The Reception

The journey from the Church to the reception was smooth. Jeff is a good driver and anticipates that actions of others. He would make a great Road Seller, but unlike them Jeff is educated. I value education and have been on a great learning journey throughout my life. I did not excel at school, but I did receive an award aged 16 for the best achievement in terms of what was expected and what was achieved. My peers and I were expected to average 1 Ordinary Level each. I got 5 and 3 CSE Grade II's. A massive score and I received a cup at the school assembly. My achievements were driven by the behaviour of another person. The Careers officer had told me that I needed to get five O levels, and that this was not possible. In the words of Michael Appiah, I kept hope alive and broke the myth. This is what has always driven me to better things. Jeff seems to have the same energy and determination. Like Michael and the Amissah family, they also value education. Mrs 'G' values education as well.

The reception takes place in a grand hall of two storey's in height, with gaps amongst the block work and no nets. I ask about the Mosquito's. "There are none around here" Nigel replies, "Okay" I say. Okay is a Ghanaian thing, I'm learning fast. We sit at tables with six seats. they are nicely decorated with a name plate in the middle. No one sits at the 'Justice' table, but I grab the 'Passion' one. Jeff and Tamara join me, but not before Nigel makes his way across.

The Bride and Groom arrive and the MC draws our attention and we clap and cheer. They take their seats on the podium. A stage about four foot higher than the floor of the hall. I smile and wave, they smile back. The MC uses a microphone and those that are asked to speak do the same. A profile of a person is read out and he is announced as the Chairperson for the Reception. He joins the happy couple and sits at their table. Everyone claps, even me, well he does seem like a nice chap. Another profile is read out, "A fine CV" comments Jeff. I'm not really interested, I am smiling at Mr and Mrs Appiah. They are smiling back from their table on the stage and then the words hit home, the MC is talking about me. It's English, but it is also African. The structure and emphasis is different, the words are kinder and more generous. Jeff beckons me to stand, I stand, I smile and I wave. "What are you doing says Jeff, you're spoiling it. Get going, you have to join them on the stage". 200 people clap and I move swiftly to join my other friends. The clapping continues, I'm humbled again.

The speeches are good, the microphone is not. I am asked to make a speech, but I have none prepared. 400 eyes look at me, there is silence. I grab the microphone and bid them good afternoon in Welsh and then explain. I'm Welsh, I am not English. England, Wales, Scotland and Ireland came together to form a Union. I see Patricia's and Michaels Wedding as a Union. A coming together of two great families. I explain that they have honoured me as a special guest, but that I am not special. "Each of you are special", I tell them. Because your families came together and you have attended this grand event to support Michael and Patricia. I explain that I am saddened that some stayed away, but ask those that are present to join me in a round of applause for the happy couple.

No sooner than I sit and we are beckoned to take some food. We leave the stage and approach the caterers. This is a grand affair, the food runs the whole length of one of the walls of this great hall and there must be seven or eight people serving. I go for rice, rice, and rice. Not any old rice, and none of it is the same. The very spicy brown rice is my favourite, especially with some Shitdo. But not too much unless you have a good supply of water. I ask Jeff what the pie thing is, he replies "chicken". I look again and realise that he is right. Jeff's always right. There's pasta and some sauces that I would have tried but my plate was looking full. I asked for a white thing, the person next to me and the person serving looked surprised. "Are you sure?" "Yes" I said. "Break him some off" came the reply, "just in case he doesn't like it". He did. It wasn't potato and it wasn't yam. It may have been based on maize, but I'm not African so I don't know. It tasted good, and didn't need the Shitdo. I walked back to the table clutching my plastic knife and fork. Well there were no finger bowls and everyone else was doing the same. The problem was, I forgot that we had silver cutlery on the top table. Everyone laughed, so did I. Things are different in Africa, but not alien. The Wedding presents are deposited on the 'Gift Table' which is attended by two appointees. They ask you to sign a gift register and then hand you a personalised thank you card. The gifts are not opened in front of the guests. They are opened in the evening, the next day or after the Honeymoon. This is different and may seem strange. But when comparing to European behaviour we must recognise that opening the gifts in private prevents any embarrassment. Guests are not clocked when placing a gift on the table or walking past. No one really knows who placed what, if anything. There is no competition and no disappointment. This is Africa, there is a lot of poverty and who would want a friend to stay away (or feel that they should stay away or feel less of themselves if they attended) just because they can't afford a gift? The true gift is being there for the couple, and not the value of the physical item.

