Tamale, Northern Ghana

Seems like a long time ago.....

Am dashing this off before opening my emails just to make sure something gets done. Have spent the last three days forlornly haunting the three internet cafes in Bolgatanga in the far North in the hope that some of them might reconnect to their servers after the last lot of stormy weather put out all electricity. It all takes time...

Am still very much in rude health and spirits. Nothing seems to get me down, despite the fact that I had a spell of Heatstroke once again. The trip in a ferry up the Volta Lake was a real highlight. Left 3 pm and arrived the next evening @ 10.30 pm. Only problem was that I had become used to the subtropics, and had reduced my water intake accordingly. The gradual travel into the savannah/sahel caught me by surprise. It is currrently incredibly beautiful and I feel so priviledged to be able to have seen it at this time of year. Only a few weeks ago it was a dustbowl of grey/brown and now it is incredibly green with the maize, millet and rice sprouting and growing at a pace. They say it will be brown again within two months. After the ferry I travelled with a lovely American girl and two boys from the family in a coastal village where she is staying. The boys were very lucky to have such an adventure! We went Northwards to a village where there is a 'witches' camp' (the local chief has kindly taken on the women banned from their villages by their families -- currently about 150), which was an interesting experience, as witches are very much a taboo subject. My prejudices against do-gooders really comes out here when one hears of how the feminists in the 1970s tried to say they were 'prisoners' and got them sent back. They just returned minus an ear and warnings that the next ear will disappear if they returned..... Kim asked one if they believed in witches, and she said yes. At least in the village they are safe and make a living through selling wood or doing farming for others. This time of year is a very busy farming time and even the usual busstling markets do not open until much later in the afternoon.

Kim and the boys returned South and I languished for a few days before going to Bolgatanga and yesterday, the Northeren border where the slave trade had its pinch-point in the 18th and 19th centuries. Very moving to see where they were kept until sold off to start the treck down South to the Slave-ships. The town, Paga, is also famous for its very tame revered/sacred crocodiles in two ponds. About 80 of them. They walk amongst the villagers....

Am off to the Eastern hills I missed by going by ferry.

Sunday and I am in the Volta River/Lake area

And this is just to say that I am tolally cross to put it mildly. All the work of two days on the computer to get up to date in Accra while I waited to get my VISA sorted (another disaster), was somehow lost. Hours of work! By this time I had trashed my notes and I have lost heart. So I am having a holiday from working on rubbish computers and putting up with electric storms ....

Well, I am allowed to feel depressed sometimes, aren't I? Mind you, only about the blog. Am having a fantastic time in a village and we have been dancing in the streets to celebrate the Black Stars' win over.......

Doing some editing of the blog

Yesterday's rains and storm and subsequent eletricity failure created a few dead ends and I lost a few items in 21 KILOS.

Optician -Ronald B.
After the eye problems I had last year, the optician was very supportive and I have ended up with numerous pairs of spectacles for all occasions. This in effect means that I get so confused and frustrated with all the pairs, that I end up not wearing any! But not being able to read means endlessly digging for reading glasses. And then the strong sunlight means I need to wear prescription sunglasses. If there it is anything I hate, it is people wearing these specs when they are addressing someone indoors. So I end up constantly apologising to people that I am wearing the specs for a reason. Signs of old age creeping in!!! But at least he gave me a couple of very good hard plastic spectacle cases which are ideal for sandy desert and rucsac conditions.

Paul F.
A loyal friend of Francis, Paul is a brilliant barber and I shall miss his cuts when my hair needs trimming. On the other hand, I have actually had it cut in a small village where the lack of sharp scissors did not stop the job from being as good as.....

Pete C.
Pete would not want to be called a son-in-law, but he has been a brilliant partner to Ingrid for at least 16 years. Quietly he gets on with things and one knows that his advice is sound. He was going to get me a sturdy small tent, but I then decided that it would be one weight too many. And this has been true. It is very seldom that a person travelling as I do with local transport, gets to a place where one cannot find shelter. It would have been different if I was in my own transport. His two pairs of thick socks, however, have been extremely useful in both the desert and the milder, wetter mountains. They keep the mosquitoes at bay and protect the feet in walking boots so that I just feel so safe wearing them.

Saori S.
Last year, when Saori returned from visiting her family a year after her uncle's death, where certain ceremonies had to be performed, she brought me a most delicately sculptured fan. I do not know whether the perforations have anything to do with it, but the air it creates seems to be much cooler than if I was to use a solid paper fan. There is something in this as the mottled shade from trees always seem cooler than that made by a solid roof. Movement of air, no doubt. The people in hot areas these days often use the fans 'invented' by some enterprising person which are now made in mass. Square pieces of woven plastic matting are nailed to a split-wood handle. Cheap and effective...... When I was in the Iron Ore train, I frightened a little boy by showing him the magic of my fan which so strangely opened. Other onlookers have all admired and wanted to try out this delicate but effective tool. In the melee of getting in and out of crowded taxis, one is most likely to forget or loose something and this is exactly what happened to my lovely fan. I hope someone in Burkino Faso has found it and treasures it...without breaking it first time because it's mechanism is so different from, to the locals, 'normal' fans

5 days spent with Margaret in Ghana

I joined Margaret on her Post-Conference Tour through the Southern parts of Ghana. 22-26 June.




