I could watch the fishermen in Ghana for hours. They stand in perfectly formed rows as they play a tug of war with the ocean, pulling in the nets from out at sea. One man leads a monotonous chant and the others fall behind in perfect unison. There are no great machines to compliment Ghana’s fishing efforts: the boats are crafted wood, the power is pure man. I have seen many an obruni shed his shirt in an attempt to join in. These displays of valour are often shortlived.
The current in Ghana is the strongest I have known; the riptide can take you in a moment. I felt it the first weekend I got here just as I felt it two weeks ago in the waves of Ada Foah. The strength and magnitude of Ghana’s seas is mirrored in the country itself: it is a country of extremes. Lately these extremes have expressed themselves through meteorology: thunder, lightning, explosions, floods. The other night I woke at 3am to see great sparks outside my bedroom window, a big bang and a blaze of light. In soporiphic shock I leapt from my bed and ran for the door, convinced the house was on fire. My roommate, a Nigerian, began to cackle.
'What was that?’ I wailed.
‘It was just a spark,’ she replied.
‘Is it dangerous?’ I questioned.
‘Of COURSE it’s dangerous,’ she said, ‘this is Africa!' And the lightning began to crackle outside our window. I am not sure if Ghana is doing this on purpose to make my departure more bearable. I wish it wouldn’t. Besides, it is not exactly working. I am still not ready to leave.
'What was that?’ I wailed.
‘It was just a spark,’ she replied.
‘Is it dangerous?’ I questioned.
‘Of COURSE it’s dangerous,’ she said, ‘this is Africa!' And the lightning began to crackle outside our window. I am not sure if Ghana is doing this on purpose to make my departure more bearable. I wish it wouldn’t. Besides, it is not exactly working. I am still not ready to leave.
The past month in Ghana has been my best. Maybe I have settled into a rhythm that works for me now, maybe I have caught up with the current, or maybe I have just woken up to how little time I have left and decided to make the most of every minute.
Agoo is currently full of interesting and amusing characters: Marine, the French academic who will not even let me entertain the idea of a cheap glass of wine, Minh, the Californian fashion student who could pick a whole Autumn/Winter collection from a second hand market and Jordi, the Spanish doctor who invented a seriously impressive universal medical app but is still just as silly as the rest of us. Together we are a family: we laugh, explore and play. I am visiting old haunts with new faces: new people to learn from, new places to experience, a new energy to fill my final weeks. And energy there is: we have started running, we have established a Tuesday night movie night and a Wednesday night boot camp. ‘I have replaced gin with gym,’ I wrote to Lara and Kate the other day. I could feel their dismay across the oceans.
Agoo is currently full of interesting and amusing characters: Marine, the French academic who will not even let me entertain the idea of a cheap glass of wine, Minh, the Californian fashion student who could pick a whole Autumn/Winter collection from a second hand market and Jordi, the Spanish doctor who invented a seriously impressive universal medical app but is still just as silly as the rest of us. Together we are a family: we laugh, explore and play. I am visiting old haunts with new faces: new people to learn from, new places to experience, a new energy to fill my final weeks. And energy there is: we have started running, we have established a Tuesday night movie night and a Wednesday night boot camp. ‘I have replaced gin with gym,’ I wrote to Lara and Kate the other day. I could feel their dismay across the oceans.
Last weekend the whole family joined me in welcoming Alex and Pete, friends from home. Alex and Pete moved to Liberia the week I moved to Ghana and so the opportunity was taken for a West Africa rendez-vous. They arrived at Agoo late on Friday as we were all settling down to a communal quiche supper (courtesy of Marine) and they were quickly handed plates, beer and conversation. We spent our few short days together dodging rainfall, touching crocodiles and traversing rope bridges. For those of you who have expressed concern at my latest daredevil streak, it is entirely their fault. At least I did not do any trapeze stunts on the rope bridges. That was all Alex.
It was wonderful to see them. Not least because it reminded me of home. Together we shared the highs, the lows, the frustrations and the liberation of living in West Africa. It was a unique chance to reflect on my time here and look ahead to my impending return. I was ashamed to realise I know more about the Ghanaian music scene than I do about its politics but at least I have something to show for the past four months.
It was wonderful to see them. Not least because it reminded me of home. Together we shared the highs, the lows, the frustrations and the liberation of living in West Africa. It was a unique chance to reflect on my time here and look ahead to my impending return. I was ashamed to realise I know more about the Ghanaian music scene than I do about its politics but at least I have something to show for the past four months.
The week before I came to Ghana, some friends of mine gave me a pack of envelopes: one for every week I am here. I was instructed to open the first on the flight to Accra where I was greeted by a tissue, a letter, a photograph and some blue tack: the tissue to stop me crying, the letter to make me cry (the logic?) and the blue tack to fix the photograph to my wall the moment I arrived. A collage of postcards, poems and pure joy now surrounds that photograph. Each Monday I sit on my crowded trotro, laptop, lunch and handbag piled face-high on my lap, and awkwardly open the assigned envelope. I have elbowed many an innocent Ghanaian in my eagerness to keep to this tradition. It makes me happy.
Last Monday I went to extract this week’s installment. The pile that was once huge is now a collection of two envelopes. It seems Ghana, like its seas, has swept me away. The riptide caught me. I am being tugged towards the end.
Last Monday I went to extract this week’s installment. The pile that was once huge is now a collection of two envelopes. It seems Ghana, like its seas, has swept me away. The riptide caught me. I am being tugged towards the end.