Last night, Patricia's traditional wedding dress made from Indian silk shimmered. Today my food did. The table was sprinkled with Glitter. Not 'Gary', but the tiny sparkly stuff that my daughters apply with their make up. The ceiling fans were spinning and the white guy was glad. The sprinkles drifted in the air, my chicken sparkled. It didn't matter, they caught the light and there were only a few. Anyway, I now looked pretty, and even the Maid of Honour took an interest. Far better than last night, when I caught her in the kitchen eating and holding two plates of food. She assured me that she only had one, and the other was her Mothers. But Alice told me different. I must admit Alice and the other Bridesmaid also shimmered. I hadn't had any alcohol, this was the educated tribe. They are good stock and Michael knows how lucky he is. The second plate of food did not belong to Josephine, Alice had caught on; I like a tease.

He stood and delivered his speach like a politician. There was heckling, but not from his European friend. I listened carefully, especially when he orchestrated the ending with the care of a preacher. Michael asked us; who would have thought that when his brothers and sisters were shipped as slave's, that one day a Black man would be elected as the Presidential Candidate for a major party in the States. He gave years and dates, forty two years since so and so, forty years since this and that. His audience were listening, the heckling was subdued. He concluded, that his Wedding had been planned for over a year, and in the same year as the monumental success of his kin, he would also marry his bride. 2008, an African date to be remembered, and Michael Appiah had made his first contribution towards his destiny. The party ended, Mr and Mrs Appiah stood and the guests made a line to venture forward and shake their hands. All 200 of them and my journey had almost come to an end.

No water and no lights

I don't mind leaking, but I do hate leaking unnecessarily. Gosh it's humid tonight. The sweat is glistening on my arms as I type. I drank a fair bit, the worst part being that most of it was water. Mind you, as soon as this is posted I am off to get a second bottle of beer. I would get a Fanta, but the beer is bigger and I need a big drink. Having a little amount of available water is one thing, but a power cut as well - YOU GOTA BE KIDDING - it happened, not at any old time, but during a blogging session. All lost, start again. I tried to turn on the light. No chance, something has fused. I went to the bathroom, no chance, no light. I turned on my mobile. Not to call for help as there is no one out there to help. I used the light to find my way to the pantry. At least I was cool, and after a while I found the candle that I had clocked earlier in the week. Better still I had also clocked matches in a different location. Like the Road Sellers of Accra I am becoming observant. I went to a light switch to turn on the light in the corridor outside of my room. No chance, that wasn't working either. It would have been useful as it casts a good light onto the table in my room that has the Internet connection. How is that you must ask, you wrote that the light is in the corridor? This is Africa, some rooms don't have solid walls on all sides; as it would be too hot. My corridor has a large window, a window that is bigger than the biggest one on the front of my home back in Wales. This window like those on the outside of the house has glass slats rather than window panes. They move up and down in two sections. But they are always down and this is the cold season. On the outside of the window in the corridor like the windows on the outside of the house there is a fixed mosquito net. Between the net and the glass slats on my external window and the corridor window there are steel rods. Not like prison bars, but welded units that make 1 foot by 6 inch rectangles. You can't get through but the windows are always open.

I have been told to lock the front door with the key whenever I am in the house. At night there is a steel gate that swings across the door and is secured with two bolts. The main door opens inwards that the steel gate will prevent any forced entry. It's dark, Mr Jeff and Tamara are in Accra at a show. I didn't go as it's a comedy and in the wrong language. I heard Ruben the Caretaker earlier. I let him in, I had locked the door with my key but yet again I forgot to remove it from the lock. I needed Ruben now, as it was dark and he may know where the fuse box was. I called out, he didn't answer, but I heard him again. Some of the lights were working, but not mine. I called out yet again, I could see him in the shadows. He answered, it wasn't Ruben. Apparently Jeffers had forgot to tell me that he had another house guest. Ruben's father. He was lucky, I could have been a girl from the Northern Region. If I had been, he would have swiftly met his fate. He was lucky, I was relieved. I recognised the facial similarities and his English was good enough for me to comprehend. It's a good job that he wasn't speaking Ga. More importantly, with all of the steel bars and the key, he had to be an insider or he wouldn't have got in. He tried to fix the lights, but like me he gave up. Elias told us about insider and outsider groups, but in my short time in Africa some of that work has not been apparent. I am astonished by the way that I have been readily accepted, and humbled by the hospitality. I have also been humbled by the values that many of my new friends hold.

