I’m now back in Accra in Ghana after spending just over a week in the small Togolese village of Essé Ana. We had been planning to stay there for longer but decided the cut the trip short for various reasons. I will use this postcard to describe my experiences in Essé Ana and in the process I think that our reasons for leaving will become very evident.

Essé Ana is a small village about 70 kilometres from Lomé but due to the poor quality of the roads it can take up to 4 hours to travel between the two. The project was based in an unfinished house on the outskirts of the village where the 20+ volunteers spent most of our time. The intention was to spend each morning planting trees for the villagers and to pass the afternoons playing with the children of the village but this actually happened on only two occasions.

The volunteers were a mix of Europeans and Togolese, with a slim majority of Togolese. Before arriving the information we had received was slightly contradictory: at one point we were told that a basic level of French was necessary and at another it said that either French or English was necessary. Either way I assumed I’d be fine: I have a basic understanding of French and I’m fairly proficient in English. However, I’d also expected that there would be a diverse mix of countries and varying proficiencies in the two languages, but here I was wrong. Aside from myself and Isabel, everyone was from a francophone country (France, Belgium, Togo) and as a result the whole camp was conducted in French. For the first few days this made it very difficult for me to understand anything at all, and I worried that it would be near impossible for me to make friends. However, with such an intensive immersion in the language I improved greatly and was soon able to have enjoyable conversations with the others, even if only on a one-on-one basis. Nevertheless, I found it almost impossible to take part in group conversations or follow everything that was happening during the day.

Surprisingly, I noticed a fair amount of anti-black racism from some of the Togolese. There were various occasions where the white volunteers would receive preferential treatment, for example being given more food or different food and at one point it was suggested that one of the two showers should be reserved for the white volunteers with the other one available for everyone, but this proposition was quickly quashed.  A more alarming example of this racism came from one of the Togolese men who said that he would never marry a black woman because they’re all unfaithful and inferior to their white counterparts.

However, the issues associated with language and race were completely eclipsed by the problems created by the camp leader. I don’t know whether he was going through a difficult time in his life or whether he’s simply a sociopath but either way he was a terrible group leader. First of all, he brought absolutely no organisation to the work we were doing. In the morning when we were planting trees it was never clear what the overall plan was and everything was done very haphazardly: I spent most of my time wandering aimlessly trying to find something to do. And if his record with the trees was bad, with the children it was abysmal. We were supposed to play with the children every weekday afternoon but he often didn’t feel like it, so we only went on three occasions. By the time we were ready to leave, the children had stopped coming to meet us, having been stood up too many times. As a result of all of this, we were rarely that busy and, given that the village offered nothing by way of entertainment, we spent most of our time sitting around in the unfinished house with nothing to do but talk to one another.

Much worse than his incompetence as a group organiser was his treatment of the white female volunteers, whom he aggressively harrassed at any given opportunity. His general strategy was very simple: ply the volunteer with alcohol, insist that they go somewhere more private, confess his love and then commence the sexual advances. Obviously, I was never present for any of this but I witnessed on numerous occasions the creepy way he’d touch the girls and prevent them from leaving. As you’d expect, this was distressing for the girls involved and created a very negative environment for everyone else.

I feel that I may have placed too much emphasis on the worst aspects of the camp, as for the most part I was very happy there. I liked the vast majority of the volunteers very much and particularly enjoyed getting to know the Togolese. I also feel that my French has improved hugely, which was one of the desired outcomes of the trip.

As an example of my more positive experiences in Togo I will recount one particularly enjoyable day, last Saturday when we took a trip to Lomé. We began by having a fantastic lunch at the house of one of the volunteers’ friend before going to the beach. Unlike the one in Accra, the beach in Lomé is beautiful and, were it not for the strong currents, would be perfect for swimming. After a short swim, we went to an art exhibition organised by the woman at whose house we ate lunch. Bizarrely, we seemed to have found our way into Togo’s high society: there was plenty of free food and drink, television cameras, and performances by various musicians including one who had previously supported Michael Jackson! The whole experience was surreal but definitely one of the highlights of my time in Africa. Following dinner, we went to a bar where we drank and danced until the wee hours of the morning. The intention had been to go to a nightclub afterwards but this plan was abandoned due to the harassment some of the white girls experienced at the bar.

Arranging to leave the camp was relatively easy. The camp leader caused no problems whatsoever and willingly made the necessary arrangements. On the way back we passed another night in Lomé, at the same mansion as the previous week, before making our way back to Accra.

We’re now in Accra and have had a fantastic few days here. Tomorrow we go westwards to a village built on stilts, which should be a lot of fun. I’m going to try to find the time to let you know what I’ve been up to in Accra (it’s been very interesting) and also the west but if I don’t manage then I can let you know when I return – a week today.

Until then, I wish you all the best

McAsh
A Bed in the Corner
The Custom Officer’s House
Essé Ana
Tabligbo
Togo

We’ve spent the last three nights in Cape Coast, the former colonial centre of the British Gold Coast, and capital of the Central Region. Of all the towns I’ve been to in Ghana, Cape Coast is by far my least favourite. However, that said, there have been some very enjoyable parts of the stay.

I hope the tales of our decreasing room prices are not becoming too dull because I feel that I must let you know that in Cape Coast we found a place charging only 12 Ghana cedi per night for a room with three beds, and an ensuite shower and toilet. This works out as no more than £1.90 per person per night. Fantastic. Anyway, with that aside I’ll now move onto describing some of our non-price-related activities.

