Ben's Ghana Adventures

A collection of all the emails that I sent while I lived, worked and travelled around Ghana West Africa from October 10th 2005 to February 10th 2006. Sorry thers a lot but I had a bloody good time living the experiences! Check out http://www.flickr.com/people/47625280@N00/ to see all my African Photos.

Friday, February 24, 2006

Some pictures for your consideration






Here are some shots which I collected from Africa. Memoeries are best collected.

I have so many but unfortunately I cannot add too many onto this blog. Alternatively I do have some on http://www.flickr.com/photos/47625280@N00/
So why not spend a couple of minutes browsing through my travels and life and times in the wilds of Africa

ASs for now I am readily packing for my trip to Indonesia. I fly out on April fools day. So really its good that I am not supersticious!! I am volunteering again, this time working with people with disabilities. I will start up another blog so you can all check out my progress in Asia.

But now I must remember all the things which I should have taken to Africa with me and take them with me to Asia. Things such as a cowboy hat and an mp3 player. So as I go off to try and get all the things that I need I will leave you to have the once over my pictures.

Have fun.
x x x

After Africa. Ben's return to Blighty.
























Well here are the during and aftre pictures of Africa. Dont I look like the entrepid explorer. Back from the wilds with a facial expression that soemhow protrays pain rather than the intended debonair look which I was intending to create.

Today I have done nothing. I am so bloody bored. After all this travelling and the fun, excitment, thrills, laughs, near misses, dices with trouble, scraps and scallywag antics of travelling. Life back at home is so bloody boring. The normal routine which was once my life seems so mundane and lifeless now. I am trying to inject some life into it but alas I am failing.
I need some excitement. I am one of these people who cannot sit still and is always on the go, flitting from one thing to the other. I am very active and boredom and me just dont get along. I am waiting for my mp3 player to arrive so that I can put all my music onto it and therefore plug it in to the car stereo when I get the car next week. I cannot wait to drive and have my independance back. You really miss a car when you can drive and dont have any wheels to get you out and about, like the man about town that I try to be. I need to go out and start to drive again. It has been so sodding long since I last was behind a wheel with the window wide open, the wind tossing my fro and my music blearing out the rocking beats that warm the cockles of my heart.
I am sorry that when I write I use slang. Or rather as I would say using the old London lingo. I do like a bit of slang, but I regularly use my posh voice which I take out of the box and use for special occasions and the like.

Today the local newspaper came round to interview me as they wanted to write a piece about my trip to Africa for the local paper. Obviously I am the only person who does anything interesting around here. Normally the paper is full of crime stories and bad news. So for some local bloke to go to Africa and almost write a book and comeback with comical anecdotes and amazing tales it is their dream to write about it. So I had one phone interview with some woman. Then a photographer came round and made me pose with a mask and one of my scarves that we bought in the bloody Accra arts centre. She took loads of photos while I tried to smile. Then when she had left, another reporter came round. He came in and had a long chat and he was so interested about all my travels. He said that when I return from Indonesia I must contact him again and have another article published. So soon I will be the local star and celebrity, Ben the African explorer extraordinaire. That has a nice ring to it!

Life is so strange after travelling. Apart from the boredom and the patronising 'reverse culture shock' booklet which the volunteering organisation sent me, life is cold and wet.
Britain seems to not really have moved on too much. Except I went to a club and all the girls are waering these massive belts! Whats that all about eh! I can spending all my time catching up on music. That was the one thing I truly, madley, deeply missed in Africa. Oh how some times I longed for the sound of the electric guitar banging out some eventful tune.

When I got back after I had met all my mates, darnk a real pint of Guinness and then played lacrosse and football in the cold which almost killed me. I went to the doctors for my after Africa check up. The good news is that I am 100% fit and healthy and have none of these magical African diseases or illnesses that one can pick up. But I have lost a stone and a half and was suffereing from mal-nutrition! So I have been eating like a mad man. Cheese galore has past my mouth and I am now properly addicted to cups of tea and coffee.

Coming home is always an adventure for about a week when things like sitting on a settee and eating biscuits are a novelty. But as I have no transport, ergo I am as bored as a badger at the opera.
The good news is that I have got some great photos of my trip and many more to still develop. Also I have been in regular contact with all whom I met on my adventures. These people will be friends for life and I plan on keeping in contact with the lot of them.
Well thats my views on life after travelling. Soon I am off again and I cant bloody wait. I am so excited to be going off again. This time Indonesia beckons.
Wish me luck and thanks for reading all my bollocks on this blog.
Take care all
Ben
x x x x

Thursday, February 09, 2006

Ben's African Adventures 20 - The End


Here it is my very last installment of Ben's African Adventures. Dont cry dear readers as I will return in another series of adventures.
The fat lady waddles up on stage and the floor board creek under her weight. She is about to open her mouth but she is just so fat and her arteries so clogged with yellow puss like goo. That her heart canNot take anymore and she falls clutching her chest and arm on to the stage floor and has a heart attack. They say it is not over til the fat lady sings and she is now in hospital so cannot.
That means that it is time for the final installment of my grand adventures in the dusty continent of Africa. My travels my Ben Whateley-Harris or 'Sunburnt, Dusty and Confused' as I like to call them.

But before I start why not add some visual stimulation to these words. Check out http://www.flickr.com/people/47625280@N00/ To see some photos of my Adventure that has changed my life.

These emails which I have been sending are only a small slither of a slice of cake that is Africa. My journals are massive but alas I cannot write all in my emails that I write in my personal diary. Mostly because I wtrite too much but also because its so bloody rude.
On my blog where I put all my emails so people can read them. TRhis chap put this comment about one of them. http://benslavatory.blogspot.com/

I have never laughed so much in my life. Such vivacity, such sense of humor and such an eye for details – the good, the bad and the ugly. Not to speak of the fantastic memory. Some of the scenes you describe brings to mind my own childhood. I grew up in Ghana and during my tender years my parents used to take me on some of the routes you describe. I imagine that if I had had your eyes and sense of humanity I would have probably stayed in Ghana, instead of moving to and making my home in the US. You are amazing! Don’t lose your common touch and sensibilities. They would come in handy in what I envisage would be a fulfilling and happy life.Kwasi AppiahChicago

I am glad that some people like my emails and seem to love reading them. I know that most of them are far too long to make enjoyable teatime or bedtime reading even. But really when I write I write them as much for myself as I do for all of you readers out there in the real world. This is my way of writing something more tangible than my journals that now amount to a massive 5 whole books (not including the full one that was stolen).

This is my last goodbye to Momma Africa. The place that I have fallen deeply in love with. For all her foibles and madness that seems to overpower everyhting and makes people life with no rationality in their lifes, she has captured my heart and I will return one day and see more of her wonders.
I am off home now to a world of fresh coffe, book shops that actually sell books rather than just bibles, proper tv, the cinema and music. Oh how I have missed the beautiful caress of music.
I was planning on rocking up back home with my hair still in the braids and bunches that sister Doris did for me, but alas I took them out and was surprised just how long my hair was. Although I malted like a blody Yetti, there was hair eveywhere. I had to sweep up the room that I took the bands out in.

If I can give out one peice of advice to you all, it would be to travel. See the world, see all that you can, enlighten yourself. Experience other cultures. Dont just be a bloody tourist (that is a word I hate) be a traveller, an explorer, an intrepid hero daring to go where no one else does. Immerse yourself into a culture and swim in it. Dont just dip a tow into the tepid waters. Travelling and indeed working in another country (especially a country that gives you a high position such as acting head of sports in a school, form master and hed of year one English) gives you such an insight into how others live and work. It maeks you appreciet what you have already and what you dont. It opens your half shut squinting eyes to new ways of approaching obstacles that are in front of you and also teaches you a lot about yourself. Like I really must smile more and frown less as I have ben told by both Ghanaians and other volunteers of numerous nationalities. I have also I think become more chilled out and less bothered by western things, such as technology. Although the internet is a great way to express yourself, such as I am doing now. Even though it is few and far between I do like to have a good old type to get things off my chest.

I will miss Africa. Even though I am only home for 6 weeks before I jet off to Indonesia to work with disabled people in Malang for 3 months and then I go off to Bonnie Scotland to do the same for another and this is just a half time period in my year of adventure, I will miss the African way of life.
I will miss the tro tro's that no matter what time you can catch to any destination and the 'mate', thats his actual title is like a magician and can fill spaces with people where before their were no spaces and the driver thinks he is in banger race and cannot bare to take his foot off the floored excellerator.
I will miss the street foods that are like a game of Russian roulette. You never know if you will get soemthing that you like or whether it has worms in it and smells like arse. The food out here is abundant and that at fiorst shock me for Africa. When I first decided to gfo to Africa I thought of all the famine that you see on the TV. In truth Ghana has too mauch fod and it is always fried in fatty oil. I have never in all my days seen so much oil used in so little time. No wonder some of the Big Mumma's are exactly that. So in my ignorance I thought that maybe I would have to either become fat buy overeating before I come to Africa or put on some weight by going down the gym a lot. I didnt like the idea of becoming a 'Chubba', so I went down the gym all the time at home. So I now think that even though I have done loads of running, football, climbing mountians, swimming in lakes and the sea. I have probably put on a few punds here and there. But on the bright side I have a lovely tan!
The one thing I wont miss will be the fact that you cannot for love nor money get cheese or milk anywhere, real milk not this cream shite that they have.
SYTO the host organisation I have volunteered for I would highly recommend to anyone that wishes to come to ASfrica. The boss Tina Duah and our rep in Swedru Seth Tenkerang are the best people for the job. I cannot criticise them one bit. Seth has such a cool sense of hunoir and Tina tells me the funniest stories ever. Like the Dutch volunteering Father and daugheter who came to Ghana volunteering. Now thats strange in itself, but even stranger when I tell you that the father wanted them to share the same bed for the entire time. Needless to say the daughetr kicked up and stink and ran away.
Tina is also going to write me a reference saying that I have worked in Africa etc etc.

I cannot believe that I am going home. I am rather lookijg forward to going home and having cheese again.
It is odd travelling on your own though. The people I meet are cool, and travelling on your own means that you hve to tlk to everyopne otherwise you can get a bit lonely.