The beer is flowing, well it has to as I am leaking so much. The humidity, the heat from the laptop and the heat from the candle next to my arm. The sweat is getting worse, but the frogs have just started to sing. It's going to be yet another great night in Africa. I wonder if the singers will return?

Gold Ties

Taking photos and being directed to join in was good fun. But it was still hot and my jacket was now done up. I smiled and leaked and smiled some more. I mopped my brow, but not secretly as everyone else was doing the same. I stood out, not because of my skin colour, but because the groom and his team were wearing wine coloured ties and Jeff and I had chosen Gold. There were lots of photos, and those that I did not take I will be able to access from my friends. We cheered, we clapped, we shook hands. Those that I knew were greeted with the correct handshake. Yoggi was there, I smiled and said "Yoggi, you found me". Remember I was never lost, he lost me. It was a warm smile and although our time together was short I still consider him as a friend. It was not his fault, he was busy. Not out of choice, it was work. We all have to make a living and I understand these things. Hopefully one day Yoggi will understand too. By then Michael will probably be President of Ghana and Mr Jeff will be a Headteacher or in the government and in charge of education. It is all mapped out for each of us, and I see a great future on the World stage for Michael and teaching success for Jeff. They are both lovely people, like Yoggi, Jess, Cudjo, Mrs 'G', Tamara, Eleanor, Beatrice, Theresa. Alice, Jones, Nigel and those whose names that I cannot recall. The difference being, and there always is a difference; Michael, Jeff and I have great taste in ties. Why oh why, didn't I buy more?

The Blessing

The streets were heaving, there was plenty of human traffic again and far too many cars. We needed a siren, but all we had was gridlock. I started hissing, but Jeff and Tamara didn't notice. Jeff was confident that the wedding wouldn't start on time, but hey folks I had travelled to Africa for this one and I was getting to the Church on time. We alighted, and Tamara slid across to the driver's seat. Not an easy task, I was in the back and this was three-door. Worse still as we opened one the heat hit me. I leaked and grabbed my jacket. Jeff thought he knew where it was, but the man from Europe showed him the way. The street sellers couldn't sell, as I simply wasn't interested. I was striding along on the mid day sun. No sun block, it was too hot and it would have run.

The 'Solemnization' of Holy Matrimony between Michael and Patricia took place at the Presbyterian Church of Resurrection in Accra Central on Saturday the 30th August 2008 at twelve noon. We arrived at 5 to, and I needed the bathroom. No problem, only a handful of people had arrived but this would swell to 200 by the time the Service started. Jeff was right, I was wrong. This was Africa and the Service wasn't going to start in a hurry. I took some photos, well that's not true, I took a lot. So did Jeff and the others. Michael looked good, well he should for after all he is an Ashanti. The Church was decorated with large ribbons that run for many metres in several directions, matching coloured balloons and flowers. The people were decorated as well. Some in traditional dress and many in suits. I was passed a flower, but only if I wore my jacket. I put it on and leaked more. I didn't think it was possible to leak any more, but I did. There were chairs at the front for the bride and groom and I was ushered to sit on the first row on Michael's family side of the church. A great honour.

I stood outside and watched the Bride arrive. A noisy affair and to me somewhat dangerous. The video guy was in the lead taxi. Well, not exactly inside. He was stood on the side of the car exposed to every hazard and filming with the camera resting on the roof. Tricky for most people, but this guy was filming at speed. The crowds parted as the the taxi followed by the BMW swept along the road, with horns so loud and frantic that they sounded like a siren. In fact when I heard them in the distance, I thought that someone had been knocked down. I was wrong, it was the girl from the educated tribe coming to marry the man from the warrior tribe. Good effort, what an entrance!

