Accra Dave

It's been a great week. Work is wonderful, I also attended two functions and got to practice my Welsh, attended a good quality seminar and a national working group where I learnt a lot more. What struck me most about this week is as I develop the World seems to shrink? It really is a small World, early in the Blog I mention that we have the same table mats as Jeffers. No big shakes on its own, but at the national working group I bumped into a friend that I had not spoken to more than two or three times in the last decade. I know; that's a bit careless of me, but 'hey ho' that's the nature of some friendships, you don't pick them up, but they are always there.

Dave and I studied together at Central Lancashire between 1994 and 1998, I took a First in Fire Engineering and Management and Dave took a First in Fire Engineering. He got promoted and I didn't. Well not straight away, but maybe I am now starting to catch up. The friendship is still there and it was a warm greeting. Made better by the co-incidence that surround most events. What was I doing on the national working group? Why had I travelled so far and why did I arrive early? Those that have read the Blog previously will probably guess where all of this is going. I'm a fatalist and believe that things always happen for a reason. That certainly doesn't mean that you should sit around and wait for the big bang, the lottery win or the job invite to land at your door. It simply means that everything happens for a reason and as Norbert Elias explained; we are all linked in some way or the other.

Well, there I am, chatting away about life in general and Africa in particular. When Dave speaks up with the nicely received question; "where in Africa?" and before I can reply, he has joined on the next bit; "I was in Ghana recently". Well, of course he was. No, not in any old part of Ghana but yes you've guessed it; he stayed in Accra. Well spiffing old chap, just what the Doctor ordered. Writing about Doctors reminds me to let you all know that my mysterious African illness lasted 13 days. Well, lets get back to Accra Dave. Unlike me, Dave was chauffeured around with Diplomatic plates. This meant speeding through Red lights and a crazy journey in the wrong direction along a Dual Carriageway. I know that Dave mentioned that at the time he thought he was going to die, but I bet looking back at it the blue light out riders and crazy stunts were pretty exciting. I have another friend called Dave and we recently chatted about my work in Africa. Dave 2 mentioned that if I ever get offered a diplomatic pick up at the airport and drive across country, not only will he accompany me to Africa, but he will supply the plane. Cool or what? No not hot air; he really does have access to more than one private jet. Now, I can't trump that, but Accra Dave and I shared stories about Ghana. How nice the people are, the visible poverty and how grateful he and his friends were whenever they got fed. The meals were good, but they didn't always get what they asked for. Whereas I had the hospitality of Jeff, Tamara, Patricia, Patricia's Mum, Josephine, and Alice and I always got something that was pretty good. Like Accra Dave, I was also very grateful. We discussed bathing in cold water, the scary roads, the motorway that comes to an abrupt end and the Fire and Rescue Service that appears to lack strategic vision. The strange thing is; we both want to do voluntary work there. It certainly is a very small World indeed.

Ceredigion Facts

The name Ceredigion means 'Land of Ceredig’. who was a son of Cunedda, a chieftain who re-conquered much of Wales from the Irish around the 5th Century. The area used to be known as Cardiganshire, a name that possibly stemmed from Cardigan Bay that stretches along the length of the coast line of Ceredigion.

Following local government re-organisation in Wales, the area now known as Ceredigion together with Carmarthenshire was known as Dyfed for many years. But as a stand alone unitary authority, the County became Ceredigion on the 1 April, 1996.

The County of Ceredigion covers an area of 440,630 acres (1783 km²) with a population of approximately 75,000 with the largest centre of population at Aberystwyth on the West Wales coast. The County also has centres of population in Cardigan to the south and inland at Lampeter towards the East. Although the English language is common place, approximately 61% of the population of the County of Ceredigion speak Welsh. The County has a significant number of category ‘A’ schools whereby children are taught through the medium of Welsh. Language and culture is important in Ceredigion, and frequent cultural gatherings known as Eisteddfod's and village shows are held throughout the year.

Ghanaian Facts

Full title is the Republic of Ghana. The word ‘Ghana’ means Warrior King. Ghana is made up of 10 regions; Ashanti, Brong Ahafo, Central, Eastern, Greater Accra, Northern, Upper East, Upper West, Volta, and Western region covering an area of 238,540 sq km (93,030 sq mi) with a total population of around 23 million

The population is dividend between: Akan (44%), Mole-Dagbane (16%), Ew (13%), Ga (8%), Guan, Gurma, Gonja, and the Dagomba people. English is the official language, with the range of Akan languages that include Asante Twi, Akwapim Twi, Akyem, and Fanti spoken by 49%, Mole-Dagbani 16%, Ewe 13%, Ga-Adangbe 8%, Guan 4%, others 10%. Christianity is the major religion (69%), followed by Muslim (15%), and traditional indigenous African religions (8.5%).

