On the move again

On the move again

You can see that the captions for the first two pictures were done by an American! Sorry Evy, but we spell it with an extra letter to confuse students of English: Neigbours. And, just to confuse you all in case you were wondering....they were pumpkin flowers we stuffed.... Leaves are green. But Evy was beginning to have typhoid, so she is forgiven for any mistakes she made whilst helping me on the blog. Thanks Evy!

Just to get my movements up-to-date: After the most delightful stay in Sierra Leone, I have been in Lagos for a week (just as good!) and am leaving the West African scene for the East. Going to Ethiopia today, so might be out of touch for a while. It was etting a bit difficult to move about in these parts and I an lazy.....

Health

After so many months alone in strange places, one really becomes aware of one's health. I am not obsessive about hygiene or anything to do with germs. So I have had my come-uppance as a result.

The heatstroke was uderstandable and preventable if one really tried to stay out of the sun. But then a lot of fun is lost!

The fact that I got malaria when I did is probably not too bad, considering that I had not taken tablets to prevent it. I have just had a email from Evy in Sierra Leone in which she says that she and Nico have both just gone down again with malaria and she had it a few weeks ago when I was there and Nico had it and was I was in hospital the same time as me. In the house I am staying in in Lagos, the little boy has it and actually, wherever one goes in these parts, it is part of life and just accepted. 'He has the fever' is the common saying.

Photos taken in Sierra Leone

Pumpkin leaves from the next door neighbors.

Preparing pumpkin leaves with polenta.

Holding the boom during filming a short documentary about the problems of water supply in Freetown and the surrounding area. The nearby village of Lakka, where the Environmental Foundation for Africa has its headquarters, shares the water supply with Freetown. So we have water every second day.

Nico on Evy's shoulders pretending to be a monkey on Tiwai island during a guided walk amongst the tropical rainforest trees with monkeys and chimps above.

From the boat that takes one to Tiwai Island which is 12 square miles of 'virgin' forest, although there was some habitation at one time and during the troubles in the 1990s, the rebels destroyed the Visiors Camp and Research Station and consumed many of the 12 species of endangered primates. But everything has been rebuilt and the primate population is increasing and the foliage and birdlife is flourishing. A magical place!

Chatting to the chief of Kambama village, which is where one gets the boat to Tiwai Island.

Ghana….contd.

ACCRA

After leaving Lome in Togo, it was a great relief to be in a country where English is the main language. I enjoyed being in a large city with easily hailed taxis and busses and none of the 1000s of bicycles one had to dodge in Lome. As usual, not much ‘culture’ being offered. The National Theatre, so proudly displayed on one of their Bank notes, was closed for ‘repairs’. The museum is good and I was impressed by their ongoing special exhibitions. As always, it is a challenge to get to know a city and I walked endless miles through the streets and markets. Old Jamestown, the original town, is crammed with little streets and houses and, had it been in any Western city, it would be the area of artists and the Bohemian set. Here it is just an extension of the usual crowded living conditions where everyone has to collect water and there are communal toilets. The latter needs to be talked about although it is not the nicest of subjects: (you can skip the next paragraph!)

Without an adequate infrastructure in any large city, (I include Lome and Freetown here), there is inevitably days of no water in taps and days of no electricity. Large, deep and putrid gutters are on both sides of the major roads and if you are lucky, some of them are covered with concrete slabs or wooden planks. Even when the rains come, there is not enough force in the water to move the detritus along towards ???? So, inevitably, in places of habitation, communal toileting facilities have to be supplied. If it is a question of just a pee, you pay a small amount to enter a urinal (strictly segregated) and hope there is a bucket of water for hand washing. To defecate, needs another place and here you pay more and are given a piece of old newspaper. Children are given smaller pieces of paper, but do not pay. There are cubicles without doors and a wicker basket for the used paper. Rows of squatting people are to be passed until you find an empty cubicle. To save on these expenses, urinating anywhere is accepted, although there are quite a few ‘do not urinate here’ painted signs on some walls in Accra. Defecating is more ingenious. I have learnt that the sea is regarded as a good place for such activities. When newly in Lome, I was with my minders and we had bought supper in the road. As my Hotel was across the road from the lovely large beach where innumerable football games take place, I suggested we go and sit there to eat. I wanted to pass the players and sit by the edge of the sea, but they stopped me. I walked over to see why; the sudden drop to the waves was populated with workers at the end of the day, using the relative privacy and hygienic (?) service of the waves, to do their business. Needless to say, the smell was unacceptable and one can understand that luxury tourist Hotels by Lome’s famed sandy beach will not be popular with customers. Since then I have seen this activity take place on many beaches. Just one of my observations which amuses me: Arab dress is very full and the men, having to use their left hands only, have solved the pee problem by squatting rather than standing in the usual bent-legs-slightly-apart position universally adopted by men. This means they look ungainly and their hand has to do a lot of fiddling about. Very undignified!

