Sign at Mathias Junction on Offinso Road

Right before Mary and I visited the Volta region, the SMIDO interns, staff and executives congregated in the conference hall for an evening to acknowledge Yaw’s and Mary’s very imminent departure and my less-imminent-but-still-impending departure. As I mentioned in a previous entry, it was a very emotional evening as we reflected on what had taken place in the months (years in Yaw’s case) since the three of us came on board. The reader will be spared the sappy details and asked to make do with some pictures from the day instead

With Emmanuel (SMIDO's engineering manager) on the office balcony

With Frank (ICT manager/course instructor; left) and Abraham (internet cafe manager/ICT course instructor; right)

With Evans (former IT manager and is now SMIDO's general secretary)

Yaw (now on leave and pursuing a masters degree in Cape Coast) passing general managerial duties on to Evans. Azongo (consultant; in a pink shirt) and George (SMIDO president) are in the background

A week after that took place, it was my turn for a series of parting events. I had planned to stay late at the office on my last day of work to organise my files on one of the office computers, but everyone seemed to agree that going out to Icon, a local night club, was a better use of all of our time.

(Photos from that particular event are not posted). 

Darshan and I brought Chief, Akwasi, Ransford and Akos to Sir Max the following day…

Chief, Akwasi and Ransford - an intense gossip session

Chief and Akos: swim stars in the making

…and went to Clark House with Harman, Yaw and Emmanuel to watch InterMilan take down Bayern the following evening.

Surely the reader did not expect me to post pictures from this event either! I was responsible and dropped the kids off at home, helping out with fufuo pounding before going back out again...

After taking a day to run errands, pack and recover, I took my previously-described trip to Tamale and Bolgatanga, returning to Kumasi on the Thursday. That afternoon was marked by a lovely surprise - while I was away, Owusu had visited a local seamstress and arranged to have a traditional-style pant suit made for me, which he proudly (and rightfully so) presented upon my return. It was then on that evening that I went to visit George at his home for a quick “thank you” and “until next time”. The reader would be misguided to believe that I anticipated this visit with particular exuberance. Although our first few interactions were very open and friendly, the two of us had a rather awkward relationship as my stint with SMIDO progressed. No unspoken connotations are intended by that statement – it was simply the result of me being a guest in his home for seven months and engaging in practices that are perfectly normal by Canadian standards and rather offensive by Ghanaian standards. (Note to self: always tell cooks in Ghana that their food is sweet. Even if it is vinegar mixed with lemon juice – or something equally not-sweet – local language translations are such that if one hopes to maintain good favour with a cook, one must always refer to the food as sweet).  Anyhow, I walked slowly to his property from the Kronum tro-tro station, somewhat annoyed that the procession of children who used to follow me home and turn what should be a 3-minute walk into a 20-minute affair of “Obruni, how are you?/I’m fine” was not there – and when I finally arrived at his gate, I spent what felt like a geological era contemplating how easy it would be to just leave and pretend that the whole thing never happened. Having blocked much of that process from my mind, I remember very little about the intermediates: presumably I summoned the courage to knock on the door and somehow made my way through the property to where George was sitting. Of course, when one enters a meeting with such low expectations, one can rarely (not always) help but leave completely astonished by the positive outcomes that transpired from such a meeting. George thanked me for my service and told me that all he wanted in return was for me to leave with a positive impression of his family, SMIDO and Ghana – and, when (hypothetically speaking) I am as successful as Hillary Clinton, to remember him and the memories that we shared when I was with SMIDO. (The reader should be aware that George holds the Clinton family in exceptionally high esteem and will rarely engage a North American in conversation without mentioning how Bill is a truly wise man who knows how to speak and be understood by audiences all around the world, irrespective of income or level of education). The reader’s opinion of Hillary notwithstanding (I personally admire her), it must be appreciated how kind of a comment this was for him to make in light of his perception of her achievements. I struggle to express how much I wanted to say in response – that I regretted not spending more time with him and his family; that as hard as I worked to contribute to the organisation and to the development of Suame Magazine, I did not achieve as much as I felt I took from it through accommodations, colleagues’ time and general learning; and that I was sad that I could not have done more. Instead, I nodded and uttered a quiet “thank you”. All of the misunderstandings, the disputes, the stress and the tears – everything that had strained our coexistence up to that point suddenly seemed so trivial; all of the issues, parochial. Even my dread at this particular encounter seemed nothing short of ridiculous, for although I was in the presence of Mr. G. Asamoah Amankwaa, SMIDO President, I was also conversing with George, loyal husband, father of three, owner of a spare parts business in Suame Magazine, and a person just like any other who I have met and befriended over my lifetime. I smiled and began to collect my things to leave, when he indicated that Grandma had already taken the time to prepare a “special local rice” for me (jollof with beans – one of my favourites) and that I should stay and eat it. The reader had better believe that although there was probably five times as much food there as what I would normally consume, I ate the entire thing. If I were to do something offensive to spoil the evening, not finishing my dinner was not going to be it. Completely satisfied on the gastrointestinal front for the next few decades, I said my final good-byes to George and Grandma before being escorted by Chief to catch the tro-tro at Kronum station one last time.

Fish, jollof rice and beans - one of my favourite local dishes

My last few days in West Africa were capped off with a brief spin into Lomé, the capital city of Togo. Rachel and I took a bus down to Accra on the Friday night, dropping my bags off at the airport before spending the night at a somewhat seedy (albeit inexpensive) guesthouse close to the main lorry station. After indulging in one last Ghanaian egg sandwich from a street vendor in Accra, we caught a tro-tro to Aflao, a coastal city on the Ghanaian-Togolese border. Both George and Yaw warned us that “Togo is not like Ghana” and that we had to be on our guard at all times – and in light of the plethora of warnings in the guidebooks that not only are tourists particularly susceptible to theft and muggings, local police will also target tourists for dashes and bribes – Rachel and I acted with extreme caution as we approached the border offices. It took very little time for somebody to try to play us for suckers. As it was a Saturday, none of the banks were open and we were thus relegated to exchanging our Ghana Cedis for CFAs (common currency used among the French colonies in West Africa) through somewhat unscrupulous money changers on the street. (The reader should note that it is actually illegal to trade and sell such volumes of the other type of currency across the border, although that rule is rarely enforced). Our plan was to change GHC 100 – enough to purchase entry visas for the two of us – and then take CFAs from an ATM after crossing the border. The trader gave us an exchange quotation that matched the exchange rate that my mother gave me before we arrived and did not mention any associated fees for the trade, which both excited us and made us suspicious of what we were getting. He counted out what he claimed was CFA 37,000 (the agreed amount) and passed it to me to count openly. This exercise yielded CFA 2000 less than it should have, so I protested and his partner topped it up. He then counted the money in front of us, which again appeared to yield CFA 37,000. Rachel then insisted on counting the money and noticed that we were CFA 5000 off of what we should have been that time – apparently a few bills vanished with a clever sleight-of-hand. After more back-and-forth and disparities up to CFA 10,000 (about CAD $20), Rachel did one final count, which seemed to satisfy her. They then told us that they made a mistake on their quotation and we actually owed them money, to which we replied that they should have thought of that before we made the exchange. We quickly walked away after that, hoping that our money would not magically vanish in the process!

(The reader is informed that my paranoia that my camera would be mercilessly ripped from my hand while I was in Togo was so great that it compelled me to keep it buried in my bag for the duration of my stay, leaving me with the unfortunate result of having no pictures of the experience outside of the hotel. I acknowledge that it completely vitiated the purpose of having a camera with me in the first place).

After signing out of Ghana, we walked through the “no-man’s land” between the Ghanaian and Togolese border offices. Whereas the Ghanaian border office is a distinct building, the Togolese office more closely resembles a wooden stand or kiosk where one would go to purchase mangoes or jollof rice on the street. Rachel and I passed an area where numerous guards were sitting and searching hapless obruni. However, nobody batted an eye as we passed them (and we were not about to offer to be searched), so we kept walking – and walking – and walking – and walking until we passed a hotel that the guidebook said was well into Lomé. As it seemed like an unusually long expanse of no-man’s land that went contrary to what was claimed in the book, we asked a local where “douanes” could be found. He gave us a very confused look and pointed to where we came from. After cross-checking the information with another local, we realised that we had walked right across the border without showing a passport (required), purchasing a visa (also required) or bribing a border guard (one possible means of circumventing the required components). We made our way back to the border office and purchased our visas from a very no-nonsense border official who made no attempt to solicit additional funds from us, although he would have been perfectly justified in doing so as we had spent time in the country illegally. (Granted, we were a little nervous when he mixed up Rachel’s forms with somebody else’s and wrote the name of a ~60-year-old Spanish gentleman on the visa in her passport – and when we noticed, he rectified the problem by whiting out the Spanish man’s name and writing in Rachel’s).

Somewhat surprised that we did not encounter more border difficulties, we walked to our hotel, checked in and sat down for dinner. We were thrilled to find that (a) they had acknowledged the room reservation that I had made the night before; (b) our room had a bathroom with fixtures that actually work like they are meant to; (c) we had free access to wireless internet – an exceedingly rare find in that part of the world; and (d) the hotel food was absolutely outstanding. Although the state that most of the French colonies are in today leaves much to be desired, culinary expertise is one positive legacy that they imparted on others, and Rachel and I enjoyed fresh sole with real butter and other delicacies at a very low financial cost.

Le Galion - where we stayed in Lome. I highly recommend it to anybody looking for inexpensive lodgings with great value and even better food.

Dinner!

