Air Con

I am sat in the Air Conditioned Computer Suite at Jeff's school. It beats the heat. The school is very nice indeed. A modern swimming pool, lovely walkways and playing areas, and good quality equipment. But this is an International School and your average school in Ghana does not meet this standard. Remember Mrs 'G' and her profound comment regarding the Slate. As a fatalist I know that everything happens for a reason. Jeff introduces me to one of his British Colleagues, he mistakes me as coming from the North of England, I explain that I am Welsh. Jeff has a small chess set on the side at home and I had already decided a gift that I am posting to Africa. Perception is reality, but never make an assumption, as you will often get it wrong. I thought Jeff dabbled, and I shirked his offer of a game as I didn't want to embarrass my host in anyway. It turns out Jeff has an ELO rating. A pretty good one at that, well at least his colleague does. But then again those that play chess understand the variations in the grading systems and that some countries have weaker ELO ratings but stronger players. The quality of the pool of players is what matters and regular weekend tournaments tend to hone your skill. An English 1900 player is a very strong player especially if he is in practice. A decade ago, chess was big in my life. Now my family are, and to a lesser extent and in a different way so are my friends. At one time I organised the largest Chess Club in Wales and donated equipment and my time to schools throughout Ceredigion. I was also a qualified International Chess Arbiter, and this is probably why I turned towards being a football referee in the late 90's. But like chess that is also back in a former life. Jeff's colleague wants to meet, and I was polite. But this is Africa, time is short and I would rather sit with Jeff and Tamara, Michael and Patricia, Mrs 'G' and Cudjo, Alice et al., and let them all win than play a competitive game with a stranger. Now that's a change, because in the past I would have let no one win. Ask my girls, and Jodi played for Wales. It certainly is a small World.

Small World

Jeff has the same table mats as us. It's a small World and a smaller post.

Flying again

I slipped again today. This time on the way to the shops. Luckily it was near a gate and the pillar stopped me hitting the floor. Unfortunately, the pillar did not stop my left footing landing in the frog ditch. I could have blamed the frog that distracted me as I ambled along the path. A crazy creature that lept infront of me, jumped to my right and then headed towards me while I was taking a step. I shuffled, he made it through the gap and into the water. There's no Highway Code in Ghana. "Fancy driving on the right" I thought. I could have blamed it on my sandals after yesterdays fall. But that would have been unfair as I was wearing a new pair that I had haggled for at the Market. Nope, it was plain stupidity. Wet wood, smooth soles = no grip. Luckily only my pride was hurt, anyway I had my sunglasses to hide behind and I just knew that no one could see my sodden left leg. "Hey ho" as Pauline says.

Who turned on the tap?

The rain has stopped, but I am now leaking. I bathed only an hour or so back, and I cannot find out who has turned on the tap on top of my head. Writing about heads is important, as many turned my way as I walked to the shops to buy my hosts and others a drink. "Who is that crazy American" they must have been thinking as I ambled past with an umbrella. A few Africans also had an umbrella, but I was the only one wearing sunglasses. I got rid of the sunglasses, the rain stopped and I put away the umbrella. It didn't help much, the child in the Newspaper Stand screamed as I walked past. No, he wasn't hungry, it was probably the first European that he had ever seen. Now I know how Captain James Cook felt. Wrong area for sure, but the principle is the same. Elias (The Civilizing Process, the Germans) and Niall Ferguson (War of the World [20Th Century history]) tell us about the insignificant differences between mankind. We are all one species but too often than not we regress into tribal behaviour and deem one group civilised and others not. Simultaneously the second group deem themselves to be civilised and cannot comprehend the barbaric behaviour used against them. In many ways, that's real irony. Sometimes two armies coming together and both shouting to God but in different languages, supported by different cultures and with different values and behaviours. The reality is; neither group is wrong, neither group is un-civilised, we are all simply different. Mankind is one species, all of the current inhabitants descend from Africa. Climate, the need for hunter/gatherers, facial and body preferences, and many other factors may have shaped us, but we are all the same. The child carried on screaming, his sister waved and his mother laughed. There was no language barrier; as the smiles, the waves and the signs said it all. I wish they had spoken English, as I would have asked them how to turn off this tap.

