So we're back from our week at the organic farm. The farm was in a village called Akweikrum, near Twifo Praso, and we were staying with an incredibly friendly man called Nana, his wife Mary Senior, his teen daughter Dora and his teen relative Mary Junior.
From Accra we travelled through Cape Coast to Twifo Praso where we met Nana. We took a taxi to his house and when we arrived it was just stunning. The family live in a very basic compound, with just bedrooms and a fenced off space for taking bucket showers, surrounding a sandy yard with two large tables for drying their cocoa beans and palm nuts. We dropped off our bags and Nana took us into his 'garden'. Behind the compound was a mass of plantain trees, banana trees, palm trees and towering coconut trees. He had one of the local boys shimmy up and knock some coconuts down. All the local kids came around for some free coconut, and Nana handed Jack and I one each. We'd never tried fresh coconut before. There's a large green pod surrounding the woody shell that you normally see on a coconut. Nana hacked through this with his machete and gave us each a chip to use as a spoon. He cracked the top off the barky inside - the coconut water was very refreshing. Once inside, the fresh coconut was an entirely new experience. The white wasn't much bigger around than a fist, but instead of being hard it was soft and juicy, the same consistency as a hard boiled egg. We scraped it out with our spoons.
The village was set right on the edge of the forest, and there was a cool river that wound its way around the back of Nana's house where we climbed down every morning to fetch water. The food was amazing. We were constantly snacking on coconuts and bananas, and the lovely fresh oranges that hung over the yard, which like all oranges in Ghana are actually green in colour. Every morning we had fresh avocado from Nana's farm. Mary Senior was an excellent cook and was teaching Dora and Mary all her skills. Here we had the best versions of fufu (pounded cassava and plantain), ampesi (boiled plantain and sauce), groundnut soup and omo tuo (rice balls) that we've had in the whole of our time in Ghana. Nana's instructions were that when you were in his house you would 'eat more, more more', with the consequence that the meals were usually twice the size needed. We'd eat and eat until we had to say 'ame pa pa' or 'I'm very, very full'.
The farm wasn't what I'd expected at all. Set right amongst the forest, we would walk for twenty minutes until we came across Nana's cocoa trees or cassava plants. With our machetes, our main job was to hack away anything that wasn't cassava or cocoa yam. There were lots of weeds, including some small trees, so it was a far more violent weeding session than I've ever encountered before. Nana was in his sixties, but he was far more energetic and capable than us in the weeding. Our other job was to pick palm nuts from their spiky bunches, to put them in a bowl ready for boiling and pounding, to make palm oil - a red oil eaten with beans or as a soup.
Nana was a great guide, and would have been a great introduction to Ghana if we had met him first on our travels. He was always telling us Twi/Fante phrases and was keen to get us to try new things. One of the nicest was when he split open a cocoa pod. The beans were all nested inside, surrounded by a white pulp, that you could suck off. It was very sweet and fruity. The cocoa pods before they dried were actually a deep purple colour inside.
The whole family were very welcoming, even when there was a language barrier, and the girls were pretty impressive in their English knowledge, constantly asking us to 'Spell me SOUP' or 'Spell me BANKU' so they could improve their spellings before they start school again in September. It was a very short week, and it was great fun.
Nana was missing half his teeth and was saving up to get his dentures repaired. He often said that fufu was his favourite meal because it was 'very hard to make, but very easy to eat'. (Some people even suggest not chewing fufu before it's swallowed.) When we left we gave Nana some cedis to fix his teeth, so that as he said, next time we see him we'll look at his full smile and say 'Oh! Nana is a young man!'
Friday 28 August 2009
Saturday 22 August 2009
We're back on the road again for the final four weeks of our travels. Time has passed incredibly quickly!
When we left Ejura last Tuesday we made our way to a small port town about three hours' journey away called Yeji. Here was where we were to catch a ferry down the Volta. The Lake Volta is the largest man-made lake in the world, and was dammed up to provide most of the electricity for the whole country of Ghana. It's an eerie place in some ways, with the tops of trees dead decades ago when the area flooded still poking out of the top of the water. But it's an absolutely beautiful area, dotted with small islands and surrounded by lush tropical horizons.
We arrived in the afternoon and met with Alfred and Eric, two guys who are in Senior High School and pay their way by helping tourists through the ferry process. They dropped us off in a bar with two other Obrunis, Americans Sarah and Christine and we began the wait. The boat is called the Yapei Queen, and every Wednesday morning, in the early hours, it sets off towards Akosombo, in the south, transporting goods, mainly yams. The boat is on a round trip, so it can arrive any time after 8pm until any time before midnight, ready to leave at 3am. Luckily, the two American girls were in touch with the Captain, so we settled in at the bar and watched some football while we waited.