The Capital City of Ghana is Accra, with a population 2.097m and is located in the Greater Accra region. The next largest city is Kumasi, with a population 1.6m, in the Ashanti region. The third largest centre of population is Tamale, with a population of 0.39m in the Northern Region

The Government is a Parliamentary democracy. Kwame Nkrumah was elected as the first President of Ghana, and the current president is John Agyekum Kufuor with Presidential elections due at the end of 2008.

The main airport is Kotoka International, so named after Colonel Emmanuel Kotoka Commanding Officer of the Ghanaian armed forces who was assassinated at the airport as he was fleeing the country on the 17th April 1967 following an abortive Coup attempt by Junior Officers.

All visitors are required to have a visa, except for citizens of countries belonging to the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS). July and August average 28 degrees C, February and March 33 degrees C.

A good link to obtain more information http://www.state.gov/r/pa/ei/bgn/2860.htm

Map

http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?hl=en&q=accra+ghana&ie=UTF8&ll=5.528511,-0.203247&spn=3.285574,5.800781&z=8

Yammy Blogging Help

One of my Blog readers sent in the following information via Facebook. Corinne had looked yams up on the Internet, and found that:

"...they are not related to sweet potato, although people think they are as they look similar. They sound very good for you: "Yams are high in Vitamin C, dietary fiber, Vitamin B6, potassium, and manganese; while being low in saturated fat and sodium. Vitamin C, dietary fiber and Vitamin B6 may all promote good health[4]. Furthermore, a product that is high in potassium and low in sodium is likely to produce a good potassium-sodium balance in the human body, and so protect against osteoporosis and heart disease[5]. Having a low level of saturated fat is also helpful for protection against heart disease[6].Yam products generally have a lower glycemic index than potato products[7], which means that they will provide a more sustained form of energy, and give better protection against obesity and diabetes..."

Thank you Corinne and if anyone else would like to make a submission please contact me via Facebook. There is a profile image so it won't be too difficult to work out which one is the real Roger Bennett.

The Map

Of course there is an Accra Map next to one of the 26 August 2008 posts. We are still working on finding a better map and maybe placing that near to the archive on the right of the page.

Darling, Good Morning

Music is wonderful whatever your mood and whatever the occasion. Well almost, sometimes you can be faced with the solo artiste from hell. I dare not Blog that story for fear of offending my friends. But returning to the essence of this post; the story is about African music. The music on the TV channel in Haatso was great, as was the live music when we were out and about. At Ghana University the drums were stunning and that memory will stay for me for some considerable time. As will the sound of the crashing waves to my left and the African music to my right while we sat outside at the beach resort. I chatted with Cudjo about African traditional and modern music and he sang me several songs while I was at Mrs. 'G's.

The surprising thing about that discussion was the way that Cudjo likened some of the music to Jazz. Well, being European I couldn't quite get the connection at the time. Jeffers was really kind, well to be quite honest, Jeffers is always kind. He put together a compilation of African music on a CD for me to listen in my car while travelling to and from Carmarthen. I didn't think to ask which tracks were traditional and which are modern. But to be honest they are all quite good.

My favourite is track number 5, "Darling, Good Morning". It can't be the lyrics as most of them appear to be in one of the many African languages, although the words are catchy even though I don't know what they mean. Don't panic, the English bit I do understand. Maybe it's the catchy way in which it is all delivered, or the background tempo as the words fall all around you. It's certainly the jazz bit as the saxophone kicks in, and is that a steel band in the background? If it is; then these are not drumsticks striking home as the impact is too soft. I even bet, that someone is using a tambourine. Great, absolutely great. The only problem being, that the likelihood of the tambourine switches my mind to the 'x-factor story' and the solo artiste. Albeit that story will have to be posted another time. For today, all that is left to say is; "Darling, Good Morning...., Darling, Good Morning" Unless of course, you are ready this at night. At which point I could hit you with the typical greeting; sut mae butt, sut wyt ti heno te?