The many Slave Castles which dot the Southern Coastline of Ghana reflect the very busy slave trade which followed the original Gold trade. The coast was known as the Gold Coast until independence in 1957. They are rather sad places to visit and they each have what is known as the 'Door of No Return'. Going through this door was their last step on African soil. Most of the sources of slaves were from the African tribes themselves who were frequently involved in tribal wars. Prisoners of War constituted the largest portion of slaves. Traders said; 'Wars make gold scarse but negroes plenty'.



Margaret overcame her great fear of heights by bravely facing and completing this canopy walk above the tree-tops!



The Canopy Walk in Kakum National Forest. One climbs through the canopy layers to the top. Great to look down! The forest is a wonderful tropical paradise, although there are not many animals below, but plenty of Birds and butterflies amongst the trees.




OK, so I did it as well! But just cavalier about the whole experience. The 'name tags' were to count us in and out.






Julie? Sorry I cannot remember the name of the delegate in our party with me. Our minivan is behind. We had two vehicles like that and I was so amazed to actually be in one which was not totally battered and where we all had our own seat and the passageway was not another set of seats and there was only a little luggage on the rooftop and the seatbelts worked and it was clean!!!!!! When we left the Conference Hotel on the beachfront, we suddenly realised that we had before us a policeman on a motorbike and a car flashing its lights. This was our non-stop escourt out of Accra! It was quite surreal to see the man on the motorbike wave at oncoming traffic or at cross roads to just stop or get out of our way. Many times we just went into the oncoming traffic lanes and everyone just scatterd. We probably saved more than two hours of being stuck in the rush-hour like this. Accra is a vast city and most of the roads are in a terrible state. But if they should ever repair them properly, just think of all the car-repair people who would be out of work! The other day I was in a taxi whick suddenly had a loose exhaust pipe. Terrible racket! We drove a few kilometers and the driver suddenly swerved into the shade of a tree where a man had his makeshift ramp and bottle of Oxygen.. We got out, the repair man brought our his Oxygen cylider and welded the exhaust and off we went.





Men are the traditional weavers of the Kente Cloth which is done in long intricate strips and then sewn together to make a traditiional toga. There are endless patterns, although they first have to be presented to the Ashanti King for his use or approval. But I am afraid it has become a bit like the Scottish Tartan business where virtually anybody can claim a design. And for the tourists they make little armbands or bookmarks with one's name on them.



Most of Africa is denuded of easily accessible edible animals, contrary to the attitude of most people who have never been there and expect a lion or snake around every corner. When I was young and people had pen-friends instead of email-buddies, some South African correspondents livened their letters by telling that lions were roaming in our streets. During the first months of my trip, mainly in the desert, sahel and now sub-tropical lushness, I have seen hardly anything apart from domestic animals. But what is really plentiful, is these salamanders and ordinary lizards. Margaret's photo shows one on a palm treetrunk. They are everywhere, making me think that they are not edible. Wrong! In the Dogon Country I was offered a stick holding about a dozen salamanders speared through their necks. It looked pretty as the colours are so spectacular, but I did not fancy them as a snack. Nor did I fancy the extremely (big as your fist) large land-snails we were being offered from large trays on the heads of sellers whenever the bus stopped. They had to be restrained every now and then when they tried to get off the tray. However, I liked their shells....




Margarert very kindly, and rightly, thought that I would like a bit of pampering. So we had a night in the best Hotel in Accra! I am always open to such presents..... The fact that the Queen stayed there, gave it that little bit extra kudos. This is me going off to cool in the pool and the next picture is me again, just to show you how I too, can indulge in doing nothing but read, drink and chat.




Did anybody say I was having a hard time?!!!!

Back in Accra where it is hot and humid

Not very pleasant and very frustrating as I am stuck in an expensive Hotel because I wanted to be near the DHL depot and there is a Bank where I can at last use an ATM machine (not easy to find and the first I have attempted to use as my hidden money is dwindling fast). The package is lovely and adds 3 kilos to the load... But the Bank has been a nightmare as none of the pin numbers I had for two VISA cards work. Long telephone conversations by Ingrid and myself with the Bank in the UK have finally made them understand my problem. Their security is so tight that I have had to stay two more nights to get things sorted. Hope to have money tomorrow and then return to the Eastern area and Lake Tonga.

As you can see, Margaret sent the photos, but, after editing, I cannot get rid of the original supply. One day I will understand this machine! Ditto for the double entry on Marg H, which I tried to get into correct alphabetical order. Ho Hum....

Compensations have been to see the football in my room or at roadside bars. A very good atmosphere in town.

Ghana is full of things to see and do. I spent a productive hour with someone in the Ghana Tourist Board (the previous visit to the Ministry was incredibly frustrating, but this lady was a joy to talk to and she voiced her despair at the attitude of the Ministry). It is really worth a visit, if anybody does not speak French and does not want a Gambia Beach Holiday and wishes to be reasonably close to the UK.

When I was in my village and doing the long walk to get to a computer, I managed to do quite a bit of the 21 Kilos saga. And then, as often happened, lightining struck and the village was powerless and everything lost!


..................................... 21 Kilos contd.......

