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!'

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 :)

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’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

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.

Well, school's winding down, and it's nearly exam week. There's only 3 of us volunteers left, since Caro and Erin left last weekend for home. I couldn't go to the wedding in Kumasi that Jack and Danielle attended as I was stuck in bed with EITHER rampant yellow fever OR the flu. Either way it was enough to make me miss the chance to see the wedding which was a shame. It prompted my first visit to the Ghanaian doctor. There I was asked to give a sample for a blood test, the result of which seemed to be that I didn't have any blood, so after some amateur dramatics with Jack having to rush in to prop me up, and me dashing about shouting "I'm going to faint!" they gave up, and sent me home with a carrier bag full of drugs. But it's all good now.

So, seeing as I've spent most of my time in Ejura the last few weeks, my main entertainment is food. The street food here is AMAZING! It starts at 5 pesewas, which is about 2 pence, for which you can get a sachet of ice water or a bag of fresh popcorn. Everything liquid here is taken in sachets or plastic bags, there's a kind of sour, gingery porridge which the kids all squeeze into their mouths in the morning at school, and little bags of red juice, made from bisep leaves, which tastes like very sweet, very gingery ribena. The best thing is probably Fan Ice, ice-cream in a sachet that we usually eat sitting on the hot tro-tros waiting to get somewhere. One of the most surprising snacks are tofu kebabs, which you can get quite easily for 20 pesewas and the sweet balls, which are big balls of doughnut type stuff all sugary and incredibly greasy. Mmm. Mondays are the best days for street food, because people come to Ejura for market day, and that's when you can find fried goats cheese and little sticks made of mashed together peanuts. The texture of lots of things is very sticky and gloopy. My favourite nights at the house are when Annabelle, our new cook, makes banku or fufu or something similar. These are different combinations of mashed cassava, corn, plantain or yam that we eat with soup with our fingers. It's very soft and messy and is such a comfort food - on those nights I usually eat until I'm just a solid mass of mash and soup. The other food that Ghanaians have got down to an art is egg. For 20 pesewas, a lady outside the school or on the main street will peel a hard boiled egg, split it, and fill it with a chilli pepper and onion sauce. There are different snacks for different times of day, so when the sun goes down and the Ejurans head out to have a beer at a drinking spot, ladies set up stalls selling omelettes of egg, tomato and onion which they set in softly fried hunks of sweet bread.

I'm a bit worried about how I'll fair when we set off in 2 weeks. I've been living quite a sheltered life in the house with all our vegetarian meals being made for us. I don't really think the idea of vegetarianism holds any weight in Ghana, if you say "no meat", it often turns out to be something with no chicken legs balanced on top, but with small pieces of meat in the sauce or rice. I think I'll have to just go with it for a while, get a veggie dinner when I can and when I can't, grin and bear it. However, in my meat-eating days I did always regret never trying goat stew, so maybe one of these days I'll just have to do as the Ghanaians do and try some. I can just pretend its a nice tasty Quorn burger!

Travelling in taxis and tro-tros, we hear a lot of music. One of my personal favourites was the song that went "Shake that booty that Jesus gave ya, Shake that booty in the name of the Lord", and the reggae version of Take That's 'Back for Good'. Michael Jackson has recently become far more popular, even though there didn't seem to be that much interest before he died. There's not much white music, all the American stuff is the Akon and Rihanna that the boys at home listen to. Surprisingly enough, what's really really popular here is Celine Dion. One of the boys' friends was playing it on his mobile the other week, and even when Jacko died, the radio station played Celine Dion's "Goodbye's the Hardest Word I Know" as his tribute song. They liked it so much in fact they played it three times, on a loop.