While Rachel spent much of the following morning preparing for an impending exam, I decided to stroll to Lomé’s Grand Marché (central market) to purchase an adapter to fit my North American plugs to European electrical sockets and browse around the local inventory. I had barely made it 10 metres into the market, however, when I was summoned by two police officers to a clearing and a building that appeared to be an office. To say that I was somewhat more than worried would be grossly understating the situation. They asked me if I planned to buy anything, which I affirmed. They then pointed at my (empty) purse and told me that I would be robbed (in broad daylight), and asked me what I was there to purchase. Not knowing how to say “converter” in French (and not wanting to cause confusion by saying that I was there to browse), I said “électronique”. Two of their burliest, most intimidating officers promptly escorted me to a shady electronics store, where I pointed at a converter in one of the sockets and said I needed one of my own. They seemed to understand what I said and brought me to a stand, where the vendor agreed to sell me one for CFA 800 (about CAD $1.60). I was fully prepared to pay for the item, but the quoted price was apparently unacceptable and the police officer suggested CFA 200. The vendor refused to negotiate further (which, if anything, cast doubt on the real authority that those particular police officers commanded), so they brought me to another stand and were met with a CFA 1000 quotation. One of the officers then told me to wait with him while the other asked me how many I wanted (2), disappeared and returned a few minutes later with 2 adapters at a combined cost of CFA 500. They then escorted me back to the station and demanded that I give them my phone number. When I quipped that I did not have a local phone number and I was leaving in 2 days, they relaxed their stance and asked me for my Canadian phone number, which I readily surrendered. They then asked me how I planned to get home and, after hearing that I planned to walk and stating that I would (again) get mugged, insisted on accompanying me back to the hotel by taxi. Not wanting to cause trouble, I complied with everything. When we arrived at the hotel, they warned me sternly to not go out by myself again and especially not to the market, and then left. The entire operation – 2 converters and a return taxi ride – cost me CFA 1000, which is what I had been prepared to pay for one converter alone. Nobody asked me for a dash or bribe, and if they did inflate the costs at all, it was only by CFA 100-200 – the price of a cup of coffee there, around CAD $0.30 or so.

I did very little for my remaining 1.5 days in Lomé. The city is not as developed for tourists as are Accra, Kumasi or Tamale and, having just been banned in effect from the market, I was wary of participating in much else. Indeed, there is nothing like a visit to Lomé and Togo to gain an appreciation for how prosperous Ghana really is – relative to its counterparts in the region, at any rate. With my mind focussed mostly on my trip back home and unfinished business with SMIDO, I was not feeling terribly adventurous at the time. I enjoyed a few more meals in and around our hotel, engaged in a few delightful conversations with Rachel and returned to Aflao late in the morning of June 1. I telephoned Rachel (who was still in Lomé) when I had crossed the border in a 5-minute phone call to a distance maybe 500 metres away, which cost more than a 40-minute call that I made to Toronto from Accra later that day. After boarding a bus to Accra and disembarking near the airport, I entered the departures hall, checked my luggage, cleared security and caught my flight later that evening.

And that was it.

Driving from Aflao to Accra along the coast

A quick stop to pick up snacks at Accra Mall before catching my flight - and phasing myself back into a world where such facilities are the norm

Sunset in Kumasi

I arrived in London the following morning, meeting my family in what was a very joyous reunion at Heathrow Airport. I collected my bags, caught the tube to Paddington Station and went to the hotel, just as I did when I spent the week in the city before venturing to Ghana in late September 2009. And in a few short days, I will be returning to Toronto and preparing to follow up on an offer for graduate studies which I had received (and deferred) before I left.

I have had plenty of time to contemplate, but very little time to consolidate. I hope to accomplish this shortly after I return to Canada at the end of the week, as it will be difficult to really wrap up before that is done. Stay tuned!

Onion stand (one of many clustered together) between Tamale and Bolga

I rose at around 6:30am (like a regular work day); left my room around 7:00am (like a regular work day); walked to the main road to catch public transportation (like a regular work day); and, upon arriving at my target destination, sought out an egg vendor who could cook a sandwich made of 2 fried eggs, small vegetable pieces and GHC 0.20 worth of tea bread (like a regular work day). Thankfully, my target destination was the Tamale lorry station and not Mathias junction and the SMIDO office, or it may have well been a regular work day! The transportation method varied slightly as well: whereas I would ordinarily take a tro-tro or shared taxi to work, they had a Yutong bus ready for me, complete with a television and very-amplified sound system. The advantage of the bus is that it is more comfortable than using a tro-tro that is designed to seat 20 but adapted to seat 30, which is nice for a 3-hour trip. The disadvantage of the bus is that it takes a long time to fill up – even though the Tamale-Bolgatanga route is frequently travelled by people using public transit – so I ended up sitting at the station for nearly 90 minutes (which is actually fairly typical) before the bus was full and we could leave for our destination. (With the exception of the Intercity STC, buses and tro-tros do not operate on scheduled times, leaving the station instead when they are full. If you’re lucky, you’ll get the last seat and leave as soon as you board the vehicle. If you’re unlucky, you’ll get the first seat and have an indefinite wait before anybody else shows up).

Stand where I purchased my (thoroughly delicious) egg sandwich in Tamale

Preparation of a masterpiece - and by that, I mean my breakfast

It took only a few minutes of driving for dramatic changes in the landscape to become noticeable. When I reported on my trip up north in early April, the land was desolate and barren. Three rains have fallen since then, each bringing new growth and life to the region. With temperatures so consistent in the Ashanti region (hovering in the high 20s/low 30s all year long), it is very easy to forget that seasons even exist in this part of the world. However, when one leaves the rainforest of the Ashanti region and moves closer to the Sahel, the distinction between rainy and dry seasons becomes much more apparent, with a much more pronounced impact on the local environment and way of life. I was personally very relieved to see these changes, as food does not grow as readily up north as it does in the south. With most of the local population in that region relying on subsistence agriculture to survive, a drought would be nothing short of devastating. Fortunately, it does not appear that will be an issue this year.

Between Tamale and Bolga in early April

And between Tamale and Bolga in late May. It is not a completely fair comparison as the vegetation in the two ecosystems is different - across the board, though, the grass is now greener and the trees are much fuller.

While making visual observances of the Tamale-Bolgatanga route whilst on the 3-hour bus ride, my auditory senses were stimulated by everybody’s favourite Canadian music prodigy, Celine Dion. She is extremely popular in Ghana and I would not be surprised if there were more Canadian content on Ghanaian radio than on Canadian radio given the frequency with which her songs are played out here. I suppose it could have been worse – they could have been playing Shania, who also commands a high degree of popularity in Ghana. They could have also given us a preacher instead of Celine – or given us a preacher AND Celine. Things could also have been better: they could have played her French music (which is far superior to her English music).

Donkeys on the road between Tamale and Bolga. These can be seen frequently in Bolga, where people still use them to pull carts and get from one point to another.

I did very little when I arrived in Bolgatanga. It is interesting how these things turn out: I so eagerly anticipated this week when I began planning it in mid-April as it would have been my opportunity to see, hear, smell and taste parts of the country that I had not had the chance to really experience while working full-time with SMIDO. When it came down to actually embarking on a serious adventure, though, I felt much more aversion, particularly if there was even the slightest risk that I would not be inside a guesthouse after dark. Suffice it to say that replacing my lost clothing was ample excitement for one week! Not to mention that I was by myself, and thus imposed constraints on how brave I would be that I ordinarily would not have if I had a travel buddy. Really, my whole purpose in embarking on the trip was to see what was around me and how the landscape had changed. In hindsight, even the thought of throwing away GHC 8 (about $6 CAD) for the sake of joy-riding in northern Ghana is a little ridiculous. I learned a lot from the tour – make no mistake about it – but it is an extravagance given that there are other people who actually need to travel between the two cities but cannot do so because of a lack of funds.

Street outside the lorry station in Bolgatanga - as beautiful as any around the world

After purchasing some snacks and lunch from some local stands in different parts of the city and taking a few pictures, I walked back to the lorry station and purchased a tro-tro ticket back to Tamale. My return trip was not as lucky as the trip up: in addition to being crammed into one of the aforementioned overstuffed tro-tros, we waited at the station for nearly 2 hours before the vehicle could leave. Our tro-tro was without air conditioning, as most tro-tros are. This part was fine, though I was a little annoyed to find that my window did not open and I was sitting on the sunny side of the vehicle. A very long 3 hours and a very lopsided sunburn later, I was back in Tamale and ready to begin planning a spin into Togo for the following weekend.

Boarding the Tamale-bound tro-tro in Bolga

I returned to Tamale with considerable feelings of unsettlement following the experience. Each time I go to other parts of the country, I come back with very different perspectives on life. I felt exceedingly friendly when I returned to Kumasi from the Volta region; this time, I just felt upset. I think back to the three hours of listening to Celine Dion’s English tracks on the way up to Bolgatanga. If this were Canada, I would have simply put on my headphones and cranked the volume on my personal music player. Indeed, I had such an apparatus with me in my bag, where it tantalised me at every beat. And yet, when it came down to actually reaching in and using it, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. There is something about bringing out an i-pod for my personal entertainment that doesn’t feel fair or right when one is sitting on a bus full of people who are getting by on under $2 per day. With a camera, a phone and a music player, I would have hardly been shocked if the monetary value of the electronic contents inside my purse surpassed the annual income of most of the others on the bus (and I note that there are many more in the region who cannot afford to be on the bus). I remain very bothered by this. I like to think that I am not a wicked person for owning an i-pod – like many other Canadians, especially those my age – but it is difficult to feel like a wholly upstanding citizen when there are such pronounced disparities in the way we live. It is an issue to which there is no easy answer, but also one that we cannot just simply ignore either.

Leaving Bolga

With this, the reader is invited to peruse some of my other pictures of my mini-tour of Bolgatanga. I’ll be in touch with you all soon.