To get out of Accra and see the countryside was also important. My original Hotel was too central and ‘unsafe’ to leave my large bag, so I left it in an Hotel near the best Internet Café I could find and where there was quite a bit of ‘life’ and easy transport out of town. The Hotel is owned by a Lebanese man and we became good friends over the weeks I came back and forth to replenish my clothes and collect post. It was only when the Hezbollah problem arose, that I realized quite the extent of the Lebanese presence in West Africa. They are ‘everywhere’ and are generally the middle-men in diamond/gold sales. I read a book about the war and diamond smuggling during the terrible times in the 1990s in Sierra Leone. The Lebanese featured strongly and I also found it interesting to find out how the El Qaeda organization ‘upped’ the illegal diamond mining (the horrible human consequences are too disturbing to describe) a few months before 9/11. This was so that they could launder their money into diamonds, knowing that their Banking outlets will be frozen. But back to my kind Hotel owner who let me handle a gold nugget he had just bought for US$ 1400. Heavy! He helped me during my Malaria–recovery and helped to buy the air ticket to Freetown, giving me his driver and car with which to cover the endless miles in Accra to the Sierra Leone Embassy and Airline office. And of course he changed my money and emptied my Visa Card at no loss to himself, I am sure!! And the driver took me to the airport in style. On the last Sunday there, I wanted to thank the Hotel owner and his mother (as his wife and child are in North Lebanon, they had been glued to the TV for 10 days) and suggested lunch in the National Botanic Garden outside Accra. It was going to be a good change and we all looked forward to it. Except that the cook did not appear to cook Sunday lunch in the Restaurant and some fish-sellers insisted that the mother go to the market to see a catch. So the day out was cancelled. Eventually I decided to go on my own and took the necessary two tro-tros to get me there. On my return, swapping from one tro-tro to another, the skies opened and the typical rainstorm which does not last very long, descended upon me. I blindly tried to cross the road in the dark and stepped onto one of the planks over a gutter. The plank slipped in the mud and my leg dropped into the most awful sludge!! Thank goodness I wore sandals and not flip-flops, which would have disappeared. Buckets of water and kind ministrations helped to clear the worst smells, but the last ride, soaking wet and smelling to high Heaven, was not the best way to end my love-affair with Ghana!

I picked up many impressions and thought ab9out some things, which, if I have time, I would like to put on paper, so-to-speak. But in the mean time, just to update




The Homes, Men and Women in my life so far…..contd. (also lost with the electricity failure, so a bit out of date.)



Yaw and his family in Nkwatia

By chance I met Gladys in Accra who came from the Eastern Region, where I was headed. She instantly took me in hand and in no time I was introduced to ‘Mr. Chairman’. This kind gentleman is the Chairman of the Accra members from the small village in the mountains where he has a house. They meet every month and discuss matters relating to the members and the village and its people from which they come. This is the hidden care of a community which is not always so obvious in a bustling city like Accra. Mr. C. immediately said I could stay in his house as he very seldom goes there (he is the owner of a small shop selling general household items and has to be open 7 days a week). Gladys made sure that I climbed into the correct tro-tro and gave them strict instructions as to where to take me.