We met with two German girls too, and all six of us were guided by Alfred and Eric to the boat, for a surprisingly stress-free boarding at about 11. The girls had all arranged to stay in cabins, but Jack and I were more up for roughing it, so we opted to sleep on the deck. We didn't rough it enough to sleep with all the traders who slept sitting upright in the canteen, eight to a table, so we stayed on the bridge deck with the crew. It was very cold the first night, and the second night we were rained on, but it was good fun, and being woken at 5am by rain meant we could sit up and watch the sky gradually lightening at 5.40.
Our days were spent lazing in the shade, we caught up with a lot of important stuff we needed to do like reading, napping, drinking beers and eating groundnut stew with rice. 40 hours after we boarded, we were dropped off at the beautiful port town, Akosombo. The hills behind the river were covered with greenery, and the higgledy piggledy houses with their colourful walls and tin roofs criss-crossed down to where the palm trees met the shore. We stayed in the next town, Atempuku. Although the stunning scenery and balmy sunsets were pretty good, probably the best thing about Atempuku was the shop where we found a carton of chocolate soy milk and, wonder of wonders, a packet of Hobnobs! We'd just each eaten a meal which Jack struggled to finish, and I couldn't even attempt to finish, at a local chop bar, but our milkshake and biccies cost the same as buying one of those meals 14 times over. It was worth it. For Hobnobs, it was so definitely worth it.
The guy we met at Tamale, Philip from America, had told us he'd been working for 6 weeks on an organic farm in the Central region. It's in a little village near a town called Twifo Praso. He told us how for six weeks he'd been the only fluent English speaker in the whole village, he'd foolishly only packed one novel, which he finished within 2 days, and the village has no electricity or running water. When we met him at Tamale he was like a clockwork talking machine wound up for six weeks and suddenly set free. We spent a very nice couple of days with him at Mole, and at one of our favourite Ashanti towns, Nkoranza. He seemed to have a bit of a culture shock entering the world of guesthouses and Western tourists - he told us how the village he was in was an hour's walk away from the town, that his main activity during the day had been weeding large fields for hours with a machete and that he'd eaten little more than fufu and drunk nothing but water for a month and a half.
Naturally, Jack and I were instantly enamoured with his description of the village he'd been staying at, so in a complete change of plans, we're now in Accra, staying at the home of Ken, who organises these projects, (WWOOF - Worldwide Workers on Organic Farms) and arranging to sign ourselves up for a week of hard labour. It actually sounds like it's going to be such an amazing way to get a different view of Ghanaian life. It's in complete contrast to Namaskar, where we were pampered with our tea and jam and running water, but I'm very very excited to live in the hospitality of a Ghanaian family and see a totally new way of life. Philip was very enthused about it, and we've also met Harji, an American guy with Sikh Indian background who has also been there (twice - he came back for more) and said it was one of only 2 things he was desperate to do again in his second visit to Ghana. We'll be back in the world of internet and Hobnob biscuits in just about a week's time, so we'll let you know how it was.
Until then - miss you all,
Holly :)
When we left Ejura last Tuesday we made our way to a small port town about three hours' journey away called Yeji. Here was where we were to catch a ferry down the Volta. The Lake Volta is the largest man-made lake in the world, and was dammed up to provide most of the electricity for the whole country of Ghana. It's an eerie place in some ways, with the tops of trees dead decades ago when the area flooded still poking out of the top of the water. But it's an absolutely beautiful area, dotted with small islands and surrounded by lush tropical horizons.
We arrived in the afternoon and met with Alfred and Eric, two guys who are in Senior High School and pay their way by helping tourists through the ferry process. They dropped us off in a bar with two other Obrunis, Americans Sarah and Christine and we began the wait. The boat is called the Yapei Queen, and every Wednesday morning, in the early hours, it sets off towards Akosombo, in the south, transporting goods, mainly yams. The boat is on a round trip, so it can arrive any time after 8pm until any time before midnight, ready to leave at 3am. Luckily, the two American girls were in touch with the Captain, so we settled in at the bar and watched some football while we waited.
We met with two German girls too, and all six of us were guided by Alfred and Eric to the boat, for a surprisingly stress-free boarding at about 11. The girls had all arranged to stay in cabins, but Jack and I were more up for roughing it, so we opted to sleep on the deck. We didn't rough it enough to sleep with all the traders who slept sitting upright in the canteen, eight to a table, so we stayed on the bridge deck with the crew. It was very cold the first night, and the second night we were rained on, but it was good fun, and being woken at 5am by rain meant we could sit up and watch the sky gradually lightening at 5.40.
