Day 9: What's in a name?

Today, I spent another day work shadowing in the Reproductive Health Centre. I don’t want to scare you off with more stories of smear tests and injections so instead I’ll tell you the story of how I came to be called Nicole Ocansey.

So the Ocansey bit dates back a long long time ago to the people of Ada (pronounced Ah-daar) where my dad’s family are originally from.

DISCLAIMER

This is the story as it was told to me by my family when I was little. It may not be fact but I doubt it's a complete work of fiction. Nonetheless, it's a good story and totally plausible...

It’s believed that when the Portuguese (or it could have been the British; this bit I always forget) came to Ghana, the people of Ada were the first to meet them. Everytime the explorers tried to communicate with the chief of the Ada people, he would turn to one of his people and say “oh kan ni sayn?” (using creative license again!) which translates from Twi to English as “how do you say that?”- basically trying to understand what the foreigners were saying . Of course, with the language barrier, there was a lot of “oh kan ni sayn” –ing and eventually after repeating it many, many times, the explorers began to address the people of Ada as the O-ka-ni-sayn people which eventually lead to the Ocansey people.

True story.

I think.

As for the name Nicole, well that’s something to do with a popular Renault car advert from 1993. Thanks Dad.

Spot the odd one out:
One Ocansey, three Ashleys.

Day 8: Lesson learnt

Today was the first day of my placement at Korle Bu Teaching Hospital, Accra. Korle Bu is pretty much the King’s College Hospital of Ghana. I’ll be shadowing healthcare professionals in Obstetrics & Gynaecology and Cardiology (hello SURGERY!). First stop: Reproductive Health Centre!

Fact: I am not squeamish. The sight of blood doesn’t make me feel faint. When people show off their cuts and bruises, I’ll always lean in closer to take a better a look. But today, I learnt an invaluable lesson- always eat enough for breakfast.

Over the last seven days, because of the heat, I’ve had very little for breakfast and survived until tea time. This morning I ate the same amount as usual but by 11am heard a little rumbling in my stomach. A few minutes later, I was called to watch an implant insertion into a patient’s arm and after two minutes found that my eyes had difficulty focusing and my head had started to feel a little light. In spite of this, I stayed and watched until the end of the procedure (can’t have them thinking I’m not tough enough!) and whipped out the old “oh, it’s really warm in here, I might go and get a little water” before stumbling to a cool spot and knocking back an entire bottle.

But still, it was a fab day. I saw several contraceptive injections and implants (both into the arm) and even (apologies to any squeamish readers!) a few smear tests .

With Auntie Christie, matron of the
Reproductive Health Centre

I also sat in on a few counselling sessions, mostly introducing new couples to different contraceptive methods (basically, a UK style PSHE/ RS GCSE lesson. You know the ones.) and was surprised by how little most people knew about the various methods (since in the UK we learn about these things in detail before we're 16!).

I was, however, truly impressed by the support the staff give to their patients. They encourage couples to discuss the best options and there are motivational posters everywhere. 

My personal favourites from the “10 Ways To Talk To Her About Family Planning” poster were:

2) Talk to her after a bowl of fufu

5) Sing to her

7) Give her a piece of cloth, then talk to her.

NB. 

For men who choose option 7, I highly recommend Kente cloth. Always a winner.  

Dear Diary... (day 7)

What a week.

Admittedly, I found the first few days tough. The heat, as I've said a thousand times, is exhausting, but the shops don't seem so far away any more and I’m actually sleeping all the way through the night (yes, I know, I sound like a baby…).  The meals no longer lead to cramping (initially, my tummy found it difficult to adjust to multiple palm oil based meals) and even the early mornings heralded by our cockerel don’t seem as bad.

I’ve enjoyed being reunited with my cousins, travelling independently (esp. my visit to Kokrobite to see Oskar) and making new friends (everyone seems to know there’s a Londoner in Dansoman). The people are just brilliant (full of life, eager to please and incredibly hard-working) and it’s great being so close to the sea (I also really can’t complain about the weather).