NPP office in Bolga. They were in power from 2000-2009 under the leadership of John Kuffour, but lost in the 2009 elections to the NDC, led by current president John Atta Mills.

Wicker basket weaving - a northern Ghana specialty - in Bolgatanga.

Food procurement time! I picked up popcorn and water from this provisions stand.

More food procurement, cholesterol-amplifying style! I enjoyed my egg sandwich so much that morning that I decided to have another one for lunch.

A short break from food procurement to capture more important photo subjects

Food procurement returns! I purchased some locally-grown grapes (an exceedingly rare find) from this vendor. The small bunches go for about CAD 0.07 and the larger ones go for double the price. The taste was pleasant but they were not terribly juicy and had a very large seed in the middle. Still, they were a welcome treat and I imagine that if I were not familiar with other juicier and larger grapes, I would have enjoyed these much more.

Back in Tamale

• Door #1: Walk back to Kintampo (and possibly further) to track down my missing bag.
• Door #2: Go directly to the guesthouse and wear the same clothing (and avoid brushing my teeth) for the next four days. It wouldn’t be all that out of the ordinary – I am an engineer, after all…
• Door #3: Purchase some additional clothing, a toothbrush, toothpaste and laundry detergent so that the potential exists for me to maintain a higher standard of hygiene and cleanliness for my vacation. There is no guarantee that I would actually use the newly-purchased personal effects, but at least the option is there.

The first option required somewhat more effort than I was prepared to contribute and I was not particularly enthusiastic about perpetuating the unclean engineer stereotype embodied by the second option, so I decided to pursue the third option. The reader is accordingly invited to peruse my chronicle of the let’s-help-Vicki-stay-hygienic-whilst-on-vacation campaign that I embarked on as I walked from the bus station to the guest house.

My first objective was to acquire an extra shirt and pair of long shorts that I could wear while the clothing that I wore on the bus was being washed. I passed a few stands that sold clothing that appeared to have been donated from overseas – old T-shirts and jerseys sporting such slogans as “Kansas City Charity Run” or “Windsor Hockey School”, for example. I tried to make a point of not patronising these places as the donated clothing has wreaked havoc on the local garment industry – local clothing manufacturers are not subsidised by the government and cannot compete with the donated items, at least in the lower-end market. (Local fabric manufacturers and seamstresses dominate the upscale market: outfits that are tailored to the specifications of the client and worn both in casual and formal contexts). The challenge with this approach is not so much the financial cost (I had a party dress custom-tailored for me for GHC 14.50 (GHC 7.50 for the fabric and GHC 7 for the labour) down the street from our new apartment) but the time, as it is doubtful that new clothes could be made for me by the end of the day. I elected instead to buy a new football uniform from the stand – “England” shorts and a shirt with the Ghana Football Federation logo embroidered on it. I am fairly certain that the garments were made in China, but they did not appear to be donations and I thus picked them up. 

Clothing stand in Tamale. The vendor is a ManU fan, for the record.

While I was procuring clothing from the aforementioned stand, I dispatched this goat to pick up other goods, such as an additional swimsuit, an extra bag and some Japanese tea. Unfortunately, he was unsuccessful on each of those fronts, having been delayed by a roadblock of power-hungry sheep. I assured him that the items I asked him to retrieve were not absolutely critical and he would have a chance to redeem himself in a few weeks, which seemed to make him feel better about the situation.

Tamale goat ready for a shopping expedition

Having purchased a new set of clothing, I then addressed the issue of dental hygiene from a provisions store on the main road.

My new toothbrush and toothpaste. The economy in the USA may have crashed, but its president's influence manages to generate revenue in other parts of the world somehow. I was hoping to find a red version of the Obama toothbrush, but he was only available in blue - quelle surprise.....

I was distracted again by some of the other sights around me. This particular mosque appeared to be interesting, but it was beginning to get late and I was in a rush to make it back to the guest house before dark.

Mosque along the main drag

I also passed other stands of interest along the way.

Selling used stuffed animals for children - and another instance where donations are preventing goods from being manufactured locally

After picking up my clothing and hygiene necessities, I then decided to address the more pressing needs of my stomach. The guest house has a restaurant that serves fairly decent western-style food – which may be delicious, but also the lamest possible way to engage in culinary adventures while in Ghana. Moreover, dining at the restaurant represents an approximate five- to ten-fold increase in the bill for the meal, which clinched the decision to eat elsewhere as far as I was concerned.

My first stop was to purchase Wagashi. It is a goat cheese deep-fried in oil, which makes it rather unhealthy and thoroughly delicious. If one is attempting to go on a diet that avoids fat and starches, Ghana is among the last places in the world one should visit if one is serious about adhering strictly to that diet. Here, the well-fed look is in and little encourages that better than consuming chunks of tasty wagashi. I was told that it originated in Burkina Faso, but people produce it locally in Tamale as the demand for it is so high.

Selling wagashi after school

Wagashi up close. Any potential nutritional benefits from eating the goat cheese are cancelled out by the deep-frying, making it a thoroughly palatable treat to enjoy!

I then picked up some mangos. These ones cost me GHC 0.50 each, or $0.37 per mango and were well worth the monetary investment.

My mango supplier - one of many in the area. This one gave me the best deal, though.

My food procurement mission was interrupted when I met four young ladies who wanted to take me as a friend. I was supposed to see them later that night, but ended up backing out as it would have entailed travel after dark – which probably would have been safe, but not my preferred approach whilst travelling alone. Maybe later…

New friends in Tamale

One could take a meal without corresponding beverages, but such an approach would be silly when drinks and drink mixes are so plentiful.

Provisions store - small on the surface, but surprisingly well-stocked. I picked up a malt to enjoy over the evening.

Finally, I grabbed a FanIce from a local vendor. FanMilk is a company that produces frozen goods – ice cream, yogurt and a variety of freezie, and sells them in freezers at gas stations or “cold shops”, in coolers on bicycles (pictured) or off of the heads of local vendors inside a special box that seems to keep them reasonably cool in the heat. I opted for the vanilla ice cream, though could have taken an orange freezie (Tampico – it is tolerable but not outstanding), chocolate ice cream (FanChoco – delicious) or strawberry frozen yogurt (FanYogo – outstanding).

FanMilk products vendor

And once that was done, I went to the guesthouse, ate my food and washed my clothing. The reader should note that steamed corn and beans with rice were also in there, but the vendors did not want me to take a picture and I did not remember to photograph the food until after I had eaten it. I then planned a day trip to Bolgatanga, which I embarked on earlier today. Pictures and a write-up to come soon!

After purchasing my ticket at the Metro Mass Transit station in Kumasi, I attempted to check one of my two bags (containing my clothing) under the bus. This effort was completely fruitless as a result of size constraints: their approach is such that if a bag is small enough to be taken on the bus, it must go on the bus. An irritating situation, but certainly not a trip spoiler. Aside from that, the ride came to a promising start. The Metro Mass bus seats were not built for comfort and make airline economy class seats feel like luxurious extravagances with infinite amounts of space. However, I had the great fortune of sitting beside a fairly slender young man who kept to his own seat and was too entrenched in taking notes from his copy of the New Testament to expect a conversation with me. I was thoroughly exhausted when I arrived at the Metro Mass station yesterday morning and was thus delighted to see that, unlike the service between Kumasi to Accra, there was an outside chance that I would be able to catch up on my sleep whilst in transit.

This sign at the front of the bus represents a fairly new initiative by Metro Mass - many previous trips that I have taken with them have been dominated by preachers integrating sermons and snake oil sales to the passengers...

We passed two bottlenecks in traffic on the first leg of the trip, between Kumasi and Kintampo. I purchased boiled peanuts and an apple from the heads of local vendors, both of which were appreciated on the long journey.

Refreshment services: far better than what one finds on an airplane

It was when we arrived in Kintampo that my vacation became interesting. This particular rest stop is mandatory for all Metro Mass buses that pass it and receives a high volume of traffic every day. I disembarked from the bus to use the facilities and purchase some food for lunch, and returned to my seat to find that my clothing bag had been stolen. Naturally, nobody else on the bus had seen it disappear, which is not surprising – thieves here have to be stealthy as such acts are highly frowned upon by the local population, and failed pick-pocketing or robbery attempts (ie, where the thief gets caught) often result in a mob attack. The reader can surely appreciate how my annoyance at having been robbed was exacerbated by how my request to check that particular bag had been refused. After having taken inventory of the remaining items inside my backpack and in the purse that I carried around with me, the following priceless artefacts have gone missing:

• 3 nights worth of clothing, of which 2 days were very dirty (I did not have time to do laundry in Kumasi and thus held off, with the intention of washing my clothing upon arrival in Tamale)
• Toiletries (of note, a quarter of a tube of toothpaste and a used toothbrush)
• A very old swimsuit that has maybe 2 wears left in it before it completely dissolves
• A bag with 3 burn holes in it (the bag was falling apart to begin with, which made it completely appropriate for use on this trip)
• 3 bags of Japanese Tea (I am slightly more cantankerous about this one, but I can do without it for a week…)

Rest stop in Kintampo

As it turned out, the only item inside that bag with real resale value was the GHC 10 of phone credit that I had inside one of the pockets. All of my other valuables – my laptop, my apartment keys, my phone, my camera, my music player, my money, my ATM card, my fairly-new running shoes and my packages of miso soup – were either on me or in the backpack that was untouched. The other passengers on the bus seemed to be more upset about the event than I, which is understandable – the vast majority of Ghanaians are friendly, welcoming and helpful, and are naturally averse to having the reputation of their people by the actions of a select few. The mood lightened up when I indicated that although I was annoyed, it was not a major loss and if a thief really wants my old toothbrush, (s)he is more than welcome to take it.

Our bus. I do wonder if the thief took off with my bag while I was taking this shot, and whether it would have made a difference if I had returned to my seat instead of taking photographs...