Our days were spent lazing in the shade, we caught up with a lot of important stuff we needed to do like reading, napping, drinking beers and eating groundnut stew with rice. 40 hours after we boarded, we were dropped off at the beautiful port town, Akosombo. The hills behind the river were covered with greenery, and the higgledy piggledy houses with their colourful walls and tin roofs criss-crossed down to where the palm trees met the shore. We stayed in the next town, Atempuku. Although the stunning scenery and balmy sunsets were pretty good, probably the best thing about Atempuku was the shop where we found a carton of chocolate soy milk and, wonder of wonders, a packet of Hobnobs! We'd just each eaten a meal which Jack struggled to finish, and I couldn't even attempt to finish, at a local chop bar, but our milkshake and biccies cost the same as buying one of those meals 14 times over. It was worth it. For Hobnobs, it was so definitely worth it.
The guy we met at Tamale, Philip from America, had told us he'd been working for 6 weeks on an organic farm in the Central region. It's in a little village near a town called Twifo Praso. He told us how for six weeks he'd been the only fluent English speaker in the whole village, he'd foolishly only packed one novel, which he finished within 2 days, and the village has no electricity or running water. When we met him at Tamale he was like a clockwork talking machine wound up for six weeks and suddenly set free. We spent a very nice couple of days with him at Mole, and at one of our favourite Ashanti towns, Nkoranza. He seemed to have a bit of a culture shock entering the world of guesthouses and Western tourists - he told us how the village he was in was an hour's walk away from the town, that his main activity during the day had been weeding large fields for hours with a machete and that he'd eaten little more than fufu and drunk nothing but water for a month and a half.
Naturally, Jack and I were instantly enamoured with his description of the village he'd been staying at, so in a complete change of plans, we're now in Accra, staying at the home of Ken, who organises these projects, (WWOOF - Worldwide Workers on Organic Farms) and arranging to sign ourselves up for a week of hard labour. It actually sounds like it's going to be such an amazing way to get a different view of Ghanaian life. It's in complete contrast to Namaskar, where we were pampered with our tea and jam and running water, but I'm very very excited to live in the hospitality of a Ghanaian family and see a totally new way of life. Philip was very enthused about it, and we've also met Harji, an American guy with Sikh Indian background who has also been there (twice - he came back for more) and said it was one of only 2 things he was desperate to do again in his second visit to Ghana. We'll be back in the world of internet and Hobnob biscuits in just about a week's time, so we'll let you know how it was.
Until then - miss you all,
Holly :)
Monday 17 August 2009
Now that we’re constantly on the move there’s a lot more to recount in these blog postings, but there also seems to be a lot less time to do so. Well here goes...
We arranged to visit a village linked with a community tourism NGO on the outskirts of Tamale. The Dutch organisation that ran the project offered various tour options, varying from a few hours in the village to overnight stays. We opted to spend the whole day in the village as this package came with drumming and dancing workshops, and from our experiences in Sirigu we felt workshops like this were well worth doing. When we told the man organising the project that we were from Britain he sighed knowingly and said “our colonial masters.” Its a rather disconcertingly reaction that is happening quite frequently.
The next day we arrived early in the morning at the village and, as is the custom, asked permission from the Chief to look round. We met with a guide and were taken round various different houses to watch local foods being prepared, cotton being spun, and even new born babies being washed! At each stop a portion of our fee was handed out to the villagers involved, so it was good to see that the money really did go directly to the community.
Next stop was a shrine on the outskirts of the village where we had our fortunes told by a soothsayer. Its a profession that changes very little the world over and we were given the usual vague but entirely positive spiel. Both Holly and I are destined to live long and prosperous lives.
After lunch we were told that we’d have to wait a while for the drummers to arrive from another village. It was around this point that we realised the small intimate workshop we’d envisaged was not exactly what was lined up. After several hours of waiting and general organisation we were led back to the Chiefs house where chairs and benches had been laid out under the shade of a tree. We were sat down alongside the Chief and our guide, while a large proportion of the village gathered round and the drumming began. After fifteen minutes or so of drumming dancers in long, very hot looking, ponchos began to emerge into the centre of the gathering.
This was not a workshop at all but a display put on entirely for our benefit. As the men span and danced rhythmically I really did feel like some colonial patron having commissioned a traditional celebration. It was not the most comfortable situation.
