Bacon sarnies

I have a craving for a bacon sarnie. I managed the cereal and fruit for breakfast and the hot beans for lunch. Hot and placed on top of some strange but fresh bread. A bit sweet for my liking, but nice anyway. The craving won't go away and it is now tea time. I spot the corned beef. It says produce of Australia and made by Heinz, but when I open the large circular tin it is unlike any corned beef that I have ever seen before. 'Dim ots', a small amount is added to what is left of the beans and the last slice of bread. It tastes good but a lot has to be put into the fridge.

Families are important. Tamara and Jeff, and Patricia and Michael have strong links with their extended families. My wife Pauline has strong links with hers. Our eldest daughter Jodi often visits and I believe that we are all close. I try to maintain a strong link with mine, especially my Brother. Good job, as one hour from their house, I am to phone ahead and the bacon sarnies will be waiting!

The Prof

My Professor, Andrew Linklater would have enjoyed this trip. There was no harm but in my small world I had been exposed to a microcosm of another civilization. Not better, not worst, simply different. When I set out on this journey, which for me was a true leap of faith, who would have thought that the experience would become so worthwhile? The risk was great, but as the poster at Jeff's front door says "RISK to embrace it is to carve a new path. To avoid it is to go nowhere". These words encouraged me to take my first journey alone on the African bus. Into yet another World that I now know as; Accra. Elias and Linklater have taught me a lot about people, I have now moved beyond their teaching and embrace my own views. Like so much that is African, these views are stronger and more distinctive.

I am white, living for a short while in a society of millions where hardly anyone is white. My journey to Africa has swayed the views of many of Michael's friends. He told me that they had believed that all white men were the same. It is not a good view, they were not being kind. Michael thanked me for breaking that myth. There were 50 at the traditional wedding and 200 at the Church and Reception. I was the white guy sat on the podium next to the Bride and Groom. I knew that they noticed me, how could they fail, for I had worn a Gold tie.

To avoid self harm, I had also removed my suit jacket. Linklater taught me, amongst many things, about harm. My latest take on harm is the Ghanaian prison system. I can only imagine in this heat what 'x' years with hard labour means. Worse still, this is the cold season. Hard labour is not about correction, it is solely about punishment. But in a society where so many have so little, it is little wonder that some fall by the wayside. They lack education, they lack job opportunities, they lack the means to pay for basic care. There is no social system and the biggest challenge for Ghana in the years ahead is to introduce improved education and social care. Maybe when they do, the 'hard labour' bit can be dropped and replaced by work in the community. Supervised of course, warm yes, returned to the prison at night, but hard labour no. This is something that I will have to discuss again with Michael when he becomes President in the next twenty years.

My New Friends

"Good afternoon my Friend, how are you this fine day" said the chap on the roadside as I passed by. "I am very well thank you", not quite true but how could I tell him that I was unwell? This short conversation was an indication that I was being accepted into the neigbourhood. I moved along and the Kwik Fit Fitter approached me and tried to shake my hand. I declined and explained that I had been unwell and did not want to pass him my germs [just in case its not food poisoning]. I showed him the pharmacy bag and he thankd me for not shaking his hand. As I walked by the News Stand the child remianed silent, then his hand raised and he waived. The first time that I met him, he screamed. It wasn;t panic, it had been blind terror. Hs brother asked me if I was buying the Times today, I declined. I was too unwell to read, and the Ghana Times is unlike our version. Sometimes the details are too graphic, the information unneccesary.

I have a few copies of their papers to ponder upon when I return to Wales. My intention is to write an article for Figurations; the Journal of the Society of Norbert Elias. I have learnt much during my African journey and it would be good to share that knowledge and experience in an academic journal.