We arrived in Cape Coast in early afternoon on Friday after a short tro-tro journey from Takoradi. There was a good amount of the day left so we headed to Cape Coast Castle. The castle is full of history, having been the seat of government in the British colonial Gold Coast and also the centre of Britain’s involvement in the transatlantic slave-trade. We took a guided tour through the slave dungeons and other parts of the building to develop an understanding of what it must have been like a few centuries ago.

The conditions that the captive Africans lived in were, as one might predict, terrible: thousands of people were crammed into small underground rooms with no light, poor ventilation and nothing resembling a toilet. Apparently a recent excavation discovered that for much of the time the slaves were standing (and sleeping) in two feet of urine, vomit and feces.

Worst still was the ‘condemned cell’ which contained all the captives who tried to rebel. This tiny room held up to sixty people at a time in complete darkness. They were given no food and there was very little oxygen. Out of fear that they’d be attacked, the British only collected the dead bodies when no-one was left alive – meaning that many captives were left to starve for days or weeks, surrounded by rotting bodies.

The experience of the female slaves was slightly different but no less horrific. It seemed that they had slightly more room than their male counterparts but were also frequently raped by the soldiers and governor. Interestingly, if one of the women became pregnant they were taken out of the dungeons and moved into a small house outside the castle where they were free to raise the child, who would later be enlisted to work in the castle. The mother would then remain housed and free for the rest of her life.

All of the information was pretty upsetting in itself but there wasn’t the sombre mood during the tour that I experienced last year in Auschwitz. One contributing factor was the tour guide, who would very often use over-the-top guestures as he spoke. He also placed emphasis on the wrong parts: emphatically and repeatedly explaining that the male slaves had to walk 50 metres from the dungeon to the waiting ship (not a very great distance considering some of them had been forced to walk 1000 kilometres from their home to the castle). At the end he gave a short speech about how humanity needs to learn from its grave history and come together in all its diversity. It was very cringe-worthy but nevertheless received a round of applause.

The following day we went to Elmina Castle, another slave fort situated a few kilometres from Cape Coast. Despite having been built and run by the Portugese and then Dutch, the castle was very similar to Cape Coast Castle, only much more more beautiful. The tour guide was also much more proficient.

After finishing our tour of the castle we went for a wander around the Elmina town. There are various shrines in the town which are all fairly peculiar. One is shaped like a pirate ship, complete with sailors on the deck. I have absolutely no idea how this would have fitted into the patterns of worship of the local population.

The next day was Sunday and most things were closed. For this reason, along with a few others, we did very little that day aside from run a few errands. It was, nevertheless, fairly pleasant.

On Monday morning we awoke at 6 to set off for Kakum National Park, a 350 square kilometre expanse of tropical rainforest. Its major attraction is the Canopy Walkway, the highest of the 5 canopy walkways existing in the world. What this essentially entails is a long series of hanging bridges connected to viewing platforms stretching for 330 metres and at a height of between 18 and 60 metres above ground. This allows you to walk through the forest at canopy level, enabling you to see the forest from the unique perspective experienced by the animals able to fly or climb trees. It is also often possible to see many of the animals in the trees (although we were fairly unlucky on this front).

Following the canopy walk we went on a ‘nature walk’ where we were educated in the various cultural and medicinal uses of the trees in the park. We were introduced to one tree which can be used as a sponge, two which serve as a good means of cleaning one’s teeth, and another which acts as a back-scratcher for elephants. The two walks were completely incomparable but both very worthwhile.

By the time we’d finished the walks it was only 9 o clock so we still had much of the day ahead of us. We opted to spend it in Hans Cottage Botel, a fantastic hotel known for its huge crocodile-filled pond. We sat on a platform over the pond for much of the day, eating breakfast, reading books and sipping drinks. It’s strange to think that we’d done so much by 9am and then so little afterwards, but both parts of the day were fantastic in their own way.

This bring us up to this morning, which up to now has been spent on nothing aside from breakfast and the internet cafe. This afternoon we leave Cape Coast for Accra (our fourth time in the capital). Melanie is leaving us on Friday and Isabel and I will be setting off for Togo. This means that this postcard will be my last, or at least penultimate, postcard from Ghana. I hope to continue to write them from Togo with a similar frequency but this all depends on circumstances. Nevertheless, you will hear from me soon even if only to say that I’ve safely crossed the border.

Until then, I wish you all the best and look forward to seeing you on my return to the UK (which is now less than 4 weeks away).

McAsh
Room 2 – Impartiality
Red Cross Hostel
Cape Coast
Central Region
Ghana

It feels like a long time since I last sent a postcard but it’s only been a few days. Nevertheless, in the interim period we have left Kumasi for Takoradi and then moved onto Cape Coast. I’ll use this postcard to describe the time I spent in and around Takoradi.

Takoradi-Secondi is apparently the third most populated urban area in Ghana. This surprises me as it has the feel of a mid-sized town and in comparison to Tamale for instance it feels quite small. Regardless of its alleged population achievements, however, Takoradi is a very pleasant place to spend a couple of nights.

That said, we didn’t actually spend much of our time in Takoradi. Our only full day in the area took place on Ankobra Beach, near the small town of Axim. Words cannot describe how beautiful the beach is. Owned by a hotel, but open to the public providing you’re willing to buy a drink, the mile and a half stretch of white sand punctuated only by palm trees seems to be completely untouched. I walked for about half an hour in one direction, covering probably just over a mile, and saw no people whatsoever, nor even evidence of human existence. As I was about to turn back to meet the others I came across a deer, stumbling alone across the beach. I thought little of it and made my way back. However, after a couple of minutes I happened to look back and, much to my surprise, discovered that the deer was following me.