The next day it was off to Larabanga a small town on the outskirts of Mole National Park, the biggest and most diverse wildlife reserve in Ghana. We were getting a bus to Larabanga at 6am and had been warned by fellow travellers that you needed to get there an hour or so before if you want to get a ticket. So at 4am we awoke and sleepily made our way to the station only to find that the tickets were sold out. The next bus was not until 2pm and that one made more stops and took considerably longer. So, through some dodgy dealings and heavy “tipping” we managed to get standing tickets on the 6am bus. Luckily Holly managed to get a seat that was left empty for some reason. Four long, bumpy, hours later we arrived in Larabanga. On the journey we met with an American named Philip, so with him in tow we found somewhere to stay and then went to explore the town.
It was another early start the next day as we all decided to rent bicycles and ride to the park in time for the morning walking safari. We set off as the call to prayer started blaring and the sun began to rise. It was a beautiful ride and the park itself was far more impressive than I had expected. There was a look out point with spectacular views out onto a watering hole in the valley below, and as soon as we arrived we began seeing wild Antelope and Deer.
When we arrived for the walking safari the guide was careful to dampen our expectations and say that the animals were all wild and that there was no guarantee that we would see anything. However, a few minutes from the hotel we stumbled upon a huge elephant feeding on the wild mint plants that were all around the area. Then further along we saw warthogs, baboons, and a herd of antelope. I was impressed with the sheer quantity of wild animals considering we were only a few kilometers from sizable settlements. It was definitely worth the hellish journey.
We’re now back in Ejura for a few days of catching up with people and relaxing in the house. Oh, and on the way back from Mole I saw something far more impressive than any elephant or warthog. At a tro-tro station I met a taxi driver with a Droitwich Spa Boys Football top on! I know most old clothes from Europe end up here, but still what are the odds?
We arranged to visit a village linked with a community tourism NGO on the outskirts of Tamale. The Dutch organisation that ran the project offered various tour options, varying from a few hours in the village to overnight stays. We opted to spend the whole day in the village as this package came with drumming and dancing workshops, and from our experiences in Sirigu we felt workshops like this were well worth doing. When we told the man organising the project that we were from Britain he sighed knowingly and said “our colonial masters.” Its a rather disconcertingly reaction that is happening quite frequently.
The next day we arrived early in the morning at the village and, as is the custom, asked permission from the Chief to look round. We met with a guide and were taken round various different houses to watch local foods being prepared, cotton being spun, and even new born babies being washed! At each stop a portion of our fee was handed out to the villagers involved, so it was good to see that the money really did go directly to the community.
Next stop was a shrine on the outskirts of the village where we had our fortunes told by a soothsayer. Its a profession that changes very little the world over and we were given the usual vague but entirely positive spiel. Both Holly and I are destined to live long and prosperous lives.
After lunch we were told that we’d have to wait a while for the drummers to arrive from another village. It was around this point that we realised the small intimate workshop we’d envisaged was not exactly what was lined up. After several hours of waiting and general organisation we were led back to the Chiefs house where chairs and benches had been laid out under the shade of a tree. We were sat down alongside the Chief and our guide, while a large proportion of the village gathered round and the drumming began. After fifteen minutes or so of drumming dancers in long, very hot looking, ponchos began to emerge into the centre of the gathering.
This was not a workshop at all but a display put on entirely for our benefit. As the men span and danced rhythmically I really did feel like some colonial patron having commissioned a traditional celebration. It was not the most comfortable situation.
The next day it was off to Larabanga a small town on the outskirts of Mole National Park, the biggest and most diverse wildlife reserve in Ghana. We were getting a bus to Larabanga at 6am and had been warned by fellow travellers that you needed to get there an hour or so before if you want to get a ticket. So at 4am we awoke and sleepily made our way to the station only to find that the tickets were sold out. The next bus was not until 2pm and that one made more stops and took considerably longer. So, through some dodgy dealings and heavy “tipping” we managed to get standing tickets on the 6am bus. Luckily Holly managed to get a seat that was left empty for some reason. Four long, bumpy, hours later we arrived in Larabanga. On the journey we met with an American named Philip, so with him in tow we found somewhere to stay and then went to explore the town.
It was another early start the next day as we all decided to rent bicycles and ride to the park in time for the morning walking safari. We set off as the call to prayer started blaring and the sun began to rise. It was a beautiful ride and the park itself was far more impressive than I had expected. There was a look out point with spectacular views out onto a watering hole in the valley below, and as soon as we arrived we began seeing wild Antelope and Deer.