I arrived and was shown to the compound where they were waiting for me. It took a few days before I realized that all homes are part of a ‘compound’ and a few families or odd members of a related family live around an area where they all cook individually in the open area in front of their houses. My house was by far the most imposing with a shower and toilet (there was not always water) and living room, whilst attached rooms completed two more sides around the cement area in the centre. Those inhabitants had the use of a common urinal/shower (no running water), but I assume had to go to a communal place for defecation. There were about 5 small children and four adults plus Yaw, an 18yr old who was just finishing his school-leaving examinations. He had the key to my house and took responsibility for making sure that it was clean, I had buckets of water, he would wash my clothes and the TV was working when there was electricity. So although there was no cooking facility, Yaw brought me an electric kettle and I could make tea/coffee. Such luxury! Yaw’s mother is a highly intelligent woman, but her English is limited. We managed to get to know each other though and her infectious laugh is still with me. She is an excellent cook of the traditional Ghanaian dishes and I paid her handsomely for my evening meal, which was probably not politic as men usually expect to collect all monies, but I had a reason. Hours before the meal arrived one would become aware of the sound of pounding and the fresh cassava/plantain/yam would be pounded to a rhythm and final product which you either loved or hated. I’d sit on a small stool with a plate of food on another and a duck, cat and dog would solemnly sit in a row in front of me — shades of Bremen if only a donkey was added!). Fufu (plantain and cassava) is glutinous, banku (corn dough and cassava) is solid and sour, ampesi (coco-yam and plantain) is another solid carbohydrate mixture, Riceballs (just well-cooked rice) are solid balls of pounded cooked rice, boiled yam slices are virtually tasteless and kenkey (corn) is a soured cornmeal which has been wrapped in corn leaves. The latter is potable, very attractive and a great picnic item. All these are served with a ‘soup’ which is just a sauce of chilies, fresh garlic, onions and tomatoes which are all pounded to a smooth mixture and then has dried fish, meat or chicken added. That is the basic meal for Africa in various forms and with differing names. No ‘starters’ or desert. Water is the main drink and warm drinks like coffee or tea are very unusual. One can understand that I became very bored with this food after some time! My hostess, to stimulate my appetite when I was ill, once gave me rice with corned beef. I ate!

Yaw took me to the Chief’s audience with his petitioners and there I was given permission to teach in the local primary school. A few days in the school and I was very diffident about the effect the teaching was having. Rote learning is part of the way of teaching. I tried to get the kids involved in drawing a map of their town and their compounds on the blackboard, but as soon as they became excited and started running around making changes or advising their classmates, the student teacher would be there with the whip to ‘restore’ order. (Whips are sold as a normal comodity and even the next family I will talk about, with a 2-yr old girl, had and used the whip). In the infant classes, the little ones would proudly recite endless bits they had been taught to do together. I learnt a lot. The teachers were pleased to have me and one even feigned illness (I was told by another) so that I could take over her class. Others left the room to sit in the sun… In one of my exercises I made them aware of ‘news’ (North, East, West, South ) and asked them to give me the day’s news. Most of the children would have done a task before leaving home like collecting water, sweeping the yard or bringing in firewood. They all mentioned eating the previous night’s left-over food as breakfast. With no refrigeration, it would spoil (their word), so needed to be consumed.

Another day I spent happily farming with my hostess. The rainy season had just begun and weeds were an all-consuming problem. But we had to walk about 4 miles for us to reach the bit of land she had inherited from her father.

Her husband is one of the very many taxi drivers one sees on the roads. But his taxi had problems and he did not have money for repairs. I booked him for a day's outing. He spent the previous day getting the gears fixed and the morning of our departure on changing a tyre (the one looked as bad as the other). We filled the car with people and had a very pleasant day on the western shore of Lake Volta where there are still plenty of tree-stumps sticking out of the low waterlevel; remnants from the days of the countryside being flooded to create the lake. I crossed the lake with Yaw and a cousin, neither of whom had seen the lake before, let alone been on a ferry and/or a boat! During our return, the car (gears!) broke down in a village and I had a chance to view another 'palace', which is just the meeting place of the local chief where the sacred drums are stored and the 'stool' he sits on, is on display. The car would not be fixed and we took a taxi home....During walks on the day and in their village, I frequently saw the husband sneak a drink from a Spot/shop.

On other days I enjoyed the walk up to the nearest village with internet facilities at the local university. It took an hour to walk and was thankfully downhill in the evening. But I got to know the stone blasters and breakers and other workers along the road and when the small children saw me coming, they ran out to hold a hand or just wave. When I stayed to watch the men breaking stones with little hammers for many hours a day, I thought of Nelson Mandela doing the same thing. They were in prison too…..

Yaw was very proud to have completed his final examinations. I was impressed with the Exam Papers for Social Studies of the West African Examinations Council: the 3-hour paper expected four essays on; Governance, Politics, Stability; Our Environment; or Social and Economic Development. All this is so very laudable, but one wonders how much will ever be put into practice. Yaw certainly felt that he was now educated and I tried to explain the philosophy which our lecturer gave us to remember when we had passed our very tough exams to be Tourist Guides; “this badge is only a licence to learning”, he said. The emails Yaw has sent me are not of a very high standard…

One evening Yaw and I were walking down the main street when I heard a man giving an announcement on a loudhailer. I asked what it was about; "the latrines need to be cleared out, so he is telling everyone that they must send a representative from their family to do the work next Saturday". I was impressed with this community spirit.