I walked the mile back to our base camp with the deer never far behind. Sometimes I would turn around to see her standing still about twenty metres back. Then I would look again to see that she’d secretly caught up with me and was only a yard or so away. Each time a wave washed by her legs she would take the smallest of drinks, as though testing each one for fresh water. She was clearly a very curious deer as she followed me all the way back to the hotel.

After taking a few photos of the deer with the others I set off to find my next distraction.  It didn’t take long for me to realise that there are coconuts growing on the palm trees and that some of them aren’t too high. So, with Melanie’s help, I climbed up and retrieved one of the coconuts. I then used a penknife to slice the top section off, producing a small hole which I dropped a straw into. I then drank the sweet coconut juice and watched the waves kiss the sand – a spectacle of nature’s beauty on a privatised beach.

After eating at the hotel restaurant we made our way back to Axim and then Takoradi. The following day marked the end of our short stay in the Western Region as we set off for Cape Coast.

All the best

McAsh
Room 4
Amenla Hotel
Takoradi
Western Region
Ghana

We are now in Kumasi, the second biggest city in Ghana, after the capital Accra, and the centre of the Ashanti Kingdom. Despite having only stayed here two nights, I have already been asked multiple times to forfeit one of my travel partners to be someone’s wife. As of yet I have not been offered a high enough price.

When we arrived on Saturday we had some difficulty finding somewhere to stay. Eventually we resigned ourselves to the fact that we’d probably have to pay quite a steep price to find somewhere with beds still available. Then we had a stroke of luck: the receptionist from a hotel which we thought was full chased us down the street to let us know that a room had just been vacated. We followed him back, asked of the price, inspected the room, and checked in. Amazingly, we’ve beaten our previous record for price – £2.35 each per night for a room with two kingsize beds and a balcony.

On our first full day here we went to the Manhiya Palace, the former home of the King of the Ashanti and now a very well presented museum. (Immensely superior to the National Museum in Accra.) We took a guided tour of the house and learned the history of the Ashanti people from 1695 to the present. It was particularly interesting to hear of the Anglo-Ashanti history and how it influences relations today. It seems that despite numerous wars the Ashanti have a fairly positive view of the British – the current king spent some time working for Brent town council.

After our museum visit we headed to the market which, with 10,000 traders, is the biggest in West Africa. We spent a good while wandering through the labyrinth of stalls, looking at everything on offer and occasionally buying something. Eventually we became tired of the market and headed to the Kumasi National Cultural Centre. Unfortunately, a good deal of it is closed on Sundays but we still enjoyed a couple of hours looking at the various sculptures, fabrics and beads made and/or sold in the complex.

That evening Melanie and I went for a drink while Isabel stayed in the room. Not much was open to it took us a while to find somewhere but eventually we located a badly lit and very loud outside venue. On our way back to the hotel we passed through an area full of homeless people. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many people sleeping on the street in one place before. More than a hundred people, predominantly women, were by the side of the road sleeping in orderly rows. The spectacle was very upsetting but also quite confusing. Why were they all squashed together there when there were similar streets less than a minutes walk away with no sign of anyone? Also, I’ve barely seen any sign of begging so I have no idea what these people do during the day. Are these the same women who sell various things from baskets on their heads?

The following day we visited Lake Bosomtwe, approximately 30 km from the city. We didn’t do a great deal there but it wasn’t necessary for us to be that busy to have a very enjoyable day. Simply walking by the water and gazing out at its tranquil movements was delightful. Although slightly more tiring, the hour we spent atop the lake in a canoe was also very pleasant.

That evening we went for a drink at a bar with chairs spilling out onto the road. There, we met a very interesting Ghanaian called Este. We chatted for a couple of hours about Ghana’s colonial and liberation history, and how present-day life compared to the colonial era. He argued that Ghana would have been better off had it remained a British colony until at least 1990, if not the present day, because when the British ruled the country there was less poverty, superior infrastructure, and free education for all. We asked him if he wanted the British to come back and he said that he did, but not led by David Cameron. He also told us that he thought that Nick Clegg’s actions since coming into government have been incoherent with his manifesto promises. I thought that this demonstrated a very impressive knowledge of British politics for who has never left Africa, along with a dedication to the Left which I always find pleasing. A final highlight of the conversation was his analysis of the Togolese: “They aren’t very clever: they’re French.”

Tomorrow we leave Kumasi and I’ll be very sad to do so. Nevertheless, there are still many exciting places for us to visit and things we have yet to see. The next leg of our adventure begins tomorrow with our journey to the coastal town of Takoradi.

I hope that you’re all in good health and that Nick Clegg’s policy inconsistencies are not causing you too much grief.

All the best

McAsh
Room 2
Nurom Hotel Annexe
Kumasi
Ashanti Region
Ghana.

On our way to Mole National Park we went from Accra through Kumasi to Tamale, then caught a separate bus to Larabanga before walking to the park – all in one stretch. For our return journey we’ve decided to take everything a little bit easier. The first segment was the shortish journey from Mole direct to Tamale where we stayed for two nights.