Memhet A.
Mem. has been the backbone of the Guild of Registered Tourist Guides for a number of years. He has been a good friend and I am grateful to him for what he has done for the Guild. Typically, when I asked him for a letter, he did not hesitate to supply it. In it I am described as a Tourist Guide, doing research about Tourism opportunities in Africa. The letter elicites quite a bit of interest and can help in sticky situations. Trying to help so-called Guides to understand that guiding in not just pointing at something, has been interesting and generally revealing for these young men who think they can get away with it. But the Guide we had on our 4-day Tour here in Ghana was well-trained and made such a difference to one's appreciation of a place or history.

Milly C.
Mother of Jenny. She sent along a diaphenous scarf from Africa. It was going to be an easy item to set off whatever I was wearing. Except that I lost it on the 'plane to Agadir! I'd been wearing it....and it was a good lesson in being aware of one's possessions at all times. Milly will be in the UK in September and has agreed to take some of my clothes back to SA with her. What a joy!!

Mungovan Family.
On the 11th of June one remembered Francis and the Mungovans came to mind. The last photos of Francis were taken in their house whilst he and mates from their Primary School class watched the Cup-final together as they always did every year. Mother Mary is famous for giving anybody who steps into her house, incredible food and hospitality. She showed that same care when Dick was dying and Tom, Francis's friend, again read a lesson at Dicks funeral as he did for Francis. They all care for the grave where both are buried. Memories are good things to carry with one when travelling.

Nurse Astrid.
Astrid, my community nurse, thought I was very daring and wanted to make sure that I was prepared for all eventualities. She gave me many precious appointments over the months for me to have injections, innoculations and requisite doses of 'whatever' to protect me. Because she was so gentle and did not rush the appointments, I had no side-effects and she saved me lots of money! All free on the National Health Service. One can have injections etc. from private clinics, but they cost the earth. Nobody has yet asked me to produce the evidence....

Ramesh S.
The best Dentist in the world! And I speak from many years of experience in which I never had a comfortable mouth and endless Dentists did what they could. Being so forward-thinking, Ramesh decided to learn how to do tooth implants and I became his 'model'. At vast cost to me despite the 'wholesale' tag, I have had a new mouth of teeth and for the first time in my memory, I can honestly say that I never think of or feel my teeth bothering me. Such luxury! Even the toughest goat or camel meat is masticated on both sides. So I doubt that I will need the emergency dental kit he gave me, although the toiletries bag is being used all the time. I have perfected a way of getting a few items into the small rucsac and then to leave the big one somewhere so that I have not had to travel with the big bag on my back at all. The main toiletry items and medicines are safely left to languish as I think I will get to the antibiotics and other things when needed, even if a day later. Not good housekeeping, many will say, but Africa is full of things one can use and all this preparation has so far been just weight. Don't tell anyone though, because it will seem very irresponsible!

Ronnie L.
Years ago, when Ronnie and I were much in each other's company, he gave me a very colourful, thin cotton African cloth. For over 40 years this was used whenever I have been on holiday as a cover-all and I practiced to fold a 'turban' with it. We saw each other regularly over the years and his humour was always there. When I last saw him in Cape Town about three years ago, he introduced me to the attendant at the indoor swimming baths we went to for a swim; 'You'll never think that we were lovers 40 years ago'. Last year Ronnie was stabbed in his flat, the telephone cables severed and he was left to bleed to death. My cloth disappeared one day in a taxi....

Sally O.
A gift of Dental Floss in a sturdy, round container. Such a practical item! Ramesh will be pleased and the various uses it can be put to, are endless. I started stringing moments of my trip on a piece of floss, but they soon became too bulky and people stared and did not understand that that shell or seed or beer-bottle top or piece of ticket all had a special meaning for me to remind me of an incident or place passed. So now I mainly use it for what it was intended. I watched a woman string a set of beads for which Ghana is famous. The technique of using a piece of string like the dental floss with which to string them, in so simple but so ingenious. The actual thick string of cord which one sees, seems impossible to get through the bead's hole. However, to get the beads threaded, she doubles up these many threads over a length of dental floss-like string and this, thinner two-sided piece is licked and pushed into the hole. The rest can then follow through.

Sec D.
My 'minder' when I was in Mopti, Sec became a devoted fan of 'guiding' properly and was always asking me to help him improve his knowledge. He gave me a typical, soft cottton Dogon hat. He is Dogon himself and really understood the people, but just needed to know how to share his knowledge with visitors. When I left, he gave me a small necklace which is so 'unbreakable' that it has been around my neck ever since.

Dr S.
Anne's friend-in -crime...to defraud the NHS of items I will need over the next two years. But as I am not there to waste their appointment time, doctors are actually being saved money. Dr. S. prescribed antibiotics and various other medicaments which could be useful. I am happy to let Africa heal and just hope that I will never need any of those items. A good insurancce though! In the desert the temperatures were consistently above the maximum 25 degrees recommended for their storage. I consulted a Pharmacist and he said that, as long as they were not in direct heat and in the middle of my rucsac, which they were, then they will probably still be OK for use. Otherwise it is back to the old African medicine man. Or the many and varied potions, lotions and pills being sold all over the place. When one gets into a taxi minibus, one often has to wait hours for it to get full (and you dare not vacate your seat in the mean time!). In steps a man who then begins to tell you stories from the bible, wants to sell you toothpaste with a free toothbrush, educational toys for the kids or, more often than not, various of these miraculous cures. The patter goes on for ages with much banter and interaction, but suddenly, when the bus is full, hands wave grubby notes all over the place in exchange for booklets, packets of powders or pills that are eagerly put away for that rainy day. Sometimes, I assume, he must pay for the privilege to stand in a small, cramped space in front of the bus while the overstuffed vehicle bounces about. These selling techniques are so very African, and I love them! Just wish I could translate what is so eloquently, and persuasively, being said! The other place for medicine is of course in the market itself where there are areas devoted to herbs and barks and unmentionables. I describe the calabash 'washer' elsewhere.