We've discovered that one of the reasons people follow Jack shouting his name in a really excited fashion is that there's a local soap opera character called Jack who's a soldier. Add this to Jackie Chan and various other connotations, and everyone's convinced that Jack's a killer. I've even seen some of my P1s having play fights and shouting "I am JACK". They'd love for him to have a play fight with them - but of course he can't, because the moment he does, his reputation will be ruined. Being in a country where Christianity is strongly apparent, everyone is convinced my name is Holy. The boys call me Holy Man, Holy Bible and Holy Ghost Fire. When I was ill last week they chastised me, "Holy Woman, you cannot be ill, you have to heal yourself". Applying for my visa was made all the more interesting because my middle name is Marie. The burly immigration officer looked at my application and said "Holy Mary? Are you Catholic?" I laughed, no, and his deadpan response was "I am." I don't know if my name helped me or hindered me there. Picking my visa up again 2 weeks later, a different officer said "Can I ask why you're called Thomas?"
"Oh, it's my surname," I said.
"So you were named after St. Thomas?"
"No, no, it's just my family name."
"Ok. So what can you tell me about St. Thomas?"
"Umm, I don't know who he is!"

Anyway, next time we write I suppose we'll be all ready for the next leg of our adventures. Caro, who's returned has put some good photos of the house and school up on Facebook, so take a look. Until then, miss you all, love you all,

The Blessed Holy Mary

The weather has not been at all like I'd imagined so far. From everything I'd read and heard I was expecting a relentless and draining heat all day long, but for the last month its been mostly cloudy and cool, it even verges on cold during the heavy down pours! When the sun does emerge it is still hot, but as long as your not going on long treks during the mid-day its very bearable. Also I'm surprised that I haven't really needed any sun cream so far, normally I get burnt just opening the fridge door but here I've been fine. I think its because you can really feel the sun when it is beating down on your skin so you are very conscious of covering up or finding shade.

A while back Annabelle arrived at the house as the new cook, she's a very welcome addition to the group not only because of her excellent cooking but because of her friendly and chatty presence. On Sunday she had very kindly invited us to Kumasi for her cousins wedding. Holly was not feeling too good, but Danielle (another volunteer) and I were fit to go. We didn't see the ceremony as this was done in private but we did get involved in the party afterwards. There were over a hundred people there singing and dancing and taking part in various well wishing customs and rituals that mainly seem to involve smearing money on the faces of the happy couple. After this we went to Annabelle’s home in Kumasi for a delicious (meaty) meal, and then off on the now very familiar tro-tro ride home.

The big news of the last few weeks has been the visit of Mr B H Obama to Ghana. I doubt it has made much of a splash back home but here its been unavoidable news, mainly because radio stations have been playing an infectious song on loop which goes "Barrack, Barrack. Barrack Obama! [something something] is coming to Ghana!" Also the one nationwide channel had been repeating a documentary about his early life for several days.

When he did finally land in Ghana the same channel was entirely devoted to covering the event - although this consisted mainly of long silent shots of people waiting for his arrival at various locations. It was all worth it though when he made his address to the Ghanaian Parliament. Although I'd read a lot about last year's election and heard a lot of sound bites, I'd never seen him make a speech in full before. It was very impressive - the speech itself was very well written, talking objectively about the history of the African continent and then linking it with his own family background. Moving from there to the early hope of independence, and on to the present day where people must now forge their own legacy (he loves the "make your own history" line!). He implored Ghanaians and Africans to not use the colonial past as an excuse for the problems of today, and to take control of their own situation as individuals and as governments. To be democratically responsible and to create the institutions needed for a truly independent Africa not so reliant on foreign aid and NGOs. This main thrust of the speech could have sounded chastising (and I don't think it could have come from a white president) but it was delivered with such eloquence and charisma that it was inspiring.

From time to time I have picked up a sense of helplessness from people here, and it’s good to see Obama challenging it. This fatalism must come in part from the very real lack of opportunities here, but it also seems to me to stem from the powerful religious beliefs most people hold. For example at the tro-tro park a big things one notices is that all the trucks and taxis have some religious slogan daubed on the front windscreen. Things like "in God we trust", "Jesus Power!" and "God is in control" I'm sure this last one is very reassuring for the devout but I'd much rather feel the driver was taking full responsibility for the vehicle.

Also I was talking to one person about jobs and the economy and they were pessimistic, but then calmly announced that it didn't matter too much because the world was going to end soon anyway. Still I suppose these attitudes can be encountered the world over, and I any case it certainly makes for a more relaxed society.