When we arrived for the walking safari the guide was careful to dampen our expectations and say that the animals were all wild and that there was no guarantee that we would see anything. However, a few minutes from the hotel we stumbled upon a huge elephant feeding on the wild mint plants that were all around the area. Then further along we saw warthogs, baboons, and a herd of antelope. I was impressed with the sheer quantity of wild animals considering we were only a few kilometers from sizable settlements. It was definitely worth the hellish journey.
We’re now back in Ejura for a few days of catching up with people and relaxing in the house. Oh, and on the way back from Mole I saw something far more impressive than any elephant or warthog. At a tro-tro station I met a taxi driver with a Droitwich Spa Boys Football top on! I know most old clothes from Europe end up here, but still what are the odds?
Wednesday 12 August 2009
We’re on the road now, and our last week in Ejura was mostly just Jack and I as Danielle left to go on her travels and head home. The last week was spent trying to entertain the kids who had finished exams, and running IT assessments. Last Friday was the Our Day celebration, all the kids were very excited, the lead up started on Thursday, when the children started up the chorus of ‘Madam, tomorrow is Our Day!’
On Friday morning, the school was decked out with canopies and a big sound system and all the benches were turned around so that the classrooms could serve as banqueting halls. The teachers were busy stewing a goat that they’d slaughtered on Thursday. When the party began, Mr. Musah the Primary 6 teacher led the classes in going up to the dancefloor in turn with their teachers and dancing. Jack and I danced with Madame Paulina and the enthusiastic P1s, but by the time the dancing duties had reached the teenagers in Junior Secondary School , the dancing seemed to have waned slightly.
Everyone had been sent to school in their best clothes, boys had freshly shaved heads, and girls had new braids and cornrows in fancier styles than they’d worn during term. The most popular sartorial choice for young men was a denim jeans and denim jacket combination, although one or two were in full suits. They all looked very smart. The girls mostly wore frilly frocks, and it was quite enjoyable to see some of my tomboy P1s stomping about, arguing and roughhousing as usual but in their pink lace and best earrings.
All the children came with a basket of food on their heads, usually rice and meat, which they tucked into eagerly at lunchtime, and also shared with their teachers. By the time everyone had finished eating, Jack and I were called upon to hand out prizes to all the children, who were also receiving their report cards. The first, second and third in the class examinations for each level received a small gift of a notebook or coloured pen, and all the children got toffee and pencils.
It was a lovely send off, and felt like a good end to our time at Namaskar House. We got the chance to say goodbye to all the teachers, who we’ve come to love working with, and the boys were all in good spirits because they were looking forward to traveling home to their families’ villages for the summer.
On Saturday we arrived in Kumasi . One of the friends we’d met at Namaskar House, Eric, lives in Kumasi . We had a great weekend with Eric’s knowledge of Kumasi . The first place we visited was the military museum. The building was on the site of an old Ashanti fort, that was destroyed by the British in the late 19th century and reconstructed shortly afterwards. It was used by the British against the Ashanti people until it was finally handed back to them and made into a museum after the 2nd World War. The museum was mostly artifacts from the various places that the West African Frontier Force had been on duty, guns, ammo and a few ritualistic pieces from other African countries. The most striking part of the tour was the Condemned Prisoners Cell. This was where the British army put the Ashanti men and women they captured. There were in fact two cells, one for 10 women and the other for 20 men. We saw inside the women’s cell, it was a six foot square stone room with a large pillar in the middle. The room was painted entirely black. The only light and air came through a tiny grille on the front of the cell door which was behind another main door, itself with only a tiny grille. The prisoners were beaten to subdue them and put inside the cells with no food and no water. They urinated where they stood, they defecated where they stood, and the door was not opened until the last of the ten (or twenty) people had died. Only one person ever survived this horror – an Ashanti woman who was too important to keep at the fort in case the Ashanti people stormed the fort to retrieve her.