A good walk

The walk this afternoon was good. I still wondered who had turned on the tap, as I walked, I leaked. The shoe shop was fine, the English was not. I tried the shoes, I looked at the catalogue and slowly realised that they had none to fit me. "Next week" he said. A pity, a pair of these fine hand made sandals would have only cost me £7.50

I moved along the road to the tailors. Stopping only to visit the Chemist. The English language here was fine, like the shoes, of good quality and distinctive. He suspected food poisoning but warned me it could be Malaria. I bought some tablets and some more rehydration salts. These were the worst kind - no special taste to overcome European sensibilities, this was salt. Add water and drink like water he said. I drank one and thought that this would be a good present for Jeff. For his cupboard as there is no way that I could drink another. No, for me it shall be Tamara's blackcurrent flavoured rehydration salts. A fine drink, almost as good as Fanta.

The tailors was like the cobblers. "Next week", I explained that I was flying out tonight. "No prolem, you buy the cloth and a semstress in England can make it for you". I thank him and expalined that I am Welsh.

The child didn't scream. She waived, her parents and brother smiled. I asked permission to take a photograph of the family and everyone smiled again. I showed the photograph to the family and everyone laughed. I suspect that they had not seen many photographs in their life. Everyone waived, I waived back and as I turned I paused. I removed a 1 Cedis note from my pocket. It is so hot in Arica, I carry money money in two sandwich bags and not my wallet. The plastic keeps the sweat away. My leather wallet would smell by now. Two bags because I use one with hardly any money where people can see me and the other for emergencies or if I am in a shop. The child smiled at the gift, the family said thank you.

He won

I left the house and locked the door behind me. As I walked along the path I spotted a large fly. This one was at least 3 inches long with a red tail of around 1.5 inches. It came to rest on the house wall. I stopped and removed my camera from my pocket. With the zoom at maximum I took the photograph. The fly left the wall and landed on the path in front of me. I paused, it paused, there was another standoff. "You, win" I thought, as I turned and walked to the front of the house to leave via the main gate.

Scared

I knew that the walk to the shops would not be uneventful, as it never is. The child screamed, a look of terror on his face as the white man approached. This was not the child at the newspapers stand, this lady was a seamstress. Her small hut on the right hand side of the main road through Haatso (Hatchoo), in the direction away from Accra from where she plied her trade. I wanted an African smock but she could not make one today. Cudjo had offered me a smock, but I had been unwell. The child continued to scream, the mother laughed. She was old enough and wise enough to understand that I posed no threat; but for the child it was different. He may have heard stories at home about the slave traders, maybe when he is naughty he is told that the white man will come and get him. Whatever the reason, he was scared. He screamed, he ran and screamed some more. Then he lay on the floor and screamed again. I smiled and waved at him and said "hello". He screamed.

I buy food and drink from where I know it is safe. The petrol station is a good place, expensive but clean. The attendants mill around near the pumps, six in all. No not pumps, but attendants. You don’t wait for fuel in Haatso. I went to grab a drink from one of the three upright glass door fridges outside of the shop. They were all padlocked. I went inside. The shop attendants as they are labelled on their name badges swung into action. It may be expensive but the service is good. I walk and talk, while one of the attendants loads my basket. I want meat to make a sandwich, they don't have any. I recall the German sausage in brine, they don't have any of them either. I select baked beans. Not Heinz, and not cheap. Shopping at the Petrol Station is expensive. I know that it is going to be tough eating, but Tamara has told me time and time again that I must eat. I grab some bread and some Lucozade.

On my way back, a white car with two men pulls up. They are ahead of me but too close. It may be innocent but now I am scared. I pause and turn and look into the shops. There is a stand off, they seem to be waiting for me to pass, and I am not prepared to do so. I turn and walk in the opposite direction. I pause and look at another shop, they move away. Slowly, far too slowly for the liking of the other drivers, but they move away nevertheless. I turn and start to walk back to the house.