Bloggers

One of my regular Blog readers has suggested that I should post a map showing exactly where Accra is and some traditional African music playing in the background. I agree with the map and will get my IT expert Jodi onto the case. As for the traditional music, I have some African music on a CD burnt for me by Jeff while I was in Haatso - but I don't know which tracks are traditional. Although the timing of the request is perfect as I had intended to post something about my favourite African track. So that information should be on-line in the next few minutes. The map and background music will take a bit longer but please pop back.

The Judicial System

During my visit to the Law Court in the centre of Accra, I came across a large noticeboard with the following text:

1. Is it the truth?
2. Is it fair to all concerned?
3. Will it build goodwill and better friendship?
4. Is it beneficial to all concerned?

These words don't quite build upon our fundamental idea with a civil action that the evidence must be beyond 'the balance of probabilities' let alone achieving our higher criminal standard of deciding the outcome as being 'beyond all reasonable doubt'. Nevertheless there is value in 'is it the truth', creating fairness and working towards a beneficial outcome to all concerned. I'm not sure about the building of goodwill and working towards better friendships as the damage must have been done or the accused would not be in the Judicial system. Although, this point does suggest a society that strives to place its past behind them, while looking to the future.

Checkmate

I relayed a story to Jeff while I was in Africa concerning our eldest daughter Jodi. I mentioned this story to my wife when I returned to the UK and she smiled as it happened so long ago. Last night, I also mentioned the story to Jodi who can remember what happened with great clarity, even down to the colour of the dressing gown that she wore.

We hosted a dinner party and during the early hours of the next morning one of my friends challenged me to a game of chess. He explained that he was particularly good and that it would be great to have a game as he had heard that I could play. I can’t dispute that I am a capable player. I declined the offer of a game, and the friend became a bit agitated. He insisted, and I continued to decline. My wife explained to our friend that I was pretty good and it wasn’t really worth setting up the board and pieces, for Pauline my type of playing was a bit different than what is often referred to in the trade as a ‘wood pusher’. It wasn’t that I couldn’t be bothered; it was simply that at the time I didn’t think that the game was worthwhile. The friend remained agitated and in the end I offered him the following challenge: I would wake up our daughter Jodi and although she was tired, she would beat him. If Jodi could beat him easily, then what was the point of our game?

He rubbished the suggestion that she would win, but we agreed a £5 bet on the result. This was quite a lot of money for Jodi aged 8 and given the year in which this occurred. I brought out a match play chess set, and set the board and pieces up. I then asked the friend to put his £5 by the side of the table. I went to Jodi’s room and woke her up and made the proposal, one game of chess and you go to back to bed £5 richer. Jodi was very tired, and I carried her into the lounge. Not a surprise given that it was around 2 a.m. in the morning.

Jodi was wearing her pink and white dressing gown when she sat down opposite her opponent. She promptly beat him, collected the money and thanked him and then went back to bed. We laughed about this story last night in Cardiff. Gavin never mentioned Chess again.

Table Manners

My eldest daughter Jodi and I met up last night in Cardiff to enjoy a Japanese meal and to take in a film. As we opened our sealed chopsticks and settled down to our feast, our thoughts turned to my experiences in Africa and we discussed eating habits. Elias tells us about the development of manners through an analysis of European development over several centuries. The African method is different than European eating habits, but who has it right? Jodi and I could see the value in using your right hand to eat, as you know where your right hand has been. I certainly took more care with what I used my hand for while I was in Africa. By placing individual washing bowls on the table, you also establish with certainty the cleanliness of those sat at the table. This position is strengthened by that fact that historically the poor could have ill afforded eating utensils and problems with clean water supplies would have made it difficult to frequently wash dishes and cutlery. Even when washed, these utensils may not have been clean. Therefore, the idea of partners sharing a meal may not be wrong. Yes, it is different from a European perspective, but the difference does not make it wrong. We have to consider the historical rationale behind the behaviour. The Chinese and Japanese may have overcome some of the problems of water, costs, and availability of items; by using simple circular, but deep bowls and eating utensils that are made from wood. These items would have probably been retained for individual use rather than used as a shared eating resource. The Asian development of eating habits is different than that in Europe or Africa, but again, it is simply different and not alien. There appears to be a convincing argument to suggest the use of finger eating is borne out of necessity and common sense, coupled with better hygiene. This position may also apply to shared meals between family members, and in many ways suggest that the African way of eating is superior to our European sensibilities. Jodi and I enjoyed our meal, and we both used our chopsticks throughout, only turning to a spoon for the soup. The meal was a feast, but the discussion provided a greater feast of knowledge and understanding.