I am so glad that I came to Ghana and the people I have met hve made my trip. The other volunteers are all fantastic and the host family great, very odd but great. Nana in his towell roaming around the hoise with his royal hairy nipples out saying that I look beautiful is a sight and memory that I will take to the grave with me.
The school that I taught in. Kwanyaku secondary technical school was a great place to be. Where else would your class be interupted as you are giving a written comprehension test in English so that the students can go and cut the grass with their sharp cutlasses. Also where in the world apart from Africa is a bloody lethal cutlass part of a pupils kit list?
All these things are the little ideosyncratic things that have made my trip. So many stories have I to tell when I return. Many of which are too rude or involve a good deal of gratuitious nudity to tell in these emails.
One reason I write so much in my emails is that when I return I wont have to tell you all about the things that I have done. Because you have the choice to read about them before I return. This is so I do not bore you all to tears with things that you already know.
They have now installed mini tv's on the back of the seats on the KLM planes. So I will not sleep at all on the flight. This is goint to be a killer as when I land I have so much to do at home and then I reckon someone will pull me down the puB for a good old pint of fine English Ale. Then the following day I have arranged to play for my beloved lacrosse team Buckhust Hill against Croydon in the league and we will be in new spanking brand new kits. Wow then Football on sunday. Its all action Ben when I return. I am looking forward to a good pint though. As I have no car insurance when I get back I wont have to be the designated driver and can have a wee drinky! Rock on!
Ghana airways and Nigerian airways have been grounded as something like 25% of air accidents occur in Africa. When Africa makes up only 4% of the entire sky traffic. I am glad I am on a Dutch airline. But why do the Dutch Volunteers fly to Ghana via London on British Airways while the Brits fly via Amsterdam on Dutch run KLM?
My theory why the planes crash a lot in Africa is that they are piloted by goats. Well the goats must go somewhere at night as they seem to be roaming around on the strrets during the day and vanish after dark!

Final day
I write this last section of my final email to you all back in Accra. Yesterdayb I returned to Swedru and then on to Kwanyaku to have one last night with my host family and their strange ways. I arrived and straight away went to the school where all the children were weeding and cutting the grass of the entire school fiels as the athletics seasons starts today. As soon as the kids saw me I was mobbed. They ran over and hung off me, some shook my hands, some jumped on my back and others kissed me on the cheeks. One poor girl was caned accross the palms because she stopped weeding to talk to me. Then as the teacher (Another Kofi, ythis one is a rude old sod) raised his cane to smack the girl for a second time I thought sod it I am leaving tomoorw and left into action. The cane came flying donw with tremendous force and I reached out my hand and grabbed it in mid flight. The teacher was shocked and the kid smiled at me. The teacher then in a huff pulled the cane from my kung-fu vice like grib and stormed off. I bloody hate caning and think that Ghana should follow our example by outlawing it.

So aftre I had really offended one teacher I went around meeting all the other members of the staff. The groundstaff and drivers who for some reason really love me all came charging over and mobbed me in the same fashion as the kids did, but minus the kisses thank goodness. One man has a big olt tash and no teeth and I would rather that he didnt pucker up and try and plant one on me.
All the teachers were sad to see me leave and gathered around to hear the tales of my last travels. Before long I had escaped before they were going to take me down to the store room to meet the strange lady who lives within I ran back to Nanas. For one Nana Ampin Darko the chief was fully dressed and had turned my old room into his counselling room where he holds deep discussions on village affiars with the elders. But the piost cards of London which I had given him, I was proud to see mounted in a frame on the wall!
I stayed one night and Sister Doris was so glad to see me that she fussed around me and soon became very annoying. But she gave me the most beautiful leaving present. A shirt made just for me in a truly African style. It is long sleeved with a grandad collar and very long. It flows down to mid shin. Of course it is in some weired and wonderful artistic pattern and is made from quite a thick material, but none the less I was over the moon with it.

So in my time back in Nana's house I talked at lenght woth Mrs. Nana about London and she told me about in her youth she saw a man commit suiside from Brixton town hall roof. She told me she felt guilty as she egged the man on and her with some other friends shouted coward at the man. She is a dark horse really, but is great to talk to.
I also had a date ti meet the new volunteers in Swedru, so soon I was back on a sweaty tro tro being called Obroni by everyone and thing that moves and found my way to the Shaduf spot where they all were hanging out drinking cool refreshing beer. Once again the lady with the green face was there and when the owner of the bar a friendly man called Francis whos little daughter wont leave me alone, found out I was going he seemed very sad.
After lots of drinks and a Ben;s jacakanory session about the Yeji ferry antics and drivers being arrested I left for my final night innthe rural wilds of West Africa.

Now I am going to spend the rest of the day haggling with the people who sells carvuings on the street, go to SYTO to say goodbye and re-opack my bag and dump all my clothes that are bloody ruined now. They have holes in from Sister Bea's washing and are all bleached, faded and stretched.

So thats all folks. The fat lady has re-appeared after her minor heart attack and now fitted with a pacemaker is warming up in the wings. Soo it is over for me and as I board the plane home she will thunder out her roar of a singing voice to signal the end of a fantastic life changing experience in Africa.
Africa, what a place. You must go!

So fotr the least time, where ever you are,. what everr you are doing.
TAKE CARE

P.S. Remember to check out the photos on http://www.discorice.org/ they are a surefire thing!
If you cannot be bothered to navigate yourway through the website to find the photos here are a few links for you to follow:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/discorice/66812914/in/set-1441496/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/discorice/66812909/in/set-1441496/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/discorice/70059058/in/set-1441496/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/discorice/66812911/in/set-1441496/
There are loads more, all you have to do is look. I unfortunately only have a point a click PAS film camera. None of this high tech digital mularky so I cannot uplaod any untikl I get them developed and put on to a CD. The trouble is though, that I have so many films to develop and not the money to do so. It may take a while before you can see all my pictures (I bet you breathed a huge sigh of relief)!
Also if you go to google.co.uk and type in Nana Ampin Darko VI you are given an option of visiting my blog at http://benslavatory.blogspot.com/ how cool is that!

Ben's African Adventure 20 - The End

Here it is my very last installment of Ben's African Adventures. Dont cry dear readers as I will return in another series of adventures.
The fat lady waddles up on stage and the floor board creek under her weight. She is about to open her mouth but she is just so fat and her arteries so clogged with yellow puss like goo. That her heart canNot take anymore and she falls clutching her chest and arm on to the stage floor and has a heart attack. They say it is not over til the fat lady sings and she is now in hospital so cannot.
That means that it is time for the final installment of my grand adventures in the dusty continent of Africa. My travels my Ben Whateley-Harris or 'Sunburnt, Dusty and Confused' as I like to call them.

These emails which I have been sending are only a small slither of a slice of cake that is Africa. My journals are massive but alas I cannot write all in my emails that I write in my personal diary. Mostly because I wtrite too much but also because its so bloody rude.
On my blog where I put all my emails so people can read them. TRhis chap put this comment about one of them. http://benslavatory.blogspot.com/

I have never laughed so much in my life. Such vivacity, such sense of humor and such an eye for details – the good, the bad and the ugly. Not to speak of the fantastic memory. Some of the scenes you describe brings to mind my own childhood. I grew up in Ghana and during my tender years my parents used to take me on some of the routes you describe. I imagine that if I had had your eyes and sense of humanity I would have probably stayed in Ghana, instead of moving to and making my home in the US. You are amazing! Don’t lose your common touch and sensibilities. They would come in handy in what I envisage would be a fulfilling and happy life.Kwasi AppiahChicago

I am glad that some people like my emails and seem to love reading them. I know that most of them are far too long to make enjoyable teatime or bedtime reading even. But really when I write I write them as much for myself as I do for all of you readers out there in the real world. This is my way of writing something more tangible than my journals that now amount to a massive 5 whole books (not including the full one that was stolen).

This is my last goodbye to Momma Africa. The place that I have fallen deeply in love with. For all her foibles and madness that seems to overpower everyhting and makes people life with no rationality in their lifes, she has captured my heart and I will return one day and see more of her wonders.
I am off home now to a world of fresh coffe, book shops that actually sell books rather than just bibles, proper tv, the cinema and music. Oh how I have missed the beautiful caress of music.
I was planning on rocking up back home with my hair still in the braids and bunches that sister Doris did for me, but alas I took them out and was surprised just how long my hair was. Although I malted like a blody Yetti, there was hair eveywhere. I had to sweep up the room that I took the bands out in.

If I can give out one peice of advice to you all, it would be to travel. See the world, see all that you can, enlighten yourself. Experience other cultures. Dont just be a bloody tourist (that is a word I hate) be a traveller, an explorer, an intrepid hero daring to go where no one else does. Immerse yourself into a culture and swim in it. Dont just dip a tow into the tepid waters. Travelling and indeed working in another country (especially a country that gives you a high position such as acting head of sports in a school, form master and hed of year one English) gives you such an insight into how others live and work. It maeks you appreciet what you have already and what you dont. It opens your half shut squinting eyes to new ways of approaching obstacles that are in front of you and also teaches you a lot about yourself. Like I really must smile more and frown less as I have ben told by both Ghanaians and other volunteers of numerous nationalities. I have also I think become more chilled out and less bothered by western things, such as technology. Although the internet is a great way to express yourself, such as I am doing now. Even though it is few and far between I do like to have a good old type to get things off my chest.

I will miss Africa. Even though I am only home for 6 weeks before I jet off to Indonesia to work with disabled people in Malang for 3 months and then I go off to Bonnie Scotland to do the same for another and this is just a half time period in my year of adventure, I will miss the African way of life.
I will miss the tro tro's that no matter what time you can catch to any destination and the 'mate', thats his actual title is like a magician and can fill spaces with people where before their were no spaces and the driver thinks he is in banger race and cannot bare to take his foot off the floored excellerator.
I will miss the street foods that are like a game of Russian roulette. You never know if you will get soemthing that you like or whether it has worms in it and smells like arse. The food out here is abundant and that at fiorst shock me for Africa. When I first decided to gfo to Africa I thought of all the famine that you see on the TV. In truth Ghana has too mauch fod and it is always fried in fatty oil. I have never in all my days seen so much oil used in so little time. No wonder some of the Big Mumma's are exactly that. So in my ignorance I thought that maybe I would have to either become fat buy overeating before I come to Africa or put on some weight by going down the gym a lot. I didnt like the idea of becoming a 'Chubba', so I went down the gym all the time at home. So I now think that even though I have done loads of running, football, climbing mountians, swimming in lakes and the sea. I have probably put on a few punds here and there. But on the bright side I have a lovely tan!
The one thing I wont miss will be the fact that you cannot for love nor money get cheese or milk anywhere, real milk not this cream shite that they have.
SYTO the host organisation I have volunteered for I would highly recommend to anyone that wishes to come to ASfrica. The boss Tina Duah and our rep in Swedru Seth Tenkerang are the best people for the job. I cannot criticise them one bit. Seth has such a cool sense of hunoir and Tina tells me the funniest stories ever. Like the Dutch volunteering Father and daugheter who came to Ghana volunteering. Now thats strange in itself, but even stranger when I tell you that the father wanted them to share the same bed for the entire time. Needless to say the daughetr kicked up and stink and ran away.
Tina is also going to write me a reference saying that I have worked in Africa etc etc.