Sikkim Man.
--for lack of a name. In the foothills of the Himalayas, close to the home of the Dalai Lama, I befriended a gentle man from Sikkim who sewed tourist bags for the Tibetan Monks. I stayed in their Monastery and it is the first time I have ever left an abode after one night because of the filth---- not what I expected from Monks! Anyway, this gentle soul took me to his home where he sewed me a white, unbleached cotton top in no time. It still washes well and looks reasonably acceptable. But I remember his home: A tiny shack as large as a single bed amongst the stones and trees on the side of the hill. In it he lived with his wife, sewing machine and 16 chickens.

Stanfords.
Where I bought my road atlas but where dreams are dreamt and one can read of others' dreams come true. I became a regular visitor there during the last year and always left inspired by just what mankind is all about and can achieve. No other bookshop reflects our physical world and man's achievements against all odds, so well. Long may it survive!

Teresia T.
Teresia is a client/friend who teaches Spanish in the USA. She was working in London with her students for a semester and, before leaving, came to give me a lovely little steel flask and one of those incredible 'towels' that dry instantly and absorb a lot. I used them both during my winter holiday when travelling on European trains, and you can imagine how good it was to have a warm flask in all the snow... But such things as flasks are weighty and it has had to be left in London for other adventures. Ditto for the towel which I decided I will not really need.

TNT.
The weekly 'bible' of the travelling, backpacking hords in London, TNT Magazine has an annual 'open day' where people can go to get information from all the advertisers and sellers of dreams. I popped in just before I left and picked up lots of information about places to visit and things to do, although I was not going to support any of these dream-sellers. However, I did submit and join a backpackers Club which has discounts and hostels in some remote parts. And they were giving away free packs of cards. I took two and the cards have been a great source of time-wasting and pleasure. Sadly, no nomads can play bridge and some of their games are decidedly complicated with rules which seem to change every time another person is winning....In Ouagadougou I met some members of a trans-Africa truck party. They had taken some time off to do their own thing, but one suspects there were tensions and when 24 people are crammed into one vehicle for months on end, that is inevitable. These trips seem so romantic, but they had to endure three days of digging their truck out of the desert sand with dwindling food and water reserves and working in relay shifts day and night. I, on the other hand, enjoy the frequent breakdowns that the taxis are subject to. I do not need to worry and just enjoy getting out and seeing where we are, what the vegetation is like or just stretching the body horisontally and going to sleep on the sand. And odd encounters with the locals can be enlightening.

Tom E.
Who has survived more travel and life experiences in his short life than anybody I know. When he was last in London, he left his mosquito net and unbeknown to him, mother Ann has given it to me. It has already been used often in places where little flying insects make one's life a misery. The only problem is that, when you are sleeping under the stars, and there are no trees around, the stars are too far away to use as hooks. So the whole edifice collapses onto the sweating body. But it is a life-saver....

Van Eck Z.
Son of friends and a talented young man brought up on a farm, who gave me extremely good advice based on his extensive experiences of travelling through Africa. But his nimble hands also made me the delicate leather bracelet I wear. Inside this innocent-looking adornment, is enough space for a US dollar note 'in case of emergencies'. There is no need to look for trouble and I am getting more and more ready to just ignore those countries where we are told not to go. They might be interesting, but I really do not want hassles with people or places where one's comfort is threatened.

Vi and Pat G.
Near-neighbours in my block of flats, they have saved many a situation because they hold a spare key to my flat. Sadly, I am a bit haphazard about making arrangements and often strange people land on their doorstop and ask for the key to my flat. They are canny enough by now to recognise who are likely to be my friends and to give them the key. On one memorable occasion, when they did not have a key, a friend arrived. She is older than me and this was not so very long ago. Vi helped her to climb through my very small front window which was open. Now Vi and I refer to my friend as the burglar. Once, Vi bought herself a skirt and then decided that it was too long and gave it to me. I have been wearing it constantly during this trip. In the Niger, when I was swimming fully clothed every few minutes to cool down, the skirt was sorely tested by the strong currents and many of the row of buttons were wrenched off the cotton cloth. Too late did I see what the damage was. It is too handy a skirt though to throw away, so in Lome, I went to one of those little shacks where someone is using a sewing machine to do amazing works and embroideries. The gentleman sewed up the button-down area and made it look like new. He also turned the bright blue piece of Tuareg Turban into a simple blue dress. I just said; 'fold it in two and cut a neck'. The next day a perfectly wearable dress awaited me for the cost of a coke.