After our bus pulled out of the Kintampo rest stop, my seat mate politely asked me if I was sleeping – and if not, would I mind indulging him in a conversation. He said that he was bothered by the incident and wanted to do what he could to help me be at peace with what happened. I told him that although I was personally not upset, I would be happy to engage in a discussion with him. He then proceeded to recite an opening prayer and tell me his name (Prince), his age (25), his church (United Pentecostal Churches International), his profession (preacher) and his purpose (to help me see the light by giving me a stronger connection with Jesus Christ). Although the bus regulations constrained him from delivering a sermon to the entire bus, there was no reason why he could not participate in a directed conversation with me – and we progressed from there. He then asked me if I was a Christian and if I went to church.  I knew better than to give him a pointed “no”, so I replied that my dad is Catholic (true) and my mom was raised in the Chinese tradition whereby her family followed the teachings of Confucius (more or less true); and that we did not go to church regularly because we usually went to hockey practice on Sunday mornings as a family (mostly true – I played a lot of hockey on Sunday mornings with my various teams and my family while growing up in Calgary, but Sunday morning without hockey practice or other athletic engagements meant sleeping in, not going to church).

Bad, bad answer…

I learned that the way of Jesus Christ and God Almighty is the only way and that the teachings of anybody else are actually by Satan in disguise. Even suggesting that Confucius embodies many of the principles of Christ and that I believe very strongly in what Christ represents (very true – Christ found it in his heart to accept, love and forgive everybody regardless of their background, persona or any past transgressions, which is an extremely admirable trait to aspire to) was to no avail, as God was not yet in my heart. I then tried to direct the conversation in a way that would give us more common ground, asking him when he decided to become a preacher and what education he undertook to get to where he is today. He told me that he had wanted to become an electrical engineer, but he then saw the light and received instructions from above to attend Bible College instead. Further probing revealed that he was not in a financial position to attend engineering school, whereas it was very easy to secure sponsorship from overseas to undertake preacher training. I can only hope that he did not notice how hard I flinched when I heard this: although preaching is a valuable skill that brings unprecedented joy to much of the local population and he would have picked up strong English skills from the mostly-US-sponsored Bible College, that alone will not help improve power distribution in Ghana, or develop locally-grown electronics technologies that are optimised to function in conditions with high temperatures and humidity, or expose him to the plethora of ideas and cultures that one encounters while pursuing a university education. Granted, not everybody is cut out to be an electrical engineer, but in a country where preachers are omnipresent but highly-skilled professionals (particularly with a background in mathematics or the sciences) are so few in number, it is not easy to learn of qualified individuals who veer from the latter toward the former because of financial reasons and difficulties in securing sponsorship.

Our conversation went for about 2 hours and ended with me thanking him for enlightening me and I would take some time over the next few days to think about and come to terms with what he said. He left me with contact information for his church and encouraged me to connect with a branch in Canada; and wished me well with my life and my relationship with God and Christ in the future; and delivered a closing prayer. It was the best ending that I could have realistically hoped for. As the reader may have gathered, this was an exceptionally challenging conversation for me to participate in. At least the preachers on the buses between Accra and Kumasi just preach without expectation of a response: one can simply raise the volume on one’s headphones or otherwise tune them out. The personal conversations in which I am expected to contribute are far more difficult. On one hand, I agreed with very little of what he had to say. On the other hand, everybody has a talent to share with the world and for him, preaching is it. This conversation was his way of applying his gift to improve the quality of life for people around him and, as such, one of the kindest things he could have done for somebody else. Because of this, merely shutting him down would not be a tactful approach – although I had to be somewhat less than honest about my background and my beliefs to accomplish this. I cannot help but wonder how this affects the capacity of SMIDO’s volunteers to be effective in their roles, given that it is no secret that most of us do not attend church regularly. I know that I would struggle to work with somebody who I was convinced was wicked, which could very well be how my actions are perceived by others (and indeed, I have encountered postings for jobs in Kumasi where being a “God-fearing Christian” was a mandatory qualification to serve as an internet café attendant). I am by no means implying that I did not feel welcome or accepted by my friends and colleagues – I did to a great extent – but I do question if things may have been different if there were more common ground in our beliefs.

Bookmark featuring the missionaries who support his Bible College, complete with photographs and contact information

Our bus arrived in Tamale maybe half an hour after our conversation ended, so he departed for his church and I began my quest to replenish my wardrobe to carry me through the next few days. Pictures and details of this adventure will follow shortly. Stay tuned!

Friday – down to Accra

We left work a little after lunch time so that we could drop Mary’s luggage off at that airport and be ready the following morning to go to Ho. Entertainment on the bus was kindly provided by a local preacher, who proceeded to deliver a rousing 45-minute sermon before disembarking near the Bobiri Forest Reserve.

Entertainment en route to Accra

After arriving in Accra and dropping off Mary’s luggage, we proceeded to a guest house at which Emmanuel and I stayed when we attended a local supplier’s summit back in February. On that first occasion, Emmanuel haggled with the manager and was able to knock GHC 25 off of the quoted price per room. As the guest house was nearly full this time around and the two of us were sharing a room, we were not in quite as strong of a bargaining position and thus only managed to secure a GHC 15 discount. Oh well. It was a comfortable stay and the manager and I remain friends.

Saturday – a leisurely stroll down a mountain

We caught a tro-tro from Accra to Ho and transferred to a shared taxi that brought us to a mountain village called Amedzofe. After checking in with the tourist office, we meandered around the village for a bit and sat down for a drink at a local drinking spot. The Volta region is quite mountainous compared to the rest of the country, which, when coupled with the humidity contributed by the presence of Lake Volta, means that the vegetation is slightly different than what is found in the Ashanti region. There is rainforest, but it is not as dense as that which envelops Kumasi. Small, leafy plants that are commonly found in garden stores in North America are prolific. Waterfalls are present. The people are also slightly different. Whereas the Ashanti region is dominated by the Ashanti people (a counter-intuitive revelation, I know), the Volta region (or at least the part that we visited) is composed mostly of the Ewe people. Twi is useless in that part of the country, meaning that I could unabashedly speak English or French to the populace. The most pointed difference between the two regions lies in how nobody really seemed to care about us being white. In Kumasi and the surrounding area, I often hear the phrase “Obruni, braa” (White person, come) uttered by many people who I pass on the streets. It would not be unreasonable to estimate that at least 75% of the children who see me in Kumasi shout Obruni and expect me to wave and participate in conversation. Conversely, people in Amedzofe would pass us and say a friendly “good afternoon” and that would be it! No expectation of a drawn-out conversation, just a polite acknowledgement!

Afadzofe, with Mount Gemi in the distance

Drinking spot where we purchased bottles of Coca-Cola and Malta (malt-based drink by Guinness)

We then progressed to climb Mount Gemi, a hill that is accessible by foot from Amedzofe and affords spectacular views of the surrounding valley from its summit. The trail is surrounded by grassland as opposed to rainforest and it reminded me of walking to my family’s cabin from the beach in British Columbia. As it turns out, both areas reflect heavy German influence, with much of the aid delivered in the Volta region coming from German sources and the religious groups supported by German organisations.

Approaching the summit

At the summit

Interesting flora on the way down

Dr. E. Voenringer Park and the Mighty Victory Centre. There is a shaded area behind the trees where bleachers are set up and a preacher can deliver a sermon to a sizable audience, which is composed of people from all over who climb the mountain on Sunday morning to participate in the service

After returning to Amedzofe from the summit, we embarked on an hour-long hike with all of our luggage down into the valley. The trail was quite steep and we were very fortunate that it had not rained recently, as it would likely have been washed away such phenomena. It certainly did not help that the locals were running up and down the trail as if it were a perfectly groomed, level and stable surface while Mary and I watched helplessly as we struggled down the path. We made it down eventually and caught a shared taxi and subsequent tro-tro that took us to Hohoe (pronounced Ho-hway), where we spent the following two nights.

Sunday – motorcycle madness

Our itinerary involved a visit to the Wli (pronounced Vlee) Falls, followed by a stop at Mount Afadjato – which, with an altitude of 885m, is the highest peak in Ghana. Three important lessons came out of this adventure:

1. Transportation is very limited on a weekend Sunday. Our guide book claimed that tro-tros leave frequenty from Hohoe to the Wli Falls, which is what Mary and I expected when we arrived at the Hohoe lorry station on Sunday morning. Indeed, the Volta region is well-travelled by tourists due to its ease of access from Accra and it would be sensible for the tourist infrastructure and corresponding transportation services to support weekend tourist travel. Of course, that assumes that there are no competing engagements of a greater priority – and we arrived at the station to find that nearly every single tro-tro and shared taxi driver in the entire region was at church. We enquired about other possible means of transportation and received consistent answers to the effect of “there are no tro-tros on weekend Sunday” (as if there were any other sort of Sunday). The implications are such that the few taxi drivers who are making runs have a monopoly on the market and can thus charge the Hohoe equivalent of the Obruni price for their service. We paid way too much for all of our transportation that day, but had little choice when no other options beyond walking existed to take us around.
2. Bad roads are your friend when travelling around the more remote parts of the region. Taxis are common in such larger municipalities as Ho and Hohoe. They are far less common in smaller centres such as the village near the Wli Falls and Mount Afadjato, particularly on weekend Sunday. Many of the people rely on shared motorcycles – somewhat dilapidated motorbikes that support one rider in theory but can take 3 riders when the involved parties are sufficiently motivated. We took motorbikes from the Wli Falls to Mount Afadjato, and then from Mount Afadjato back to Hohoe. The reader should be aware that I am terrified of motorbikes. I have seen too many accidents of a magnitude that arises when one is moving at high speeds without any protection from impact with obstacles. However, when the alternative is spending a night in a semi-remote village and then hoping that alternate transportation shows up early enough the following morning to take us back to Hohoe and collect our belongings from the guest house, and then go to Accra so that Mary could catch her flight home, using the motorcycle becomes a much more attractive option. Like many other rural parts of the country, the roads were replete with bumps, debris and other obstacles that make the journey a little less smooth than would ordinarily be desirable. However, given the poor condition of the motorcycles, the road conditions forced the drivers to drive very slowly (at a speed where injury would be very unlikely to result from a fall), lest their vehicles break in half from hitting a bump too hard on route.
3. Hikes are difficult when the surrounding environment is humid and 35 degrees Celsius. Reaching the summit of Mount Afadjato entails a hike up the mountain trail, which is very steep, poorly maintained and has very few switchbacks. It would be a short (45 minutes if you are very fit and can rush; I did it in a little over an hour) but challenging hike in the Canadian Rockies and is even more challenging when done in the Ghanaian climate. It was ultimately worth it – the view of the region was very rewarding and I was even able to see Togo in the distance.