I cannot believe that I am going home. I am rather lookijg forward to going home and having cheese again.
It is odd travelling on your own though. The people I meet are cool, and travelling on your own means that you hve to tlk to everyopne otherwise you can get a bit lonely.

I am so glad that I came to Ghana and the people I have met hve made my trip. The other volunteers are all fantastic and the host family great, very odd but great. Nana in his towell roaming around the hoise with his royal hairy nipples out saying that I look beautiful is a sight and memory that I will take to the grave with me.
The school that I taught in. Kwanyaku secondary technical school was a great place to be. Where else would your class be interupted as you are giving a written comprehension test in English so that the students can go and cut the grass with their sharp cutlasses. Also where in the world apart from Africa is a bloody lethal cutlass part of a pupils kit list?
All these things are the little ideosyncratic things that have made my trip. So many stories have I to tell when I return. Many of which are too rude or involve a good deal of gratuitious nudity to tell in these emails.
One reason I write so much in my emails is that when I return I wont have to tell you all about the things that I have done. Because you have the choice to read about them before I return. This is so I do not bore you all to tears with things that you already know.
They have now installed mini tv's on the back of the seats on the KLM planes. So I will not sleep at all on the flight. This is goint to be a killer as when I land I have so much to do at home and then I reckon someone will pull me down the puB for a good old pint of fine English Ale. Then the following day I have arranged to play for my beloved lacrosse team Buckhust Hill against Croydon in the league and we will be in new spanking brand new kits. Wow then Football on sunday. Its all action Ben when I return. I am looking forward to a good pint though. As I have no car insurance when I get back I wont have to be the designated driver and can have a wee drinky! Rock on!
Ghana airways and Nigerian airways have been grounded as something like 25% of air accidents occur in Africa. When Africa makes up only 4% of the entire sky traffic. I am glad I am on a Dutch airline. But why do the Dutch Volunteers fly to Ghana via London on British Airways while the Brits fly via Amsterdam on Dutch run KLM?
My theory why the planes crash a lot in Africa is that they are piloted by goats. Well the goats must go somewhere at night as they seem to be roaming around on the strrets during the day and vanish after dark!

Final day
I write this last section of my final email to you all back in Accra. Yesterdayb I returned to Swedru and then on to Kwanyaku to have one last night with my host family and their strange ways. I arrived and straight away went to the school where all the children were weeding and cutting the grass of the entire school fiels as the athletics seasons starts today. As soon as the kids saw me I was mobbed. They ran over and hung off me, some shook my hands, some jumped on my back and others kissed me on the cheeks. One poor girl was caned accross the palms because she stopped weeding to talk to me. Then as the teacher (Another Kofi, ythis one is a rude old sod) raised his cane to smack the girl for a second time I thought sod it I am leaving tomoorw and left into action. The cane came flying donw with tremendous force and I reached out my hand and grabbed it in mid flight. The teacher was shocked and the kid smiled at me. The teacher then in a huff pulled the cane from my kung-fu vice like grib and stormed off. I bloody hate caning and think that Ghana should follow our example by outlawing it.

So aftre I had really offended one teacher I went around meeting all the other members of the staff. The groundstaff and drivers who for some reason really love me all came charging over and mobbed me in the same fashion as the kids did, but minus the kisses thank goodness. One man has a big olt tash and no teeth and I would rather that he didnt pucker up and try and plant one on me.
All the teachers were sad to see me leave and gathered around to hear the tales of my last travels. Before long I had escaped before they were going to take me down to the store room to meet the strange lady who lives within I ran back to Nanas. For one Nana Ampin Darko the chief was fully dressed and had turned my old room into his counselling room where he holds deep discussions on village affiars with the elders. But the piost cards of London which I had given him, I was proud to see mounted in a frame on the wall!
I stayed one night and Sister Doris was so glad to see me that she fussed around me and soon became very annoying. But she gave me the most beautiful leaving present. A shirt made just for me in a truly African style. It is long sleeved with a grandad collar and very long. It flows down to mid shin. Of course it is in some weired and wonderful artistic pattern and is made from quite a thick material, but none the less I was over the moon with it.

So in my time back in Nana's house I talked at lenght woth Mrs. Nana about London and she told me about in her youth she saw a man commit suiside from Brixton town hall roof. She told me she felt guilty as she egged the man on and her with some other friends shouted coward at the man. She is a dark horse really, but is great to talk to.
I also had a date ti meet the new volunteers in Swedru, so soon I was back on a sweaty tro tro being called Obroni by everyone and thing that moves and found my way to the Shaduf spot where they all were hanging out drinking cool refreshing beer. Once again the lady with the green face was there and when the owner of the bar a friendly man called Francis whos little daughter wont leave me alone, found out I was going he seemed very sad.
After lots of drinks and a Ben;s jacakanory session about the Yeji ferry antics and drivers being arrested I left for my final night innthe rural wilds of West Africa.

Now I am going to spend the rest of the day haggling with the people who sells carvuings on the street, go to SYTO to say goodbye and re-opack my bag and dump all my clothes that are bloody ruined now. They have holes in from Sister Bea's washing and are all bleached, faded and stretched.

So thats all folks. The fat lady has re-appeared after her minor heart attack and now fitted with a pacemaker is warming up in the wings. Soo it is over for me and as I board the plane home she will thunder out her roar of a singing voice to signal the end of a fantastic life changing experience in Africa.
Africa, what a place. You must go!

So fotr the least time, where ever you are,. what everr you are doing.
TAKE CARE

P.S. Remember to check out the photos on www.discorice.org they are a surefire thing!
If you cannot be bothered to navigate yourway through the website to find the photos here are a few links for you to follow:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/discorice/66812914/in/set-1441496/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/discorice/66812909/in/set-1441496/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/discorice/70059058/in/set-1441496/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/discorice/66812911/in/set-1441496/
There are loads more, all you have to do is look. I unfortunately only have a point a click PAS film camera. None of this high tech digital mularky so I cannot uplaod any untikl I get them developed and put on to a CD. The trouble is though, that I have so many films to develop and not the money to do so. It may take a while before you can see all my pictures (I bet you breathed a huge sigh of relief)!
Also if you go to google.co.uk and type in Nana Ampin Darko VI you are given an option of visiting my blog at http://benslavatory.blogspot.com how cool is that!