Tamale is a vibrant city serving as the regional capital for the North. Whilst it certainly feels like a Ghanaian city there is nevertheless a huge amount to distinguish it from its southern counterparts. For instance, the majority of Ghana is very Christian but Tamale is predominantly Muslim. I also found the city to be more friendly than others. I’ve not experienced much hostility anywhere in Ghana but sometimes I feel like I’m seen as nothing more than a gold mine (which is, to a certain extent, understandable in some cases). In Tamale however we met plenty of people who seemed generally pleased to see us, chat with us and welcome us to their city. Then again, this might simply be a coincidence.

We arrived in mid-morning and we were hungry for breakfast so before doing anything else we picked up an omelette each from a woman on the street (Ghana’s abundance of omelette women is something I wish we had in the UK). We then headed to a guesthouse of which we’d heard good things.

The Catholic Guest House certainly lived up to our expectations. We were charged ₵17 for a room with two double beds and an en-suite shower and toilet. They were perfectly happy for us to share it between the three of us so it worked out at approximately £2.66 each – the cheapest room we’d had yet. As an added bonus, it had a very nice and reasonably-priced outdoors bar where we read for a couple of hours.

We spent the afternoon exploring the town. There’s a fairly extensive market selling the usual delights (fish, cloth, jeans) as well as some things we’d not yet seen (cows’ heads). Apparently there is a ‘festish’ section which sells tiger skins, jaguar feet and other standard witchcraft ingredients, but we wereunable, unfortunately, to locate it. Nevertheless, we did find something almost as surprising, although entirely different. Next to the market is a huge compound with high walls topped with barbed wire. The gates are sturdy and they’re protected by armed guarded. Amazingly, this high security complex contained only a shop and internet cafe run by Vodafone: further evidence of how important mobile phones are in Ghanaian society.

That evening we found a cheap bar near the guesthouse where we had a beer and played cards before dinner. On our way to dinner a kid came up to me and asked me for my email address. Seeing no harm in giving it to him, and feeling quite curious as what his emails would contain, I said he could have it. When it transpired that neither of us had a pen he said he’d find me later. I assumed that was wishful thinking and headed for dinner. However, I was proven wrong. Coming out of the restaurant I was confronted by the same kid, this time with pen in hand. I wrote the address down for him and chatted with him to the guesthouse where he left us.

The next day we awoke fairly late – after catching up on our sleep – and set about planning our day. All three of us wanted to wash our clothes but as mine were already together I started first. While I was doing this Melanie went to reception to extend our stay, but had no success. She returned at 1120, having been told by the receptionist that we’d be charged ₵5 for every hour we were late checking out – starting at 12noon on the dot. ‘Some Christian spirit,’ Melanie quipped.

At this point, with 40 minutes left before checkout, we had our clothes sprawled all over the room with half of mine soaking in a soapy bucket. We moved quickly. I threw all my dry things together while my washing soaked and the others packed. I then tried to wash my clothes and sheets as best as I could as the others searched for another place to stay and, upon finding one, transferred our bags there. Thanks to our success in co-ordination and teamwork we managed to check out at 1158, with a bag of sodden clothes in hand.

Our new place of stay was another Christian guest house, the Christian Council Guest House. I enquired as to where I could hang my clothes and sheets to dry and was pointed in the direction or a washing line. After quickly checking that it was safe to leave my things there, and being told in a very patronising way that it was, we set off for Tamale city-centre.

The guide-book speaks highly of Gulpka Na’s Palace, which it describes as ‘engagingly low-key’, so we set off with that as our destination. After a while it became clear that we’d gone too far so we turned back and asked for directions. A man on the street told us to continue the way we were going and then turn left, which we did. We went down a small alleyway between a set of mud-huts and asked for further directions. These led us on a short walk through the mud-village and then back onto the main road. Eventually we realised that we’d been unable to see the wood for the trees, or the palace for the mud-huts. The two were one and the same: the mud-village-come -palace was indeed ‘low-key’ but I’m not convinced of it being ‘engaging’.

That evening we returned to our cheap bar for a drink and a game of cards. Much to my surprise, we were shortly joined by the kid from the day before. We invited him to play with us but he declined, instead opting to stand behind me watching silently. After a while he was joined by another, and then another, until there were 4 silent children watching us play. The other three were evidently not as committed as they left after only 10 minutes but the original kid stayed, standing silently, for the 2 hours we spent there. I was expecting him to try to get money from us at some point but it never happened. He only asked for our phone number as we were leaving (we politely refused) and then went home.

The plan was to return to the guest house and get an early night and be wide awake the next morning for our bus to Kumasi. However, as seems to be always the case, things did not go to plan. Upon returning I went to retrieve my clothes and sheets only to discover that they had disappeared. The receptionist I’d spoken to earlier was not around but there were two members of staff present: a man and a woman. When I told them what had happened the man left the guest house and walked across the street whilst talking on his mobile and the woman merely laughed. When the man finally returned we spent a little while looking in various rooms but to no avail. He then decided to ring the manager, and passed the phone to me. For the first minute or so the manager spoke to me in a language that I didn’t understand before switching to English. He asked me when I would be leaving and I told him. I then asked if he knew where my clothes were, and he said he didn’t. He then told me to meet him the next morning, to which I agreed. After this bizarre exchange, I was left with little hope that I’d ever see my clothes or sheets again.

8 hours later, and after some sleep, I headed outside to see the manager. Amazingly he was sat there with a napsack containing all of my clothes. I tried to uncover what had happened to them but had no luck. Deciding to leave it as a mystery, we set off for the bus station, leaving the Muslim Tamale and its many Christian guest houses behind us.