The net

Yes there is electricity in Africa and many people are connected to the information super highway. My host know's what he is doing with Information Technology, and he is a dab hand at proxy's, serial ports and wiring. Accra, like many major cities, has several Call Centres and Telecommunications Buildings. Unfortunately for those of you who are techies, this part of my Blog is not about the World Wide Web. It is instead an appraisal of that yellow bit of net hanging in one of the three rooms that adjoin one another with a single entrance door and collectively make up the bathroom. Well I say 'bathroom', but of course there is no bath as water is scarce in Africa. Athough you wouldn't think so during the current rainy season. Those that have been following the Blog will know about my speculative comparison between the flannel that I use at home (and so far on this visit) and the pieces of net used for washing in Africa. Well I think that I had it weighed up just about right. Except for one small point; the net is far more effective at creating soap suds than I could have ever imagined. The Mains water is still turned off and the 25 gallon drums inside the house are starting to run dry. Not a problem for drinking as we use bottled water or the water dispenser that my host runs in his kitchen that is just like those which we find in many office blocks in the UK. We also use lager :-)

But water shortage means careful bathing, cutting down on the laundry and careful but effective dish washing. Water that is used (if it has waste in it then it is tipped away) can go into the flush and not down the sink. With the heavy rain, there is so much water, but yet so little. Those with a house and sloped roof can collect the water relatively easy. Not so easy if you live in a small shack and can hardly afford to eat let alone buy numerous buckets etc., But the net was good and my water use has been decreased yet again - but my hygeine is as high as ever. I must remember to disconnect the shower when I get back home. But before I leave, I need to pop to the local shop (if it's open in this weather) "Four nets please, and a very large bar of Ghanaian soap".

Hi Bloggers

Don't forget if you are new to this Blog - you should scroll to the bottom and read that message first. Please note that this Blog is aimed at my African friends as well as my British friends and family. It's not just a message home to my wife Pauline and my daughters, it is a collection of thoughts and reflections that are written while the memory is fresh. I have tried to draw comparisons between the UK and this part of Africa and everything has been written in good faith. If you are one of the family and friends and want an amendment, then please contact me on Facebook and I will make the correction when I am next on line. Photographs of my visit will be uploaded soon, but this might be after I return to the UK. I also hope to write some Blog when I arrive back at home in Wales.

Father Time and Bob the Builder

So much to do and so little time to do it in. I am off to Abelemkpe this afternoon to visit the school where Jeff' is a teacher. It is next to the Kasapa telecommunications building. I never tell the taxi driver where I want to go, I always show him the words. Language is a barrier and it's worth writing down where you want to go. Those who know me, know that I plan and always try and develop a strategy. My African strategy is to get home safe each day. To do so, I have taken photographs of the neighbourhood, the street where the house is, the house, and a close up of it's complex address details. If I wanted to mail someone, you do not address the letter to the house like we do in the UK. There are too many houses, and some do not have addresses. It is always to a PO Box number. So if you are doing business with someone in Africa do not be surprised when they offer you a PO number and not a house address. I know the house number and the street but there are many numerals and a lot of detail on a wall plate near the gate. Similar details exist, often scrawled in paint on the walls of many other houses.



That is, those houses that have walls. It is so difficult in a blog to explain the variety of architecture and settlements that exist in this small part of Africa. Some wood, some concrete block, many with corrugated roofing and most sturdy structures constructed in block work. Lintels are supported during construction with bamboo. It is an astonishing site to see some of the five storey buildings construction in this way. The finished article looks good, but the building site activities do not look safe. three storey scaffolding towers, I recently went up a single storey one and it wobbled, and that was with a ladder tied to support it. These are crazy height towers for not so crazy workers. Poverty is forever present and those that work do what they are told or do not receive pay. There are no safety harnesses and no bump hats. Most of what we take for granted in the UK is no existent. But a lot of what we don't have is here in abundance; humility, kindness and social responsibility for your fellow man. This is a great country and these are great people.