The car did not have white ribbon, instead there were ribbons of many colours. Unlike Patricia who looked lovely in white. I must admit, so did the maid of honour. Her future husband, whoever he is, is going to net himself a fine catch. What he doesn't know yet, is that like many societies including ours, he doesn't get to choose; the woman does. Then there is a negotiation.

I sat back down inside the church and took a few more photos. Don't panic, I had asked and everyone else by now were doing the same. The Bridal March began. A slow moving affair consisting of many people that were led by the choir. Patricia took her place beside her husband and they sat. The 'Salutation' was followed by the first of 6 hymns, the last one being a solo piece. Hymns were interrupted by the 'Declaration of Purpose', 'Exhortation', 'Solemnization of Marriage', a Sermon and Prayer & Benediction. The Sermon was the one about the poison lady. I guessed the ending prior to the main part, let alone the conclusion. Mr Jeff and I have discussed religion and concluded that Sermons are pitched at the lowest level; an educated person can quickly lose interest. No chance of that today, I smiled and clapped and sang. It was a good sermon, the emphasis being on working at it together. Not everyone guessed the ending, and I kept quiet. The Wedding March was preceded by African singing, which took place while the Register was being signed. It was a long Service, more intense than anything that I had experienced back in the UK. The Hymns seemed different, my favourite being 'This is my story, this is my song'. I sang, those that know me, know that I don't sing. But this is Africa and I had travelled an epic journey to be with my friend. I sang, not as well as 'the singers of the night', but for me; I sang well.

Sausage roll

The pastry was flaky, very messy and I had my shirt and tie on. I was sat in the back of Jeff's car, fortunately he had continued to run the Air Conditioning. Tamara had returned to the car with a pastry and cold drink for me and a pastry each for them. Very kind, but I am not surprised. With a Mother like Mrs 'G', kindness isn't just a personal value, it is an inherent trait. The pastry was good, flaky and warm and very tasty. I wondered if it was Goat. It looked like a large sausage roll, but wider and the texture inside was too smooth to be one of them. I asked, "it's beef replied Tamara". "Okay", I said. Okay has a meaning of it's own in Ghana. I suspect it means that I don't believe you, or maybe, yeah but I am suspicious. It probably means a lot more. Remember; just because it's English, it doesn't mean that it is the same.

Hissing appears to mean the same each time. I like hissing, I heard it again today. This time to attract the attention of the drinks lady and ensure that water was placed on my table. She didn't respond the first time, he hissed again. This time with emphasis, she turned. He hissed again, she moved faster.

When a Ghanaian shakes your hand, it may not be an act of friendship. The males have their own secret handshake. A combination of a European handshake followed by a clench using the thumbs and as the hand moves away each uses one finger so that together they click the two fingers that touch. Togetherness is an important part of their heritage. How else would they overcome the slave traders as they were shackled and sailed to foreign lands?

The Big Tipper

We arrived at the bank. Not what I was expecting at all. The car park was opposite the bank and we had to cross a busy road. There was a Zebra crossing, but this was Accra. Step out and you could be doomed. Unless of course you are a Road Seller, as they seem to lead a charmed life. Like Jeff's car the bank was air conditioned. I needed it, it's hot in Africa. I settled in a chair, Jeff banked, I sat more. The water was cool, and the guard smiled. There is one guard outside the bank and another inside. It is the same in the majority of public buildings. In the banking centre there are armed guards everywhere. Different uniforms but the guns are similar. Like the fish, the guns are big. We crossed safely to the bank. A large guy in a simple uniform. He carried two sticks, one with a green flag and one with a red flag. He waved, the traffic stopped and I felt safe. When we left the bank Jeff and Tamara did not see me tip him a 1 Cedis noted. You can't put a price on safety. As my girls will tell you, crossing the road is a big thing with me. 1 Cedis, it was a good price. No negotiation, just a swift hand movement like a handshake and a four way folded note inside resting in the palm of the hand. You don't have to be visible to be kind. He was worth more, but I had to keep my money as I didn't know where my African journey was taking me next.

Wedding Photos

We intend to try and upload some late tonight. For friends and family there will be a collection on my Facebook account if we can upload successfully. A few of the photos from Facebook will be placed into the blog.