Friends, family and those that need help

I spent several hours of Saturday afternoon in the company of a close friend of mine. I have mentioned several times in the blog the value of friendships and the importance of family. Dave and I are very much alike in that we have a small circle of just over half a dozen or so friends; but we place a great deal of importance on these friendships. My circle includes in no particular order; Dave, Adam, Francis, Daniel, Joe, Jane, Nick, Jeff and Michael. When I lived in South Wales this short list would have been expanded to include Doug, but we drifted apart at his choice. My friends can call upon my help at any time, and providing it is within my capacity to deliver and the request is legal then I would be there to help them. This does not mean that we speak every day or that we meet every weekend, it is simply an understanding brought about my mutual interests and trust. I enjoy Adam’s company as he is particularly intelligent and sometimes is quite funny, but I suspect that he doesn’t realise that. I haven’t spoken with Joe for a long time as he has been studying hard to become a Doctor. It is always great to meet up with Daniel as he operates in a different World than me; he is successful and works in the City. For those in Africa or the States reading this blog (and I know that you do as Google Analytics has told me the location and number of unique readers) the City is London. Some 6 hours by road from where I live, that is if the traffic is light. On a bad day the journey can take 8.5 hours.
Dave and I can put the World to rights and can chat at ease on just about any subject. Yesterday we discussed amongst many other things; the ways in which people discharge a social obligation to their fellow man. This is often undertaken through a sense of community, or a realisation that others need to be helped. Sometimes people look after others through their sense of duty. What is clear is that the catalyst for discharging this social obligation is not a birth right. Whilst I suspect that in 1918 and again in 1939 it would have been reasonable to have expected the upper classes to have enrolled in the armed forces; history has shown us that it was the working class who clamoured to ‘the call to arms’. My father was born in 1917 and with the winds of war blowing across Europe he enrolled in the Army prior to the outbreak of the Second World War. Unfortunately while serving in France during the period known as the ‘Phoney War’, Dad fell ill and had to be shipped back to the United Kingdom. After some eighteen months in hospital and convalescence, Dad was medically discharged from the Army. His sense of patriotic duty, his desire to serve King and Country meant that he could not languish to one side while others fought. Because of this, my father joined the Auxiliary Fire Service for the remainder of the War. As they say; ‘and the rest is history’. Another time, and another place back in Ghana and Mrs ‘G’ displays similar attributes. There appears to be a burning desire to look after her fellow man; people who almost dependent upon her within their small community. But I wonder what will happen when Mrs. ‘G’ is no longer there to protect her friends and extended family?

The Orangery

I am sat in one of my favourite haunts in Aberystwyth; The Orangery. I liken it more to a Gentleman's Club than a Coffee Shop / Cocktail Bar. Especially when the Couch, a small room on the left as you entered the premises used to be open. The leather seating in some parts of the building are extremely comfortable and they make a good latte. The bonus being that the staff are always friendly. They must have some Ghanaian blood inside them. Today I enjoyed yet another coffee and a Florentine Pizza made with a Free Range Egg in the Centre, lot's of Cheese and Spinach. Maybe not the healthiest of meals but one of the largest that I have eat in the last week. The rain is falling well on the West Coast of Wales, and I had set off from home with the intention of reading plenty of Norbert Elias from a new book that I have started since returning home. Unfortunately for Elias, the rain caused a distraction. My thoughts drifted back to the warmth of Africa and the warm of the friendships that I had begun while there. Writing some holiday advice and thinking of friends simply seemed like a more rewarding pastime on this weekend day off. Well, I say day off when I mean 'not in the office', as the nature of my business means that I am more often than not working 'on call'.

Travel advice for Ghana

Ghanaian's are lovely people and the following travel advice is based on my experiences in and around Accra, Ghana:

□ You need a travel VISA for Ghana. This will take at least 10 working days by post and 4 working days if you deal with it in person at the Commission

□ You need your Yellow Fever card for entry and you should have had other injections and tablets as prescribed by your doctor. These should be dealt with at least six weeks prior to travel. Get advice from your doctor sooner than later. It's a good idea to take some Imodium Tablets with you and some rehydration salt sachets; especially the European flavoured variety.

