Saturday 9th October

My friend and colleague’s Joana, lost her father on the 30^th September. His funeral – a traditional affair – was today.

My first problem was knowing when to go – no-one seemed to know when the funeral was, so the consensus with my flatmate was that 10 or 11 would be fine. I arrive around 10.45 – after asking for directions – simply “where is the funeral house?” is sufficient. The place was full of people – old, young, locals and family members and colleagues from all over. Joana’s father lived in a traditional Ghanaian house, but was a landowner so seemed to be highly respected in his community.

I went in to “greet” Joana, which meant going through to the main family home and sitting with them – not talking much but just sitting – while there was some dancing and celebration from locals. We then went outside and I joined other colleagues under a simple marquee. And started to wait. And wait. After a good hour, I finally asked a colleague what we were actually waiting for. Then pieces of the puzzle came together. I saw some young men, wearing only shorts, running up and round the compound several times. This was because the grave was a new grave, so they have to “run with the stone” round the house three times. We saw women go off to “inspect the grave”. War dancers appeared and danced, then went off to other clusters of people to dance for them. Groups of people – relatives, in laws – came every now and then, disappearing into the compound with traditional “mats” made of reeds. Tradition is that you bring a “mat” to the funeral. The mat is used to cover the body to carry it to the grave. One end – the head end – is bigger than the other. Some tradions dictate that the mat be carried wide end first – others say it should be feet end first.

The graves are huge here – they can hold up to 100 people. Men are buried facing the west as men work in the fields in the mornings when the sun is rising – women are buried facing east as they are particularly busy at night, preparing the food. Bodies are buried sitting up, and the mat that the body is carried in is buried separately – in the wet season. In the dry season, when digging a grave is very hard, the mat is burned – its never buried with the body.

At around 3, we saw men undressing down to their shorts – a sign that the burial (what we’d been waiting for!) would be soon. These men were undertakers, and traditionally, men have to be naked when carrying the body to the grave, though now they wear underwear. It’s important that the body in the mat is carried with naked arms. Then the war dancers went up on the roof, also signalling that the body would soon be taken from its resting place in the house. Big crowds gathered at the entrance to the house, then finally (4.15!!) the body was taken from the house and taken around the house (3 times for men, 4 for women). We had a few hairy moments when we thought the undertakers were going to knock us over. Then the body was taken to the grave, as you heard women crying – the first crying I’d seen all day.

In the south of Ghana, the traditional funeral dress is dark colours, a tradition that has travelled north too now.

Old people have big funerals with war dancing, celebrating their long life. Young people have more sombre events.

Joana’s father had 5 wives, 4 of whom are still alive. Joana’s mother is the first one, and had 10 children, 8 of whom have now died – there is just Joana and her sister left. He has a total of 21 surviving children, 41 grandchildren and 35 great grandchildren. He was 95.

Day 3 – Wednesday 6th October

In Ghana, I don’t take my camera with me everywhere I go – perhaps I should but its one extra thing to worry about.

Today’s picture has two reasons. Firstly, it is my new toy which I can’t wait to try out! After hearing of my difficulties trying to cook with no scales, Jane bought me this super measuring device. My flatmates were equally as excited to see it, and I’m going to attempt tablet this weekend.

However, the second reason for this picture is it made me think of something I saw today. I was visiting one of my schools, and when I arrived I saw a large group of ladies under a tree. After mistaking them for a PTA meeting, I realised they all had small children with them, and that there was an outdoor clinic going on in the school grounds. There was a very simple weighing device attached to one of the tree’s branches where babies were put in a sling at the bottom and their weight taken. It reminded me of Comic Relief scenes on TV, and was nice to see these families being cared for in Ghana.

Day 2 – Tuesday 5th October

Guess what this is? When I left in September, there was not much at all, but I’ve returned to a year’s supply of basil. It is now growing like wildfire and smells gorgeous. Clearly Vic and Rose are better botanists than me – my humble attempt at growing basil in a small tin ended when I drowned it after worrying that it was going to dry out!

Photos and thoughts

I decided that for my next year in Ghana, I would take one photo each day. It lasted about a week……. However, it was a good reminder that I need to keep writing my blog/taking photos… so here’s a little to get started with….