Rain, rain, don't go away

There are three good things about the rain: the heat stops, the heat stops, and the heat stops. Well by heat, I mean a combination of the sun's glare and the crushing humidity. I was walking along the other day and I heard someone say "oh, he carries his water with him". Boy oh boy, do I carry my water. Not on my head like the weightlifters of the Northern Region (I wouldn't want to mess with them in a fullscale battle - fast, strong and quick thinking. Probably the worst possible adversary). Music is big in Cudjo's life, military history is big in mine. Rain means no heat, water collection in buckets and bowls (well in anything that is to hand), a dampening of the dust, and the lovey sound of what must be Crickets (but I am not sure). The rain just stopped, and so did the music. The heat has began, and the day is already moving at a pace. In a few minutes I shall be having my bucket shower and stepping out with a stride. This week has been full of turmoil, the Groom fell ill, the Wedding was likely to be postponed until the week after I return to the UK and everyone has been feeling the pressure. I have been feeling the heat and humidity - bring on the rain.

Michael just rang and explained that the traditional wedding is going ahead this evening and the church wedding as scheduled tomorrow. Apparently I place my gifts on the 'Gift Table' and the ladies teach me how to dance. Not at the church (although there is a Gift table there as well)but at the Reception. It's is being held in a large hall with the brickwork deliberately gapped to allow the cool (sic) air through. Let's hope Cudjo is invited and he treats the guests to an African melody.

Traditional Ghanaian Music

We stopped at the red light, the street sellers swarmed around our car. The music blaring nearby - the beat was on. It sounded good and there was serious activity in the urban jungle. The seller had parked his van, complete with nightclub sound system, at one of the busiest junctions in Accra Central. The tailback that we had endured was due to his marketing activities. My eldest daughter took a Masters in Audience Theory and Reception Theory and is now a Marketing Officer at the Welsh National Opera. I bet they never taught Jodi the 'two into one roadblock ploy'! Two busy lanes into one and gridlock as a result of the mayhem. But hey ho, it was good for business and the young girls and boys were plying their music trade well. For these children I did not despair, it is still school holidays for many in Ghana for another two weeks. Carrying CD's and tapes of the artist playing in our street disco, they approached our car. There was no hesitation, Mrs 'G' bought a gift for her daughter and I thought "good choice". The strange thing was, I didn't think of buying one myself. Maybe I shall explain to my hosts and new friends about the Cardi Tradition. I am an extremely bad singer and my music choice ranges from Jazz, through certain Opera and some easy listening (Eagles and Dixie Chicks), and onto Pink Floyd. My daughters love music and entered the Eisteddfodau to sing traditional Welsh songs. Each of them sang/or still sing in a choir and listen to their music with passion. Cudjo loves his music, and sings a combination of (if there is such a thing) African Jazz and traditional Ghanaian songs. "We enter this World to prepare ourselves for the next, and music is my way of preparing for when I die." He is 25, Cudjo is not ill. It is simply his belief and the strong religious conviction that he holds as a practising Catholic. Cudjo uses one of two recording studies (but these are very expensive and I get the impression it is about recording live music rather than mixing to improve for resale. So a user is paying for the studio time and not the expertise of the sound technician) and he plays keyboard and I suspect is the lead vocalist. When he sings, the movement is trance like as he projects an image of someone who is in tuned in completely with the lyrics and meaning of the song. The meaning is probably more important than anything when the traditional songs echo out in the night. They are historical stories, a way of learning and passing their value set down from generation to generation. There's no drum, no keyboard, no tapping. Just words that everyone (other than the White European guest) knows. But Cudjo translates at pace and with passion. For this is his heritage and probably his future.

Hey folks, who stole the roads?