Tuesday, February 07, 2006

Ben's African Adventures 19


Last time we left our hero and narrator stranded in he heat of the Guinea Savanah with no water and only a German for company. How did he survive and cope with the truck?
Well read on dear followers of this long adventure and you will soon find out.
The lorry which the tro tro driver had flagged down stopped for us and everyone suddenly descended upon it like vultures to a rotten carcass. The old women, children and even the woman who had hit the little girl and constantly had her horrible veiny, droopy tits hanging out all climbed the side and jumped over into the cargo hold of the lorry. The lorry was half full with people looking bemused at he sight of a white man leaping into the back and the cargo was mostly dirt. Yep, finely compacted heaps of dirt.
Soon we wee all on board apart the the tro tro driver who like a captain that goes down with his sinking ship stayed to bear it out in the desert. As we drove off I noticed that some poor bugger was still underneath the tro tro covered in grase and ol and all that held up the car from crushing him was a rickety old wooden stool.
I clambered up the side of the lorry and perch precariously on the ende holding on for dear life as the lorry driver put his foot down and hurtled along the dusty and very bumpy road passing the most incredible rural and traditinal mud and stick Sudaneses style houses and kralls. The women that I had been talking to on the tro tro were scared that I may fall down and injured myself. Nothng I could say would convince them that I was a big boy now and quite caparble of holding on on my own. But they would not be convinced so I clambered up even higher and dangled my legs over one of the central arches that the canvas can be stretched and dangled from behind my knees before twisting round grabbing a pole and landing gracefully on my feet. I thought this would put their minds at res bt it didnt and instead of getting a round of applause for m acrobatic efforts I was scowled at menacingly. 'You are the Danger Obroni' one old lady said to me. I rather liked that. I will put that on my CV!
We rattled along creating a giant dust cloud behind us and we engulfed an entire group of school children in he cloud as we raced past. I clambered back up the side again and the wind blew in my face. 'This is the way to travel' I thought to myself and the bigges smile could be seen my my cheeky dust covered face. We travelled through small quaint villages with enchanting names such as: Chamba, Toyangili, Dakpam, Taali and Kpalisogu. All of which sound truly African to the core.
We arrived covered in dust and looking like we had just emerged from a war zone in Bimbilla. The pan was to get some food and check into a hostel as the town after dark is plaunged into a police enforced curfew as two rival gangs try and push their candidate to the rank of Nana or Na as it is called in the Northern region. But they have been campaigning with guns mostly and severa people have died. But of course none of this can be proven as the police in Ghana are all corrcupt and demand money from cars they stop and confiscate your license and will only give it back after you hand them over 100,000 cedis which is just over six quid. Apart from the corruptness of the police they are also very incompetant. So my confidence in them isnt brimming over.
We soon drank pints and pints of water as I was suddenly aware of such a thirst in me. Then after some dirty street food we found a shabby hostel and bedded down in squalor for the night. I was aslppe as soon as my head hit the flea ridden dirty brown stained pillow.
The next day (Thursday 2nd February Day 116) I woke and was aware of such a sunburn caused from travelling inte lorry. The plan for this day was to head to the town of Nkwanta in the northern area of the Volta region. But as I have found out to my cost in Ghana nothing is that simple. First we had to catch a tro tro to Damaonko,. From there which is nothing but a transport hub in the middle of a dusty arid nothingness we would try and get to Nkwanta.We were advise to get to the station early. But the greedy drivers saw our white skin and the dollars signs in their eyes hits jackpot. Thats he horrible thing with bloody Ghanaians , money is all they think about. I refused point blank to pay the fee of 60,000 cedis for the journey which was too much for such a short distance. So instead we did the journey the hard way. We from Damonko went to the tro tro sation and loaded up and crammed into the rusty old datsun that needed three men to push it along to bump start it. But as soon as we had set off the fun began.
The roof was alive with banging as people took their seats on it and we had only travelled 100 yaersd when out of a small straw hut a police man appeared and signalled the driver to pull over. The policeman then promptly arrested the driver for being 'overloaded'. Bloody hell all the vehicles on he roads in Ghana are overloaded. Lorries full to the brim with people in them had just passed through not ten minutes before us. This bloody jobsworth policeman obviously had a bee in his bonnet with the driver as he clamped him in wildwest iron handcuffs and marched him into the straw shack that doubled not only as a piece of shit but as a police station too. All the people got out of the tro tro and surronded the hut, the scene with ensued was on of panic, fighting , shouting and utter mayhem. People were demanding their money back from the now free driver. I crept forward and peeped over the straw wall to see what has afoot. The driver had bought his freedom with the money collected from the sales of the tro tro tickets. But he only had enough money to buy his freedom and not his license back. The policeman held his licence in his hand smacking it against his lips waiting for more money. The driver could not repay the passengers (well not all of them) and didnt have any money to buy back his licence. So if he tried to drive away the policeman would have arrested him again for driveing wiothout a license and then the driver would really be up shit creep without a paddle. The wors thing was that the greedy policeman knew this fact too and licked his fat lips in anticipation. I had managed to find he only taxt in the village and arrange to share it with 7 people. So 9 people crammed in to a car. The driver said he would take us to Nkwanta for 12,000 and beggers cannot be choosers so I agreed and told the nice ladies on the tro tro who I organiosed their seating arrangements earlier for them as they had babies to get in the car.
I then went up to the driver and asked for my money back so I could pay the taxt. The driver refused. So I had no option but to use the most powerful weapon at my disposal. My Voice! I shouted as loud as I could and when I want to m voice can become very loud. The driver who was much taller than me seemed to offer no resistance and almost srunk in his shoes as I shouted at him. He reluctantly handed over all the money to all of the taxis passengers. Then as some of the other passengers saw this and as he didnt have anymore money to hand over as we sped off a bloody great fight followed where the driver was flattened and th policemans hat was knocked off to my joy!
We arrived absolutely filthy in Nkwanta. I have never bee so dusty in all my life. I was overed from head to toe in brown dust. After we found a hostel to say the night we set about going to this mountainside village that we had hard about. Mount Dzebolo loomed over the town and apprantly but not in the guide book is a small primitive village called Shairi which is of spectacular beauty. But a pan in the arse to get to. Well it was a pain in the posterior to get there and the tro tro which would only take us so far had a puncture. We had to walk the rest of the way and then climb up the rocky slopes of Dzebolo. Futher and further up we went. I thought that the village must have vanished in a landsclide, but at that moment over the creat infront of me I saw the most amaizing sight.
Over the crest of the rock I suddenly saw the rooftops of the most delightful village that I have ever seen. I walked forward and suddenly the small children playing with wooden carved animals saw me and started to shout. Before I could even take in the amaizing gorge which the small mountainside village overlooked I was taken to see the chiefs. I dont think that a white person had been here for a long long time as all eyse were on me as I was led through the small winding alley ways between houses of all shapes and sizes clinking to the rock. How on earth could they hold on I thought. The buildings looked so fragile. Like you could shoulder barge your way through the walls at any one moment. I passed kids screaming at me, old men with no teeth looking in a melancholy way a me and women naked pounding what looked like fufu but certainly didnt smell like it with their saggy breats going everywhere and almost knocking themselves out.I was taken to a clearing among the houses that looked out over the ginats valley. What a fantasic view. The man who had led me there indicated for me to sit, so I perched on this amll wooden log. Not before too long these elderly men appeared all in long fine robes. They seated themselves on these logs covered with goat skins and they were obviously the elders of the village. A lot of commotion cfollowed and a small boy appeared and welcomed me in English. I am the translator he said. Then the elders spoke for five minutes to me. When they had finished the boy turned to me and said 'They say welcome to you'. Oh no I have got a translator who cannot translate. In the end it transpires that I was a bit naughty by going there as the normal proceedure was to offer the chiefs some schnapps. Instead I had to pay them a small nominal amount for the priviledge of seeing this beautiful village. I had to talk to the chiefs and grret them individuall and bow and shake their hands. I tried to be as dignified as I could. As dignified as a man with his hair in bunches in a grubby once white vest with a hole in caused by a snag on a thorn bush, dusty, sunburn, sweaty and confused. The saying of 'When abroad you are an Anbassador to Britain' came back o me. The man who first said that would turn his nose up at me if he could see me now.I was led around by a man who spoke no English and waved his arms at things which were pretty. I was allowed to take as many photos as I like so I snapped away trying to capture the beauty of the place. Children folloed me everywhere I walked. The man leading me didnt like this and lobbed stones at them and shouted at them in his strange regional dialect.I was taken into the enchanting small tumbledow houses where old women waved at me and slobber went everwhere as they spoke to me. Men came up o me to shake my hand and they all just loved having their photos taken. Many of the people there had black eyeliner on which made thm look very elegant.I was treated like royalty as I walked around and the only reason I had to go was bacause the road out of there back to Nkwanta is so bumpy and hazardous hat tro tros will only travel on a section of it during the day. None of the cars in Ghana have working headlights. So I bade them farewell and it was as if the entire village had come to see and wave me off. Loads of kids stood on the rocky outcrops above the village. Men balanced on the roofs and waved.
I turned around once again and where 100 plus people had stood only a few momsnts ago now there only stood one old man. I recognised this man as the leader of the group of elders. He stood with his long beard and robes flowing in the breeze leaning heavily on a knobbly wooden walking stick. I dont know why but I gave him a farewell salut, and to my utter amaizement and joy he retuened the salut. He stood to atention and his frail figure suddenly became erect and prous and he gave me a solmn salut before he tuened leant on his stick and hobbled off to te village. I made my way down the mountain with one final wave following the noise which would lead me to the babbling brook and the fork in the path. A small kid ran up to me and hugged me as I left. I gave him my last chewing gum packet and his face beemed with delight.Back on the bumpy road it was a hazardous journey. No lights in the tro tro as we bumped along and the boat banged open and closed with the force of the bumps of the road. It wasnt a road a all. It was just slightly worn down rocks. As we drove away the mountain from tip to bottom was on fire. A large controlled fire was burning away. It looked in the darkness like a river of fire or lava flowing down the mountain. It was an amaizing sight and one that I shall never forget. If only it wasnt so dark I could have taken a photo of it. My goodness I have taken a lot of photos in Ghana.That night I slept wll in Nkwata. The morning would be a long day of travels.
Day 117 saw a bright and early rise and a tro tro ride that unlike all the others was uneventful. No arrests, no puctures, breakdowns nothing at all. Just a long bumpy drive down from the Norther Volta Region to the second largest town inthe volta Hohoe (Pronounced Hohoy). We got to Hoehoe and my now it was mid day and the sun was blaring down and I was yet again very sweaty. You dont get used to the heat at all. You still sweat buckets and buckets. This was made worse as my travels in the hot yet dry northern region bugger up you ability to re-ajjust back to the sweaty humidity of this area.