□ The packaged water sold on the streets is not safe for Europeans so use bottled water for drinking and for brushing your teeth

□ The currency is Cedis and smaller denomination Peswas. The Exchange Bureau in the UK might tell you it is $ or Euro. It's not, although some hotel prices are in $. Exchanging £'s and $ US in Ghana was not a problem. There was even a Bureau in Haatso

□ For safety carry small amounts of money. A fair tip is 50 Peswas and a fair gift to a beggar is 20 Peswas. Although please note that Ghanaian's generally frown upon begging

□ Most long taxi rides are between 4 and 7 Cedis. A long African bus ride around 1 Cedis 20 Peswas. A good meal for 2 with bottled water around 10 Cedis and a fine meal for three with soft drinks around 50 Cedis (£25). Bottled Fanta was sold for between 50 Peswas and 1 Cedis (25p - 50p)

□ Do not step outside of the airport and beyond the barrier unless your onward transport is waiting and you can see your friends or driver

□ The Ghanaian’s drive on the right hand side, so look both ways and concentrate

□ Food from Petrol Stations is safe but expensive. Eating cooked food from a street trader is proabably not a good idea unless you are with friends that know that the source is safe. With street traders and taxi’s unless the cost is written down then everything should be negotiated downwards

□ The Bus signs are for the orange coloured single deck National buses. The African bus is any multi seat vehicle like a mini bus of any colour and will stop just about anywhere. African Buses are chaotic but probably safer than a taxi. Pronounciation can be a problem, so it is a good idea to jot down your destination and return address on a bit of paper before you set off on your journey

□ Clothes and shoes are cheap, but if the seamstress/cobbler doesn't have your size it will take a week to make up something. So go shopping early into your holiday

□ On your return journey, your friends cannot enter the airport with you and you have to have your bags checked by Customs before you can check-in

□ August is probably the coolest month and March the hottest. August is the Ghanaian Rainy Season and the rain brings relief to the ever present humidity

For further travel advice check out your Consulate, Medical Centre and quality Websites. Enjoy your holiday!

It's Cold

It's Friday in the UK and I am freezing. I wore a vest under my shirt in work (something that I have not done for years) and am now wearing a vest, t-shirt and a jumper. It is 16 degrees but it feels more like 8. The heat and the humidity in Ghana was crushing. My photographs show the perspiration rolling off my face, and the light clothes that I had to wear while I was abroad. In comparison there has been so much rain back in Wales that the Emergency Services have been stretched over the last 24 hours, and that rain has brought with it a further drop in temperature. The rain for this time of the year is the worst many can remember in living memory, and for me this is the coldest that I have been for some time. Maybe I acclimatised too quickly while in Ghana and now I am paying the price for enjoying so much heat while I was there. The best part is; this is also the rainy season in Ghana, and it is also their coldest time of the year.

Phone Home

I phoned ahead and explained to Pauline that I was unwell. “Oh, poor thing” she replied, “I’ll get you a doctors appointment and you can go straight there.” It was a relief to be back in the United Kingdom and enroute to the comfort of my family. It always feels good to be with family when you are unwell. Family is big in Ghana; it is even bigger than Fanta. The doctor appointment was relatively swift, but the deed was done and a sample would be prepared for the hospital to check. By swift, I mean the doctoring and not the waiting. Although the waiting was my fault as we operate an appointment system and they had squeezed me in almost unannounced. The receptionist was very kind, and for a brief moment I wondered if she was Ghanaian. I also wondered what it would have been like waiting for the doctor in Africa. Another of those things that we probably take for granted, but in some parts of the World people have to travel vast distances or go without medical attention. The National Health Service (NHS) is often criticized, but it is there when you need it and it is a good base to build upon. You might have to pay or go private, but at least there is immediate attention. Unless of course you are a terminally ill Ghanaian national, then we send you home to die. I could harp on about that event, but this is not a political statement, albeit there is social commentary and comparisons between our two countries. The Doctor’s surgery that I use is a converted Church. Many of the original features still remain. This was a fitting location for my first proper rest in Aberystwyth, given the amount of time that I had spent in church during my short stay in Ghana. I had left the Surgery and was heading home. I already felt better, that was until I got home and the family announced that I looked dreadful.

