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.
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