Approaching the Wli Falls

The Wli Falls

View from the top of Mount Afadjato. It was not a clear day so one could not see as far as one ordinarily would, but it was a spectacular scene nonetheless

Returning to Hohoe via motorcycle

Monday – back to Kumasi

Monday was not a particularly eventful day. We woke up, ate breakfast and went to the lorry station, where we caught a tro-tro back to Accra. Mary then accompanied me to the bus station to catch a ride back to Kumasi before catching her own flight back to the UK. The entire day was very rainy and the bus ride took about an hour longer than it ordinarily would have. Fortunately, it was made more interesting by the contributions of not one – but two – preachers, delivering half-to-three-quarters-of-an-hour sermons out of Accra and then from the rest stop through to Koforidua. All in all, it was an inspiring way of wrapping up a very memorable vacation in the Volta region and returning to the noisy reality in Kumasi!

Preacher #1 on the way out of Accra

Preacher #2, about halfway between Accra and Kumasi. This one has amplification and delivered a rousing - and inescapable - sermon indeed

Outside the SMIDO office - Calgary no longer has the right to call itself "cowtown"

Before going much further, I would like to extend a very warm “Akwa’aba” to Darshan, Harman, Hridi and Sean. As I have a reluctance to advertise upcoming events and projects that have not yet materialised and do not yet exist, I have said very little up to now about the recruitment and arrival of these volunteers, as well as all of the time and effort that went into forming the relationships with the Rotman School of Management, the Centre for Global Engineering (CGEN) and the Co-operative Program of International Development Studies (IDS) (all at the University of Toronto) and securing funding packages so that they could join us. Now that they have arrived and I have worked with them and can confirm that they are indeed real people who are here to support SMIDO, I can speak about them a little more openly. It is interesting taking them around Kumasi as it reminds me of how I was when I first arrived, when I was completely overwhelmed by what I saw as confusion and chaos in a very new environment. We took all of them through Kejitia Market on their first full day in Kumasi (and for some, in Africa), which was probably a little much – though they seem to handle it well. Emmanuel and I sent Darshan out to AfricaWeb (a local internet café in a different part of the city) for photocopy duty on his third day of work and Rachel sent Hridi and Sean there on their fifth and twelfth days of work – all three claim to have made it there and back successfully with the goods in hand, which is very reassuring. I look back at how disoriented I was for my first Kejitia experience and how I now see that there is order to the chaos, and I am confident that they will reach that point as well in the forthcoming months.

Kejitia Lorry Station - we had our new volunteers walk through this and find the tro-tro to the SMIDO office. Just kidding. I did take our Needs Assessment volunteers through here but was unable to lose them despite my best efforts. Kidding again.

Of course, the arrival of some is coupled with the departure of others. This past Friday was the last day of work for Mary and Yaw, both of whom will be sorely missed. Thursday night was marked by an official SMIDO farewell for the three of us (even though my official last day is not until this coming Friday), at which most of the executives and all of the staff were present. It was an extremely emotional evening as parting words were exchanged and discussions on next steps for SMIDO took place. My oratory coherence was at its absolute finest as I brought up cherished memories with each of our executives and staff, stumbling over words and stating “wonderful” probably at least a few thousand times in a three-minute span. I’ll post pictures from the event later this week and introduce all of you to the people who have been my family for the last 7.5 months.

Receiving a necklace on behalf of SMIDO from Mr. Clement Sarpong - SMIDO's welfare chairman; a fuel injection pump specialist by trade; and a figurehead in Suame Magazine

Yes, it really has been 7.5 months. Yaw hosted a meeting last week in which all the staff members introduced themselves and discussed their role in the organisation, and the entire discussion made me feel like an aged veteran. People look to me to navigate the city and ensure that they don’t get ripped off on the taxi or in other settings where standard prices either do not exist or are not always obvious. All of a sudden, my very limited Twi lexicon has become well ahead of what the new interns boast – let us hope that it does not stay that way for long! (Indeed, the expression “me ti Twi kakra kakra” has never been more appropriate). My digestive capacity appears to have improved – I now eat pretty well all food off the street that does not appear to be fly-infested, savouring the decadent flavours of jollof rice, fried plantains and ripe, juicy watermelons that local vendors slice and carry on their heads throughout the city. (As a side note, most street food is very well-covered or stored in a glass box, so fly infestations of street food in Kumasi are, to my knowledge, fairly rare. I can now navigate most of the city on my own and know how and who to ask for directions when necessary, and can even negotiate a pretty decent fare on taxi rides and kettles at local shops. I am also ready to travel around the country by myself, and am planning to tour the northern end of the country by tro-tro and bicycle in my last week here before I take off at the start of June. I have set foot in all of the regions in Ghana except for the Upper West, which will be addressed when I (hopefully) catch a bus to Wa on Sunday.

Delicious squid in a box down in Cape Coast

More fast food on the street - though from a Ta(c)(k)o Bell that likely differs slightly from that with which you are familiar...

On the SMIDO end, the marketing package that I prepared is ready to be used and we have been invited to a mining site in early June to discuss local procurement and capacity building opportunities for local youth with the company in question, for a relationship that stemmed from a series of e-mails and documents that I have prepared and sent to them for the last few months. It would be less than honest of me to say that I am disappointed that I will not be in Ghana to really use the marketing package or attend the discussion. Nevertheless, one has to move on and I have every confidence that Darshan, Emmanuel and Rachel will do a fine job of building relationships with these companies from what I have started in a way that can bring economic benefit to and build the technical capabilities of artisans in Suame Magazine.

Walking to the SMIDO workshop

Farm equipment, Suame Magazine style

In other news, we have moved out of the flats in which we lived since I arrived in September and into an apartment at the other end of Kumasi, maybe a 5 minute walk away from KNUST. On the plus, we can cook and eat what we want without causing grave offence; we can come home as late as we please without worrying that we’ll be locked out of the surrounding gate; and we can take advantage of the university facilities – a beautiful, paved residential area where KNUST faculty and senior administration live and where one could jog and lose oneself in the scenery, as well as the 50m outdoor pool on campus. On the minus, the apartment is in a very aptly-name area called “Top High”, where the water pressure from the central supply is very, very low and we often go for fairly long stretches without running water. It was about when out reserve of about 3 buckets ran out that we learned that all of the locals hoard water in massive barrels and that we would not be seen as eccentric were we to increase the capacity of our reserve by an order of magnitude. (Apparently this is the case in many parts of Kumasi, but we were shielded from it earlier as the place where we used to live had a massive water tank which could probably sustain a family of 10 for about a week). I have had to make slight changes to my lifestyle to adapt, applying the following three rules for successful living in a world where water is scarce:

1. If the shower works, use it – regardless of whether you actually need one or not.
2. Always fill the buckets at every opportunity, using rain water when necessary for cleaning and flushing the toilet
3. With two small buckets, liquid body wash and a clean cloth, one can successfully wash ones hair and bathe completely with under 750 mL of water. I kid you not.

The reader is asked to note that I am by no means lamenting the situation – although the first night was difficult, I am very comfortable in this new setting and have (in my humble opinion) mastered the art of the bucket bath. Indeed, with running water some of the time, a tap on the ground floor that works a little more of the time and electricity nearly all of the time, we are living quite well where we are, and certainly well above (though that is a matter of opinion) people in villages where there is no electricity and one must travel a few kilometres away from home just to get water from the well. I stated after my trip to Northern Ghana that I would never complain again about my living situation after meeting people who live without such luxuries, and I stand by that. On a completely unrelated matter, the degree of sympathy that anybody who expresses qualms about broken dishwashers, washing machines, dryers, vacuum cleaners, televisions and other esoteric appliances will receive from me on those fronts could be legibly inscribed on a pinhead.

An empty lot near the apartment

Lake Bosumtwi (near Kumasi) - I only wish we had this much water at our disposal at home

Three days left of work and under fourteen days left in Ghana…

When I first decided to come here, 8 months was just a number. A university school year goes for 8 months and one never puts much thought into how long it takes. Of course, that perception changes fairly quickly when one undergoes a substantial alteration to ones lifestyle and is expected to maintain that new way of life for 8 months – waiting for tro-tros to leave, traffic to move, meetings to start and the time to pass. Indeed, when one looks at it that way, 8 months can take a painfully long time to crawl by. And yet, when it comes to my work with SMIDO, 8 months is not nearly enough time for me to learn about the organisation and the local community – and then turn around and achieve something that brings very tangible benefit to the artisans and residents in Suame Magazine. I am down to three days left with SMIDO and am working to wrap up my remaining projects and hand everything over to Darshan, Emmanuel and Rachel – and remain in disbelief that I have made it through to this point in my stay in Ghana.