I am currently at our next stop, Kumasi, and am having a fantastic time here. I will be sure to let you know what it’s like as soon as possible.

All the best

McAsh
Room B3
Christian Council Guest House
Tamale
Northern Region
Ghana

We are, as Jack Kerouac would put it, ‘on the road’. We spent this weekend in Atimpoku and the following few days traveling to and from, and staying in, Mole National Park. A lot happened in this time that I want to tell you about but first I should let you know how the last couple of days in the orphanage went.

The night I sent my last postcard a great change occured in the orphanage: Lindy Adams returned. Lindy is Nicholas’ Australian wife (although not officially as far as I know) and is instrumental in the organisation’s management. The fact that she’s Australian is not merely a detail, but a pivotal factor in understanding her relationship to the volutunteer experience. Nicholas is a fantastic man but not a great communicator. Add to this is the issues of cultural difference and a thick accent, and it’s clear how confusion might arise. By contrast, after an hour meeting with Lindy so much that had previously been foggy became clear. For example, some of the peculiarities of the orphanage’s running were explained by her overview of the orphanage’s relationship with the Ghanaian government, and the regulations they impose.I wish I’d had more time to talk to her: she’d obviously had a fascinating life and was very knowledgeable.

The next two days flew by. On Thursday we organised a feast for the children, thanks to Grandma, which they enjoyed hugely; on Friday much of the day was spent preparing to leave. Our leaving ceremony was lovely: we said goodbye to the kids, giving each of them a hug, and they sang some songs for us. After this, some of the kids whom I know better gave me some handwritten letters. They’re all very touching, if somewhat repetitive: each asks how old I am, informs me of his/her age, and states that s/he will miss me very much. They will serve as perfect souvenirs of my time spent at the orphanage.

Atimpoku, our first port of call on our travels, is a bustling market town sitting on the sleepy Lake Volta. We crossed the huge Adomi Bridge on Friday evening and we checked into the first hotel we saw. (This isn’t to say we checked into it immediately, in fact we spent a good while investigating various other hotels and debating the various merits of each before finally settling on the first option.)

My time in Atimpoku was, by and large, very relaxed. Each evening we ate dinner by the lake, watching the sun retreat behind the mountains as canoes drifted by, whereas our days were spent walking around the lake and relaxing in a nearby hotel. The hotel was expensive but that wasn’t too much of an issue: I made everything last, sipping my coffee until it was cold and my Fanta until it was tepid. The pool was amazing: crystal clear, perfect temperature, and with a beautiful mountain backdrop. Interestingly, the hotel was also host to a number of caged animals. On my way to find the loo I stumbled across the monkey enclosure and my eagerness to take a close-up photo almost risked my camera. Behind this is a pit, home to numerous crocodiles. When the others saw the animals they remarked upon how sad it is. I was surprised at myself: this had not crossed my mind whatsoever. With reflection it’s certainly a shame that these animals have been trapped for the purpose of tourism, but I can’t help but feel that it still ranks fairly low on the list of upsetting sights I’ve seen on my trip.

On Sunday we parted our separate ways: Isabel, Melanie and I set off for Accra and the others returned to Hohoe. Our stay in Accra was short but enjoyable: we ate dinner, had a beer and danced in the street with a group of Ghanaians celebrating a wedding.

The next morning we awoke at half past six to begin our epic voyage to Mole (pronounced Moh-lay). By seven-thirty we were at the bus station with our tickets to Tamale in hand. The bus was scheduled to leave at 9 but it said that we should be there by 8, in case it leaves early. An hour later a bus arrived with a sign for Tamale. We were counting ourselves lucky for arriving so early when we realised that this was not our bus: it was the 8 o clock. Still, it was only half an hour late, maybe ours would arrive at nine thirty.

At half past eleven our bus left the station for the north. The bus journey was fairly entertaining: some of the passengers got into a huge argument with the driver for not driving quickly enough, and there was a loud showing of an awful Nigerian film called Women in Power (and Women in Power 2 for that matter). When we eventually arrived in Tamale it was close to 1am: too late to find a hotel. Instead we sat in the bus station for a couple of hours, drifting in and out of sleep. Then it was time to move to another station to get our next bus, to Larabanga. Despite arriving at the bus station at around three thirty am, we were too late to book a seat. To add insult to injury, there wasn’t another bus for over 8 hours. Resignedly, we accept the offer to pay for a standing ticket.

The next three hours were probably my worst of the entire trip. Aside from the little sleep I had had in the Tamale bus station, I had been awake for 24 hours by this point and I was truly exhausted. It took every effort to keep my eyes open, nevermind keeping myself upright as the bus bounced along the terrible dirt-road. Furthermore, I was stood next to possibly the most irritating people on the whole bus. One kept banging his head into the hand I was using to hold on; another punched me in the back at regular intervals, possibly by accident, possibly not; and a third insisted on repeatedly standing up and sitting down again, forcing me to constantly reposition myself amongst my bags.

Arrival at Larabanga did not signify the end of my turmoil. Upon exiting the bus we were immediately assaulted by various men offering to be our guide, provide us with a taxi, find us some food, show us a mosque etc. We’ve grown accustomed to this to a certain extent but Larabanga took it took a whole new level. Baring in mind that we’d been traveling for over a day, you can probably imagine how annoyed we were. Deciding that we were being vastly overcharged for transport, we opted to walk the 6km to Mole National Park. With hindsight, this was a folly on our part.