Trouble

On Tuesday morning I considered ‘Why do I attract trouble?’ A colleague had once said to me that I am a larger and life character. “Not your weight” he added, “but the way things happen around you.” Flying out from Gatwick I had endured the lengthy frisking in full public view because no one had listed to me when I insisted that I should remove my belt. I am not a poor communicator; in fact I am pretty good. I have presented high level work covering complex matters. So why didn’t anyone listen? Is it my clothing size, my casual dress, or is it the short cropped hair? Okay, my hair is short, but it’s only a number 2 and most people shave to number 1. I speak reasonably eloquently. During my time in Ghana, I was mistaken as English by an English friend of Jeff’s. I smell good, and I wash frequently, so why do I attract trouble?

“Good morning sir,” always an ominous start. “You are in the green lane.” I wasn’t sure where I was, I was simply trying to get out of this nightmarish airport with its endless corridors and poor signage. “Do you know that you are in the green lane Sir?” delivered with a hint of sarcasm. “No, I thought that it was the exit, everything looks the same around here and I was lost.” An honest answer, delivered quickly and without hesitation. The man had followed me from when I had entered his green lane, I wondered why. Maybe he wanted company I had thought. “Did you pack these bags yourself sir?” “Of course I did, why would I want someone else to pack my bags, they might put the wrong things inside” I replied. “Are you carrying anything inside that was handed to you by someone else?” A simple question and I suspect that he was hoping that I would say no. “Of course I am. I have gifts from my friends and three envelopes to post when I get home.” Ah ha, a weakness in my response. “So you accepted envelopes, what size are they?” I knew where this was going, and I had to humour him but I truly wished that he would keep up as I was feeling unwell and too tired to play games. “They are average size.” A classic answer as how can you define average. What I could have said is that all three fit the British Post Office defined sizes and thicknesses for the classification of a small envelope as defined in the Postal changes of 2007. But maybe he would have thought that I was a smart arse, and after all some of them had guns. They were not visible, but I am not stupid. “What thickness are these envelopes?” he continued. “Normal thickness” I replied. This was going nowhere, so I added “I am not stupid, they are average sized envelopes of normal thickness, if I was suspicious of anything I would have refused to carry them. I would never carry other people’s bags or belongings and I understand the need to be cautious when travelling.” At last, an answer that drew the conversation to a close. “Thank you, you can go” he concluded.

On the way to Ghana I had felt like a terrorist. Frisked in public view because no one had listened and the metal detector, detected what I knew it would detect. On my way back, I felt like a drug baron. The only saving grace; was like the metal detector, both interrogators were only doing their job. I only hope that the same rules apply on the planes to and from other destinations. I would hate to think that it was an African thing.

Better Men

He may have been The Best Man, but I have met many better men. These include: Jeff, Cudjo, Elijah, Jones, Jess, Rubens, Nigel, Yoggi, the Two Uncles, the men at the Garage, the Kwik Fit Fitter, and of course Michael. I don’t mind being blanked, and I should have suspected something was amiss, when Michael handed me the telephone to chat to him; and the line was dead. Michael and I suspected that we had been cut off. Yes we had, but obviously it had not been a technical fault. He knew that I was on the plane, and in the check-in and baggage collection I stood out somewhat. But he didn’t want to acknowledge me let alone chat. Jeff and I had discussed people, almost as much as Michael and I have discussed ‘the ignorance of man’ in the past. We have all concluded that such people exist everywhere. Sometimes the behaviour occurs through ignorance and sometimes from malice. But there is an upside; here is one future wedding that I don’t have to attend.

I am sat in the corner of what used to be known as my Cinema Room. Four leather chairs and a 50 inch television from the days when most homes had nothing bigger than a 28 inch screen. Television tube technology limited the average screen size. Technology moves on and tube sizes increased slightly prior to the arrival of LED and Plasma. My large screen is rear projection. 100Htz flicker free multi angle viewing, but it takes up a lot of space in what is after all a small room.

Sometimes change is not about technology, it is about changing focus. Our Grandson Justin arrived a few months back and the 6 foot by 2 foot table for the ‘n’ gauge train set is already set up in the ‘Cinema Room’, while the large Church scene in 20mm H0/00 scale is resting below the table. The larger scene will form the centre piece for the larger train set when I get around to building it. Meanwhile my thoughts return to Africa. Pauline is making rice, potato and chicken. Many of the smells from the kitchen remind me of my time in Ghana. If I wasn’t poorly, I would consider this as finger food. But tonight I need to play it safe and use a fork. But watch out guests, for when I get the recipe for ‘kinky’, fu-fu and the like, you might have to ask “is the bowl for drinking?” “No”, I will reply, “It is to wash your hands”.