Vinca and Zain.
An inspiring couple who travelled the Sahara in an ordinary car. They have been a font of knowledge and good advice and I am enjoying recognising the things of which they spoke. The books they lent me helped a lot and although I declined the loan of a water filter because of weight, their advice and experience stay with me. I have actually been able to drink most supplies of water and when in doubt, there is always bottled water to be had. Most locals buy plastic square containers of about quarter of a litre off someone's head. I refer to the sellers who balance everything on their heads. These are moderately cold and one just bites off a corner and sucks the water out. The only problem is that the plastic is more durable than the little thin bags used for all other things (in Togo, a much less sophisticated country than Ghana, there is a good trade in water in thin plastic containers). This means that the pollution from plastic squares is much worse than from the thin waterbags. I love watching people collect water from wells. Each family has its own bucket, usually made from old inner tube tyres, with a long rope attached. So there is nothing to stop one from dropping it all in the deep well. Should this occur though, you have to go home to collect your hook, which is a metal hook with another long rope attached, with which you pluck out the bucket. Sadl, I strained my back when living in the mountain area of Togo. There was a rainwater butt next to my front door with a broad lip to conserve the water from evaporation. Women from neighbouring houses would come to collect this 'free' water for washing. A large metal basin would be filled from plastic buckets and then placed on the head. Somebody else would then get another bucketful of water to add to the already heavy load on her head. I offered to do the latter once and found that it was incredibly heavy and hard to get out the water and then to lift it and pour it into the metal basin on the woman's head. So much for being fit!. Now I am very lazy with my back and avoid all strain.




William G.
William was a neighbour and old soldier with no near-relatives and I became a friend. As his Executor, I helped myself to whatever furniture I wanted. Clearing out his flat was a mammoth task, but there were all kinds of handy tools and other items. Masses of unused packets of razors for those vital under-arm jobs and leg beautifiers means that I still have one of his with me, as well as a metal nailfile of the kind one does not buy these days. Margaret gave me the most amazing glass nailfile which is ever-lasting and now happily occupies space in my purse. Whatever will people think of next?!

WWWWW
Known as 5W, this organisation is for women from all over the world who may wish to visit and learn from others. I travel with their address list of the many African Members whom I look forward to meeting. One can learn so much more from living with a local inhabitant. In my village in the Eastern Region of Ghana, where I stayed and will return, I could watch the ladies of the compound prepare their food. The cutting and grinding and pounding... The way a litle fire can be lit with a flaming piece of plastic bag and a few very carefully placed twigs over that and on the charcoal, was a lesson! The African is the world's best conserver of energy and recyling. Their ingenuity is amazing and nothing is wasted which cannot be reused in some way or other. And if you want to know what 5W stands for: Women Welcome Women World Wide.

This is the end of my list of contents of my rucsac. My luggage made light. As I move about, the weight and contents might change, but thoughts of the people who have all made it possible, will remain. I will embrace the world as I always do and adjust accordingly.


.........................................................FIN......................................................

In the 'mountains' North-East of Accra

If all goes to plan there will soon be a picture on the start of this Blog. And even photos!


If these gentle rolling hills with their cover of forest can be called mountains....

But the air is fresh and the humidity not so fresh.

Have been in a village for the last week, living in an empty house which belongs to an uncle of the people in the compound i.e. a group of square buildings around a concreted space where extended families live together.

Life can be full of coincidences and this one was quite remarkable. I had decided to go to the 'mountains' to do some walking. Early in the morning, I dropped my large bag off in an Hotel I intended to use when I returned to Accra. Then the walk with small rucsac to the bus-station about a mile away. A roadside stall caught my attention and I decided to have a coffee. A few minutes delay like this meant that, as I came around a corner, I 'bumped' into Gladys, who was going in the same direction. We chatted as we walked and by the time I was near her office near the busses, she had set me up in her village, where I have been staying and getting involved with the local school (two days' 'teaching') and spent a day 1 1/2 hours' walk away to do weeding in the family 'farm'. I was proud of myself on the return from the farm: walking behind my hostess who was carrying a large bag of kasawa, which I recon weighed at least 35lb, on her head, I decided to try and carry my modest load of waterbottle and large bundle of leaves (to be our supper) on my head. And I managed! For about 4 miles! Lucy Clayton could have saved her girls a lot of trouble if only she had put those books on a small roll of cloth. And for those of you who have no idea what I am talking about, you are too young to remember the days when one was a debutante and was sent to the Lucy Clayton School of Deportment to learn how to walk with a book balanced on your head.

Everyone in the village seems to know me by now and I am constantly greeted with 'mama Hilda'. I had my hair trimmed and the owner of the roadside salon (a small wooden shack) and her 5 assistants had a field day. African hairstyles are elaborate and take time, hence the large number of assistants who would normally crowd around a client and either plait of undo plaits.
They were very jealous of the ease of cutting my hair. Whilst the very blunt scissors snipped away and I dreaded the outcome, when the job was done, it could not have been done better in a London Salon! And for the equivalent of just over a pound ($2)!

I bought my hostess a chopping board. That sounds simple enough, as she had said she could not afford one when I queried the way she wrapped a piece of plastic around her finger when finely cutting ocra. Opposite the hairdressing salon is an open-air carpenter's stall. I went over and asked the man making a chest-of-drawers, if I could have a piece of wood from his pile of off-cuts. I chose a piece of mahogany and asked him to trim and sand it into a square shape. An hour later I was presented with the most perfect chopping board anyone could ever wish for! The cost? Less than a pound...

The village where I am typing from (an hour's hard walk up and down hills) has a College with internet facilities, so this means I have had news! My fish-research supplies have arrived and I will have to return to collect them before proceeding with the planned tour of Ghana.