Stopping for a chat, a smile and a quick photograph in Suame Magazine

With this, I wish all of you a happy long-ish weekend – Victoria Day in Canada on Monday and Africa Day in Ghana on Tuesday. I will be in touch soon with details of my trip to the Volta region and some pictures from our farewell event this past Thursday.

Magazine kids

(For the record, I will miss the fruit, the goats and the wonderful, thoroughly hospitable Ghanaian people. I will not miss the preachers or late night church services in amplified session outside my office or bedroom window. A late night church service is taking place down the street right now, with speakers that are making my floor tremble and erasing any hope I had of sleeping tonight).

The cool, fresh air of the evening is complemented by the steady rhythm of rainfall on our roof. There has been a near-torrential downpour for over three hours and it is unlikely that it will let up any time soon. Such meteorological phenomena are naturally accompanied by power outages – but, thanks to my trusty laptop, I can continue to write. (I expect that the battery will run out as soon as I post this entry and impede my plan to write the transition package. Without question, I have my priorities well-aligned. Sorry again, Darshan).  Indeed, the rainy season is approaching, and with it comes pronounced changes to the local environment: open areas which are even greener than normal; a more consistent power supply in a country that relies on the newly-replenished Lake Volta for electricity; and the return of watermelon, red oranges, abundant papaya and other delicious delicacies. When I visited northern Ghana a month ago (I can scarcely believe it was a month ago), the land was parched and arid. I am planning to return later in May, when the landscape is likely to be much more lush and friendly for farming.

This past Thursday, Mary and I were lured into a visit to the Industrial Village-to-be with about 12 of the SMIDO executives. SMIDO is currently in the middle of negotiations with local chiefs over about 1000 acres of land a short drive out of Kumasi. One very pressing concern of many Suame Magazine artisans relates to land use and ownership: most of the land is owned by chiefs from whom people and business must seek permission to occupy. Managing and enforcing occupancy matters for 200 000 artisans is hardly an easy task and many Suame Magazine businesses are effectively squatting on the land where they have set up shop. This leaves them with no protection if the land owners decide to evict them for any reason at all. This land acquisition arrangement is supposed to help solve this problem: SMIDO is planning to own the said plot of land and turn it into an “Industrial Village”, with sup-plots that can be let to local artisans for a fee, along with (hopefully) documentation that helps ensure that they can stay as long as they are paying rent and not being a nuisance to the local community. In theory this approach addresses other issues inherent in the current Suame Magazine as well. It provides the planners with a number of opportunities:

• to designate regions for trades that make sense to be lumped together;
• to ensure that the roads are well-designed and shops in the Industrial Village are easily accessible and useful for larger-scale fabrication projects;
• to facilitate direct access from mining companies in the region, which may be more inclined to patronise an area that they can reach without facing Kumasi traffic;
• to implement stronger safety and environmental standards for any tradesmen who wish to practice in the area, along with a means of enforcing those standards; and
• to create a detailed, accurate and up-to-date map of the Industrial Village as the community is developed.

This of course assumes, among other things, that competent planners who are familiar with the local culture environment are recruited for the job – which, in my professional opinion, is one area where SMIDO might encounter difficulties. The land is quiet and beautiful and it is difficult to imagine it becoming a second Suame Magazine, with the noise, the pollution and the preachers. Still, progress is progress – the same thing happens all over the world and although nobody likes it at first, people eventually adjust. (Given that Canada has not exactly been a beacon of environmental stewardship over the last few years, I am not in a particularly strong position to cast judgement). There is much planning left to be done and numerous issues that must be addressed before this initiative goes anywhere, but perhaps some progress will take place down the road. The reader should note that this 5-hour trek in mostly direct sunlight gave me the worst sunburn I have had in at least the last decade and is a front-runner for the worst sunburn I have ever had in my life. (For the record, I tried to wear sunscreen, but it just couldn’t compete with the perspiration that comes with 30 degree Celsius weather and high humidity). I spent much of this past week ensuring that my Calgary friends were well-aware of the summery weather in Ghana – maybe this is my smiting for gloating about the local climate and complaining about preachers! My burn has now healed and there is still snow on the ground in Calgary, so I have no regrets.

In the meantime, please feel free to peruse these pictures of the Industrial Village before it becomes and industrial village.

Starting the walk

...and continuing

...and continuting some more. This woman is not part of the SMIDO crew - rather, she is a local villager who is carrying a lot more than I can at the moment.

Acquiring palm oil - a staple in Ghanaian cooking. It is sold in jugs the size of gasoline tanks, which people carry on their heads. This particular operation was taking place before we arrived.

The executive purchased and brought along cutlasses so that we could clear a path through the bush if necessary, as well as undertake weeding duties along the boundary of the land. Owusu insisted that I try. I was about as productive with it as Canada has been with meeting its G8 commitments - a humbling experience, indeed.

Pouring libations - the green bottle is (was) filled with Schnapps, which are offered to the land before we enter. I'll try to find out more about the history and let you know.

SMIDO executives Owusu (left) and Besto (right). Owusu is a mechanic and has one of the strongest work ethics I have ever seen in the world. Besto is an extremely creative person who developed an automatic fufuo-pounding machine.

Walking through a forest of cocoa trees. The beans are currently harvested and sold by villagers - an issue that will need to be resolved as the area is developed

Back in the open, with the beginnings of a sunburn becoming apparent. The worst (not pictured) is yet to come.

I could have stopped and rested in the shade of this log, but that would have been too sensible...

A small-scale bauxite mining operation just outside the boundary of the land

Good times on the journey back home. The breakdown was eventually repaired and the car in question made it back to Kumasi well before the end of the day.

Leaving the house

…Through the football field…

A local football field. It is normally much more crowded and in use than is depicted in the image.

…And up Offinso Road to catch the tro-tro to Mathias Junction…

View from the back of a tro-tro on the way to work

I then disembarked from the tro-tro, crossed two sides of a very busy street, sauntered down a fairly steep hill and along another uneven dirt road to the SMIDO office…

The road toward the office (photograph taken from an office window)

…where I climbed 2 flights of stairs to arrive at my desk on the third floor.

The SMIDO office building. The stairs are on the left hand side.

Hardly a gruelling expedition, and certainly characteristic of the trek that many in Kumasi will undertake to arrive at their workplaces. Of course, there are some aspects of the journey that make it easier than it would be otherwise. Taking the tro-tro cuts a good 20-30 minutes off of my travel time, as I woefully learned when I walked home from the office two weeks ago. A narrow shortcut between adjacent buildings in Suame Magazine allows me to take a fairly direct route to the office, rather than having to go halfway around the block and reach the front entrance via the main roads. And the ability to control the movement of my two seemingly-appropriately-positioned legs and feet is rather useful in enabling me to walk in an area with such rough and uneven terrain, board and exit a crowded tro-tro and climb the stairs without difficulty.

The reader may or may not have picked up on where I am going with this. Through volunteer teaching and coaching work in high school and university, summer research and a fourth-year thesis project, involvement with different disabled communities in Calgary and Toronto has been a very important part of my life and, short of an extremely dramatic change to my long-term goals and interests, is an area that I will be pursuing in much greater depth in the forthcoming years. Although the focus of my work here is supposed to be on engineering and business development in the Suame Magazine community, I have had a good 7 months (okay, well 6.97) to draw comparisons between conditions here and in Canada, as well as to consolidate my thoughts on what I left behind, what I am experiencing right now and where I would like to go when this is done.

As a biomedical engineering student in Toronto, I had the opportunity to learn about and become involved in fantastic initiatives designed to improve the quality of life for people with various disabilities, both through research in rehabilitation and through social activities to encourage participation in social settings. Although I certainly cannot say with any credibility whether a city would be a “good” place to have a disability, I expect that Toronto has much better infrastructure than most to support rehabilitation efforts and effective inclusion of people in the disabled community in society. Of course, disabilities do not simply cease to exist once one ventures outside the GTA. Indeed, it would not be unreasonable to suggest that many of the people who benefit from the services at Bloorview or Toronto Rehab have counterparts with similar conditions all around the world – and yes, including such developing nations as Ghana.

The reader shall now be warmed up with a few very quick critical values:

• Length of time that I have been in Ghana: 7 months
• Number of wheelchairs in use that I have seen: 3
• Number of people hobbling around in ill-fitting crutches or pulling themselves along the roadside while sitting on makeshift skateboards: (I lost track back in November)

This is not a desirable situation and bears further attention than it is currently getting in this part of the world. Consider those who use a makeshift skateboard to pull themselves from point A to point B, and the ramifications of their situation: the risk of being run over by unregulated traffic; the stench of being near anything and everything that ends up on the ground in an environment where many continue to urinate freely in the open sewers; the length of time necessary to get anywhere in rocky, uneven terrain; and the social difficulties associated with always being near the ground, generally unable to carry out a conversation without being looked down upon by most others in the vicinity. Needless to say, these are far from optimal conditions for encouraging universal opportunities for inclusion and participation in society.

The proactive reader might quickly suggest something to the effect of “we ought to donate wheelchairs”. Indeed, it is true that most wheelchairs that are available for purchase in North America are well beyond the means of many of those who could use them in Africa. I know that students at Imperial College have converted old bicycles into wheelchairs that are well-suited for uneven terrain and I would not be surprised to find other groups who have developed low-cost equipment for certain people with disabilities. These are all very admirable steps and I am always delighted to learn of initiatives designed to improve the distribution of existing technologies to people who could benefit from their use but are not in a position to access them.