Last night's taxi drive was a true adventure. Never mind the 4x4 that got stuck next to Mrs 'G's, this was Africa and we were in a beat up Ford Escort. A bog standard vehicle, with no raised suspension but as I found out it did have a flexible floor. I say we, as my African Minder Cudjo accompanied me on my long trek home to ensure my safety. Not so much that I was unsafe, but 'perception is reality' and I perceived insecurity due to the language barrier, and the length of the journey in the dark. There are few street lights in Africa and hardly any along the roads that we travelled. These were not single vehicle tracks, they are major arterial roads between large communities. In Ghana, unlike Britain, they drive on the same side as Continental Europe. But last night there was no left or right, just weaving in any direction to overcome the potholes and trenches that had been created by the rain. Not British potholes, but African - the best! Cars stopped as our driver carefully picked his way through the road jungle. We crunched, bashed and scraped our way along. At one point I felt the floor in the back of the car lift and descend as we crossed one of the potholes and emerged at the other side. That Landrover Discovery would have come in handy again. Who needs to go on Safari, when so much activity exists on your doorstep? From the vultures of Ghana University (see earlier post), to my pet Lizard (Mr Jacko), and the potholes of the Adente to Haatso connection; it all exists in Ghana.

All things African

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.

Batman and no Robbing

Yet another day passed off without an incident. Accra is safe providing you take care. If alone, then walk with purpose. Irrespective of being alone or with others, don't open your wallet in public places. I keep my money in my wallet, some more in my shirt pocket and some tucked away in my sunglasses pouch. If I am paying for goods, I use the notes or change in my pockets or the pouch and avoid showing my wallet, unless I am in a safe place. The drive to the mountains involved a journey along the main autoroute out of the city. As the car began to slow for a red light, Mrs 'G' mentioned the bats. All around us were thousands of birds, except when I looked closely, these were bats, each the size of a pigeon. Although they pose a health hazard, apparently the officials will not kill them as there is an inherent love of animals throughout the country. But come on guys, these were pigeon size bats flying around in broad daylight! I don't mind a few in a cave or in the loft, but monsters next to the main hospital? Talking about disease, Mrs Gyapang reminded me that "a mosquito does not distinguish between the Black Man and the White, it will bite anyone" and for that reason we detoured to my temporary residence to collect my Malaria tablet. You may recall, that I couldn't eat at dawn and the tablet has to be taken with or after food. One tablet a day for two days before the trip, one a day while in Africa and one a day for seven days thereafter. When we collected the tablet, I also picked up my insect repellent lotion. I had sprayed my arms and legs in the morning but something had a good nibble of my cheek. My fault, you live and learn. Spray is good for the arms and legs, but use lotion for the back of the neck and the face. It was also good later on into the evening, as the Mosquito's stayed away while biting others. But I have to ask; who is going to invent anti-bat spray for the pigeon bats of Ghana?

A Busman's Holiday

Well it had to happen, didn't it? There was no way that I could travel to Africa and not pop into the Central Fire Station. The pump was positioned outside of the main doors resting on the forecourt just like in the UK. The officers wore the traditional Fire Service rank markings and are referred to as Divisional Officer Grade III, Divisional Officer Grade II and Senior Divisional Officer. They also wear red lanyards or a black shoulder cover on one side. Unlike the choir who wear yellow polo shirts. Yes, you heard it here. The Ghanaian Fire Service have a uniformed choir, all of whom were sat in the appliance room awaiting their next activity. We were treated well by our hosts and I chatted at length with their Control Room ladies, well you have to, don't you? It would have been unpolite not to have given them some attention. My African minder had become a dab hand with my Sony phone camera and was snapping everyone like David Bailey. I am going to enjoy getting these shots developed back in the UK. I carry two cameras, both of which are connected to my belt to avoid losing them in the crowd. You cannot afford to travel from one Continent to another and risk losing your only set of pics. The Control staff challenge suspected false alarm malicious calls. Whereas the firemen, shirk off the heat and use the larger 75mm diameter hose to fight their fires. Language was not a barrier as all of the officers spoke excellent English. So much so that Cudjo, Mrs 'G' and I joined them in the Officer's Mess. Well it was 0930 and the sun was blazing again. One cool drink later we bid our farewells, thanked them for their hospitality and set off again through the Human Traffic.