So there I was back in Hohoe a place I hadnt been to since last December when who should I suddenyl walk past? I walk past this person, I instantly regognised him and he me, for we both turned round and said 'mole national park'. It was none other than Captain Corageous. The very same Captain Corageous who was with the young Ghanaian lady back in Mole national park and the very same one with his flip down combo sunglasses and specs. He saw me and instantly latched on to me. This is a 50 plus somthing man for goodness sake. Anyway we got chetting and before I could say 'weirdo' we were having beers in a place called the Grand hotel which is anything but grand. As it transpires he is a German called Hans who is going to spend a year in Africa. He has long lost the girl he was travelling with and he told me that she spoke no English at all and therefore had been travelling alone. I immediately understood that he was very lonely and in need of someone to talk to. As many Ghanaians you cannot get a decent conversation out of, even if you beat them with a stick they still are awful at expressing themselves or communicating in English. My goodness did the captain speak. Oh I must add that he introduced himself as Captain Corageous. This is not just a name that I had given him. Henrik, good old Henny when he was here made up that nickname which is derived from a Rudyard Kipling novel. But when he introduced himself as captrain corageous and held out his hand for me to shake I rather liked the strange old German who is far from home and very lonely. Well we steeled down to watch the football. The African nations cup. The semis are tonight. It has been a great tournament to watch and I watched the poor Ghanaians lose to an awful shock defeat to an even poorer Zimbabwe team in the stifling heat on board the Yapei Queen on lake Volta.
Well as magically as he appeared he suddenyl got up shook my hand with his emanciated little finger where he fell over while holding a glass bottle and dissappeared into the night. That was the end of Captain Corageous. The next day when I returned to the hostel the receptionist who normally was always asleep on the job told me my 'friend' had been looking for me. My friend I enquired, 'yes an old man'. Oh my, corageous had been looking for me, but alas I missed the strange German fellow.
Day 118 was more action packed and was a ture day of Adventure.
As I was still travelling with a German called called Barbera who was teaching me German words such as Schmutdzig which means filthy and Du Stinkst which translates as you smell. We decided to go to Liati Wote. I had previously been there back when I had done the Volta region last year but when we went there I only climebed Mount Adjufato which is Ghanas tallest peak at 885 meters high. There is also a lovely waterfall there called Tagbo falls which I didnt have time to visit last time so I was determined to do so this time. Tagbo falls is very very close to the Togolese border. Apparantly when I climbed the ardous trek up to Wli waterfalls last year we crossed unbeknowst to us into Togo. As the pathway up the rocky dense jungle slopes crosses over the international border. But the annoying thing is even if we could get into Togo in this area are no signs to pose next to in a picture to prove that you have been there, unlike I did when I crossed the northern border into Burkina Faso and played at talking very bad French with the locals.
Now to get to the small mountain village of Liati Wote is no small task I can assure you that. Everyone recogmends that you charter a taxi to do so. I thought sod that how do the locals get there. I found out and we managede to get to the small village for a fraction of the price by jumping in this absolute rustheap of a tro tro. How this thing stayed held together was a miracle. The joints were rusted to peices and the whole car screamed as if it was going to explode. Every now and again the exhaust would backfire where I would shout' ze Germans are coming'. This made the other passengers in the car look at me with sideways glances and made Barbera throw somthing she found on the floor that was not too nice at me.
We got to Liati wote and the first task was the climb the mountain. It really isnt that high but when you trudged up it like a crazy fool such as I am then you soon are breathing out of your ares. I wouldnt let myself have a drink until I reached the summit and wanted to see if I could get up to the top faster than the last time. Why do I do these things. But at the peak the beautiful views over the Togolese border were fantastic and I immediatley started to shout as loud as I could to create a loud echo that reverberated through the valley. The scenery was spectacular, something to rival the ruggedness of the lakes back home. Even though I had been there before this time it somehow felt more beautiful the second time round and I had a feeling that I didnt take it all in the first time. The butterflies fluttered around me of all the colours of the rainbow and the flies pestered me something cronic.
I took in the view and had a well earned drink at the sumit, before finding it much much easier on the way down the slope. I almost raced down the slope to the bottom and only slipped on the lose rocks once. It was a close shave as I had to clutch to the overhanging bracnces of a tree to stop me from falling to an awful demise at the bottom of the precipice.
Once back at the bottom and away from those pesky little black flies that swarm around your face, we set off along the forest pathway to find Tagbo falls. The woman in the village who sold lovely sweet sun warmed and quite alcoholic palm wine wrote down the directions for me. Things like go straight at the stream, thgose sort of blase directions. I didnt want to pay for a guide, as in Ghana they always make you or persuade you to take a guide. Then of course you have to pay the guide fee and they demand a tip. I dont really like having guides, but some places you need them. Such as Wli waterfalls. Because to get to thew upper falls you have to be a bloody bush tracker to follow the route. Anyway I am going off on one. We folowed the stream uphill through the buttefly infested woods. Soon we were deep into the forest and all I could hear was the squark of tropical birds and the hum of insects. Spiders the size of my fist crawled on the trees and lizrads that move their heads in a funky way scuttled around our feet. Suddenyl a small child broke through the undergrwoth and shouted ' I know him' at me. I looked at him and then the penney dropped and I realised who it was. It was the small child one of the two who back in December led us up the mountain. I was surprised he regognised me. What was he doing in the bushes with a massive cutlass anyway I thought. He ran up to me and hugged me and then was gone back into the dense undergrowth. We followed the stream and in the distance I could hear the din of water falling from a height. I rounded a corner pushing a piant leaf from my face and there she was. Tagbo falls, the natural beauty of a fantastic water fall surrounded by caves stood before me. There was not a soul there either. So off came my clothes and in my pants I jumped into the near freezing waters. Little fishes swam around me as I plunged under cooling my sunburnt, sweaty and dusty body. I stood under the actual falls and let the water give my back a nutural massage. I shouted into a cave and had to duck for cover as a few huge bats came flying out in a panic. It was like the scene from the new batman movie but not as macho (batman wasnt in his pants)! I plunged in again and againinto the cooling waters and when I picked up some stones they shone silver which is endemic to that area.
Eventually we left the waterfalls as we had to try and find some sort of transportation to get back to Hoehoe. As we walekd the path and re-traced our steps we passed a large group of npoisy Septics* who were beaking the lovely natural noises of the fores. They get everywhere and spoil the peace. I am glad that we had the pool and the falls to ourselves. I canot imagine anything more awful that trekking throught a jungle to reach a fantastic pool and having a bunch of loud billy bobs there disturbing the peace.
Eventually after waiting for ages in a palm roofed shack drinking palm wine from a lady who tried to teach me Ewe and whose kids ran up to me and grabs my arms and then looked at their hands to see if they were turning white a tro tro arrived. I bid goodbye to Liati Wote and we bumped back to Hoehoe to spend the evening drinking bottled foreign export Guinness in some shack with a man who kept calling me 'rasta' and trying to touch my knee. Thats a strange thing that is. Ghanaisn men will hold hands with each other in the street as they walk which is a sign of friendship, but no man will hold a womans hand as it is considered rude and naughty or 'Ungezogen' as the Germans say. I was sitting in the tro tro and a man next to me stroked my thights and said I had nice leg hair. OK then! Thats not the first time it has happneded. Ghanaian mens legs are not as hairy as the womens legs here. It is not uncommon to see a Ghanaian woman with a low cut dress on and a hairy chest and chin. Their legs are like the bloody black forest. I find it quite disgusting. But many female volunteers have told me that their host brothers who eneviatbel turn out to be perverts like to stroke their legs too.!!
After our adventures up a mountain the next day (Day 119) we decided to go to a small town called Kpando. Kpando is pronounced with a silent K. So you would say Pando. There are lots of towns and villages with silent letters in front of them. There is not much to do in Kpando itself apart from argue with tro tro drivers. But we decided to go to a small village outside the town called Fesi where there is a pottery of some reputation. To find this thing was a bloody mission and when we did find it it was closed as everyone was in church as it was a sunday. But some small child had seen two white people walking in the direction of the pottery place. The kids had told some old woman or something and then the old woman had told the women who run the pottery. Soon three women in traditional dresses came running from the church to where we were. Soon the place was opened and we were shown around. I ended up buying some small items. But if I had the weight allowance and the bag space I would have bought some of the very scary pottery faces and the giant pottery penises tat they had on display. They had the best pottery mini teapot I have ever seen, but alas it was far too fragile to take home. I did buy a small traditional drinking bowl for the equivilent of about 30 pence.
With pottery carefully wrapped up in Italian newspapers (where did they get them from) we set off to a small suburd of pando some 4 kms away called Tokdor. Tokdor is the port area of pando and has a famour Ghanaian market. But alas we got there and the place was deserted except for a crazy pregnant woman who immediately latched onto us and some rastafarian who saw my hair and homed in on me. Once I had shrugged off the unwanted attentions of those two we explored the coast line. The harbot area is not the sea but the mighty Volta river. The water and the banks are the communal toilet and bath for the whole village by the looks of it. It was bloody disgusting and I wouldnt dip one toe in that filthy murk. There were people washing, fishing boats painted in all colours and great hulks of once seaworthy vessels lying in the mud rotting and rusting away into nothingness. The place was a photographers dream. Kpando is also the home of a very strange place called the Blue of Ur's meditation centre. This uber religious place is rather bizarre and I thought worth a look. Basicallt some nutter had a dream where the Virgin Mary came to him and told him to make a shrine to her and her son some chap with a beard. He made a shrine on the rocks outside the town and these giant roskc have lots of large religious monuments on them and stautues. One large rocks supposedly had a star come heaven land on it and ever since that moment the rock had turned bleu. Bollocks it was bloody painted you could see the brush strokes. Some small man with the thinest legs I have ever seen took us round and explained that this was a place for all no matter what religion or denomenation to come and meditate and pray. When he wasnt looking we did a runner and walekd back to town. Too much religion in your face for my liking. There also is high up on the hill outside Kpando andother goant shrine called the 'Our Lady or Lourdes' shrine. There is some massive monolith high up and lit up like a christmas tree for all to see. It looks lilke someone has misplaced a lighthouse and the rotaing bulb has got stuck.
That was day 119 and I type this from a place called Ho, the regional capital of the Volta region and the former capital of German Togoland. A country that existed up until 1918 when the combined British West African Frontier fporces booted the jerries out of the continent.
This morning (Day 120 Monday 6th February) I left Barbera to go to Wli. I had already been there and now I am on my way back down to reach Accra before going back to see the host family in Kwanyaku before I fly home. I need to get a photo of Nana Ampin Darko the chief as all the time I stayed there he was near naked and not a pleasant sight to be photographed.
So I am on my own and travelled from Hoehoe down to Ho through jungle glades and winding roads that resembled a scene from the Italian job. When I arrived at Ho I spent ages looking for an internet cafe. The bloody thing worked for 30 minutes before it thoiught to itself 'what I am doing?, This is Africa I cannot surely work'. Then it promptly buggered off and left me fuming at the loss my my half written email.

