May 2007

As I near the one month mile stone of my stay in Ghana I thought the time was ripe to deliver the first instalment of my trip.  Looking back on the build up to my departure to this slightly insane country, it’s safe to say I was a bit too laid back in my approach.

“See you in four months” I casually said to my mother as if I was trotting back to Reading for a term at University.  It was only as I sidled through passport control at Accra Airport that I suddenly considered I might be slightly out of my depth.  Female, white, alone.  Had I really thought this through? 

The burly officer scrutinized my passport, looked up to check that the pasty white girl in the photo was indeed the same pasty white girl that quivered before him and said:

“North?"  Change your name to South, you’re in Ghana now”.

I was in for a shock, not only because that was quite possibly the worst joke I’ve ever heard, but also because of what I was about to go through in the early days of my stay.

Nothing can prepare a maiden voyager for Ghana.  You can do as much research and planning as you want but as soon as you arrive and all the information that you leisurely read on the BA Flight from London to Accra is actualised, you become instantly lost.  Clutching onto your Guide to Ghana that you had entrusted as your ally in a strange new country it becomes disturbingly clear that the book can no longer protect you.  I decided that the only way I was going to survive in this country was to dive head first into my new surroundings and despite an obvious contrast of physical appearance, try and adopt the same lifestyle as my new neighbours. 

This was easier said than done as the place is crazy.  Crazy used to be Green Park station during rush hour, the Clapham Grand after that final vodka, perhaps a trolley ride home from time to time.  But Ghana is inexplicably hectic.  Absolutely everything you do here is challenging both emotionally and physically.  You have to abandon your Western airs and develop quite a hard exterior.  Some of the sights are so devastating and corrupt that there is sometimes nothing you can do but block it out of your mind. 

The cultural differences are so extreme that in the early days you don’t know whether you are coming or going.  Being white makes you something of a flashing beacon and so you can’t go anywhere without people wanting to talk to you about where you are from or to buy something from their stall and you constantly hear passers by shouting “obruni obruni” (white man).  Quite often people, mostly men and children, will reach out to physically touch you because they see white skin as beautiful and representative of a better life.  In one day you can rack up a total of about twenty marriage proposals which does wonders for the ego until you remember that it is probably because of what the colour of your skin represents out here as opposed to your general charm.

The visual differences between this city and my native London go beyond comparison. You have the hustle and bustle, the pollution and the hectic daily working schedule but underlying all these general city characteristics you also have stark reminders that this is a developing country.  The amount of people that live on the streets is enormous and the state of the sanitation is abysmal.  Some parts of Accra are like public toilets and throughout the city runs a hideous open sewage system where urine and other joys float freely down it.  The stench that comes from the waste that is gradually warmed up by the day’s heat is unbearable. 

Ghana also has a huge energy crisis at the moment.  Every second day on a rotation, the country is plunged into darkness.  There is no electricity which means the evenings are spent in a sticky dim obscurity due to the lack of fans and light.  Each area enduring lights off develops a silent, black stillness to it with just the glimmer of an occasional torch or candle.  Ghana is celebrating how far they have come during their fifty years free from colonialism and yet the country has no electricity for half of their week.

To say their transport system was a health hazard would be generous.  To avoid worrying my parents I’ll be as general as possible but just imagine a minibus set up called a “tro tro”, probably older than myself with cracked windscreens, flat tyres, double the maximum capacity of passengers in 33 degree heat, blazing traffic, no lanes or traffic lights and a couple of goats tied to the roof.  And we complain about the tube.

However, despite all these aspects of Ghanaian life that to me seem shocking and incomprehensible, daily routine manages to conduct itself in organised chaos.  You look at something that appears to be in an absolute mess but somehow everyone is working to the same rhythm and is silently communicating with each other to make things run smoothly underneath the hectic surface.

For example, the tro-tro I was describing, yes it is ramshackled and falling apart but it is a brilliant example of independent business.  The driver and the conductor or “mate” as he is referred to pick people up and drop them off at their destination for a set fee.  It is an energetic and no frills way of getting from A to B and it seems to work.  It is perfectly simple and effective.  There are no Oyster top up charges or fines because if you try and avoid paying, one of the passengers will definitely sniff you out.  And this is what Ghana is all about, it is a community and honesty is what makes business like the tro tro thrive.  People help each other out and work on a favour basis with no contracts or signatures.

One thing I noticed when I first got here was how avidly Ghana seems to be visually exorcising the spectre of its colonial past with the amount of flags and bill boards with national slogans explicitly reiterating the message that Ghana is a wholly independent and democratic nation.   My visit to Cape Coast Castle two weeks ago put things into unsettling perspective and came across powerfully to a Briton whose ancestors were the ones who tried to ascertain this country as an extension of their own.  Comparing that vast colonial castle with its atrocious dungeons and terrible history to the culture and vibrancy where I reside in Accra was like looking at past and present. 

You soon realise why the celebrations marking fifty years of independence are so important.  Having spoken to many individuals, a few of whom are of the generation that can remember what it was like to live in the days of colonialism, it is clear to see that they have such pride for their country.   It is now hard to believe that Europe ever had any influence in a country so overwhelmingly passionate about its nation.  Perhaps it is the English language that remains as the last souvenir of the colonial force, but with English as my first language I am often baffled by the thick Ghanaian accent and even more so by the ability to slip from the African dialect back to English with such ease. 

Work is going well.  I’ve had an article published reporting on a new Socialist forum that was opened last week by Professor Francis Nkrumah and should have another one in by tomorrow.  The Chronicle is one of the most high brow papers here.  It is a bit of a Times equivalent and is always sold out by 11am so I feel very privileged to have had something published already. 

Even though Ghana is at times alienating and frustrating, I wouldn’t change my experiences for the world.  It is so good to have to go through such a steep learning curve and after a tough day I have some great friends to go home to.  Needless to say we actually have a lot fun and if something goes wrong it is much easier to laugh about it.  On the whole the Ghanaians are extremely forthcoming and friendly and will always help a lost “obruni” if need be.