Checkpoint Charlie

The guys with the AK47's do worry me, but as I have explained the are present to protect everyone. Sometimes in the City, in blue or camouflage. The latter blending well with the trees. Sometimes a lone policeman, sometimes with his gun off his shoulder. That's a scary sight, a machine gun balanced in one hand as someone walks through the streets. The checkpoint loomed in the distance, bugger, we were on the way to the Church. Some were let through, but not us. The policeman waved us off the road. We obliged, guns or no guns, who is going to argue? They will find some somewhere, Africans have mobile phones and two way radios. She looked the car up and down, she also checked us out. The policewoman was confident, she showed that she knew what she was doing. Checking the car details, the disk, the tyres. She smiled, and we were on our way.

The Pantry

The pantry is always the coolest room in any house. The same applies in Africa. I got up and beat my all comers records, not half a bucket, instead I used only one bowl of water this morning. Collecting water is a labour, not of love, but of necessity. I carried twelve buckets of water and poured them into the 25 gallon tank yesterday. There was no way this water was going to be wasted. Irony is not wasted on me, and I thought given our current drought, that it was ironic that Mr Jeff received his water bill today. I think where I come from, the utility company would have received what is known in the trade as 'a Bennett Broadside'. A dismissive letter of sufficient length to deliver a worthwhile message. Theirs would have been 'Get Lost'. It was only 8 a.m. and I moved into the pantry to get my breakfast. Cereal in sealed containers to protect the food from the insects. I open the tub and started leaking. Who turned on the tap? I leak a lot and this was going to be the most leaky day of the trip. European clothes are a bit heavier than African. I had been promised traditional wear, that's one piece of clothing and lots of air gaps with one shoulder bare. My suit was two piece. Worse still, a heavy two piece. Jeff and I wore similar ties, white shirt and gold tie. Dark suit. He buys his from Burton and I buy mine from where I can. I left the pantry and I leaked more. I put on my socks and the real leaking started. I paused, it was a long pause, I did not start again until 9 a.m. I had cleaned my shoes in the bowl of water. In fact I managed to bathe, clean the mud of two pairs of shoes and flush the toilet with the same bowl. Not bad for a European. Jeff ironed my shirt, I don't do ironing. I used to, but I became lazy. Pauline does the ironing, and a grand job she does as well. I think Jeff and I agreed that the ironing was in exchange for the twelve buckets of water yesterday. We had negotiated. The funny thing was, I thought that I had the better deal. The shirt looked good. Trouser, and shoes were added, but by now I was leaking a lot. It was 0930. I dived into the pantry. I emerged cooler, but where was the climate control that I use daily in my car? I struggled to put on the tie, it was too hot. I mentioned to Jeff that some friends laughed when I mentioned taking a suit to Africa. The suit, shirts and extra trousers were carried all the way in my suit holder. Jeff laughed back, "It is a good job that you did, everyone will have a suit on". The tie was done up, we had to leave for the Church. No African bus today, instead we travelled in style in Jeff's 4x4. "I'll be there now", I shouted. I just had to pop into the pantry.

Another African meal

The fish was big, very big, it filled the plate. I did consider using a knife and fork, but I am big on the history of manners, and to do so would have been rude. Anyway, I had my right hand. I pulled at the flesh, taken with it some tomato and raw onion. The fish was salty, but no salt is added during cooking. "It is naturally salty" explained my host. The bones were huge, and it was dificult to pick through them without a knife and fork. I paused, and had another beer. Life is good in Africa, but only if you have money or the farm is running well. Sometimes your luck can desert you. Things change, and people move on. Mr Jacko has moved on; it appears that he prefers to live in the bathroom. I'm cool, well not quite. It's hot in Africa.