From gutter skipping (I'm a total pro) to sipping on "minerals" (Ghanaian term for bottled soft drinks), riding on tro tros (ok, just the two are mentioned in Day 6) and attending a Sunday church service (it was really long- there were more than 1000 people present and each reading was read, first in English and then in Ga.), it's been a fantastic start.

Tomorrow, I start my placement at Korle Bu Teaching Hospital- I’m sure I’ll have stories to tell.

Day 6: Dear TfL...

Dear TfL,

All aboard

Having experienced the public transport in Ghana first hand, I have come to the conclusion that a lot can be done to improve the service of buses in London while also reducing the cost of the current fares.

Who needs internal heating when you can sit next to three other people in a row made for two? And trying to read the destination on the front of the bus can be such a strain on the eyes- a conductor who screams the destination at the top of his voice every 15 seconds would make the perfect substitute. In the interests of global warming, and road traffic in general, I would also like to recommend smaller, more compact buses with extra seating, delivering more people to their destinations more efficiently. And finally, I would like to promote the use of on-board radios to put people in a good mood and encourage sing-a-longs.

I hope you will take all my suggestions into consideration.

Yours sincerely,

A Londoner who has been changed by Ghana

------------

I will never be ungrateful for the buses in London ever again.

------------

In Accra, if you don’t have a car or a bike, there are only two ways to get around: by taxi or by tro tro (pronounced tror-tror).

Tro tros are minivans with extra seats to maximise seating capacity. They’re notorious for being over-crowded and smelly but like the buses in London, they’re a cheap and convenient way of getting around.

So today, I got on two tro tros, just to bring you this post.

From top left, clockwise: a rusty tro tro leaving Tema Station, the seat in front of me on the second tro tro, a young girl selling water to passengers while they wait, three rows of passengers in front of me.

The destination of the first tro tro we boarded was Tema (pronounced teh-mah) Station (an incredibly busy bus station with hundreds of stalls selling everything from food to clothes to souvenirs for tourists). Luckily, the tro tro was brand new so the seats were comfy and the engine ran smoothly. However, I was still pretty overwhelmed by the number of seats inside: “they attach an extra seat to the end of each row so they can fit as many people as possible into each tro tro”. 

A man (our bus conductor) collects the fare from new passengers (anything from 40 pesewas to 1 cedi, depending on the distance travelled) and, whilst the tro tro moves through traffic, leans out of the window yelling the name of the final destination to potential passengers. After the initial shock of just how cramped the vehicle was, the ride became quite pleasant (I even made a friend). But this was short lived as we soon arrived at Tema Station. 

The second tro tro we boarded was more like the tro tros I’d heard of. Old and rusty, with seats that had lost their padding and an engine that sounded like an old man coughing. It was the kind of vehicle that MOTs were made for. Eighteen of us squeezed into the grotty bus before the driver, and finally, the conductor came aboard. And away we went. Cramped, smelly and incredibly bumpy, it was a ride I'll never forget. 

But who needs a tro tro when there are taxi drivers like my new best friend, Appiah.

Appiah to the rescue!

Day 5: Toto, we're not in Europe anymore...

Truck delivering JET Dishwasher Powder. The slogan reads "etwa bibiaa neat"
which translates (loosely) to "It washes brilliantly".

FAN ICE- better than Ben&Jerry's, no lie.
(One costs just 50 Pesawas = about 20 British pence!)

As a rule, I try to drink as many litres of Ice Tea as physically possible when I’m on holiday somewhere hot. So I was pretty disappointed to learn that Lipton Ice Tea isn’t as readily available as I had hoped. 

So today’s entry is all about brands.

Unfamiliar brands- Nido, Ideal, even one called PEAK...

The stall in this picture is just a few doors down from our house- perfect when we’re in need of a mid-afternoon snack.