Day one – Monday 4^th October

The tree and sunset in the rain. It started to rain shortly after I got home from work today – I was having a snooze after reading an inspiring story from Gogo Mama about a lady from Kenya who had FGM and is now campaigning and sensitizing people about the dangers. I heard the door bang, and after my initial “I’m being burgled!” thought, I realised it was the wind and knew the rains were coming.

The rain at this time of year is terrific. July and August rain is impressive – big storms often in the afternoons – but it’s at the start and end of the rainy season that you really appreciate and smell the rain – the gentle earthy tones – and hear it – the gentle clanging on the empty pot Godwin uses for cooking, occasional rumbles of thunder. Nothing like it J

A rather African day...

Some days are more typically “African” than others, and this has to be one of them. My morning was spent showing a Ghanaian friend where to get nice Ghanaian presents (he was buying a wedding present for a Canadian friend) and then spent much of the afternoon with my seamstress as she fixed, then refixed, then adjusted my most recent dress.

However, the late afternoon was one of those “I live in Ghana” experiences!

I met Omar, a friend of Sister Marjorie’s. He started a project with Sr M and she wanted me to go along and see it and take some photos. Originally, we were to meet and ride there independently, but he couldn’t get a motorbike at short notice, so asked me to “pick” him. Thankfully I’ve had quite a bit of picking experience lately (thanks to all willing guinea pigs, both vols and brave guests!) so taking a rather small man on the back was not too big a deal.

We rode for what felt like ages along dirt tracks, over large bumps, through rocks, round bends, past villages and finally, on the home straight, came to a rather large puddle, with marshy bits on either side and no clear way through. As ever in Ghana, there was a friendly and willing passer-by to give advice on the best course of action. He recommended going round another route, which I think would’ve added several miles to our journey. So Omar decided to wait until some local men on bikes appeared, hoping they’d show us the best route through. They went across a less marshy grassy bit then back onto the road. After a brief conversation in Frafra, Omar decided he would ride my bike over a clearer patch and I would meet him on the other side. He attempted to do this, but got stuck in the mud just before reaching dry land. The two bicycle men quickly jumped off their bikes, into the mud and pushed him out effortlessly. I was looking for a suitable path to take, across some stepping stones perhaps, when one bicycle man came along, grabbed my arms, threw them round his neck and piggy-backed me right the way across to the other side. Very soon after, with me back in the driving seat, Omar pointed to a building up a small but very steep hill and across the grass – so somehow I managed to ride up the verge, across the grass and to the centre.

After seeing the project and speaking to some local people helping with some tree planting, we heard thunder rumbling in the distance and we set off back to Bolga, this time trying to miss the huge puddle by going a better route. Of course Omar had to “greet” and chat to all manner of people enroute as the thunder got louder and more threatening. At the moment in Ghana it is farming season, so there are huge tall fields full of corn, with only small dirt tracks running through them – I felt like a character in “Honey I Shrunk the Kid”! We managed to make it back to a road, very narrowly missing 3 stray chickens (the most stupid creature in Bolga), a small herd of sheep and one small child. All of a sudden, we seem to be in a village but are actually back in Bolga, Omar jumps off the bike and tells me to “follow that man” to take me back to the main road.

A slightly more successful day’s riding than Monday’s, where I got stage fright going through our local puddle, slowed down way too much and ended up IN the puddle, covered in mud, with the bike on top of my leg, and three ladies up to their ankles helping me out of the situation. It was a laugh or cry situation and thankfully laughing was the far better option!

Ghana musings, one year on

As I entered my late twenties yesterday (eek!!), I was reflecting on the last year, my trials, tribulations, mistakes, successes, and, of course, funniest moments.

Fourteen months ago, I never would have thought I’d hear myself say this, but my biggest and most surprising success to date has been the motorbike (Jack Yoko Biko MacBike.) Without my trusty wheels, I would have never have been able to do my job, see vast parts of the countryside and experience much of the Ghanaian way of life. I’ve also had a fair few passengers – thanks to all willing guinea pigs!

Emma asked me what my favourite thing about Ghana was and after quite a lot of humming and hawing, I finally replied “Ghanaians”. I’ve been so lucky in my work – virtually all colleagues have been friendly, welcoming and pleasant, and the director has always given the nod to anything I’ve wanted to do, which greatly helps in my placement. Sometimes, I wish they’d ask a bit more about what I’m doing as I’m often left to my own devices – but I’d certainly rather it this way round than the other way round.