25 Degrees

It is 25 degrees today, a cool day in Haatso. I pop outside and it is warmer. The electricity meter man in his floral shirt and sandals has come to read the meter. We greet, he smiles and asks me if I am the new owner. "I wish" I respond. A fine house like this would cost around £1ooK, many houses a lot more. The house has a large sliding gate with metal supports extending from the top to the ground so that the gate slides on runners about 2 feet apart. There is a veranda, a particular favourite of the dog. A washing area for clothes, and parking for two cars around the back. This house even has a back gate so that you can access the property in the rain without tackling the pool that forms at the front.

This is my last day, and I take a last look at the house where I have been a guest for around 10 days. Jeff had hosted me not because we were friends, but because Michael had asked. The flight and car parking had cost over £1,000 and with incidentals the cost had quickly risen, £100 for injections and tablets, fuel to and from the airport and so on. I wonder how many people back at home in the United Kingdom would have hosted an unknown guest in this way? I do not consider Jeff and Tamara as friends, they have become more like family.

Mr Jacko is nowhere to be seen. I have looked for him amongst his favourite hiding places, but he has gone. There is a spider on my wall, not a big one, he is about the size of the old 1 Peswas piece. I know that if Mr Jacko was about, the spider would not be. WallJeckos eat spiders and Mosquitos, people laugh when I mention him in the same manner as a Lizard. To them he is also a friend.

My short trip outside to greet the Meter man has left me tired. I sleep again and when I awake I have a coffee and some orange biscuits. Oh, and that essential Malaria tablet. It is warmer now and I intend to terrorise the neighbourhood. The white guy in his sandals, t-shirt and shorts is off out for a walk. Nearly everyone will stare, most will smile and wave, but some will hiss. Mind you, if they are not careful, I shall hiss back.

The Utilities

I wonder how my wife and children would cope with the current water crisis. I was concerned when the tap ran dry last Monday. I became more concerned when they announced that the mains water would be turned off for 5 days. Today we found out that it is 10. The 25 gallon drum in the bathroom is in fact 50 gallon. No wonder my twelve buckets of rain water only half-filled the drum. Now it is empty. There are two 25 gallon drum near to the ironing board. One of them is empty and the other is reducing fast. I suspect that Jeff will have to buy in water to make it through the week. Drinking water is not a problem, as Jeff buys his in and has a supply that will last many weeks. Unlike many Africans Jeff and Tamara are educated. They understand basic sanitation, and lead a healthy lifestyle. I suspect that there are many who do not. My healthy lifestyle this morning was a bowl of Frosties with long life milk, two bananas and several glasses of water. The bananas tasted good, but not as good as the ones that I had yesterday. Tam and Jeffers looked after me well, they bought re-hydration salts and insisted against my wishes that I eat. It was a good decision. They made me up a plate of chopped banana and pineapple. Although I was not sure if they had gone to the shop or into the garden to collect the fruit. It turned out that it was a shop. I noticed the lady when we went out later yesterday afternoon. Her stall established on one of the many national government bus stops. African buses stop anywhere, wherever they can get a fare. The larger orange single decker coaches only stop at the designated stops with the raised pavement and the White, Green and Red signs. A good choice for the location of a stall. The fruit lady has opportunity for passing trade from the African Bus, Taxis and passengers who are waiting or alight from the transport. The African bus will swoop into the layby and if the fare collector is hungry or thirsty then he will trade from the window. Taxi's also swoop, especially when they see a European or well dressed person. The fruit lady had got it right, but I wondered if she had any water at home.

UK to Africa, Africa to the UK

Today is my last day in Africa, but not the last of my posts. There is so much to recall and so many comparisons to be made. I intend to eat my Frosties in the next half an hour and wash again. Maybe I will have another bath. Jeff and Tamara and Michael and Patricia will all see to it that I am taken to the airport on time this evening. The flight leaves at 2340 and lands in the UK tomorrow morning. There were no seats for my return journey and I upgraded to Business Class. Yes, it is expensive, but Michael and Patricia (I hope) will only get married once. Well, that’s not true either. They were married twice. They married once as part of the traditional marriage process and once again in line with their religious beliefs. The packed plane is due to the end of the summer vacation. Those Ghanaian’s who have returned to Ghana for the summer now have to be back in the UK for their children to attend school. I suspect that business class will also be full; but this part of the plane will be less cramped and with fully reclining seats. The food on Ghana International Airways is good - a mixture of African and European. The service is good as well, as the African’s know how to look after their guests.