The latter is such a peaceful and relaxed country, that it is a joy to be here and actually speak English.

The list of my rucsac contents has become a burden, so I hope to do most of it now. If anybody has kept up with it, you may be rewarded: Apart from items like a camera, binoculars and umbrella, which I do not carry with me, to test if anybody has actually been reading 21 Kilos, I've decided to reward observant readers with a signed postcard from me. (ha ha) All you have to do is let me know via my email address which item most people would pack in their bags and which I have not included in mine. Yes, I do have a small comb and a grubby facecloth which I have not mentioned.


....................................................... 21 KILOS continued.....................


Judi S.
Judi, a 5W member from Australia, was booked to stay2/3 nights. She arrived the day after Francis's funeral (yes, he died exactly 3 years ago this Sunday) and as I was leaving soon to take up the Turkish holiday Francis and I had been booked for. I said she could stay in my vacant room and have a break from her very busy 'round the world' travels. And one soon realises how good it is to have such a break, says I, now that I am doing the same thing... When Judi left, she gave me her sandals. They are sturdy and cool and were the ideal companion for rough travel and keeping my feet safe in muddy waters until I had worn them out by the time I reached Togo and they threatened to disintegrate. They could no doubt tell stories.

Judy B. MD
My patient doctorwho acquiesces to my demands! I have wanted prescriptions for very much longer than the NHS normallly supplies, but she has graciously encouraged me. She has supplied me with a letter explaining my need for the items I carry so that unwanted probing can be prevented.. I doubt now, after nearly 3 months, whether I will ever encounter such demands. My trip is not set out to be dangerous.

Karin G.
When, during the last days of getting ready, I mentioned that my existing bumbag is tatty, Karin instantly produced a bag which has been glued to my bum ever since. It holds my purse and reading glasses as well as the toothpicks, nailclippers, knife, toothstick, comb and small mirrror that seem essential. The lipstick has long since been relegated to another, unused space. This invention of the 1980s (or is it earlier?), so very unflattering, is extremely handy and really does leave one's hands free to carry other things. And security is marginally better than a loose handbag.

Kat M.
Advice from the expert female traveller in Africa, has inspired me. My admiration is unbounded. Two of her security ideas she suggested are just brilliant, but of necessity, have to remain 'secret'. She has also emailed me on the safety and political state of areas I want to visit and I respect her advice.

Linda I.
I arrived in Seattle to stay with Linda on about the last flight on 10th Sept. 2001. The next morning and for a few days afterwards, the skies were clear of aeroplanes and we could go fishing on the lake and enjoy the most quiet of days. When out walking, she lent me her jacket. This item unexpectedly appeared through the post two years ago ('I thought it suited you', she wrote) and had been a constant companion thereafter. I called it my '9/11 jacket'. After arriving in the warmth of Mauritania, I very reluctantly decided that it would be silly to carry the weight of a jacket for so many months before I ever needed it again. I gave it to one of the young men in the house I was staying in. He was thrilled and looked very good in it. I told him the provenance and asked him to remember it that way. The Arabs have had a rough deal out of those events of 9/11. But thinking of the clear skies, there was a TV programme on global warming which illustrated the damage air traffic is causing. However, a scientist in Canada had been studying the effect of vapour trails on the earth's surface temperature. In Northern America, during the three days of no flights, the mean temperature over those parts rose by one degree. That means that, were it not for the artificial cloud the aeroplanes create (called global dimming), the world's temperature would be much higher and the greenhouse effect much worse. So keep on flying folks!!! I humbly say I am doing my bit against the effects of out industrialised society, by travelling on the ground. Bunkum. All I am achieving is getting the money spent locally.

Maggie G.
A warning I did not head! Maggie had just been to Agadir and warned me of the fish restaurants. I succumbed to their ruse, but, unlike tourists who might move on, I returned the next day and used a bit of 'I will write about it' threat to get them to agree that I might have been unfairly billed. Endless cups of mint tea and a fish meal came forth as they said it would not happen again. That I completely doubt. Being in a strange country with limited time and unknown money and customs, the seller to the tourist knows how to use this awareness to the full. And I walked the streets of Accra after our excellent conducted tour and compared the prices of the same things being sold away from the tourists. You can guess...