On Sunday we met with Eric again, and went to visit his church, the Lighthouse Chapel International. It was quite an experience for Jack and I, neither of us having been to a Church for many years. The congregation was very different from our usual Ejuran friends and acquaintances. We met no-one in Ejura who had their own car, but in the city we found young affluent families who came to Church in their Sunday best and put us scraggly travellers to shame! Church is an all day affair for Eric and the rest of the congregation. We first attended the youth service, and we got a chance to see Eric drumming along with the choir. In the larger, main Church we saw the English language service, where Eric was playing guitar and also singing in a chamber choir called Exodus. The music was a lot more cheerful than our usual ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’ at home, and the massive church was packed out with people who all got up to dance in front of the altar. It really seemed like a celebration, rather than a duty. The Ghanaians didn’t just watch the sermons, everyone brought their Bible, pen and notebook to take notes on what the pastors and fathers were saying. At one point, a newly-wed couple, beautifully dressed in matching blue and red outfits (the Church’s colours) were invited to stand in front of the whole congregation and regale us with stories of how life had been “on the moon”. It was a really interesting morning, although with each service having two collections, and at one point the pastor calling people up in groups of ‘those giving 20 Ghana cedis’ down to ‘those giving less than one cedi’, we did wonder how anyone less affluent would be able to access it, Jack and I certainly didn’t find it all that easy!
We’ve moved on now to the more northerly parts of Ghana . We stayed for a few days in Bolgatanga, very near to the border with Burkina Faso , and had some trips around. We went one day to a village called Tongo, where we met the chief and climbed the impressive rock formations to their traditional shrines. However, as visitors have to enter the shrine topless, I opted to let Jack explore it on his own. We also had a beautiful day at Sirigu, where we found SWOPA – Sirigu Women’s Organisation of Pottery and Art. The village is heavily decorated with traditional paintings of geometrical shapes and stylized animal likenesses in black, white and brown. We had a go at pottery (which I was rubbish at) and painting. We also walked to some traditional houses, where the architecture was very smooth and circular, and very reminiscent of the pottery that the women produce. We heard how the houses in Sirigu were first built by people who were defending themselves against slave traders. With very small doors and defence walls inside, the houses have to be entered on your belly, so only a friend of the family could make it through without being speared by those waiting inside.
We've now also visited Tamale, and Mole National Park, where we saw elephants! But that's a story for next time. For those of you who didn’t believe their eyes, I DID attend a football match with Jack the other week, and no, I didn’t fall asleep. And although it’s true that 95% of the Ghanaian television we’ve seen has been football matches and football documentaries it’s not true that I’m enjoying it, and rumours about me becoming a fully fledged Aston Villa fan when I get home are entirely unfounded.
Love you all and miss you,
Holly
On Friday morning, the school was decked out with canopies and a big sound system and all the benches were turned around so that the classrooms could serve as banqueting halls. The teachers were busy stewing a goat that they’d slaughtered on Thursday. When the party began, Mr. Musah the Primary 6 teacher led the classes in going up to the dancefloor in turn with their teachers and dancing. Jack and I danced with Madame Paulina and the enthusiastic P1s, but by the time the dancing duties had reached the teenagers in Junior Secondary School , the dancing seemed to have waned slightly.
Everyone had been sent to school in their best clothes, boys had freshly shaved heads, and girls had new braids and cornrows in fancier styles than they’d worn during term. The most popular sartorial choice for young men was a denim jeans and denim jacket combination, although one or two were in full suits. They all looked very smart. The girls mostly wore frilly frocks, and it was quite enjoyable to see some of my tomboy P1s stomping about, arguing and roughhousing as usual but in their pink lace and best earrings.
All the children came with a basket of food on their heads, usually rice and meat, which they tucked into eagerly at lunchtime, and also shared with their teachers. By the time everyone had finished eating, Jack and I were called upon to hand out prizes to all the children, who were also receiving their report cards. The first, second and third in the class examinations for each level received a small gift of a notebook or coloured pen, and all the children got toffee and pencils.
It was a lovely send off, and felt like a good end to our time at Namaskar House. We got the chance to say goodbye to all the teachers, who we’ve come to love working with, and the boys were all in good spirits because they were looking forward to traveling home to their families’ villages for the summer.
On Saturday we arrived in Kumasi . One of the friends we’d met at Namaskar House, Eric, lives in Kumasi . We had a great weekend with Eric’s knowledge of Kumasi . The first place we visited was the military museum. The building was on the site of an old Ashanti fort, that was destroyed by the British in the late 19th century and reconstructed shortly afterwards. It was used by the British against the Ashanti people until it was finally handed back to them and made into a museum after the 2nd World War. The museum was mostly artifacts from the various places that the West African Frontier Force had been on duty, guns, ammo and a few ritualistic pieces from other African countries. The most striking part of the tour was the Condemned Prisoners Cell. This was where the British army put the Ashanti men and women they captured. There were in fact two cells, one for 10 women and the other for 20 men. We saw inside the women’s cell, it was a six foot square stone room with a large pillar in the middle. The room was painted entirely black. The only light and air came through a tiny grille on the front of the cell door which was behind another main door, itself with only a tiny grille. The prisoners were beaten to subdue them and put inside the cells with no food and no water. They urinated where they stood, they defecated where they stood, and the door was not opened until the last of the ten (or twenty) people had died. Only one person ever survived this horror – an Ashanti woman who was too important to keep at the fort in case the Ashanti people stormed the fort to retrieve her.
