Day 2: The Road to Kokrobite

Today, I caught up with the adventurous Oskar Butcher (friend from Dulwich College, London). After an hour long journey with my new taxi driver friend, Appiah, we arrived at the meeting point.

“Just give me a call when you get to the petrol station in Kokrobite” Oskar had told me, “everyone knows it so you’ll be able to find it for sure”. And he was right, everyone we asked as we approached Kokrobite (pronounced kok-roh-bee-tay) pointed us in the direction of the petrol station but it was far from what we were expecting. There was no sign. No entry path. No labelled tanks of fuel. Instead, two pumps, a few barrels and the owner.

Oskar has already been in Ghana for 4 weeks, and is leaving at the end of this week. After chatting for five minutes, I began to understand how much he loves Kokrobite and its vibrant people- and it’s pretty clear that all the people love him too! As we walked along the road to the school he's been volunteering in, every other person called to him “Alright, Oskar”, “Hey Oskar!”, “Oskar, my friend!”.

The school building is very small, and Oskar took me in to observe a lesson. There were about 50 children in the class we went into (average sized class!) and only one teacher and classroom assistant (in this case, Oskar). The kids were full of life, incredibly polite and eager to say hello. After observing a lesson in the correct use of prepositions in a sentence, we left for a walk by the sea.

Kokrobite felt like a world away from Dansoman- slightly more rural, with stalls instead of shops and bumpy roads lined with potholes. It was, nonetheless, well worth the visit. It was refreshing to see Oskar get on so easily with all the locals and fully embrace their way of life: “Coach invited me back to his place for dinner and I had fufu and soup”.

However, the highlight of my day was not walking barefoot along the sea, or meeting all the children from the local school or even drinking Alvaro in the shade (a drink reminiscent of pineapple KA). It was the slimy man who approached me, whilst Oskar was busy seeing a man about a drum, and whispered slowly in my ear “would you like to come and cook for me, my dear?”

Erm maybe next time. 

Or not.

Day 1: From -1 to THIRTY ONE degrees

Snow cleared at Terminal 5

This first post would have been delayed a few days if Mother Nature had got her way. At Heathrow, mum and I (yes, Mum is here with me too...) were faced with departure boards that read - CANCELLED, CANCELLED, CANCELLED, CANCELLED, Delayed Check-In, CANCELLED, CANCELLED, CANCELLED. Thankfully, ours was one of the flights that took off from Terminal 5 despite all the "disruption" caused by ALL OF 2 INCHES of snow that fell in London.

Admittedly, the first 12 hours have been tough. The heat is exhausting. Getting off the plane at Kotoka airport was the first shock as I was slapped in the face by 28 degree heat (at 9pm GMT/Local Time-- there is no time difference!) Humidity makes the air incredibly dense. We've already experienced two powercuts (known as "lights out") each lasting about an hour but we're very lucky to have a back-up generator in our house. 

Everyone is really friendly but I stick out like a sore thumb- I asked a friend, Cynthia, why it's so clear that I'm a "Bloh-fon-yoh" (basically, a Brit) and she said "well, it's obvious, no? Your skin is so much lighter, your hair looks different (woo, the remi pays off once again!) and when you speak..." --say no more.

Not that sticking out is completely bad. It does seem at first to be quite a handicap (if some people realise that you don't understand what they're saying, they're more likely to be a little sneaky when it comes to buying goods in the market) but thankfully MAMA DIDN'T RAISE NO FOOL and I understand every word of Gha and quite a lot of Fante (two commonly spoken dialects in the capital). 

But it's not all been exhausting heat and sneaky vendors. For breakfast, my favourite aunt made me "Yaw Flor keh Kelewele" --hehee it's black-eyed beans stew and fried plantain. A little heavy for breakfast but, when in Ghana, do as the Ghanaians do. 

Family home in Dansoman, Accra

Ok, that's not how the Ghanaians do. I'm just being a little indulgent.