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.