On Sunday we met with Eric again, and went to visit his church, the Lighthouse Chapel International. It was quite an experience for Jack and I, neither of us having been to a Church for many years. The congregation was very different from our usual Ejuran friends and acquaintances. We met no-one in Ejura who had their own car, but in the city we found young affluent families who came to Church in their Sunday best and put us scraggly travellers to shame! Church is an all day affair for Eric and the rest of the congregation. We first attended the youth service, and we got a chance to see Eric drumming along with the choir. In the larger, main Church we saw the English language service, where Eric was playing guitar and also singing in a chamber choir called Exodus. The music was a lot more cheerful than our usual ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’ at home, and the massive church was packed out with people who all got up to dance in front of the altar. It really seemed like a celebration, rather than a duty. The Ghanaians didn’t just watch the sermons, everyone brought their Bible, pen and notebook to take notes on what the pastors and fathers were saying. At one point, a newly-wed couple, beautifully dressed in matching blue and red outfits (the Church’s colours) were invited to stand in front of the whole congregation and regale us with stories of how life had been “on the moon”. It was a really interesting morning, although with each service having two collections, and at one point the pastor calling people up in groups of ‘those giving 20 Ghana cedis’ down to ‘those giving less than one cedi’, we did wonder how anyone less affluent would be able to access it, Jack and I certainly didn’t find it all that easy!
We’ve moved on now to the more northerly parts of Ghana . We stayed for a few days in Bolgatanga, very near to the border with Burkina Faso , and had some trips around. We went one day to a village called Tongo, where we met the chief and climbed the impressive rock formations to their traditional shrines. However, as visitors have to enter the shrine topless, I opted to let Jack explore it on his own. We also had a beautiful day at Sirigu, where we found SWOPA – Sirigu Women’s Organisation of Pottery and Art. The village is heavily decorated with traditional paintings of geometrical shapes and stylized animal likenesses in black, white and brown. We had a go at pottery (which I was rubbish at) and painting. We also walked to some traditional houses, where the architecture was very smooth and circular, and very reminiscent of the pottery that the women produce. We heard how the houses in Sirigu were first built by people who were defending themselves against slave traders. With very small doors and defence walls inside, the houses have to be entered on your belly, so only a friend of the family could make it through without being speared by those waiting inside.
We've now also visited Tamale, and Mole National Park, where we saw elephants! But that's a story for next time. For those of you who didn’t believe their eyes, I DID attend a football match with Jack the other week, and no, I didn’t fall asleep. And although it’s true that 95% of the Ghanaian television we’ve seen has been football matches and football documentaries it’s not true that I’m enjoying it, and rumours about me becoming a fully fledged Aston Villa fan when I get home are entirely unfounded.
Love you all and miss you,
Holly
Saturday 8 August 2009
Greetings all,
We've now been traveling for a week and have already seen and done so much, but as we haven't updated the blog in a while there's still some catching up to do from our last few weeks in Ejura.
For instance, I finally managed to get to a Ghanaian League match. It was the last game of the season between the two Kumasi teams, Kotoko and King Faisal. Kotoko were second in the table while Faisal lay in third with only two points separating the teams, so this was a crucial match for both.
The atmosphere at the stadium was great with brass bands, drummers, and painted men dotted among the singing crowd. The stadium itself was a huge, open, amphitheatre-like construction that had recently been converted to a seated arena for the 2007 African Cup of Nations which Ghana hosted. As is typical in Ghana the crowd was littered with vendors hawking their head-top wares, so we soon settled down with a cold drink and popcorn and waited for the action to begin.
We didn't have to wait long for that action as within five minutes of kick off three goals had gone in and Faisal were 2-1 up. This rapid scoring was down to a combination of pacy skillful attackers, dozing defenders, and two flapping goal keepers made Peter Enckleman look like a class act.
As the half went on the tempo slowed ever so slightly and the defences got on top of things so that the score was the same when the half-time whistle blew. Faisal had definitely looked the better side, passing the ball around in the Arsenal style, while Kotoko were more Villa-esq and concentrated on getting crosses in to their towering centre forward. The second half was as equally end to end as the first and both sides had plenty of chances, but it was Kotoko's tactics that paid off as they headed home a cross ten minutes from time. The Kotoko fans around us went wild at this and began running and leaping round the stands. A point was enough to secure Kotoko second position in the league and in the end they did managed to hold on for a 2-2 draw.