Before progressing further, however, it is worth highlighting that every donated item from overseas is a lost opportunity for a local job. I think that the distribution of wheelchairs to those who need them out here has great value, but that we need to be more creative in our approach. There are many people in Ghana who have strong fabrication capabilities, regardless of whether or not they can read, write, speak English or have ever attended school. Materials are expensive, but are also widely available locally – including decent-quality upholstery for longer-term comfort. (I am not sure how effectively it prevents bedsores, which is something that should eventually be explored). Good designs for wheelchairs exist and there is no reason why they cannot be manufactured locally. Depending on who is hired for fabrication, the labourers might struggle to understand specifications and quality expectations, but this can be overcome by recruiting an engineer to communicate project specifications to the fabrication and procurement team. Although many tradespeople may not have been exposed to the quality standards to which North Americans are accustomed, they take great pride in their work and could stand to learn a lot about facets of the disabled community by fabricating something for its benefit – supporting the development of a more inclusive society on the whole. As far as implementing this initiative is concerned, I know an engineering team that could undertake such a project and has thousands of tradespeople at its disposal for labour. In fact, I work for one.

It is recognised that the wheelchair “solution” is far from perfect. In my 7 months in Ghana, I still have yet to see an elevator or ramp in the entire country. (The Accra Novotel has potential, but I refuse to believe it until I see it). Ditto for automatic anything to prevent injury a la door slamming. The terrain and infrastructure of even basic city streets can impose significant challenges to users if their equipment is not designed appropriately. Indeed, it would be nice if all streets were like this road in Accra…

In Accra, close to Jamestown. Note the unimpeded sidewalk beside the road.

Unfortunately, most other streets are equipped with a few more hazards between the road and the sidewalk…

Road in Cape Coast. This one is actually in pretty good shape - just watch out for the sewers and moving vehicles...

…or are besieged by extensive crowds…

A normal day at the Central Market, Kumasi

…or come with terrain that is rather difficult to navigate

Scrap metal recycling plant, Suame-Kumasi

Quadriplegics face even more daunting challenges. The electronic wheelchair technologies that are employed in North America would be, to put it bluntly, useless. One major issue that many of us experience with our computer and electronic equipment here is that the circuits were not designed to be used in areas with high temperatures and humidity. My colleague’s computer (which works near-perfectly in the UK) crashes about 10 times a day out here, purportedly because of complications associated with the hardware being made to function in sub-sub-sub-optimal conditions. This is, of course, on top of any issues that would come with frequent power outages and the lack of many personnel who would be in a position to repair the equipment should anything go wrong.

Despite this, there is still value in supporting better distribution of interventions among this facet of the disabled community.  If nothing else, they at least allow users to carry out conversations at eye-level with other people, and so provides social benefits. Even if the technology is imperfect, it is a step up from moving about the ground on a makeshift skateboard. Indeed, this could be made more effective if something were done about the local infrastructure, which would have very widespread benefit. I have discussed this in previous entries so I will not go into too much depth here. Smoother terrain without the open sewers would be invaluable in accelerating the pace of life down here and making the area more wheelchair-friendly. Elevators, although useful, are not all that practical because of the frequent power cuts. Encouraging people to install ramps in public facilities (where possible) would also be helpful.

Aside from the aforementioned infrastructure development recommendations, much work remains on this front in order to determine if this approach is feasible and has the potential to bring some improvement to the quality of life for product recipients. I have not yet explored the extent of this issue and am basing it solely on what I have seen in my time here, but some statistics from a credible source would be useful in resolving the scale of the problem. Cost estimates for design work, materials and labour also must be made – these are likely the easy part of the project, but cannot simply be avoided in any proposal. Distribution will probably be an issue, both in terms of reaching people who are further away and in terms of deciding who has priority access when the demand is likely to exceed the supply. Finally, maintenance is an important consideration: we need to ensure that the products are properly serviced if/when something breaks, particularly in areas where repair capabilities are not as strong or widespread as they are in the city.

The question about remuneration then inevitably arises. As an advocate for people in the disabled community, I would support paying the lowest price possible for a decent-quality wheelchair so that more people could be served by the initiative. As an advocate for tradespeople and businesses in Suame Magazine, I would prefer to see those involved in the project be paid fairly for their work, as opposed to poverty-level wages. Speaking from both ends, wheelchairs are not cheap and the likelihood of a given artisan taking on a particular project is directly tied into his/her perceived likelihood that (s)he will be paid for the job. Ultimately, I think that some donor subsidies would be necessary for this project to flourish –through cash, equipment or other means.

Anyhow, these are some first thoughts on what seems to be an issue out here but receives very little attention that translates into action. It is unlikely that I will have to opportunity to follow up on it in my remaining month in Ghana, but I could potentially do it down the road with sufficient support. I would be equally elated if somebody else were to pursue it effectively and bring benefit both to recipients of the wheelchairs and to the artisans involved in fabrication.

I will let you know if anything interesting develops on this front.

 Attn: Arun Kochhar 

 RE: Repayment of debt outstanding from internet purchase of an antenna 

 Dear Mr. Kochhar: 

 I am writing you to offer you our deepest gratitude for placing an online order for a router antenna on SMIDO’s behalf. Running an office with ~10 staff members, ~20 executive members, an internet café and ICT classes in which Suame Magazine artisans learn how to use the internet without a functional router for nearly a month is a rather challenging task. We are delighted to resume operations as normal thanks to your kindness. Indeed, it was most frustrating when the online auction site declined my colleague’s purchase because placing online orders for delivery to Ghana apparently means that somebody’s identity has been stolen; and it was even more frustrating when they would not reinstate her account until she mailed them a copy of her passport and other relevant identification. Under ordinary circumstances this would be a reasonable request, but this instance necessitates alternative action as items do get lost in the mail and we would like to have the situation rectified for my colleague before 2014. (It is our hope that the good people at [some unnamed online auction site] eventually appreciate that people in Ghana really do legitimately make online purchases!)

This goat kept our internet café patrons entertained during the period that we did not have office internet

 As it turns out, one of our partners came in to replace our antenna on the same day that your antenna arrived. Please do not be alarmed – despite what other people may tell you, we can assure you that we will need both. Routers and router components never really were optimised for performance in hot, humid, dusty climates and it is only a matter of time before one of those antennas breaks, shorts, explodes, vanishes or otherwise ceases to support the internet reception capabilities of our router. In fact, I think that a sheep might even be eating the locally-provided one right now. Those animals never could resist the allure of instant gratification…

We caught this sheep sneaking out of our third-floor office window with half an antenna in his mouth. He also jumped out of the truck when the owner of this truck backed out of the driveway (I’m not joking about this one). Clearly, one must keep a careful eye on these devious creatures all the time!

 I would also like to follow up on correspondence that took place in mid-March, in which you indicated that you are seeking reimbursement in goats. As well, I would like to thank you for not applying the ~35% interest rate that is characteristic of banks in Ghana, as that would be quite burdensome for a small, grassroots NGO such as SMIDO and the associated stress would make it very difficult for me to select potential candidates for repayment from my farm. I have taken pictures of some goats who I think would satisfy the repayment terms and provide you with warmth and companionship on cold, snowy Canadian nights. I hence invite you to browse through the inventory at your leisure and ask that you inform me which goats you would prefer to receive no later than 30 April, 2010. You would normally be given more time to make your decision, except they will need to enter Canada somehow and I am concerned that their crossing the border at Pearson Airport will send the entire system into remission – especially since the one border guard who might have let them into the country despite their quadripedal nature has sought other employment. I have a very vested interest in ensuring that the border is easy to cross by the time I return, so I hope you appreciate why the goats must be safe at your home well before then. 

These goats figured out how many goats we would have owed you if you were to charge interest. They have no intention of revealing their answer in the near future.

 I am unfamiliar with the level of comfort that your parents will have with the sudden influx of goats into their home, so I encourage you to take a few precautionary measures to ensure that a smooth expansion of your family takes place. My goats are very well-behaved and house-broken, but they do grow uncomfortable after left inside too long. I thus strongly recommend that you give them plenty of green space to roam freely. There is a possibility that you will need to expand the boundaries of their pasture such that it occupies the homes of your neighbours, your office, your boss’s office and your girlfriend’s parents’ home. Moreover, if the aforementioned locations are not sufficiently green, you will need to supply enough soil, grass, fertiliser, water, sunshine and love to make them so. My goats can contribute fertiliser and love, but the rest is best left to you. I kindly suggest that you begin work on this as soon as you can.

This is the minimum standard for how green you must make the surroundings

In addition to expanding the green space available for the goats to roam, you will need to ensure that they have access to a diverse and constant supply of food. They like grass, but it is hardly sufficient to satiate their appetites as they require more complex carbohydrates and proteins to function at their full potential. My personal recommendation is banana trees. If you cannot acquire banana trees, plantain trees will also do, although you may have to provide a stepladder so that they can reach the higher specimens. And if you cannot acquire plantain trees, you might be able to pinch-hit with papaya trees. I do hope that the situation does not reach that point as it would cast some doubt on your capacity to provide my goats with the love and care that they need to flourish at their fullest. In fact, it might compel me to send you an imitation goat if you cannot accommodate their basic needs.

This is but one variety of banana tree that you will need to plant in abundance

...and this is a plantain tree

...and this is a papaya tree

As well, please be aware that my goats are very sociable beings and I will not send them away to unfamiliar territory on their own. It isn’t that they aren’t mature enough to brave your territory by themselves – they are – but I should hate to subject them to what will be very unfamiliar and alien Canadian customs without other goats to help them adjust. Accordingly, I must insist that you accept goats in batches no smaller than 15. If it necessitates your sleeping on the roof to give them sufficient space to rest, that’s alright – I don’t mind. Surely a tough specimen such as yourself can handle the marginal inconvenience. My goats have not yet mastered the art of contraception and there is a possibility that the 15 goats I send you will be 45 when they arrive. If you do find that you need to outsource space from other people, go ahead, but I ask that you clear it with me first. I know somebody who has already expressed an interest in my lawn mowing/fertilisation service and I don’t imagine he’d mind too much if you asked him to provide comfortable accommodations for 15-20 goats in his home. As a courtesy, I encourage you to supply him with banana trees so that the goats stay happy and reach their peak fertilisation potential. 