The flight home

The flight home to the UK was good. The food was fine but not as fine as that cooked by Tamara, Mrs. ‘G’ or the ladies at Patricia’s Mum’s house. I boarded the plane and the attendant ushered me to the left. There was no ‘Cattle Class’ as my brother calls it, this time. The seats were wide, each with an extra wide padded headrest. At the bottom was a movable leg rest with an extending footrest for my feet. There was a vacuum between the two seats and the two in front. When fully reclined there was no intrusion into my space.

I cannot say the same about the journey to Accra. That was pure ‘Cattle Class’. Three abreast, and when the person in front reclined, my stomach ached from the squeeze. I quickly realised that I could only use my table if they had the courtesy not to recline. She was not courteous, and there was no table for me. The food was good, the service good, but not as good as business class. I had upgraded out of necessity. Either Business Class, or no flight home that week. But given a choice, I would have ask; is it really worth it? Business class is nice, but it is not an essential part of flying abroad. Just ask for a window seat so that there are fewer disturbances: unless of course you are the one that wants to get up (the lady sat next to me decided to make 15 trips to nowhere). That’s 30 times for me to unbuckle the belt, squeeze out of the seat and repeat the process when she returned. She chatted to friends, she made new friends, and she bothered the attendants.

The lady sat next to me in business class could have beaten that record. It would not have mattered as there was so much room around us. I enjoyed the little food that I eat, and I wallowed in the good service. It was also nice to catch a glimpse of the flight deck whenever an Attendant opened the door to check on the pilots. Thankfully, they were still sat there every time she opened the door. It would not have mattered if they had vanished as Jeff believes that a fireman can do anything; fly, sail, put out fires. I did not break that myth, but the truth is: chess, reading, writing, and model making yes. Flying and sailing no. Unless of course I am sat on the ferry or a passenger flying in Business Class.

Sweating in the Air Conditioning

“You are sweating in the Air Conditioning!” I paused and turned. I knew there was going to be trouble. The lady was wearing a smart uniform, she looked official. Here we were stood in the middle of a large airport departure lounge and this guy was sweating even though the air conditioning was pumping out. She was paid to spot trouble. It looked like she had found some. Do you hate it when you want to speak but the words don’t come out? Do I tell her that I am ill, and risk being prevented taking the flight? I can’t lie as my value set will not allow it, I don’t want to try and mislead her. I mention diarrhea. “Oh, you run?” That’s what they call it over here, ‘running’. 100m in 9.42 seconds I reckon. Plus of course the long jump.

The lady accepted my explanation. What I could have also said is that I was waiting in the queue with the minutes counting down to ‘check in’ closure, when someone stood next to me explained that my bags had not been checked. They were heavy bags and I was tired. My friends had not been allowed into the airport. Only those that have a passport and a valid ticket can get past the armed guard. I pulled and carried my bags to security. “Why have you been in Ghana?” “Where have you stayed?” “Where do you live?” I had to open my bags for them to be checked, there was no smiling, just work. At last the guard scrolled chalk marks on two of my bags, “You can go” she said. I thought, “Only if I make check-in”. I was still out of my depth, as check-in is preceded by weigh-in. “Why is your hand luggage so heavy” asked the two men undertaking the weight checks. I wanted to say, because of the gifts from my friends, but the truth is; that my bags were balanced badly as I am a novice at international travel. 8kg this, 38kg that, what do they think? Do they really expect everyone to have a butchers weighing scale dangling from their ceiling at home. A bag is a bag. You fill it until the zipper will not close. Then you sit on it, and if it closes then all is fine.

Now someone notices that I am travelling Business Class and the position changes. “This way, Sir” “Excuse me Madam, you have to wait there. This route is reserved for VIP’s.” Mmm, I like business class.

Blog-It!