The Princess and the Politician

Michael and Patricia called at the house to bid me well. It was a long journey for them, I had supposed to have been present at a family lunch at Patricia’s Mum’s earlier in the day, but I had been unwell. My friends had called to check on my health, thank my family for their presents, and to discuss what had occurred during the week. No explanation was necessary as I understand these things. Family politics are complex affairs. I knew it was a tribal thing and had said as much to Michael when he started to explain at the Wedding. Michael looked fine in his traditional wear, Princess Patricia looked fine as well. They were good clothes; they had been made out of the best cloth. Michael and Patricia chatted with me, but I fell asleep now and again. Michael watched Arsenal beat Newcastle 3-0, as the Premiership is big in Africa. Not quite Match of the Day, and the infill whenever a transmission ceases for some unexplained reason is a cringing affair. A bit like family politics.

Bath time

I had a bath today, well that’s not quite true as Jeffers doesn’t have a bath. But it felt like one, it felt good. It started at midnight; I was ill. Not British sickness, but African. It was bigger, stronger and moved with more purpose. I don’t know what caused the problem; we suspect the chocolate. Whatever it was my body wanted it out, it wanted it out now, and it wanted it out in every possible way. The first time was okay. There were no lights as the electricity had failed, but I had filled the cistern in the day. The second time wasn’t too bad as I had also placed a bucket of water to one side. I used that to wash my clothes. But now there was a problem, I didn’t want to contaminate the water supply but placing my hand in the drum, just in case it wasn’t food poisoning. Why weren’t they home to help, where was Pauline? Midnight, 0200, 0310, 0405, 0500, 0610, it was a long African night. I was poorly, and slept in until 1030. I slept a lot that day, on the sofa, on the bed and even sat upright in a plastic chair while we were out and about. It was midday and I needed a wash, but I was tired. I moved slowly to the bathroom, the bed caught my eye, and I slept. When I woke, I thought that I was well enough to wash, but I was wrong. I couldn’t stand and instead sat on the tile of the shower floor. My back propped against the tiles on the wall and my legs extended with my feet pushing against the other wall. The small white bowl with the green rim that I had used to wash throughout the week was full and to my right and a bucket of water to my left. The wash was good, the water cold but refreshing. I relaxed with my left arm in the bucket and my right hand and wrist in the bowl. This was as good as a bath, if not better. The warm air, the cool tiles the cold water. And I had mistakenly thought that the Pantry was the coolest room in the house, it wasn’t. The shower room is the coolest room in the house.

The Cool Coast

If I have regret about this trip, it has been my failure to visit Cape Coast. But then again, I came to Africa for Michael’s wedding and not for sightseeing. I was dressed, I had dressed deliberately before Jeff and Tamara returned so that we would go out and about. In many ways my decision was a mistake as I was still very tired. It was a long drive, but the scenery was new. We arrived at a smart hotel, or so I thought. It was a Private Beach Hotel with thatched huts, large swimming pool and terraces overlooking the beach. The air was cool, the music good. There were a few Europeans, but not that many. This was not a select beach resort for the tourist. This was more for the educated African, and of course their guest. They brought us a table and Jeff directed them to where he wanted it positioned. Their brought us some chairs, and then some drinks and food. My Pineapple Juice was the best ever, but the idea of food was the last thing on my mind. I slept again, this time with the music playing to my right and the waves crashing onto the coast on my left. I awoke and thanked my guests for their kindness, and then slept again. Jeff suggested that we returned home, I was having none of it. The cool air, the music, the waves, this was Africa at its best.