Popcorn Fish

The Atlantic Ocean crashes against the coast. It is a fine site, the waters fed by the Gulf of Guinea. We eat in the restaurant at the bottom of the cliffs next two the water. Our table did not have a light, but Jeff had a torch which he placed on the wall that went around the restaurant. We were inside, but yet outside and connected to the beach. The roof was made of straw; the cooking took place at the end of the hut. I don't drink much, not very often and when I do, it is usually very little. I had a Fanta at the Wedding. Fanta is big in Africa, so are the fish. Jeff hissed, the waiter turned and approached our table. We click or half raise one arm, Jeff hisses. They don't call it hissing, but hissing it is. It's not a friendly thing, but on this occasion it wasn't a nasty thing either. I read a guide on the net before I travelled. It appeared to be an official one, hissing was explained using a different word. "It is a greeting", oh yeah, pull the other one. I heard it in the street, I smiled. I heard it again in the house. Tamara was annoyed because something did not work. "Did you hear that?" asked Jeff. "Yes", I replied. "They tell us it is a greeting, now I know it is not". The Waiter did what he was told; Jeff asked me if I wanted a nibble before our meal. "Finger food", well nothing new there then. The price was discussed for the meal, I heard Jeff say "no chips". He asked me what I wanted, "It's Africa, I will have what you have, and if there are different meals then two of us will have the same so that I know that I am not being treated special". We all agreed, it was decided; it was going to be 'Popcorn fish'. The finger food arrived, Jeff challenged the Waiter "did I order two?", Tamara supported her future husband. One was left and one was taken away, but not before I smiled. The bag was opened and Jeff and I helped ourselves to popcorn. I don't normally share finger food. I don't eat from snack trays in a bar. But this was different, Jeff is a friend. I smiled again, Tamara laughed, Jeff looked as if he didn't understand. "They only eat this in the Cinema", Jeff understood. Tamara's kebab starter arrived. We eat the popcorn. My new friends had me in mind with the kebab, no not the skewer bit but a sausage that had been ordered for me. Jeff warned me it was hot and suggested that maybe I should not try it. Try stopping me. He challenged me, he warned me, he encouraged me to let them eat it instead. I pushed forward, this was my kebab and I was having it. I took a bite, now I wanted popcorn. Jeff asked me a question about the food, I could not reply. I was not choking, the spice in the sausage had taken my breath away, it was time to start drinking again. I like STAR, it's a good beer, I also like STONE. Especially when there is a hot sausage involved. Unlike the sausage the beer was cold. Popcorn, hot sausage and now beef kebab. Not any old beef kebab, but the one with the extra hot spice sauce on the side that the stupid European has to dip his kebab into. Ok, so the sausage was cold. The bowl arrived. Do I drink it, do I wash, do I wash now or after the meal. Good job I didn't drink, it was for washing. The fish arrived, it was huge. Worse still there was one each. It was accompanied by yam, but not yam as you know it. This was another one of those Kinky sessions, but this wasn't kinky. They told me that I wouldn’t make it through without a knife and fork. It was too sticky they said, not the fish the yam. The sauce was tricky too. Hot and runny, where's my spoon? We eat the lot, and had another beer. It's cool on the coast, but it gets warm when you eat the hot sausage.

New friends

I was tired last night. The market trip earlier in the week had left me with four hours sleep. The night after, less than six. It was hot, although I do keep myself well hydrated. The internet played up and the Wedding posting crashed and was lost when almost complete. I went to bed around 2 a.m. But I was happy, my friends were married and my new friends may one day get married. This was a time of happiness. It's hot in Africa, the ceiling fan was on number 5. Normally it is on 1 or 2. The frogs sang, Mr Jacko was no where to be seen and I slept. The noise disturbed me frequently throughout the night. The beat of the drum, the loud singing outside of my window. It was calming, but it was also annoying. They were so close. Jeff complains when the music is loud, but Jeff had travelled with Tamara to Mrs 'G's and would not return until the morning. I could not complain, it was a language thing. I slept on, the party continued. Twi, Ga, Ewe, but they sang. Oh boy they sang, loud, different and clear. The frogs sang, the music grew. The frogs stopped, the lead vocalist sang. I'm not sure if it was a man or a woman, the language is a barrier, sometimes the words are difficult to notice. They were close, very close. I suspect outside of my window. I stirred and came to. Yes, they were there. They were lying or sitting in my room. Looking, and smiling, there was a lot of them. I checked again. Yes they were there. I turned and drank some water, and then went back to sleep. Maybe it was the heat, maybe the food, maybe dehydration, but they were there, weren't they?