So here I am and I am spending one night in Ho. But where to spend it. I consulted the bible that is the Bradt guide to Ghana and it said that the cheepest place to stay is none other than the......
'Young man, theres no need to be down, I said, Young man, get your feet off the ground etc'. Yes I am staying at the YMCA. The lady in the reception looked at me very strangely when I rocked up soaking wet from the sudden tropical downpour that we had and did the dance for her. 'What are you doing' she said. Then I tried to explain the YMCA actions to her but she looked at me blankly. So I went up to the most shabby flea ridden, disgusting room. No cell is more of an appropiate room singing 'You can get yourself clean, you can have a good meal, you canhang out woith all the boys'. Then I stopped singing when an old man smiled at me onthe outside steps.
I can now say that I have stayed at a YMCA and not any. A YMCA in a place called Ho. I expalined to a Ghanaian that I met today what a hoe was and he looked at me as if I was Mr. Filthy and had just shat on his carpet!
Ho has not a lot to offer so I spent my time there talking to a girl with a skinhead from America. t after she had bored me about her tales of high school and showed me pictures of her blody dog I escaped and drank some street coffee with a man who insisted on calling me Colonel. 'Hi colnel' he said to me, 'I want to take you as a friend'. I said Ok then and we sat drinking coffee. He fell silent for a while and I observed all the people sleeping in shop doorways and the local nutters shouting at trees in Ewe, when suddenyl the man who called me colonel turned to me and siad 'will you find me a white wife'. They all ask me that. It is as if I am going to say 'yes I cam. Oh hang on heres is one I keep for emergencies such as this in my back pocket'. Thomas my host brpother is notorius for that and I couldne allow hism to look at my mini photo album that I had with me as I once caught him about to cut out the section of a photo with a girl I know in it.
I do not mean to sound like I am always slating and rubishing Ghana and Ghanaians when I write about the annoying things they do and their compleate lack of intelligence and common sence. Thats quite harsh actually, some are i ntelligent. But other will never learn. I love it out here and do not mean to come accross as horrible to this enchanting and amaizing country. Just sometimes things really annoy me and get up my nose. Like for example people hassling you. You cannot walk ten yards down the street without some Ghanaian 'pssssting' at you or some comment being flung your way. That fact vreally gets on my tits. But te rest I just ignore and carry on regardless.
All this travelling has ment that I have missed daer olf Peter Kofi Adu Essah's funeral. Or Kofi as I called him. The poor sould died before christmas and his funeral was on the 3rd. I will miss the bombastic old bugger and his strange ways. Who else would threaten to cane other teahcer from another school when our football team lost. For all his foibles he had a great way about him and he made my time here teaching in Ghana. I just wish I could have been there. But I am sure that he wouldnet really mind and he would approve of the bottle of waist and power that I bought for the teachers when I left , which caused a riot whe they drank the bloody thing, it ended up being hidden in Edminds desk where the eventually hunted it out and it was soon consumed. He was a proper alky himself and I think would like that parting gesture of mine. Rest in Peace Kofi.