You may wonder how seamless some of the posts are and how some have appeared while I was travelling. This is because there are two blogger's, but only one author. I type up the post and my eldest daughter Jodi logs in to correct any spelling errors. Update photo's and create the various layout styles. This cut down on my blogging time while I was in Africa. Jodi is responsible for providing the photo viewer at the top of the home page as well as the archive on the right hand side. All of this is particularly useful whenever the Internet connection at your destination is slow. You could arrange before you travel for a trusted family member or friend to undertake various updates for you. Another useful tip is to write and save your new posts in a WORD Doc and cut and paste into the 'new post' section of your Blog as and when the material is ready. Less likelihood of a programme failure, and you have a second copy in case of a complete Website loss. This is the reason that some of my posts appear to have been written so quickly, when in fact they were cut and pastes from WORD.

African Wear

The Waiter brought the water that I had ordered for my friends, and the laughter subdued. It was good to chat and watch my four friends enjoy themselves. Friendship is not about giving; it is about listening, helping and caring. I learnt today back in the United Kingdom that it is also about trust. The same trust that you place with your spouse throughout your married life. I trust these friends and I care for them. Apparently Michael had been overwhelmed by one of our two Wedding presents. According to Patricia it showed him how much I cared for him. Not through monetary value, but from the time that it had taken to compile and the thought that had gone into the gift. Michael and Patricia were there to see me off on my long journey home and to present me with a memento of Africa. A fine blue and yellow garment made out of the best material, and one which fits me exceptionally well. It is of real quality and I value the gift, but no gift was needed as I value the friendship more.

To add to the surprise, they had also bought Pauline an African dress made of the same material and a Ghana map stand for my office desk. As we left the restaurant, the heat hit me again and I started to leak.

Hissing

We went for a lovely meal near to the airport. Well, I say lovely, but what I mean is that it looked lovely. Tamara went for what we know as ‘Pancake Rolls’, quite large ones but Jeff helped out. Jeff went for steak, rice and a poached egg. They brought us small warm buns while we waited, which I thought was a nice touch. The room was air conditioned and the tables well spaced out. We could have eaten outside, but as usual I was warm and asked to go into the cool air. The menu was well laid out and if I had been well I would have gone for the Spanish omellette. Jeff’s meal was huge, Tamara’s was not and I went for the fruit salad. A nice combination of two fruits; Pineapple and Water Melon. I manage half. I felt sorry for Tam, and then her main course arrived. Like Jeff’s meal, this was another large plate of rice complete with a poached egg. “That look’s good”, I thought. I then turned back to my fruit salad. Jeff’s phone rang, it was Patricia. They wanted to meet us prior to my flight back to the United Kingdom.

Michael and Patricia joined us at the restaurant and I offered them food. They declined but accepted water. I hissed. Not at my friends, but at the waiter. The waiter who had been walking at full stride some 15 feet away, stopped in his tracks. He turned and moved swiftly to our table. Michael and Patricia, Jeffers and Tam were rolling with laughter. Out loud and with contorted bodies. One with her head face down into her arms, another leaning back in his chair with his head leaning back further and looking at the ceiling, another wiping her eyes. They had never heard me hissing, in fact I suspect they had never heard a White man hiss in their entire life.

Moonwalking

I looked everywhere for Jacko. I looked around the sides of the 50 gallon water drum in the bathroom (not inside it as it has a lid), amongst the many shoes on the low level shoe stand in one of the two corridors inside the house. I checked out the lounge and the two reclining armchairs that form part of the large corner settee unit. I even went back into the pantry. I wondered where Mr. Jacko could be. Maybe he had made it outside? The single storey house forms a square with a hollow in the middle. A bit like the British squares during the Napoleonic Wars of 1815. The small hollow has some vegetation and each of two of the walls have windows with the steel rods and mosquito nets, while the third is open brickwork that lets through the air but is also covered with a fixed mosquito net. The door to the small square garden is in two parts, the first part is a lockable door and the second is a mosquito net door. The weather had been extremely hot for me, and my hosts had opened the locked door to allow more fresh air into the house. Maybe Mr. Jacko had decided to venture in the garden. Although this was not a European garden, as for us it would serve no practical purpose. There were no flowers as such, and the area was too small to sit out in, or to grow vegetables. But in Africa this small square served a particularly useful purpose; it was a source of cool air.

I wandered back to the bedroom, and there he was. Not singing, but frozen to the wall just above my knee height and to my left. Mr. Jacko had returned! He moved, first left then right, across the wooden door surround and then back again onto the wall and down towards the blue carpet. It was not quite moonwalking, but these were crazy moves. Jacko was back in town, and I was really glad.

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.

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.