The Dress

By blue of course, I mean a mixture of colours, that to me and in that light gave an impression of blue. It was full length with a high neckline. The sleeves were a different colour. At first glance they looked beige, maybe brown. I supsect that it was a light almost see through cloth stitched over the dress and its colour and that of the dress combined to make the effect. The were subtle patterns all over the dress and it shimmered in the light. The patterns appeared to be flowers. The sleeves were cut below the elbow but not as far as the wrist. As Patricia sat, I noticed that her legs were also covered beneath the dress. The material was similar to that which had been used for the arms and maybe this was a two piece outfit, or three pieces made to look like two. Alice is a seamstress and I have seen her handy work so I am not surprised by the quality of the cloth or the stitching. Not that Alice made this one, I simply do not know who made the dress, although I suspect that it was made in or around Accra. Nothing was worn on the head, but there were bangles on each wrist, very thin on the right hand side and very wide on the left. The one on the right looked like silver, the one on Patricia's left wrist looked like gold. She wore a necklace, and there was embroidery at the top of the dress that raised the material so that the line around the neck was straight. The Wedding dress fell slightly off one of the shoulders. Patricia wore sandals, they looked traditional.

"Married, Married, Read all about it"

The Bride and Groom are now united. It was a great night and the blog post below explains the events in great detail. This post is about our journey home and the link into something that hapened earlier today. The journey back to Haatso was no where near as bad as the journey out of Accra earlier. Mind you, this evening it was gridlock. Whereas tonight's hold up was caused by several Police armed check points. Vehicles were being pulled over and people questioned. They beckoned us through the first one, but an armed police officer at the second checkpoint took an interest in the white guy. We slowed down as instructed, he clocked us and ambled past. Suddenly the colour caught his eye and he turned back towards the passenger door. He shone the light from his torch at Jeff and Tamara. He was checking them out, I thought it was a rich European thing, but as Jeff pointed out he was just checking that I was safe. It's nice to have someone on the road side that cares. Normally they just want to sell you something. "Plantain" is yelled by those selling the crisp like bags. Apples, CDs, chewing gum, whatever. If it can be sold then there is a buyer somewhere. The lanes are often packed by these road sellers. Some carrying their stuff on their head, some not. Our seller had a tie rack. An observant fellow, he realised that I was interested. Like the policeman, he missed me the first time, but maybe the colour prompted the change. He spun around and headed back. Yeah I was interested, I like a good tie. So it seems does Jeff, given the number he bought. But then again I am a Cardi and every penny or peswar counts. He swiveled the tie rack, the seller that is, not Jeff. Yeah, he had me hooked, now came the negotiation. Just like the Wedding a price had to be agreed. I wound down the window, so and so Cedis the seller shouted. I wasn't listening, I already knew what I wanted to pay. That's the problem with a negotiation, you both have to contribute. I flashed him a smile, "how much? You got to be joking". The car moved off, he ran after us. A good run, maybe not Olympic 100m standard. But fairplay, he was carrying a tie rack. The negotiation continued. We hit 3 Cedis, well he did, I had 2 cedis and 50 Peswar in my hand. Not too close to the window mind you, after the incident with the mobile phone. He held out for 3 Cedis (£1.50) and I wound up the window. Well who in their right mind would pay £1.50 for a silk tie with a HB lable? No not the sauce silly, Hugo somebody or the other. The tie rack moved swiftly to the other side and to the front of the car. Like the policeman he checked out my companions. Only this guy wasn't armed with an automatic rifle. "3 Cedis, 3 Cedis, it's a good price." Jeff went to buy it, I leant forward and handed over the money. All 3 Cedis, but you know what? It was a good price. And for the tie rack guy a good sale, Jeff bought three. I wish I had now. Oh why, oh why did I become a Cardi?

It's a Tribal thing

I have mentioned Elias many times in my Blog. His insight into mankind, his German Jew origins, the oppression of the Nazi regime and his strong links with Ghana where he was Head of Sociology between 1961 and 1964. In many ways this trip has been a pilgrimage. I am so fortunate to have studied under, amongst others, world renowned Professor Andrew Linklater. A true disciple of Elias, Andrew opened my eyes to harm. Not that I'm in the harm business. Effective interaction between human beings is key to our future success, given the magnitude of weapons that exist it is probably key to our very existence. How can we get the bigger things right, if we cannot control the little things?