Marg H.
Through the post from South Africa arrived a book she had mentioned. The title of the book is well justified; 'Just Add Dust'. Friends of Marge had crossed Africa by Land Rover from Cape Town to Cairo. I left the book behind. It was an exciting read and full of practical advice, although I try not to have 'Ice-cold in Alex' yearnings. For me the occasional ice-cold coca cola is happiness. Which reminds me of a recent visit to the Chief of the local village in which I have been staying. Every village in this area has a chief who has a palace in town. Some of them are woefully neglected and in need of major repairs while others are reasonably substantial. Ours is of the latter category. Inside is a courtyard with covered sides in case of rain and a podium for the Chief's chair. Outside is another podium and a large open area for audiences and festivals/celebrations. Aross the road is a tree with two enclosed spaces for sacrifices. I do not know the name of the tree species, but it is the one always used for special ceremonies and ritual sacrifices by traditional spiritual leaders or just ordinary folks wanting to pour a white libation on the tree/sacred stone. My young minder, who wanted me to meet the king, as he called the chief, arranged for us to go to the monthly meeting with his elders when the chief listens and arbitrates. One has to buy a bottle of schnapps (including the tip to the procurer of this 'libation', it cost me nearly 7 pounds) which is then presented to the chief. I recon he received at least 8 such bottles that morning. When one is presented, one walks past all the elders sitting on low stools in their traditional togas over ordinary shorts and shakes the hand. Then a small bow to the chief and shaking of the hand which sports an enormous gold ring. The chief sits on his imposing chair on a heap of animal skins on a square stepped podium. He is of course large and fat, which is a sign of wealth and prestige (I was amused today on TV to see the owner of a prosperous brothel and all his women and their clients being herded by the police---the owner was enormous!). But this one had problems with his rather decorative sandals; his feet were bare as the sandals were discarded next to them. Not very dignified, I thought. Anyway, the deliberations went on and I was given permission to teach in any school in the village. My name and 'from London' was written in his large book on his lap and I was dismissed. My reward was a drink of palm wine from a gourd while everyone was keeping an eye on my reaction. Various petitioners were listened to and decisions made. The agent for a widow managed to get her payment to have her husband buried in the traditional way after a Christian funeral, down to 500,000 from 800,000 if it included a sheep for sacrifice and a crate of coca cola. Five men wanted to clear virgin forest and wanted the chief to divide the land. He was initially paid a lot in schnapps and money before the deliberations, so I assume it was better for the chief to say that he would go with the surveyor himself rather than go to the civil courts. Their final payment was very high but also included a crate each of coke, Guinness and a local beer. My heart bled at the thought of yet more forest being denuded. So the morning went on... When it was all finished, the widow's crate of warm coca cola (outside was 35 degrees C) arrived and the elders all immediately tucked in---no doubt a bit of schnapps was added. I cannot imagine anything worse than warm coke! But it also reminded me of the importance coke has taken on. A few years ago, when a friend's daughter was celebrating her puberty in a traditional way in South Africa, the witchdoctor, dressed to the nines in traditional clothes, arrived and, to welcome her into the festivities, she was given two large bottles of coca cola to smash on a stone. Well, we smash a bottle of champagne on a boat.... What's new?!

Margaret and Ronald.
During the last week in the hills in a small Ghanaian village, I happened to put on the TV in my house to be confronted by pictures of Margaret and her colleagues who recently attended the Conference on Pan-African Literature. It was for the post-conference tour for which I joined Margaret. Not the first time either. Her conferences are in conveniently exotic places and as she travels from South Africa, I try to join her when I can. Our friendship goes back to University days in the late 1950s. M. is an excellent listener and it was the greatest pleasure to just talk in English non-stop for 5 days!
In the early 1960s, M. and I were travelling in Morocco and I bought a tooth stick, which fascinated me as an item with which to clean one's teeth. It has languished in my various bathrooms ever since, but this time I decided to take it back to its home. I do use it occasionally and look knowingly at all the people one often sees with a stick in their hands. One of my minders actually showed me the plant from which it is taken. The end of the dense fibrous stem is ideal to get into those small spaces any toothbrush does.
Once, after a visit to London, M. and Ronald gave me a pen. Little did they realise that it would not improve my handwriting! Sadly, I brought the wrong refills with me and it seems impossible to get them even in a sophisticated city like Accra. At least in Accra one can find such things as bookshops, which have been sorely lacking, even in the large French-speaking towns. I remember in Nouakchott being very pleased when told about an American woman who had a library/bookshop in one of the suburbs. It took quite an effort to locate the place, but the joy of being able to do some swaps from the secondhand shelves, was tremendous. Africans are not inate book-readers, and if you do see someone with a book in his or her hand, it is invariably a Bible or religious book. So the Conference and subsequent publicity on TV for nearly a week must have done some good for creating awareness of African writers and their books.
On another occasion, we were holidaying in the apartment of a friend of theirs in Provence. The French markets are such a delight and I bought some bars of lavender soap. One of these ended up in the bottom of a drawer and was resurrected for this trip. I was reminded of this holiday we had taken together at the time of the eclipse in March. Ronald, who does not like to be ordered about by anybody, was summarily told by me to come upstairs onto the roof. He complied and we watched Hale Bop fly its tale through the air.
After her recent visit to Ghana, Margaret left me with a host of things and memories. She had brought along the most amazing glass nail file. Just the thing as it lasts forever! No more need to find emery boards. I even ended up with her precious sandals! The airline teaspoon has been very handy as I still enjoy the end-of-season avocado pears and it replaced the spoon Francis used for camping which I gave to one of my minders. Little items like toothpicks, tea, coffee, and washing powder were all very welcome and of course the great supply of books to keep me going for a while, are all greatly appreciated. Best of all though, was the present of a night in the most luxurious Hotel in Accra (OK the Queen slept there if you must know). Hot water baths with bubbles, soft white towels, air-conditioning, TV, writing paper and envelopes, reading lights by the bed..... and a bottle of brandy she had wisely brought along. The following day we spent by the poolside. Yes, I can also enjoy the luxuries of life....