Not only have colleagues been friendly and welcoming, but strangers too. Although Ghanaian customer service sometimes has a LOT to answer for, people on the whole are nice (nice not being a word I particularly like, but it’s true.) People passing on the street, particularly in our local neighbourhood, will greet you, ask you how your day is, your family, your husband (did I tell you I have a part time Ghanaian “husband”?) and children often run after you shouting “sulemia”, not normally expecting anything more than a wave.

I was torn between Ghanaians and my job in Ghana being my favourite thing here. Leaving class teaching behind has made me realise that I actually really enjoy… class teaching! The few chances I have had to be in front of a class have been great fun though challenging – the major challenge changing from behaviour management to what to do with a huge class and few resources.

The teachers I have worked with have been great too, taking many suggestions on board, making teaching materials and using them and helping to make my job easier. I have particularly enjoyed watching almost 60 teachers in the last 4 weeks of term and giving them feedback.

I have been one of the luckiest volunteers, visitor wise, and enjoyed two visits from both Rachael and Sonia, a visit from Mum and Dad and Emma and Hayley joining Sonia on her second trip here. I love being able to show people round – my house, my office, my schools… and it will make it easier for me when I come home that I can natter on to people and know that they have at least some idea of what Bolga and the Upper East is like. Anyone else is “invited” – get your diaries out…

The volunteer community throughout Ghana is an incredible network, and I think we’re lucky in Ghana to have such a strong and varied group of people, willing to help each other in many ways. In Bolga in particular, (just because I live here and so know about it J), I would not hesitate to ask anyone to help me if I was in need, whether it be getting shopping when I’m sick, helping me to move my moto when it falls over and gets stuck on the step going into the house or suggesting how on earth to cook the unknown vegetable I’ve bought in the market! Volunteers are also such a useful and important sounding board for work problems and cultural differences and how to deal with them. It’s sometimes just important to have someone you can moan to about how long it took for the meeting to start at the office, how hot you are… or to lament on matters of cheese.

I’ve already talked about people who look out for you, and that also goes for the people who work for us – Godwin, our faithful and reliable, if slightly drunk, nightwatchman; Janet our washing lady, and Rita my seamstress J.

No writing on Ghana would be complete without mentioning….Food!!! I think Sonia and Emma were shocked and amused at how much I was able to talk about cheese and bread whilst in Burkina. Being in Ghana makes you… experimental… when it comes to food, and I for one really enjoy the nightly challenge of what to make from eggs, tomatoes, garden eggs, alifi and cabbage… Sonia, Emma and Hayley – I think I exhausted ALL my recipes on you, had you stayed any longer, we would’ve been back to Ghanaian risotto again!

So after my Pollyanna enthusing, here’s what makes me not so chirpy in Ghana…

Customer service – and lack thereof – I’ll have to write further about this as have an array of funny stories in this vein….

The weather – sometimes. I like the heat and am so glad I’m not stuck in Nepal in the winter or even in southern Ghana, which is significantly cooler at certain times of year but always humid. However, sometimes, when you are sitting completely still under a fan going at full blast, drinking ice cold water and wearing very little, yet there is STILL sweat dripping down your face, you do wonder what on earth you’re doing here. Ah, and when, in mid-March, they decide to cut the power for a few hours around midday… you miss Scottish summers!

As someone who had never had a day off sick from work, I’ve certainly made up for lost time recently – around 2 weeks worth minor illness here – I won’t miss that!

I think most volunteers go to Ghana thinking that they know a bit about development, and by the end of their first few months, realise that actually its nothing like you thought it was.

Big NGOs have poured billions of pounds into Africa over the last 5 or 6 decades, and some days, you wonder where that money is now as you walk into a school with no tables, no seats, no lights, no doors and 100 children squashed into a room, being taught by a keen but untrained teacher who is being paid about £25 a month. Other days, you look at projects like Afrikids – Mama Laadi’s Foster Home, their Medical Centre – and see what a difference someone’s vision can make. Progress can sometimes be painfully slow, but it’s encouraging that many NGOs, VSO included, are now taking a much more bottom up approach to development, asking people what they need and want rather than giving them money and telling them how to spend it. The vast majority of the time, the people who know their needs best are they themselves – not someone sitting in an office in London.