Someone asked me today what I miss about England. It is strange as I was talking to someone abut this not that long ago. Even though I have only been in Africa for 4 months I cannot remember what my old/real life feels like. I have forgotten about many things that I would take for granted at home. Things like mobiles phones and choice. For there is not a ot of choice ehere in Africa,. Such as foods you have the choice of deep fatty foodstuffs or even deeper fatty foodstuffs with added sugar. hat odd to think that when I get home I will have the choice to choose different things, all sorts of things. From food to music. The only thing I can really honestly say that I miss is damn good old fashioned face melting rock and my beloved XFM. The music out here apart from the traditional drumming and the northern calabash guiater is blody aful and no matter how many times they play it, it will never grow on me.
I have leanr a ot about myself in my time here. I have been told a lot too. Many Ghanians just openly tell you something about yourself. Such as you dance like a boxer. I have also learnt that apparantly I look too mean. I frown a lot I have been told. This for Africa is bad as it means I am not approachacble (doesnt bloody stop them though). So apart from frowming a lot, I think I have become more relaxed, except when I have to argue to get antthing done. Also I think that I have now a stranger more sureal take on things and when strange things happen back I home I wont se the surrealness of them as everything is surreal here. Like waking up to a baboon masterbating outside the window and when you draw back the curtains and the big hair red bottomed beats sees you he doesnt stop, he just does it more ferociously. Now thats surreal. Especially as we started to clap him and cheer him on.

Tuesday 7th February 2006
I have now left the Volta region and after a long and very sweaty tro tro ride. On which I was ordered out of the bus by a customs and immigration ofricial who demanded to see my passport. Well my passport is safely locked up in Accra. When I explained that to him, well he didnt like it. But after a long discussion I was allowed back on the tro tro with out having to pay a bribe and off we went.
I type this from the incredible humidity of the capital Accra. The horrible stench filled my nostrils of rotting foods, faeces and sweat as I walked the 4 miles from New Tema Tro Tro station to the main area where I am now. En route I noticed that the old lady who lives in a cardboard box is no more. Where has she gone?

The plan now is to go back to Kwanyaku and see the bizarre host family who will no doubt try and marry me off or something. Then I wil return to Accra for one night and then fly home on the 9th via Amsterdam. Landing in good old London on the 10th at 8ish in the morning. Friday when I land, this calls for a piss up.

So til I next write about the last three days of my grand African Adventure I bid thee farewell.

Sleep tight my lovers
Ben
x x x

* Septic Tank = Cockney rhyming slang for Yank

p.s. Check out www.discorice.org for some pictures of the African Adventure which I have undertaken.

Ben's African Adventures 18


Place the ball on the panalty spot. Shut out the noise from the opposition fans who are screaming abuse at you. Take a final long look diretly into the keepes eyes and transmit by telepathy the word p##t to him. Then after taking a couple of steps back, run up and whallop the ball past his outstretched fingers. One nil. The whistle for half time goes and you can now settle down with your Gin and Tonic to the exciting fun laben Adventures of your humble narrator in Africa.
Welcome my wholesome chums to the 18th installment of my African life. Place your bums down on your favourite chair and read away because theres a lot for you to diges in this one......
Last time I wrote I was setting out on my gand advenure on my own. An adventure that would take me on dangerous roads, through wild tribal villages and into the black unknown. In oterwords I was going on the Volta Ferry and beyond!
I left Accra and headed away from the smelly and sweaty capital on a rustheap of an old tro tro up to the Eastern Region to a place called Atimpoku. When I got there I spent two days on m own exploring all the enchanting little villages that line the banks of te mighty Volta river. I wondered freely around some but when I found this particularly lovely one I was set upon by hundreds of childen. These little sweins knew only one word in English. 'Money'! Al they said was money, money, money. I had to escape and give these cheeky little sods the slip as they were beginning to latch onto me and grab my bag. They were only small and the first one who grabbed my bag ran away after a well aimed slap hit the side of his face. But that didnt stop or perterb them one bit. They came back at me with a vengeance and soom I had to escape over a small wall and up a steep palm infested slope and back on to the safety of the road.
I waited for two days in his balmy environment for the two girls that I was going to meet to travel with. But typically they were a day late so I explord all that I could and ended up watching the football in some grubby little bar with the locals who found me far more entertaining than the match!
Atimpoku is the larger town near the port of Akosombo. There is nothing to do in Akosombo at all and I found that out to my annoyance when I went there to try and buy the tickets for the ferry. I was soon told that we would have to arrive early at 7am and queue for the tickets.
Soon the two girls who I had been planning to travel with arrived and it was the reunion of the Intrepid trio of Burkina Faso fame. As soon as we had met up we went on a mad skinny dip in the cool refreshing waters of the Volta. Then the next morning our adventure rally began. We arrived arly as requested to Akosombo port and there was no sign of a ferry or single boat at all. once you are at the port thats it. There is nothing for you to do except wait and queue for tickets. We waited and queued and finally after 4 hours managed to buy a second class ticket each. First class entitled you to a cabin but I fancied the idea of sleeping in the breeze out on deck. So ticket in hand we waited for the ferry to turn up. It eventually did after I had devoured some filthy street food at 6pm. 11 hours we had bloody waited. Now by the docks there was a mass of activity. People loaded massive wooden crates with yams and fruits. Cars were driven down on the the landing deck. Forklift trucks moved large objects two and fro. But the thing that struck me the most was the people. There were hundreds of them. The ferry had finally arrivd a large rusty hulk of a thing called the Yapei Queen and it seemed to me that there were far to many people and cargo for such a small and rusty old boat. But I was proved wrong because Africa in all its glory amaized me yet again. Everything was basically rammed and thrown on to the deck. Nothing was placed or carefully loaded to maximise space. Soon the crates were piled high and people were actually sleeping in them. We could now get on board and I accidently walk into the 3rd class area. A hot and fume filled hollow under the boat where hundreds of people crammed in and tied to find some floor space to sprawl out on. It was like a pigsty and the smell, along with the immense heat almost knocked me down. Luckily I managed to get out and climb the deck to the second class area. This was pretty much the same in terms of clinliness and I noticed that the lifejackets were daed 1983 and the instruction poster on the wall had a woman with the best mullet ever on it. I went straight out onto deck and managed to find somewher to sit and the loud hailer sounded and the ferry turned around and set off on what would become a memorable trip up the Volta River.
Soon we were sailing at full steam aheah and I had already had an argument with a Ghanaian Army sargeant after he stole the mattress that I had raced to get when they were being given out. The captain of the ferry soon appeared and he was wearing a bright ornage boiler suit like they do in American jails. Wow we are on a pirates ship I thought and I was soon making sailor noises to the annoyance of the crew. We steamed and chugged along and soon it was dark and the wind blew. We all went up on to the roof and watched the amaizing stars overhad as we sailed past Dodi Island. That night I had the most uncomfortable nights sleep ever. I didnt have a matress as Bilko has stolen it and every time he walked past me I sneared at him and gave him a mock salut in digust. I lay on the hard deck with the wind blowing in my face while all around me muslims prayed and as the ferry changed direction they shifted instantly without hassle to continue their prayers uninterupted.
The morning came and my goodness was it cold. I stood on deck trying to find the BBC on my little radio wrapped up in any old flea ridden blankets hat I could find. We came to stop soon at he most romantic little stretch of land I have ever seen. We stopped numerous times in iolated areas with nothing but sand and rocks. Once or twice a small thatched mud hut lined the shore but most of the time people ould just appear out of the bushes and loads up the ferry with fruits and all sorts of boxes. I loved watching as the ferry made the people on shore wade out to climb aboard, some women did this with babies strapped to their backs with cloth which is the west African fashion. I loved the fact that even though the ferry did not boom out its massive foghorn these people came from out of nowhere at the right time to trade, load buy, buy and also to board.
We were now fully into the Volta region where the word obroni is not used. Instead white people are now caled Ya Vu. It basically means the same thing but the language spoken here is called Ewe (E way). As I cannot speak anything apart from hello and thankyou in this regional dialect I had to put my trust in the Ghanaians abilities to speak English. Many of them cant at all and even though it is the official language there is no impetus put on school to realy throughly teach it.
We got off the ferry in a small town called Kete Kraachi and there was absolutely nothing to do excape avoid a local crazy woman who as soon as she clapped eyes on us three would not get the hint and piss off. She danced in front of us, sang at us and demanded money. Then it was all back onboard for the final leg up to Yegi in the Brong Ahafro region.
We arrived in Yeji late at night and it was a night that I will never forget. I will now refer to my travel journal and copy word for word my thoughts and observations when we rached Yeji.
Eventually after almost 27 hours on board excluding our small janutn in Kete Kraachi, we arrived at Yeji where there was a mass of hubbub and noise on the crowded shore. Another ferry called the Nana Besemuna had broken down and was still on the landing bay/pathway that runs down into the water. So instead of finding another area to moor up what did the genius's on board our ferry decide to do. Yes you have guessed it. They bloody rammed the Nana Besemuna.
100 plus tons of rusty old iron hulk fully laden took a sodding run up and rammed the Nana Besemuna full steam ahead. People were still on the decks of both ferries and they were running for cover as we hurtled towards the other ferry. Like one giant game of bumper cars! I stood in shock on deck thinking hat this cannot be happening, no one could be that dumb that they would intentionally risk sinking an entire cargo ferry and put the lives of all onboard in danger. But thats Ghana for you! The bloody fools, why do this? The front of our boat his the other ferry with such a force that I almost fell over and many crates fell from their high perched places causing screams and people running for cover.
The front part of our boat hit the protruding corrugated iron roofing that stick out over one of the decks. When it did it made such an ear splitting screach like when someone runs their fingrnails down a blackboard. Great lumps of iron shot up in to the air and this was followed by a large hollow metal thud as the two hulks kissed. By this time people were jumping overboard into the deepwaters and all sors of people were on deck trying to guide to captain as to where to hit the other ferry. All of them were headless chickens and had not a sodding clue as to what they were doing. It could only be described asmayhem.
The corrugated iron buckled under the weight and pressure and shot up into the air. A funnel billowing white whispy smoke was knocked off the deck like it was a skittle being hit by a bowling ball. The front of the Yapei Queen hit all along the side of the other ferry. Now I am no sailor or nautical expert and never I hasen to add will be, but what this lot did was just plain and simply shear folly. Pirates the lot of them. Tey must have got their sailors badges from a box of Frosties! The trail of carnage and damaged that it left was ridiculous and very costly. While the ferry continued to back up and then re-ram the Nana Besemuna another moment of Ghanaian brillience occurred. This is just one reason why I do think that Ghana as a developing nation is going backwards father that forwards. As we rammed and crates fll all around us and people sought refuge in the squalor below deck the forklift truck driver decided in his infinate wisdom to start up and rearrange the crates on the ground . He did a 3 point turn and narrowly avoided running over a woamn with a bady strapped to her back and me. The deck was still full of people as not all could fit into the crammed areas below, so this forklift was a bloody nuisance and could have easily crushed someone to death. I had to pull a small child away from almost getting run over and then I bellowed at the driver telling him in the most undignified nglish that I could muster what a fool he was.
Evenually the genius's of the Yapei Queen had only succeeded in making the poor batle scarred Nana Besemuna firmly wedged in the mud banks. They didnt even managed to get the ferry off th runway. So they diecided to finally do the sensible thing and moor up on the mud banks and lower the front of the ferry into the water. Why couldnt they have done this in the bloody first place, sodding inbesiles.
We waded through waits high water to get to the shore, so sod only knows how the cars and tro tros on board managed to get off. As soon as the ferry's front had dropped it was a mad scramble and rush to get off. Many people were shaken from the ramming antics and some were inured. We waded to the shore and shrugged off the atentions of locals youths saying the annoying usual sentences like 'where are you from friend?', 'I take you as my friend', and 'give me money'. Everywhere you go these buggrs appear and they jus get more annoying at the time. I told them not very politely to sling their hook but they followed us all the way into a loca hostel where I turned on them and shoutd in their faces until they finally left us alone. Then the man in the hostel wouldnt let 3 people share a room, so once again I got angry and bamboozled him with English words that he couldnt understand and soon after he le us be. Once again I slept on the floor.
The next day Wednesday 1st FEBRUARY DAY 115 (ONCE AGIN COPIED FROM TRAVEL JOURNAL)
What a day! Where do I start from? After one of he girls left our travelling group and headed to Kumasi me and th remaiing girl went to the port to try and catch a fer accross the waters to Makongo.
The Volta river is the largest man made river/lake in the world and ll along the banks are sicking out trees that were once great living things when this land was villages and farm land. Now they are all at the murky depths below the waters. When we got to the port we discovered to our dismay that the Nana Besemuna the ferry tha had been put in a headlock and punched in the face numerous times last night was the ferry hat we needed. As this thing was no beyond repair they were running replacement ferries. Long carved wooden boats ornately painted with all sorts of embellishment on them. These long boats were already full to the brim with people and after we paid the crossing fair which was about 60pence we waded out to the nearest one and climed in to perch in the wet next to some old women who were alking to themselves. The boat next to us had a picture of Jesus on it and some footballs painted next to him!
Oh what a treat it was to cross the waters in this wooden rustic lookign boat. We crossed from Yeji in the Brong Ahafro region going to Makongo in the northern region. The boat rocked and swayed and at many occasions I thought that we were going to capsize. I had a quick headcount and I lost count at 120 people in the small croweded wooden boat with an outboard motor which kept cutting out. Not ony was there people in the boat but goats, cargo, giant pots and pans and all sorts of shite which was loaded up near the engine.
At one point we tipped to the left and many people scrambled over to the right hand side to counterbalance the boat and stop us from capsizing. Everyone on board was shoputing and talking, but all Ghanaians seem to talk to themselves. They dont talk about anthing in particular thy I think just speak their minds loudly. Mainl it was the old women who always no matter what the situation is have some old bollocks to say. I could undertand a bit of it and a lot of what they were saying was about us two. Why do people have to talk about you in another language when you are sitting right next to them, its bloody rude. We chugged along passing little brightly coloured fishing boats and more sunken tress those top branches still pertrude from the water. Finally we arrived in Makongo and jumped into the waters and waded aboard and had to literally fight to get into a tro tro which would take us into the small town of Salaga. It was a case of elbow out and scrambled in.
Salaga is a small dusty market town which is famoud for one horrible reason. It is the place where the slaves from the Pikworo slave camp were brought to be sold. The central market which was where the auctions took place is now a busyy and noisy goat filled tro tro station. But a large Boabab tree markes the stot where the slaves were chained to the ground. It is also called the town of 1000 wells but in my short time there I only saw one of them and hat was padlocked up. We bought a ticket to Bimbilla where there is a chieftancy crisis and therefore a curfes at night. Two rival tribes are claiming the enstoolment of their chief and so far there have been many shootings over the matter. While we waited for our particularly broken down tro tro to disembark I ran after and caught a large trolly that was rolling down the hill. I stopped it before it hit a tro tro and the driver gave me a big smile and a wave. I celebrated my heroics on my own with a street coffe and then had to avoid a filthy crazy man who would not bloody leave me alone. Crazy beggers see your white skin and immediately latch on to you and, they are so dirty that you do not want them anywhere near you.
I bought a ticket to Bimbilla for 15,000 cedis off a ginger black man. This is not at all an uncommon sight in Ghana. One theory is that their great great great grandfathers were colonial era sailors and the ginger streak misses a few generations and has reared its head now. This is not a fact it is just a theory that I have conjured up in my twisted mind.
So off we went crammed into the small rusty tro tro. We bumped along for half an hour or so and then suddenly we could hear a hissing sound. Puncture!! Out we jumped as the apsre was soon fitted to the back right wheel. Then we were back on the road bumping along steadily until. Yes you have guessed it we had another puncture. As the spare had already been used I thought shit we are buggered. But luckily the driver dissappeared into some distant mud huts off the side of the road and soon came back with another wheel. This wheel was far too big for the tro tro to take, but none the less they made it fit by hitting the wheel and the underside of the wheel arch to make the area bigger so the wheel could fit. All aboard once again and as I sat bumping along on a small wooden sall a small child fell asleep in front of me. The mother the eveil cow hit her in the face full force to wake her up. What a bitch.
The new wheel was causing a lot of rubbing on the wheel arch and a loud cracking noise was heard. Immediately the driver jumped out to see what the occurance was but was satisfied with what he saw and we soon where heading towards Bimbilla again. But then BANG, CRACK AND THUD. The tire had worm a large hole in the rusty whel arche and done some considerable damaged. This of course wasnt helped by the hammering that the driver and his mate did to the car. he thu noise was a large part of the axle and the suspension falling and clattering to the ground. So there we were in the middle of nowhere in the mid day sun, the relentless heat with no shade what so ever with a tro tro that needed to be taken to the knackers yard. Were doomed!! The driver and his cronies soon jacked the car up on wooden stalls and were fiddling underneat. In no time at all the entire front and back axles were off on the ground and ol was vereywhere. Well done lads I said to them, but alas they didnt understand scarcasm.
We were in a bit of a pickle I thought. Stranded with no water in the middle of the vas Guinew Svannah with no shade in the hot hot sun. What would we do. One of the passengers was a muslim man with a polio stricken arm. He knelt down to pray and whether his prayers were answered is a cause for some debate.
Beacuse in the horizon a shimmering spec in the heat haze appeared on the otherwise deserted road. This spec baceme bigger and soon turned into a motorbike ridden by a man in a bloody great bigb coat. The sweat poured off him, but soon the driver was giving him instructions and he headed off again into the distance once again becoming a shimmering spec before dissappearing.
The motorcyclist must have gone to a local town to summon help for another spec appeared shimmering in the heat haze on the horizon. This time it was a larger spec. It was like the scane from Lawrence of Arabia where Omar Shariff appears on the horizon and walks to the well shimmering in the desert. But this time it wasnt Egypt's finest it was a great big wooden lorry. Weere saved we all cried and I saluted the horizon to where the motorcyclist had gone to. The tro tro driver proudly walked into the middle of the road stood to attention, in a dignified position held out his hand in the spot gesture and the lorry slowed down to a halt next to us. The driver is my new hero.
How will our intrepid hero get out of the desert in the lorry. What is in the lorry, what happens next? Well tune in next time for Ben's African Adventure number 19.
Sleep tight