We finally arrived at the Mole Motel at 11 o clock and collapsed on our beds; we didn’t awake until 5.

Mole National Park is truly fantastic. On Wednesday afternoon we took a ‘jeep-safari’, which lasted 2 hours and cost us only £9.50 each. A five minute drive from the motel the guide told us all to get and head into the woods. Very quietly we made our way through the foliage until we came across a tribe of baboons. We watched silently as 20 or so crossed our path; many were mothers with their cubs clinging to their stomachs or sitting atop their backs. When they’d made their way through, we proceeded for a minute or so before our guide told us to halt. Before us, only 20 metres away, was a herd of elephants. Again, we watched them with awe as the magnificent creatures tore away at the surrounding trees. When they’d left, the guide excitedly told us how lucky we’d been and we headed back to the jeep. As we walked back he would point to various destroyed trees and say “Look. The elephants did that.”

The Mole Motel Restaurant is a very peculiar place, even by Ghanaian standards. On our first night we went at 6 o clock, in search of dinner. Upon arrival we were told that we should have ordered 4 hours earlier and that as a result of our negligence our options would be hugely limited. Why they assumed that we’d know about this bizarre rule without ever being told of it is completely beyond me. The next morning we tried to get breakfast at around 10 o clock and were told that it was too late. Isabel then went to order a hot chocolate and was asked if she wanted any breakfast to go with it.

I hope that I have given you a good idea of how my last week has gone. Of all my time here this has certainly had, and probably will have, the most contrasting elements. The journey to Mole was absolutely dire and made me regret ever deciding to come here for so long, but Mole, and to a lesser extent Lake Volta, will almost certainly be among my greatest memories of Ghana.

We are now in Tamale. We’ve found a place where we can stay for £3 a night so we might stay here for a few days. I’ll be sure to let you know how it goes.

All the best

McAsh
L9
Mole Motel
Mole National Park
Larabanga
Northern Region
Ghana

When a volunteer leaves the orphanage they are given a leaving ceremony. One volunteer, Ben, who left recently, was slightly different to the others in that he chose to help in the construction of a new building instead of teaching in the classroom. During his ceremony one of the teachers, a man in his sixties, stated that Ben was unique as in all his life he had never before seen a white person doing manual labour: “I could not believe my eyes when I looked out and saw a white person moving cement.”

This will probably be my last postcard from Hohoe as we are leaving the orphanage on Friday to begin our travels through the rest of Ghana. I’ve very much enjoyed my time here and it’s certainly been an easy place to get settled into the Ghanaian way of life. That said, I feel that we’ve exhausted Hohoe and that it’s time to move on. The next few weeks are likely to be very hectic as we tour the country, before negotiating out passage into Togo, so I will probably miss the relaxed lifestyle I’ve developed here.

The memories I will hold strongest of my experience in Hohoe will all concern the children. I didn’t have the opportunity to get to know all of them but I managed to develop friendships with a considerable few, and if I were ever to return to Ghana I would be certain to visit them. I was placed in the oldest class, which suited me very well, and it was here I got to know many of the children. They there were all fairly intelligent and were more than capable to pick up the geometry I taught them but the learning was certainly not only in one direction. They also taught me much of their culture and language, and this has already proven useful.

The other children whom I get on particularly with are mainly the younger girls. I think that by the simply virtue of being the only male volunteer I am relatively popular with these children. The constant requests to be picked up can sometimes be irritating but many of them can be incredibly funny. Today I had a long discussion with one girl about what she wants to be when she grows up. Most of the conversation was spent with me thinking that she wants to be a ‘computer’ until I eventually realised that she was saying ‘carpenter’.

It’s hard to reconcile the children’s joyful demeanor with their often tragic pasts. One child, for example, was orphaned when his drug-dealer father was killed in Burkina Faso and his grandmother died of an illness. He spent his formative years living on the street, climbing trees for fruit to sell. When he heard about the opening of the orphanage he raised the funds necessary to travel there – some considerable distance. Another child was accused of being a child-witch by her community and family. She was subjected to various forms of violence before the authorities rescued her. Now, 2 years later, she still has a huge scar on her head preventing hair growth from where she was attacked with a red-hot iron. A third child lived was made a slave by a fisherman. He would work every day and twice a week he would be rewarded with a fish, which he would eat alone in the nearby woods.

When I think about what they’ve been through and what their life is like now it gives me the greatest of faith in Nicholas. There are many occasions where things in the orphanage happen in a way that seems bizarre or ineffective but I have grown to accept that, in most cases, Nicholas knows best. Almost every volunteer I have spoken to (as well as myself) has had a criticism of how the orphanage is managed but I now realise the error of my ways. The culture here is very different to what I’m used to so when tasks are carried out in a way that seems irrational I now assume by default that I simply don’t understand what’s happening. Of course, no organisation is perfect, and I am sure that there are many flaws in the running of the orphans’ home, but I don’t feel confident enough in my experience and knowledge to suggest improvements. I don’t know from where my tendency to criticise came, probably a mix of youthful arrogance and a post-colonial expectation of Western superiority, but I’m pleased that I’ve recognised it within myself. Academically, I’ve always known that there are many different ways to do things but practically I have often been trapped by my own experience. I hope that in the future I am able to avoid this as well as possible.

