Timpsons of Ghana

I while back, I went to get some keys cut – not normally the most exciting of tasks, but quite a Ghanaian experience!

First of all, finding the place was not the easiest of tasks. I had been told that the place was about 2/3 of the way between the traffic lights and the junction, and that the shop was near a small walkway and had a Ghanaian style blind at the front – not the easiest of directions to follow!

I pulled up to approximately the correct place, neatly dodging a stray goat, and asked men fixing engines where I could get my keys copied. They pointed me to the place, and I went to shop and asked if I could get two keys cut. They gave me a price (always agree a price BEFORE you start, saves a lot of hassle!) and a boy of about 12 gave me a low foot stool to sit on. He then went back to playing with his young sister, around 18 months, who was totally naked but for some fluorescent green beads around her waist, and of course gold studs (which girls here are practically born wearing). My attention returned to my key cutter, the children’s father I assume, who was filing the keys himself using very basic tools – a measuring device of sorts, a clamp and a simple file. Although it was around 4pm, the temperature was still in the late 30s at least, and I was still wearing full biking gear, denimy jacket, walking boots, long trousers, holding my large helmet and fleecy gloves.

His outdoor workshop was very basic – a table, his tools and a small filing cabinet. Above and around the worktable were the family’s clothes hanging out to dry, big plastic containers, some filled with water and a bench.

The children were just behind him – hardly a sight you’d be likely see in “health and safety” Britain; the boy and small girl, two other boys, aged about six and four, eating food (with their hands, of course, the Ghanaian way!) and then later, their older sister, perhaps 16, who appeared wearing her “tea-and-bread” (yellow and brown) school uniform. The small girl grabbed hold of her big sister and clung to her legs, clearly happy to see her.

Helping the key-cutter were two or three other young men, aged between 16 and 19 – sons, possibly, or apprentices. Just as I was wondering where mother was, she appeared, large bowl of water balanced on her head, and shouted for the girl to help her down with it. She then collected some water in a small plastic teapot (clearly not used for tea, just about as useful as a chocolate teapot in that sense) and washed her arms and legs.

Mother and older daughter went inside the small house (behind the workshop) and baby was left alone, attempting to eat some fallen rice from the ground until her big sister appeared and emptied her mouth. The boys finished their food, and one washed his hands and returned the plastic bowl to the spot where the food had been bought, clearly used to the routine.

As I sat and waited, I was acutely aware of the smell – the shop being just off the main road was right beside a large open gutter, and after a very hot day, the smell was not pleasant – one of many strong smells I encounter daily.

I asked for a receipt and the older boy was given the receipt book which he went off with for several minutes. I don’t know why the keycutter didn’t write it himself – perhaps illiterate, perhaps he doesn’t have the stamp bearing the shop’s name in his workshop – no idea.

As I left, in true Timpson’s style, I am given a friendly send off – a compliment – “I like your helmet!”