You won’t find Nestle Carnation Milk here; instead, why not try Ideal Milk? Need some Cadbury cocoa powder for a cake? Brown Gold cocoa powder is the perfect substitute. Or perhaps you just want an ice cream? Forget the 99p flake, it’s all about Fan Ice (no ice-cream vans here, just men with carts and cooler boxes).

Ads painted on to the sides of two kiosks.
Airtel, a mobile phone network.
Star, a popular beer.

Advertising is also pretty different here too. No need to waste wall space, it's the perfect canvas to advertise the nation’s favourite products.

Spot the clown!
Ashfoam, the Ghanaian version of Tempur Mattress.

You know, blogging is thirsty work.

One bottle of Volvic please!

Oh sorry.

I mean Voltic…

Day 4: Monday's Child...

Today, I went to Korle Bu Hospital to sort out the final bits for my placement starting next week (work shadowing in Obstetrics & Gynaecology and Cardiology—excited!). Consequently, I don’t really have anything exciting to report today. But I promise that you’ll love tomorrow’s post!

So until then, here’s a little lesson in...

-- Day Names --

Monday's child is fair of face, 

Tuesday's child is full of grace, 

Wednesday's child is full of woe, 

Thursday's child has far to go, 

Friday's child is loving and giving, 

Saturday's child works hard for a living, 

But the child who is born on the Sabbath Day

Is bonny and blithe and good and gay.

Most people know the version of the nursery rhyme above, but in Ghana, children are often called by their Day Name- a name that depends on the day of the week on which a child is born.

	GIRLS	BOYS
MONDAY	Adjoa (pronounced AH-joa)	Kojo (koh-JO)
TUESDAY	Abena (ah-beh-nah)	Kwabena (Kwah-beh-nah)
WEDNESDAY	Akua (ay-KWI-ah)	Kweku (Kway-ku)
THURSDAY	Yaa (Yaa)	Yaw (Yow)
FRIDAY	Afia (AY-fia)	Kofi (koh-fi)
SATURDAY	Ama (ah-ma)	Kwame (Kwar-mi)
SUNDAY	Akosua (ah-KOH-sia)	Kwesi (Kway-si)

A child’s day name doesn’t necessarily replace their given name- it’s usually just used in the home. There are also several alternative day names depending on the part of Ghana you're from- these are just the most common ones. There are even names given to children depending on whether they are the first son, or the oldest daughter, or the second sister. But that’s for another day. 

Day 3: Seventeen, 18, Nineteen

Today, one of my cousins came home from university for her reading week and since she arrived this morning it’s been non-stop laughter. So it makes perfect sense to introduce you to two very special ladies…

 My mum is one of five children; the second child and the oldest girl. The middle child, her second brother, is the father of two of my cousins- Molly and Rashmi.

Molly

Molly, the first daughter, is 19 and in London would be considered “in my year”. Unlike me, Molly went straight to uni and is currently reading Computer Science BSc at KNUST (Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology). Like me, however, she’s a fan of the Twilight Saga and attached to her laptop like a baby to it’s blanket.

Rashmi is 17 and in her penultimate year at Sacred Heart Senior High School learning about catering. She’s in love with her pet dog, Humble, who likes to growl and bear his teeth at me whenever I walk past.

Rashmi

I have never felt separated from my cousins though we are thousands of miles apart (although Molly is a classic tomboy- in this sense, we are polar opposites). Coming to Ghana this year hasn’t felt like an eleven year catch up (the last time I was here I was 7 years old) nor does it feel like we have to adjust a phrase or a sentence in order to share a joke or understand a story. Banter flows seamlessly between English and Gha, the taunting and teasing is endless and there’s no need to find middle ground when there’s so much common ground (mostly boys, clothes, makeup, guys, American sitcoms, shoes, men…)

18, 19, 17

Oh come on, we’re 17, 18 and 19 years old-

What did you expect?