Enough said.

 To help ease their transition into life in Canada, I will be sending along some memorabilia to remind them of life in their homeland. This includes tropical fruit (for them, but they might share with you if you ask nicely), tro-tros, a supply of fufuo and palm nut soup, Tigo phone credit, rush hour traffic jams, daily power outages, millipedes that are larger than your foot, birds, butterflies and preachers that deliver amplified sermons outside your office during work hours and outside your bedroom window at 3 in the morning. It will be necessary for you to keep these at your home and office as well so that the goats don’t get homesick or lonely. Make sure that you have a microphone and a set of working heavy-duty speakers for the preacher so that he can function as intended and the goats are properly appeased.

I could have posted an ugly bug picture, but I’d prefer to save the surprise for later. You’ll meet all of the lovely and somewhat-less-than-lovely bugs in due course.

 Finally, if you even think about eating my goats, they WILL ruin your life.

Capiche?!

If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to let me know. The first batch should reach your front door in early May. I trust that you will have made sufficient preparations by then for their arrival. 

Love, 

Vicki 

…and here is a sample of the goats that I may be sending your way, pending your continued interest and my final approval:  

These goats grew up near a family that makes dough for a living and grow nostalgic every time they see bread on the street. They kindly ask that you provide them with a giant pile of flour in which they can frolick. If flour is not possible, flowers will do as well. Please stay away from lilies though - the goats are allergic to the pollen

I grew tired of my laptop, so I sent this goat to Oakville to "borrow" yours. I hope you don't mind.

Words cannot express how excited these goats are to move in with you and sleep in your room and eat your food. Oh...right...they're excited to get to know you as well.

Remember Antonia E. Goatette (from the Goat Farm, Part II)? No, she isn't moving in with you - she'll just be hanging out at your place for a few days while she furthers her parliamentary takeover campaign. She might also host a party while she's there. It won't be a huge one - maybe 800 goats - anyhow, I'm sure they won't make too much of a mess.

Since you're going to be busy taking care of the goats, this one is going to cover for you at any social occasions to which you're invited: biofilm outings, alumni reunions, hot dates, and the list goes on. Just thought you'd like to know.

Figure I. Looking down Offinso Road at Mathias junction. Schaudenfreude is a very appropriate term for what I felt as I walked past the tro-tros and other vehicles stuck in traffic.

Figure II. Another perk of walking: one can stop and enjoy a coconut. I displayed impeccable foresight by not bringing small cash with me to make the appropriate purchase, and was thus denied the privilege.

Naturally, one cannot undergo shameful joy without it eventually coming back to bite oneself. In my case, karma struck when I passed the Suame post office, a few hundred metres into my trek.

Figure III. Offinso road with very few vehicles.

It was at this point that I began to wonder if walking home was perhaps not such a great idea.

Figure IV. Further down Offinso road. Extent of vehicular congestion: low.

The reader should also be aware that Mary and Rachel passed me on the tro-tro a few metres before this picture was taken. I did not see them but they claim that they saw me. Apparently I stand out. Anyhow, my heart surged as I looked ahead and noticed what appeared to be a stagnation point in forward vehicular “movement”.

Figure V. Approaching Maakro Junction.

Figure VI. Vindication.

Of course I then received a phone call from Rachel, who was interested in knowing how far I had come. She eagerly informed me that she and Mary had passed the station and that they would see me at home. As Maakro Junction is a well-used tro-tro station, I had the option of catching a ride to Kronum – but after seeing the line of traffic up ahead and deciding that I’d rather spend my $0.15 fare on mangoes, I opted to continue with my walk.

Figure VII. Good times at Maakro Station.

Figure VIII. Vehicles which I passed as I walked away from Maakro Station. Schaudenfreude repeats.

The reader may or may not have noticed the traffic lights in the photographs. These ones sometimes work and are interpreted by drivers with fairly flexible logic. In short, this is one of the few intersections in town that is actually partially-regulated!

Figure IX. Looking back at the traffic that I did not have to sit through.

As I progressed further along Offinso Road, however, I noticed a rather pronounced decline in the local vehicular density. Undaunted, I continued to walk.

Figure X. Uncongested traffic up ahead.

Whereas the stretch between Mathias and Maakro Junctions along Offinso Road is considered part of Suame and is mostly industrial, the communities past Maakro are residential. By the time I had walked this far, I had encountered a good number of passers-by with whom I engaged in friendly conversation. One went like this:

• Me: M’adwo (Good evening)
• Woman: Aiaa! Ye nua! Wo ti Twi?! (Aiaa! My sister! You speak Twi?!)
• Me: Me ti Twi kakra kakra. Wo ho te sen? (I speak Twi small small. How are you?)
• Woman: Eye. Wo nso wo ho te sen? (I’m fine. And you, how are you?)
• Me: Me ho ye paaaaaaa (I am very very very fine) (N.B. The emphasis on the “paa” indicates the degree of “very”. “Paa” means “very”, while “paaaa” can be likened to “extremely”).
• Woman: Wo ko en? (Where are you going?)
• Me: Me ko’fie. Bye-bye! (I am going home. Bye-bye!)
• Woman: Bye-bye!

The reader should also note that the woman’s comments were interspersed with somewhat more than a modicum of laughter and shock as I carried out the conversation. People still seem to be surprised when I say “medase” (thank you), which surprises me in turn – one would hope that I would at least learn how to thank people after having lived here for six months! Of course, most people don’t know that I have lived here for six months, so their attitudes at hearing me utter a few rudimentary lines of Twi are not completely unfounded. 

Figure XI. Watching the sun set across the street. It is not uncommon for people to begin building projects and run out of money part way through construction for such reasons as inflation, wasting material and poorly-planned quotes, to name a few. This is not an ideal situation, but it could be worse – at least this isn’t Siberia in January!

My hopes rersurfaced as I approached what appeared to be a line of cars at Breman Junction, but were promptly dashed when the light turned green.

Figure XII. Breman Junction.

I prevailed, taking photographs when appropriate and saying friendly “good evening”s to people who passed me on the street. I also engaged in further conversation with people who I passed, this time with a group of doormakers. Here is how this one went:

•  Man: good evening, bruni. (Good evening, white person.)
• Me: M’adwo, obibini. Wo ho te sen? (Good evening, black person. How are you?)
• Man: Hahahahahahahahahahahahaha! Me ho ye! (Hahahahahahahahahahahahaha! I am fine!)
• Me: Me nso me ho ye. (I am also fine).
• Man: Ah! Wo din de sen? (Ah! What is your name?)
• Me: Me fre me Adwoa Victoria (I call myself Adwoa Victoria)
• Man: Adwoa? How are you “Adwoa”?
• Me: Me adwoada (I Monday). (My Twi isn’t strong enough to tell him that I am Monday-born).
• Man: Ah! You from China?
• Me: Dabi (no)
• Man: Japan? You Japanese lady?
• Me: Dabi! Me firi Canada! (No! I’m from Canada!)
• Man: Ah, you look like a Chinese and Japanese lady.
• Me: Many Canadians do…
• Man: Listen, I want to take you as my wife.
• Me: Oh. Well, that’s very sweet of you, but I already have lots of husbands. I don’t imagine they’ll want to share.
• Man: You should take me instead.
• Me: Maybe later. Okyina (tomorrow).
• Man: Okay – bye-bye.

(The reader is duly informed that I have accrued 59 husbands to date and I still have 7 weeks to go, including a few impending tours of Suame Magazine – a high-density centre of allegedly-uncommitted men. Kejitia Market is another haven at which I’ll usually rack up a few suitors when I visit. Marriage proposals are given very liberally here, so I have learned to craft answers that reflect the humour of the situation. A Suame nuts/bolts vendor offered me his hand in marriage and promised me a “beautiful baby boy”, which I naturally had to reject as I’d much prefer a girl. I think that he was a little surprised when I told him that, but he seemed to get over it pretty quickly.)

Figure XIII. Doors made by the doormaker. I didn’t stop and take his picture as that would have entailed engaging in more friendly conversation and potentially having to deflect further proposals from his friends.

Figure XIV. Offinso road with very little traffic. Picture courtesy of a very hapless obruni on foot.

Figure XV. Artists along the way.

I eventually made it to Kronum Station, where I normally disembark from the tro-tro and walk home the rest of the way. By this point, I was being approached every 3 metres to converse with passers-by. I tried to be polite but in a hurry, uttering frequent “good-evening-I’m-fine-bye-bye”s as I moved along. It was scarcely a socially-acceptable way to handle the situation, but it was starting to get dark and I needed to get home for supper.

Figure XVI. More incomplete construction by Kronum Station.

After a long trek, I eventually made it to the Kronum-Abouohia junction, which is where I turn off to go home.

Figure XVII. Turning off from Offinso Road

And at long last, I was home.

Figure XVIII. Home. Finally.

Just kidding. It was dark by then and my picture didn’t turn out, which is why I was compelled to post a different one in its place. I can assure you that it is not snowing out here. It was a great adventure and certainly worth repeating when I’m feeling cheap or impatient, but given the traffic situation, it was probably unnecessary. As it turned out, Rachel and Mary beat me home by about 20 minutes, so it was hardly the most efficient way to make it back. I couldn’t even get any decent goat pictures as it was dusk by the time I arrived – the ultimate indignity! Still, I enjoyed the experience and am glad that I tried it at least once.

This wraps things up for now! I had promised you all a write-up on the deal with goats for repayment processes, which will come on schedule at the end of the week. I hope you’re all well and I’ll be in touch again soon!