Mark K.
A total stranger who came to spend a Sunday with me and tell me all about travelling through Africa. He had done it by motorbike! This was at the time when I was still planning to travel by Land Rover and we were inevitably having to go through the Eastern countries. He was so very encouraging and, when he left, he gave me the book I use all the time; 'Africa by road'. I have cut out the bits that refer to fixing a gearbox and such-like things, but the rest of the information is jolly useful and it helps to know whether a visa is needed or where to get somewhere to sleep. Mark said that the only time he felt aprehensive or in fear of his posessions being stolen, was when he finally reached South Africa. It really puts Africa in perspective when I think of how fortunate and at ease I have felt these last few months.

Mary S.
A friend whose ever-present and unfailing good humour, support and friendship through her and my ups and downs has been constant for nearly 30 years. However, she is not practical in her gifts -- a pashmina to help me look respectable is not enough when there are no other smart things to go beneath it..... and a small home-made sachet (?) of lavender (and I cannot even spell that word--don't give me presents I cannot spell, Mary!) to put on my pillow, or whatever the fates throw at one in strange places, at night is just not good enough. It should have been HUGE! Then I would not have lost it in the mists of time...... But the smells of lavender and friendship linger.... And every now and then I get an email demanding where on earth I am now.... Don't worry Mary, I am in Africa. I shall be missing her daughter's wedding in December (the invitation can be sent Poste Restante, Africa, so no excuses for saving on postage stamps), but she is planning to escape the post-wedding blues and to join me in South Africa in January. Life will not be the same again....

Marg H.
Through the post from South Africa arrived a book she had mentioned. The title of the book is well justified; 'Just Add Dust'. Friends of Marge had crossed Africa by Land Rover from Cape Town to Cairo. I left the book behind. It was an exciting read and full of practical advice, although I try not to have 'Ice-cold in Alex' yearnings. For me the occasional ice-cold coca cola is happiness. Which reminds me of a recent visit to the Chief of the local village in which I have been staying. Every village in this area has a chief who has a palace in town. Some of them are woefully neglected and in need of major repairs while others are reasonably substantial. Ours is of the latter category. Inside is a courtyard with covered sides in case of rain and a podium for the Chief's chair. Outside is another podium and a large open area for audiences and festivals/celebrations. Aross the road is a tree with two enclosed spaces for sacrifices. I do not know the name of the tree species, but it is the one always used for special ceremonies and ritual sacrifices by traditional spiritual leaders or just ordinary folks wanting to pour a white libation on the tree/sacred stone. My young minder, who wanted me to meet the king, as he called the chief, arranged for us to go to the monthly meeting with his elders when the chief listens and arbitrates. One has to buy a bottle of schnapps (including the tip to the procurer of this 'libation', it cost me nearly 7 pounds) which is then presented to the chief. I recon he received at least 8 such bottles that morning. When one is presented, one walks past all the elders sitting on low stools in their traditional togas over ordinary shorts and shakes the hand. Then a small bow to the chief and shaking of the hand which sports an enormous gold ring. The chief sits on his imposing chair on a heap of animal skins on a square stepped podium. He is of course large and fat, which is a sign of wealth and prestige (I was amused today on TV to see the owner of a prosperous brothel and all his women and their clients being herded by the police---the owner was enormous!) But this one had problems with his rather decorative sandals; his feet were bare as the sandals were discarded next to them. Not very dignified, I thought. Anyway, the deliberations went on and I was given permission to teach in any school in the village. My name and 'from London' was written in his large book on his lap and I was dismissed. Various petitioners were listened to and decisions made. The agent for a widow managed to get her payment to have her husband buried in the traditional way after a Christian funeral, down to 500,000 from 800,000 if it included a sheep for sacrifice and a crate of coca cola. Five men wanted to clear virgin forest and wanted the chief to divide the land. He was initially paid a lot in schnapps and money before the deliberations, so I assume it was better for the chief to say that he would go with the surveyor himself rather than go to the civil courts. Their final payment was very high but also included a crate each of coke, Guinness and a local beer. My heart bled at the thought of yet more forest being denuded. So the morning went on... When it was all finished, the widow's crate of warm coca cola (outside was 35 degrees C) arrived and the elders all immediately tucked in---no doubt a bit of schnapps was added. I cannot imagine anything worse than warm coke! But it also reminded me of the importance coke has taken on. A few years ago, when a friend's daughter was celebrating her puberty in a traditional way in South Africa, the witchdoctor arrived and, to welcome her into the festivities, she was given two large bottles of coca cola to smash on a stone. Well, we smash a bottle of champagne on a boat.... What's new?!

Mehmet A.
Mem has been the backbone of the Guild of Registered Tourist Guides for a number of years. It is the organisation which represents most of the Guides in the British Isles and through the Guild, we have representation in Europe and the World. I am very aware of the fact that our training is good and that we uphold the ideals of Tourist Guiding. So when I encounter the local men calling themselves 'Guides', with no idea other than to take you to a place, it really upsets me. I have been encouraging the ones I have met to try and get together and form some kind of bond. The World Federation will give them all the help they need. But to them it is just money and they will certainly not try to share their knowledge or a chance to loose a customer with anybody! I thought it a good idea though, to have a letter from Mem in which he says that I am travelling around and assessing tourism possibilities. And that I might write about it.... This is a laminated letter to wave in front of anybody (like a stroppy border post official) if I need to get out of a situation. It has also helped to make 'guides' aware that there are organisations which represent Guides. Having summarily dismissed all 'guides', I must confess though that the Ghana guides are very well trained and are aware of our need to know a bit about the history and culture of the country as well as just where a place is.