On that note of humility I will end this postcard. Tonight we are celebrating the return of co-founder Lindy with a feast. Nicholas bought an antelope especially for the occasion and I watched as it was skinned and gutted. Another task I have for the near future is to prepare a treat for the children, on Grandma’s request. I will be sure to let you know how that goes.

Until then, I hope you’re all doing well and I look forward to seeing you in a few weeks.

All the best,

McAsh
The Volunteer Room
Hohoe Christian Orphans’ Home
Hohoe
Volta Region
Ghana

This weekend has been incredibly bizarre: such a lot has happened since I last sent a postcard.

Yesterday I awoke with the expectation that we would be climbing a mountain. This did not occur. Instead, I was immediately confronted with the fact that two of the volunteers were missing. Rachel had been ill in the night and had been taken to hospital; Sara had gone with her. I was then informed that the plans had consequently changed and we were now going to the Tofi Monkey Sanctuary with the Spanish volunteers.

Upon arrival sanctuary approximately 20 monkeys ran up to us in the car park. They were clearly not keen on being touched but were comfortable at very close proximity. Holding a banana towards them was interpreted as a request for it to be peeled and eaten out of your hand. The monkeys were both capable and willing to fulfill this request, and they did multiple times.

We were then taken on a ‘forest walk’ through the sanctuary. Surprisingly, given the number we’d encountered in the car park, we saw no monkeys at all in their natural environment. Nevertheless, the walk was very enjoyable. I particularly enjoyed climbing upside down on a hanging vine.

As we were about to leave, a couple of Austrians approached us. They’d been on the same tour and now were planning to go to a waterfall. Having overheard that some of us were planning on going to the falls they inquired as to whether they could join us. Nicholas happily obliged and we all set off.

It turns out that the plan was not to go to the waterfall but to head to a small village renowned for its weaving. Kente is a popular fabric design and this was one of the few villages where it is made. We met several ‘master weavers’ along with a handful of apprentices and saw how the process worked from start to finish. The whole experience was very interesting.

Our next stop, to the Austrians’ surprise, was the hospital where Rachel was staying. I had low expectations of what a hospital in Ghana might be like, having heard many shocking stories, but it wasn’t too bad. Admittedly, there were chickens walking through the corridors and no soap to be seen, but they seemed to have some medicines – which is always a plus.

The Spanish volunteers (along with two Brits) were heading to Wli waterfalls, which the rest of us already visited, so we were dropped off in Hohoe before they left. It was during this last journey that we discovered that the Austrians, who had now been dragged through a weaving village and a hospital, were hoping to go to an entirely different waterfalls: Ote Falls. The two places are a fair distance apart, but the Austrians were good natured about the whole event.

Our plan for dinner had been to celebrate Sara’s birthday at Sicily – a local restaurant. For a while it was uncertain whether she’d still want to, given her sister’s illness, but it turned out that she did. We wandered down to the restaurant and ordered. Approximately an hour later (still with no food) we heard an unexpected sound: all the children from the orphanage were walking into the restaurant in mass, singing Happy Birthday and holding up signs proclaiming the same. They were incredibly cute and very funny. For some reason the repeated the song well over 10 times, which was an amusing addition to the experience. After they’d finished they all sat down and Nicholas bought them a soft drink and gave them a lollipop. They only stayed for about half an hour, but everyone was delighted to see them. They left as our food was arriving.

I had ordered groundnut soup with fish and fufu. I’d been expecting a peanut-based soup with a large serving of fufu and some cuts of fish, and I was almost right. What I had not anticipated was that the fish would be completely whole: from head to tail, eyes and brains included. If you also recall that the custom is to eat this kind of meal with nothing but your right hand then you can probably begin to imagine what the experience was like. My hand contorted into a claw, I proceeded to rip the fish apart, trying to decipher which parts I should eat. The girl next to me, Amber, had previously asked if she could try some but upon seeing what I’d been given she quickly retracted her request. Needless to say, I enjoyed every second.

The following day we set of for Mount Gemi, the highest mountain in Ghana, like we’d planned the day before. It was unlike anything I’d ever encountered before. The terrain was remarkably changeable: much was jungle-like but there were also grassy hillsides and sun drenched cliff-faces. Bad timing meant that we climbed the steepest and least shaded part under the heat of the sun which only added to our exhaustion. When we arrived at the top, 2 hours after setting off, all of us were a bit worse for wear.

After a half hour rest we set off again but we didn’t go straight back to the van, instead opting to take a significant detour to Ote Falls. This could not have been more worth it. Whilst not as high as Wli Falls, which we’d visited previously, Ote is incredibly beautiful. We clambered over the rocks into into the freezing pool. After having walked under the heat of the sun for 3 hours,  this was a very pleasant change in temperature.

We sat on the rocks, with water flowing through our hair and the sun flooding our bodies, and looked around at some of the most beautiful scenery you can find. On the road leading to Gemi is a sign small enough that you could easily miss. It’s an arrow with the words ‘Mountain Paradise’. I’m not sure what criteria a place must fill to constitute a paradise, but I didn’t find it difficult to be in a good mood as I bathed in the water gushing by me on its way down the mountain.

I am now a third of the way through my trip so I’ll be back in no time. Until then, I hope you are all in good health and high spirits.

McAsh
A west-facing rock
The highest point in Ghana
Volta Region
Ghana

Yesterday the teacher in my class told the unruly children that “You are highly developed mammals but you are acting like you are in the kingdom with no discipline.”