The Bride looked splendid in blue. The traditional Wedding that took place tonight is known as the Engagement. The Christian Wedding tomorrow is known as the Blessing. There can be no Blessing without an Engagement. It just can't happen. So tonight was a momentus occasion for the Bride and Groom. As we approached Patricia's mother's home, I noticed Patricia and her helpers in traditional wear. They were in a corridor gathering around a doorway and preparing the Bride. We swept past the door opening and into the main room. There were three sets of chairs. Two sets facing one another and one set facing them. My friends Tamara and Jeff sat in the guest section, I moved forward. Several people stopped me and beckoned me to sit immdeiately behind Michael in the section set aside for his family. A great honour, I embraced Michael and smiled at others within the room. This is a complicated affair, the arrangements have been taking place for at least a year. Michael is Ashanti, Patricia is not. 'Dim ots', Patricia is a biochemist, a well educated woman whose mother is also a professional in health care. These are quality people, this is a quality family. Ashanti they may not be, but Patricia is more than a worthy wife for Michael. Elegant, strong, educated, and with good values. Michael knows her worth.

Prior to the Engagement both families met to discuss and agree the price. There is nothing alien in this practice, for after all what marriages exists without any financial consideration? It may be who pays for the cake, the cars, the flowers or the dress. But nevertheless a price is agreed, it's just that we agree in a different way. Te price was fair, but many months ago I asked Michael what he would do if the price was too high? I know the price and it is a lot, but it would be wrong for me to declare here. Michael explained to me that "this is the woman that I love, and I am going to marry her". It is a pity that his father did not think the same way. More so in that I had brought along a small gift for the parents at the Engagement and two other gifts from Pauline, the girls and I for tomorrow.

Pauline and the gang would have loved to have been here for the Wedding. The Groom remianed seated, he was faced by an array of adults, all bar one in traditional wear. I smiled at some, I vaguely recognised them. A recent test showed that I am poor at remembering faces and names. But watch out if I have to remember a complex string of moves in a chess game, or recall exactly what you said on a given date and what you were doing when you said it. But that wouldn't happen tonight as everything was in Twi or Ga, or both. Or maybe one of the many other languages that are common in Ghana. I simply do not know. We were faced by a warrior tribe, but we had some handy people in our team. I was there watching Michael's back, but the fine thing was that it didn't need watching. The agreement is between the families and not between the parents. Aparently if things go wrong the families will put it right. This was not an arranged marriage, this was a coupling of love. Eleanor was on our side as well, tonight she looked more like 39 than 48. Not bad given that she is 60+ The lads looked good, traditional costume, smartly turned out. We were a good team, but Mr 'A' wasn't there. It's a tribal thing, but the agreement is between the families, and many who approve and love the bride and groom were there. No insignifcant thing, given the lateness of the hour. Made worse by our late arrival and their willingness to wait. Almost two hours to squeeze our way out of Accra. There are a lot of people in Africa.

The Bride entered the room accompanied by her entourage. Everyone sang, well almost everyone. I couldn;t so I clapped. Not like we do, but in timing with the music, while taking my lead from a gentleman sat in the corner of the room. He raised his hands so that I could see and keep time. Not a straight clap, but more like a drum beat. The bride sat down and the talking started. One person officiated, showed some items to others. Then people on both sides talked. I thing we were challenged to sing, their team had sung a lot. We sung, I hummed. Oh, and I clapped. Gifts were also exchanged and at one point I thought there was another negotiation. I was probably wrong, it had after all - been sorted far in advance. I knew it was a done deal when Patricia was beckoned to sit by Michael. I hugged them, and took yet another photo. It is a hot night, but the food was hotter. No finger food here, well that's not true. What I mean is, no buffet. This was a full blown meal of epic proportions. Goat soup to start, followed by rice, yam, hot stew and plantain. The soup was hot, or so I thought until I tried the hot stew. The fanta was cool, the music was cool, but the night remained hot. Patricia's uncle and Michael's uncle represented each family, they also remained seated. To me they were the family elders. The music continued, the gifts continued, I like everyone else received a gift for being there. This was my opportunity, I took a chance with the mosquito's and made my way to the car. A long path with no lighting, lots of mud and water. A few mosquito's and a lot of noise. I returned with a bottle of wine for each of the family elders and of course a cigar. Well it's tradition isn't it? It's what our tribe do.