Friday, January 27, 2006

Ben's African Adventures 17


Put on your very best Allan Quartermain khaki clothes, don your hunting cap and pick up the Elephant gun. Your going to need them as you desend into the jungle which is Ben's African Adventures. Hold on tight for were going on a canoe trip to Insanity and Back!
Welcome my readers who I know all go round my Mum's house and read this from the overhead projector that she has no doubt installed and guzzle gallons of her 'special' tea. Why is it special I hear you ask? Well when you come down with the exotic rashes you will know why.
But that is bescides the point and let me now return to my train of thought and tell you all about what has happened since I last wrote to all you lovely people at home and away.
I write this email from the filthy streets of Accra for I have left Swedru and Kwanyako and Doris' cooking for good. I have left the house where Nana parades around in his ceremonial towell saying 'apome' everytime he sees me. Foe now dear readers I have embarked on my own into the unknown on a magical journey that I have no Idea where it will end. Well the Volta Region actually! So after lugging my bags through the crowede, sweaty streets of the capital city I finally reached SYTO. Our organisation that all volunteers work through in Ghana. I deposited my bags there and navigated myself through the hustle and bustle avoiding the open sewers and draisn with athletic awe and gazelle like jumps. Really I should be given some sort of medal for being here almost 4 months and not falling down one of those drains. Many people I have seen take a tumble into the filth that festers in them.
Oh I have to tell you a little story that happened to a Dutch volunteer in the Western Rgion. Tina the boss of SYTO told me this between hysterical laughter and gasps for air. This Dutch lad went to the toilet in one of the pit toilets at his primary school. The pits are massive holes dug in the ground where all the faeces rots down. The hole os covered by board with a hole cut through them so you have somthing to aim at. Well he pulled his trousers down, squatted and heard a cracking sound. The next moment he was up to his neck in the very best poo that school kids can offer. Luckily the pit wasnt that full so he didnt drown. But the poor Dutch lad who is now known as the 'Brown Obroni' had to be rescued using sticks and rope. I chuckled when I heard that and now as a recult do not use the toilet in our school and do my business in bushes a I wave at the people balancing large pots of fruit on their heads!
But I digress. Let me get back to the story at hand. So here I am in Accra the filthyest, smellyiest hole in the world and the only reason I am here is so I can escape to the Volta Region tomorrow to see the things that I didnt see the last time I was there and go on the infamous Akosombo - Yeji ferry. This ferry is an old paddle steamers from the 1960's and 'apparantly' according to Mr. Offei at our schhol it has sunk 4 times in the last ten years! The same boat I replied, the very same he remarked. So the ferry is actually a resurecting boat. Wow a holy boat trip. As if religion is not too abundant already in this country. But this morning on the tro tro from Swedru to Accra as I settled down with a good book and had a whole 2 hours of uniterupted reading, it must have been a national preachers strike. Whatever it was for the first time in ages I wasnt subjected to Christianity on a plate with an apple shoved in its mouth!
It is quite an exciting time in Ghana at the moment as the nation is in football fever. The African Cup of Nations has kicked off and I have been watching many matches in locals bar where someone wheels a tv in from somehouse that they have probably stolen it from and the entire village gathers around it to watch the matches. May times have I been shoved to the front and made to sit in the pride of place spot because I am an Obroni and there fore must see the football. I was watching some of the group stage games and someone shouted 'who is he', I being a football fan piped up and told tis man who the player was, who he plays for and that being a goalkeeper he couldnt catch a cold let alone the crosses being flung into his box. From that moment on I have been Mr.Football and everyone asked me all sorts of questions and I have become a football messiah. But only in knowledge not unfortunately in skills and fancy feet.
All the blokes in our house (theres loads of them) all talk about football all the time, but as soon as the match comes on Ghana TV where the camera men are obviously drunk and the commentaors have as much knowledge of the games as the dead cat in the street the vanish. So if I watch football at Nana's house it is with Vida. Vida is Nana's wife and I call her to her amusement Mrs. Nana. She is 60 years of age and moved to London at 21 and still lives there. She comes back to Ghana every year to escape the British winter. Ergo she has a very good grasp of English and will be talking fluently in Fante to Sister Bea about her poor handling of her childs unbringsing and then will shout 'Shut it' to one of th kids making a racket in the hallway. I feel I must also explain about Sister Bea. Or the pison Dwarf as I lovingly call her. She is basically evil and smacks and abuses the kids in the house, so much so that I have stood up and placed myself between her and Anne one of the little girls in the house as she goes to hit her. Why does she hit her? Well probably because she is a black hearted eveil bint thats why!
Anyway I end up always watching football with Vida who loves to shout at the TV and call players 'Prats' and the greatest Ghanaian insyult a 'Nam', or in English a Fish! As I type this a huge roar has just gone up around the internet cafe for Ghana have just scopred against Senegal!
So there I am watching football with Mrs. Nana and she turns to me and says 'I like sport, but my favourite is wrestling'. I immediatle ythougfht of all that American showboating Hulk Hogan stuff that I used to watch as a kid, but no she mean British wrestling. As it transpires Mrs. Nana is a huge fan of Big Daddy, Giant Haystacks and Mick McManus. She is a rather large lady and I cannot get the image of her putting Nana in to a headlock before they go to bed!
When the Ghana verses Nigeria match was televised I watched it with all the teachers and the groundstaff in the school. They were going beserk and shouting all sorts of obscenities at the TV. But the things they were calling the igerian players beggers belief. Before Nigeria scored the teachers were all callingthe Nigerian team things such as and I quote: 'Pirates, ruffians, wife beaters, criminals, petty thieves, unholy fools andthe Crooks of West Africa'. So thers nothing like having good relations with your neighbours then! In the end Ghana lost and if they play like that in the world cup they will be a laughing stock.
I mentioned the girls in our house. Well I better explain what role they play for they are not related to Nana. They are slaves girls. House maidens who the family will gladly keep them home from school to do their washing, scrub the floor and sweet the house every morning at 5am. The poor lasses are basically treated like skum and are forced to sleep in a crobner. That is why I take extra care to bring them food, sweets and give them xmas gifts and also random things like pens for school and most of my medical kit. I hate to see them get smacked, but if I say to Nana not to allow it, it is interfering with traditional and culture and I have been warned not to interfere for I am a Westerner who has no ideas of Africa! I respect that their are cultural differences but the beating of children is somthing that I am prepared to step accross the line to stop. Already I have told all the teachers that caning is wrong and my goodness do they whack them hard! I said why not give them productive punishments like litter picking and cutting the grass with their cutlasses that they bring to school, but the teachers I think like to smack a kid or two. I thik it makes them feel big and manly!
Let me get away from that rether horrible subject that makes me bite my tongue when I see it. Let me tell you about all the other good and cool things that have happened and all the surreal things that makes Africa so enchanting.
The school had a leaving presentation for us. there was a poster put up outside the staff room which aid that all staff should attend a meeting at 1.16pm!! Yes 1.16 not quarter past but 16 minutes past precisely and the theme of the meeting is to say goodbye to 'our white comrades'. Wow I am a comrade, I feel like I should be marching with a communist flag. Comrade Ben, ttheres a certain ring to that. But again I digress. The presentation was basically a load of speeches. The headmaster mubled some thanks to us then all the teachhers stodd up and said a few words for us. The PE department or Edmund stood up and said some really nice thankyous to me and Vincet who is not only a teacher but our neighbour said some really moving thanskyous to both of us for teaching at the school and giving up our western lifestyle to come and lives with the toils of Africa. They even presented us with a African shirt each. Mine is lovely although about 100 times to big for me, but lovely none the less. The African cannot comprehend the size small. So instead I get extra large. I wore this shirt for the rest of the day and I looked like a total prat. But the teachers loved it and the kids thought I was 'beautiful' as they kept calling me. Then just as I thought the presentation was oover and I could go back to teaching they prayed for our souls!
My last lesson in English I taught an entire lesson on Irony using the peoms of Siegfried Sassoon, but alas it went right over the kids heads. So I thougt I would teach something much more simple and something that they could understand. So I had a ponder and decided that I would teach them Limericks. But it was a disaster. No kid in the class can grasp the concept of rhyme. They can get the basics such as bat rhymes with cat. But thats it. They try to rhyme words that are so different that I want to pull out my hair, which I hasten to add Sister Doris after cooking her shitto put in plats! I look lovely!
Hers something funny. Nana has concubines, I am not kidding because I met one of them. This lady came up to me and intriduced herself to me as Nana's mate. Not mate in the friend form but in the animal mating ritual form! I just smiled and waved as I do to all weierd and wonderful people I meet, including the painted man in the street who was covered from head to toe in white emulsion so that he could be white like me. I told him that it was unsafe and then decided to make a run for it as he could grab me at any moment and smear paint all down my falling apart sun bleached clothes.
Now that schoo, is properly back underway and the kids have all decided that they really should return the PE work which I have been doing has doubled. Every morning at 4.30 am I meet Edmund the sports master at the school and he blows his whistle repeatedly until the kids come out of the dorms and enbark on a long run with us. But this one morning last week gone. The kids all made a run for it and hid in the class rooms. Some even barracaded themselves into their rooms. The result was that Edmund got a bucket of water and througfh it through the window resulting in screams. This he did to both male and female dorms. He is a really small man, much smaller than me and to see him run and shoulder barge a barracaded door and bounce off was very amusing. The runs that we did or rather I did as Edmunds ran to the end of town and then stopped while I had to run to a placed called Amenkowah and then run back are along the most uneven rioads that I have ever set my feet on. My poor plates of meat are knackered now!
Oh I actually for the first time the other day read the list of side effects on my malaris capsules. I am on one a day Doxycyline or what ever it is called, but it has the side effect that bleaches your skin!!!! I discovered that while I was at the 'Big Tree' in Akin Oda, well it is actually just outside Akim Oda in the Eastern Region. This tree is supposedly the Biggest tree in West Africa. But I dont know if that means tallest or widest gerth! I think I have seen bigger qwhen I was in the Volta Region but who am I to differ. The sign says 'Big Tree' and big as it is I still wasnt very impressed at all.
I left the host family today but have to return at some point before I go home. Doris took it upon herslef to get Andy and I more of her African shirts made and therefore qwe have to return to collect them. But as I was leaving Thomas or Kwame to give him his Ghanaian name gave me the worst posing picture I have ever seen of him legs crossed with a cheeky grin and asked me to show this to all the females I know at home to find him a 'white wife'! All the Ghanaians are trying to snag a wife or husband in Britain, Germany or other counrties. Evertime I go into an internet cafe the person next to me is writing an explicit email to an American called Bob pretending to be a woman. Only recently the Daily Graphic Ghana's most prestigious and shite newspaper reported that a Ghanaian man went to prison for pretending to be a woman and swindling some gullable fat yank out of fifteen grand. Serves him right I say. But it maeks the internets runs really slowly as the server cannot cope with all the porn that they download to use as their msn pictures! Even Thomas our host brother does it and he even showed mw a letter which he recieved from some yank with photos of him in differing stages of undress and the final pictures was man hood aloft in hand. Thomas didnt even see anything wrong in this as I tried to explain that it was a little bit suspect to say the least. While Thomas grinned inanely at me with the picture of a naked man in his hand a little voice started shouting 'Ben, Ben., Ben' through the window. Richard after alomsot 4 months has decided to speak and shouts at me all the time, but he is scared of Andy or any other Obronis who come to Kwanyako. There is not an awful lot of volunteers left here, except the new Canadians and Dutch people who have just rocked up. So at the moment I am or was seeing as I have left the British Ambassador to Swedru.
The new l;ot I met in town on Wednesday night and it was like a Jacakanory session as they were all gathered around me while I told travelling stories of where to go i Ghana. They were rather upset when I tld them that I was leaving and then suddenyl out of nowhere I was given leaving beer after beer after Gin after beer. I got back to Kwanyako rather tipsy and called Bea a poison Dwarf to her face. But her English is not that good and just smiles and said 'theres no dinner", Bea doesnt bother to even attempt to feed me. Doris loves to cook and wont let me do anything in the kitchin except make some tea. So I feasted on street meat and probably got more worms from that! That night I couldnt go into the room which I sleep because Nana was taking council with the elders of the village in their and they had filled every available space with chairs. Two hours they spoke about important things. Then suddenly all hell broke lose and shouting galore erupted. Nana being the big boss that he is silenced everyone with a huge booming cry of 'Ten asse' or sit down as it translates. In the end they were all booted out of the room and I went back to sleep. But not for long as I must have just nodded off when I was woken by let more shouting. Whats the matter this time I thought, but it wasnt arguments it was poxy preaching. A local preacher had decided to come to Kwanyako to visit and pay homage to Nana and also bless the house. Of course this cannot be done quiently and has to be done in the loudest voice that a human throat can summon up. They preacher walked around the house a few times with what seemed to be minyons by his side. Eventually the shouting died down and he went into Nana's room where he probably went into a trance or something!
The next morning I was grumpy due to a lovely hangover and lack of sleep. So when I was teaching my General Arts class who are all sweins and badly behaved sods. I decided that maybe as it was my last lesson with them that I woulodnt give them the swwets which I had bpught for them all. But the eagle eyed kiddies spotted them and all hell broke lose. The nearest kids scrambled accross the bests and a stampede followed as they triesd to get to the bag in my hands. I thought I was going to be mobbed so in a flash I lobbed the entire lots spinning into the air. They went absolutely mental scrambling around the floor trying to get to them. I left them to it and then conmtinued to write something that they couldnt understand on the board.
Well thats about all thats happened. Theres lots more but I think I have written far too much and really need to reply to some of the emails which I heve been sent rather than just write a lot of old bollocks about the odd things that happen to me here in Ghana. Talking of odd things I saw a woman with a green face! Yes a face that was bright green. I tried to get a closer look but she scared me as she looked like Mr. Frog from the wind in the willows illigitimate child!
Well I do have to go no as two German girls who I had no idea where still in Ghana have just come in and poked me. Now I have been informed that I am off for drinks.
Cheerio my dears, keep on trucking
Ben