A lot has happened since my last message but I feel that I should also outline some of the aspects of my life here which have remained constant but that I have yet to document. I’m very conscious that my first few days were full of surprises and new experiences but that over time my routine has become more normalised, less remarkable. So it is with this in mind that I want to remark upon as much as possible now before what was once strange melts into normality.

Food

On one of my first days here, during a discussion of the food served in the orphanage, one of the other volunteers expressed her dislike of Ghanaian cuisine. I asked her what she’d say if someone who had only tried American food that was eaten in orphanages were to dismiss all American cooking. This comparison, unsurprisingly, applies to Ghana as well. With this in mind, in discussing my culinary adventures in the region I’m going to distinguish between orphanage food, restaurant food, and street food.

The orphanage has a very limited repertoire of dishes, none of which are too inviting. Very frequently we eat rice and fish. On a good day this is slice of fish in sauce, served on white rice. However, more often than not instead of being a slice of fish it is a handful of tiny fish, served whole. As well as creating the peculiar experience of seeing your food looking back at you, these fish are unpleasantly chewy and don’t taste great either. Other days we are giving black eyed beans in a watery sauce, served with gari flour as a calorific thickening agent. The other possibilities are kenke and banku, effectively indistinguishable at the orphanage, which amount to a largish dollop of dough tasting like a mix of vinegar and bicarbonate of soda. These meals are listed in order of my own preference: despite initially detesting the fish I now see it as a very pleasant addition to my day. Overall, I give the food at the orphanage a 2/10.

Restaurant food is invariably of a much higher quality but, surprisingly, does not always entail more choice. I have been to numerous places which serve little more than rice and chicken (one served literally nothing else, despite being identified as one of the best eateries in the city!) and very rarely do they actually have all the dishes they advertise. On Wednesday night we checked in advance that plantain was available but then upon ordering we were told that this wasn’t possible – it was not yet ripe. Presumably we should have specified that it was edible plantain that we were inquiring of.

All said and done, these irregularities are more of an amusing inconvenience than a real issue. More important is that the quality of the food tends to be high and the price low. I have avoided food that I can get at home as much as possible but the experience has been enjoyable whereever I’ve encountered it – often a little different to what I’d expected but delicious nonetheless.

More often than not I’ve tried one of the Ghanaian dishes and each time I’ve been rewarded for my courage. Unlike the atrocity served at the orphanage, the banku I tried at a restaurant was superb, and the tradition of eating with no cutlery and only your right hand was equally pleasurable. I also tried red red, which is made from rice, beans and tomato. It was served with fish and fried plantain, and was truly delicious. Considering all available evidence, my tentative analysis of the restaurants of Ghana is 7/10.

As you are walking down the street you will frequently encounter women with boxes of food balanced on their heads. From these boxes I have tasted all kinds of delights. There is curried cheese, blufut (which resemble donuts), plantain fritters, bean fritters, sweet sticky nut-treats, biscuits, and other things beyond your wildest Ghanaian dreams. And best of all, most of these cost no more than 10 pesewa – approximately 5 pence. It’s for this reason that I give Ghanaian street food a confident 8/10.

Climate

When we were planning our trip one of our highest priorities was to avoid the rainy season. Clearly, we neglected to do our research properly as our arrival coincided with the season’s. Rainy season creates huge contrasts. When there is no rain the roads are dry and dusty, the sun is hot, and you yearn for a  shower which frequently never materialises. If it’s been raining then it will have been torrential: the roads will be flooded and frequently unusable, the sun is a pleasant change, and, while you may be less enthusiastic to shower, the water is free-flowing.

I’m running out of time so I’m now going to move onto more recent developments.

Although I haven’t yet mentioned it, about a week ago two more volunteers arrived. Sara had been here before when she’d just graduated, 2 years ago. She’d fallen in love with teaching and became a primary school teacher in the states, where she also raises money for the orphanage. With her came her younger sister, Rachel, who is at nursing school.

Yesterday, Nicholas (the director of the orphanage) summoned Sara for a long discussion. It transpired that, in recognition of her contributions to the orphanage, Sara is going to be made a Queen Mother of Ghana. This is a position of great honour, originating centuries before colonisation, and is a big part of the local culture. We were skeptical that it could be a way of extorting money from Westerners but Sara was assured that she was expected to bare none of the cost. At the moment I’m not quite sure what the whole thing means but I think it might be quite important. For example, when Sara next returns to Ghana she will not have to get a visa – being Queen Mother is enough to guarantee free entry.

A big ceremony will take place on August 7th where all the new Queen Mothers are inaugurated (crowned?). I hope to attend this but it’s not clear whether it will fit in with our plans. Nicholas explained the event to all the volunteers last night and invited us all. Apparently the Chief of Hohoe and the Chief of the Volta Region will be there, along with all the lesser chiefs and other Queen Mothers. He also said that there will be many beads, traditional dress and the women will wear no pants – there will be “empty pants”. (I still don’t know what this means). I feel that research is necessary to work out exactly what all this means, but at the moment it’s highly exciting.

The only other news that comes to mind is that over the last few days there were worries that I might be coming down with scurvy. However I’ve since had some multi-vitamin pills and orange juice and the cut in my mouth is healing. It’s possible that I never had scurvy at all.

And on that note, I must say farewell. I hope you’re all well and that you’re getting enough vitamin C.

McAsh
The Untidiest Bunkbed
The Volunteers Room
Hohoe Christian Orphans’ Home
Hohoe
Volta Region
Ghana