Anyway, here’s to another year in Ghana! J

Rose’s new bike (a true story, written in the style of a children’s story... just because!)

Rose had just learned to ride a motorbike. She had now taken the bike home, and is ready to take it out for the first time alone.

Rose’s bike is new to her, but it is not a new bike. It has been at the garage having repairs done before she sets off by herself.

Rachel has had a bike for a few months. She helps Rose manoeuvre it out of the house, bump down the step and slide down the ramp! It’s almost ready to go.

Rachel (still dressed in her indecent zebra pyjamas and flip flops) goes out to watch Rose go off on her bike. Rose tries to kick start it a few times, but after she’s started it, it shudders to a stop. Rachel thinks that having an audience is not helping Rose, so she goes back into the house to finish her tea.

A few seconds later, Rachel hears Rose at the door. “I can’t get the bike started,” Rose says. Rachel (still in pyjamas) goes back out to see what she can do to help.

A boy, aged about 11, comes along and tries to help. He is wearing big green wellies, with big cuts down the sides of them. His wellies are too big for him, so he takes them off, goes on the bike and tries to start the bike. Vroom, vroom, vroom... but the bike does not start.

Rachel decides to have a go (despite the fact that she has only once successfully kick started a bike, under careful direction and supervision from an expert). She goes back into the house, puts her socks and walking boots on, and comes back out to help start the bike. One attempt... no good. Two attempts... no good. Third attempt... the bike starts! She keeps the revs high while Rose climbs on. Rose gets into gear... then the bike stops! Oh no!

Rachel suggests that they move the bike around to better angle, so that Rose can take off in a straight line. They move the bike round. Rachel gets back on the bike again but it doesn’t start. The boy gets back on the bike again but it doesn’t start. Rose gets back on the bike again but it doesn’t start. Oh no!

A gate creaks open, and out comes Damien, another volunteer. “Hello,” says Damien. “Are you having trouble starting the bike?” Rachel and Rose explain the problems they’ve been having, and Damien suggests that they have flooded the engine (whatever on earth that means!) and should put the throttle back in.

A neighbour appears on his bike, and Rose calls him over. “Can you help us fix the bike?” she asks. He comes over to look at the bike.

Rose, Rachel, the boy, Damien and the neighbour all look at the bike.

By this point, Rachel is very late. It is 8.45 and she needs to be at a school at 9am. The school is 25mins ride away, and Rachel is still wearing her indecent zebra pyjamas.

“I’m going in to have a shower,” Rachel says. “Thank you for all your help,” says Rose.

Rachel goes in, has a super quick ice cold shower, and wanders into the living room, wearing a couple of towels and brushing her teeth. The door opens.

“We need to borrow your spark-plug-fixer (of course this is not quite what she said, but I’ve not got a clue what she was actually after!), my toolkit’s missing from my bike,” say Rose. She and Damien come into the house. Rachel, still clad in towels, and with toothpaste all over her mouth, gets her moto key and shows Damien where to get the tools from in the side of the bike. Rose takes the tools from Rachel and goes to fix her bike.

Damien and Rachel then try to get the side of the bike back on. They clip the first bit in, but then the second bit won’t fit. They put the second bit in, but then the first bit won’t clip on. They turn the key, but still the side won’t go back in the moto. (Rachel’s towel very nearly falls right off.) Damien says, “I’ve got to go to work now, sorry!” Damien leaves and Rose returns with the tools. “They don’t work,” says Rose. Rose and Rachel finally manage to get the side back on the side of the bike (who needs men?!) and Rachel is finally able to get dressed.

She gets ready really quickly while Rose phones the mechanic and asks him to come to the house. The neighbour, Jacob, helps Rose take the bike back into the house.

Rachel is finally ready to leave. She fixes everything onto the back of her bike, collects her helmet, jacket, gloves and key, and goes to set off. She puts the key into the ignition, tries to turn it... and it won’t turn. (By this stage it must be 9.15 and Rachel is really late!) This happened to her friend before. Sometimes when you take the side off the bike, the key gets bent in the lock and won’t fit into the ignition properly.

Rachel goes back into the house, finds the hammer and hammers the key so that it is totally straight again. Finally she is ready to go!

Rose waits in the house, and the mechanic comes and collects her bike. It gets fixed.

And they all lived happily ever after.