Men in multicoloured garments walk the streets in peculiar-shaped hats, flamboyant strangers flag down passing cars selling novelty muggle-wares, and- no word of a lie- there was a man on the corner of Osu yesterday hawking actual, living, BIRDS.
You guessed it. The Quidditch World Cup has come to Ghana.
You guessed it. The Quidditch World Cup has come to Ghana.
The country has given itself over to football. I have just spent the weekend back in Ada Foah: the strip of sand between lake and sea. You may remember I was there three months ago with Lara and Kate, both of whom have since departed. Spending the weekend in a hut, on a beach, without water or electricity, would- I knew- deprive me of my chances to cheer on England in their World Cup debut. I made the executive decision that my men could cope without me on this one occasion. But I should never have worried: a tiny television set had been constructed under a wicker canopy and, through the magic of a generator and some suspect cables, the delights of Wayne Rooney were brought into my life.
I am going to the theatre this coming Saturday. I am excited. A friend of mine is performing in a new Ghanaian play and I am thrilled to have an excuse to visit the majestic spectacle that is the National Theatre of Ghana: it was a gift from China and resembles an upside-down ship from the outside. I joked yesterday that my friend had chosen the wrong day for it: the performance clashes with the Ghana/Germany game. Silly me. They will be screening the match in the theatre before the play commences. I do hope there is ice cream.
No amount of cynicism can cloud the truth that I love being in Ghana for World Cup season. The country that was always colourful is now ablaze with light; Accra is a smokescreen of red, green and gold. Whatever your nationality, you are applauded or insulted in appropriate measure. I am grateful for Ghana’s enduring affection for its former colonial counterpart: England is a country of choice for many a Ghanaian. After Ghana, of course.
No amount of cynicism can cloud the truth that I love being in Ghana for World Cup season. The country that was always colourful is now ablaze with light; Accra is a smokescreen of red, green and gold. Whatever your nationality, you are applauded or insulted in appropriate measure. I am grateful for Ghana’s enduring affection for its former colonial counterpart: England is a country of choice for many a Ghanaian. After Ghana, of course.
The football in Ghana, like the theatre, is participatory and inclusive. It is a performance; everyone wants to join in. Nothing will stop people watching the World Cup just as nothing will stop them making theatre. I will never forget the first month I got here, attending an interactive performance in the Eastern Region. We drove for two hours on pot-holed roads only to arrive at our venue in the midst of a downpour. I assumed inevitable cancellation but emerged from the car, emergency poncho at the ready, to see a whole team of young men erecting a canopy for us to perform beneath; women were wiping down seats and children were clambering over sound equipment to protect it from the rain. All things considered, the turn-out was astonishing.
I was in a Senior High School yesterday as part of Theatre for a Change’s No Yawa programme. It was a far cry from the performances I attended at school: noisy, expressive, not a teacher in sight. Our young team of actors performed a scenario for the students following which they were encouraged to suggest and demonstrate alternative actions: touch-tag theatre, we call it. The students were eager and excited to involve themselves: nominating friends, heckling the actors, laughing, applauding, engaging.
The more time I spend in Ghana the more I love its dynamism. In certain quarters it is a closed book but, in community and performance, it is an open expression of creativity and passion. The culture amongst my colleagues is collaborative; the spirit of innovation overflows. It has made me spring to life again: eager to participate, excited to create. I painted my nails last night: red and white. Can England beat Uruguay? I think they might.
The more time I spend in Ghana the more I love its dynamism. In certain quarters it is a closed book but, in community and performance, it is an open expression of creativity and passion. The culture amongst my colleagues is collaborative; the spirit of innovation overflows. It has made me spring to life again: eager to participate, excited to create. I painted my nails last night: red and white. Can England beat Uruguay? I think they might.