All in all it was a great day out, and even Holly admitted she'd enjoyed watching her first live football match.
Back in Ejura I spent much of my free time walking around town and the surrounding countryside, making the most of our last weeks there. It was really interesting to see all the different plants and crops that grow in the area. Just outside the town there is a Cashew plantation where the arching trees form a huge shady expanse, the nuts themselves grow singularly on the end of the fruit. This fruit looks like like a big yellow pepper, but inside is sweet and very watery with a not entirely pleasant spongy texture.
Simon told me that many people used to collect and roast Cashews for home cooking, but in the last decade this has been banned as the nuts are so valuable for exportation to Europe. Its now very difficult to buy Cashews in Ejura unless you purchase a huge sackful at market. Ground nuts (peanuts) though are very common, these plants are seen everywhere and as the name suggests the nuts grow on the root underground. The nuts are eaten raw, roasted, salted, sweetened, and used as the basis for sauces and soups. They are much richer tasting than they are by the time they get to Europe, and I take every opportunity to stuff my face full of them.
Another walk we did was to a "powerful" river an hour or so out of the town. This river was in fact not much more than a trickle, but its power is supposed to be more of the spiritual kind. People come all the way from Accra and Kumasi to bathe in the waters, which are supposed to be restorative and even capable of curing madness. I had a splash, but only got slightly wetter. Still, it was a beautiful walk so all was not in vain.
We've now been traveling for a week and have already seen and done so much, but as we haven't updated the blog in a while there's still some catching up to do from our last few weeks in Ejura.
For instance, I finally managed to get to a Ghanaian League match. It was the last game of the season between the two Kumasi teams, Kotoko and King Faisal. Kotoko were second in the table while Faisal lay in third with only two points separating the teams, so this was a crucial match for both.
The atmosphere at the stadium was great with brass bands, drummers, and painted men dotted among the singing crowd. The stadium itself was a huge, open, amphitheatre-like construction that had recently been converted to a seated arena for the 2007 African Cup of Nations which Ghana hosted. As is typical in Ghana the crowd was littered with vendors hawking their head-top wares, so we soon settled down with a cold drink and popcorn and waited for the action to begin.
We didn't have to wait long for that action as within five minutes of kick off three goals had gone in and Faisal were 2-1 up. This rapid scoring was down to a combination of pacy skillful attackers, dozing defenders, and two flapping goal keepers made Peter Enckleman look like a class act.
As the half went on the tempo slowed ever so slightly and the defences got on top of things so that the score was the same when the half-time whistle blew. Faisal had definitely looked the better side, passing the ball around in the Arsenal style, while Kotoko were more Villa-esq and concentrated on getting crosses in to their towering centre forward. The second half was as equally end to end as the first and both sides had plenty of chances, but it was Kotoko's tactics that paid off as they headed home a cross ten minutes from time. The Kotoko fans around us went wild at this and began running and leaping round the stands. A point was enough to secure Kotoko second position in the league and in the end they did managed to hold on for a 2-2 draw.
All in all it was a great day out, and even Holly admitted she'd enjoyed watching her first live football match.
Back in Ejura I spent much of my free time walking around town and the surrounding countryside, making the most of our last weeks there. It was really interesting to see all the different plants and crops that grow in the area. Just outside the town there is a Cashew plantation where the arching trees form a huge shady expanse, the nuts themselves grow singularly on the end of the fruit. This fruit looks like like a big yellow pepper, but inside is sweet and very watery with a not entirely pleasant spongy texture.
Simon told me that many people used to collect and roast Cashews for home cooking, but in the last decade this has been banned as the nuts are so valuable for exportation to Europe. Its now very difficult to buy Cashews in Ejura unless you purchase a huge sackful at market. Ground nuts (peanuts) though are very common, these plants are seen everywhere and as the name suggests the nuts grow on the root underground. The nuts are eaten raw, roasted, salted, sweetened, and used as the basis for sauces and soups. They are much richer tasting than they are by the time they get to Europe, and I take every opportunity to stuff my face full of them.
Another walk we did was to a "powerful" river an hour or so out of the town. This river was in fact not much more than a trickle, but its power is supposed to be more of the spiritual kind. People come all the way from Accra and Kumasi to bathe in the waters, which are supposed to be restorative and even capable of curing madness. I had a splash, but only got slightly wetter. Still, it was a beautiful walk so all was not in vain.
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