock. Eleanor escorted me around Accra and we visited the resting place of the first President of Ghana following the declaration of Independence from British Colonial rule in 1957. Low and behold, the chicken man was there as well, he had moved pitches and spotted his old friend from Europe. “You buy, only 2 Cedis.” So this time the price started at a reasonable level, but my position was unchanged. A nice toy, but everything is nice and where do you stop? We also visited the old Parliament house. There is a new one in a different location and the Law Courts. It appears that justice is administered that is fitting to the circumstances of all concerned, and not necessarily a decision based on our principle of; “beyond all reasonable doubt” for criminal cases. One poor fellow was escorted from the courts by two wardens in military wear, one of whom had a hefty looking automatic rifle. The Warden beckoned the traffic on the main road to stop, nobody argued. Prisoner number 1 climbed into the packed coach with the wire mesh windows and off to a poorer life. I gathered a few more postcards and stamps for those who don’t know about my African Blog and sightseeing was followed by a meal in a restaurant that cost 5 Cedis [£2.50] per person including a bottle of water, and a very long trip back to Haatso by African Bus. This was a scorching hot day for this European although it was a relatively cool day for Ghanaians and other Africans [March is their hottest month]. It was a long slow packed bus journey along some dusty roads, but Ebenezer Plaza loomed in the distance and I shouted Papao, Papao,

Lost in a city of Millions

En-route to the book deposit I met the chicken man. He held a small wooden paddle with three wooden chickens pecking the fixed seed, with a piece of wood and cotton underneath the paddle operating the chickens. “Morning Papa, 5 Cedis to you,” “I’m sorry” I responded. I only have money for my lunch and a taxi back to Haatso. “No problem, you can have it for 3 Cedis.” It is good to negotiate, and you never pay the asking price in Ghana unless the price is written on the object or where the object is located. “No, I replied. It is worth more than that.” A look of surprise on the sellers face was worth a photograph, but this is Accra and as a White European it would be foolish to pull out my camera while unaccompanied. “No, I have many look.” At which point he showed me five or six more of these toys resting in his right pocket. “I’m sorry my friend, but I am not a rich European and I must keep what is left of my money to buy my lunch and pay to get home.” He would not be deterred. “Ok, for you 2 Cedis.” My answer remained the same, at which point he recalled some basic understanding of economics and offered me the toy for nothing on the understanding that I would return tomorrow and pay for it. In the space of five minutes he had negotiated his price down, from 5 Cedis to zero and 24 hours credit. And we think that there is a worldwide credit crunch. I smiled and explained my circumstances again and bid my farewell. The traffic moves fast and crossing the road takes a lot of time. I made it to where I wanted to be but I couldn’t quite find the Book Deposit. I asked a policeman which is always a good strategy to ensure your safety (but be careful asking a soldier with a machine gun, as they don’t seem to like to be talked too, especially if you ask to take their photograph!). The policeman directed me, walked with me for a while and then declared that he was wrong and directed me back to where I had been. Phew, it’s a good job one of us knew our way around Accra. The book deposit was a welcome sight, and a chair in the shade with the Fanta that I had carried all morning was a much needed break. The church guards and I chatted about Colonialism and slavery and a healthy hour was spent relaxing.

The Arts Centre

We arrived in Accra around 1045 and I walked to the African Centre of Culture. After a cool bottle of Fanta at 50 peswas (25p) sat in the shade of a cafe, I roamed the craft shops. I bought some small presents for my daughters and my grandson. I picked up a present for my wife later in the day while walking through the streets of Accra. I also managed to pick up a new strap for my mobile phone, not the great piece of African art that I wanted, but nevertheless a functional strap that allowed me to secure my phone to my belt and then place the phone in my pocket. I did not want to concern my family, but I had an eventful first day in Ghana, whereby I was intimidated at the airport by three guys who were pretending to be security personnel in order to extort money from me [never, ever step out of the airport until your lift is organised and your friend or escort is waiting for you (my friend failed to arrive and left me at the mercy of those who wanted my money. I probably felt more intimidated than necessary, but nevertheless it was a painful experience)]. The same night I had my new mobile phone and camera combination stolen by a man with no legs who reached into our car while moving himself along on a skateboard. He was astonishingly strong and fast with a powerful torso and swift movement on the skateboard. In the split second that he broke the wrist strap and seized the phone, I gave him a true look of disappointment and unbelievably he repented and threw the broken phone (it had separated into three parts) back into the car. So a new strong strap for my main camera and phone contact was an essential part of the day. My Sony phone is working fine as we find the third part when we stopped and checked inside the car. The phone is minus its original strap. But fine nevertheless. Selecting the presents was also fun and after photographing a monkey on the main gate of the ‘Arts Centre’, who patiently waited for me to take the shot, I then made my way towards the Presbyterian Book Deposit next door to the Presbyterian Church.

Accra, Accra, Accra

A stunning hot morning and the factor 40 was on before I left Papao 11 Street in the Community of Haatso [pronounced ‘hachoo’ as in a sneeze (achoo)]. I patiently waited at the designated bus stop and I was the fourth one to arrive. You hear horns everywhere in Ghana, especially when a Taxi Driver sees a European. The horn is sounded to get your attention in the hope that you will take his taxi. I have written ‘his’, because there is a predominance of male drivers on the Ghanaian roads. They toot, even when you are stood at a designated bus stop. Fourth in line, but yet 15 fellow passengers beat me to the first few buses. You have to learn quickly in Ghana if you are to survive. Along came another African Bus, the money collector [there are no tickets] hanging out of the side window waving his right arm and shouting; ‘Accra’, ‘Accra’, ‘Accra’. The price was low at around 50p for many, many miles. But 21 of us were in the Minibus and every time someone decided to alight, then I had to get off as well and then climb back on.