I returned to the village a month later to pick up the typing a woman in charge of the computers at the University had done for me. I knew I needed to check my notes and had not had a chance to do checking of what she sent had me, at another computer. It was good to return to ‘old friends’ and everyone was very welcoming. But I had begun to feel unwell, which I interpreted as heatstroke from waiting in the hot sun for 3 hours for a tro-tro from Accra; which gave me time to catch up with old news from a discarded Newsweek (Tom Cruise has a daughter and there are terrible plans afoot to change the majestic Nile River forever). Maybe it was the start of the eventual malaria. Anyway, I spoilt myself with taxis instead of walking up and down the hill. When I gave Olivia the notes I had made when no computer was available, she assured me she could read my writing and understood what I had written. I sat next to her for about an hour at another computer while she pounded the keys on that first day. Every now and then I would ask if all was OK and if she needed help. “no, it is very easy”, she assured me. However, on getting back there, when we began to look at the stuff she had typed, it became painfully obvious that she had no idea of what it was about or of just checking a sentence to make sure it made sense. I was frustrated as she had not brought all the notes, so arranged to see her the next day. She slowly corrected, with me spelling out just about every word the next day. But as she had not brought all my notes, another day had to be added…..with me swaying about… The following day I decided to do the correcting myself, but she had once again not brought all the notes and I did not always know what I had tried to say from the jumble on the typed page. My 'heatstroke' was getting worse, but I stayed on yet another day to finalise this silly exercise which should never have taken off. But this day she did not even turn up, leaving a message that she had given me all the notes. As she had typed stuff for which I had no notes.... Anyway, this sorry saga (and loss of a lot of money paid in good faith beforehand) is only being retold here because it spells out so much of what Africa is like. Africans do not like to say 'no' or admit that they do not know. So you ask for directions and are given all kinds of answers, but never a straight one like "I do not know". I sometimes amuse myself by asking an 'either/or' question. This is not a familiar idea and people simply do not know how to separate the question and give one reply only. "Is it either to the left or the right?" I might ask. "There" with a vague wave, is the reply.

I finally left Nkwatia with its friendly faces and recently received an email from Yaw on behalf of his mother to ask how I was. I appreciate her concern. Yaw is spending his summer working in Mr. Chairman's shop and hopes to go to University once he receives his results.


Hope, Peace and their daughter, 2-yr old Princess

Another family who showed me great hospitality. I was on my way to the hills to the East of Lake Volta. I had wanted to take a ferry on the largest man-made lake in the world (not sure that it still applies -- built in the 1930s), but was two days too early for the weekly trip, so decided to take it from North to South instead. At the Southern side of the lake is another artificial lake which was created after Lake Volta. The latter supplies hydroelectricity and this relatively new Lake Kpong, supplies Accra with water. At the village of Kpong I had to change tro-tros. It was early in the morning and the trip from Accra had been long.... Having a cup of coffee seemed like the only way I was going to survive the next long journey North. But being a small town with a busy bus-station does not guarantee a coffee. Wandering about, Peace came up to me and asked if she could help. I explained my addiction and she explained that one could not buy it in town but that she could give me hot water. I followed across the road and we went to the top floor of a two-story building where I could stand on the enclosed cement verandah and look down on the busy street below. She produced a cup of hot water from somewhere (and I suspect it was at cost as someone in the building may have an electric kettle...normally one has to make a fire...) and I produced a rooibos teabag (thanks to Margaret). We started chatting and she proved to be a highly articulate woman. Her husband, Hope, had been laid off from a good job when the local cloth-factory had to close because of imports of inferior quality but copied patterns of Chinese cloth. Sadly, the story of so many enterprises.... So they had no money and were making a concerted effort to earn some. She was selling a few household items and they had an old refrigerator in their one room next door which was handy for cooling plastic bags of water which are then sold to passers-by or the bus-crowd. Later I watched as the small plastic bags are filled with water which had been taken from the tap downstairs and poured into a large plastic container upstairs. Hope was deft at filling just so much and then giving the bag a 'stretch' before tying a knot at the top. One does not make much money from this as they have to pay for the tapwater and the plastic bags and the electricity. Another way they were trying to survive was through a telephone service on the side of the road. There are numerous tables, crates and booths of these services on all African streets. The competing cell/telephone companies all offer different rates and Hope had two 'phones. One is his mobile and the other a tabletop version of a mobile which will tell you for how long you have spoken. So he puts you through to the service you want, but which would be cheapest for him. The competition is so great these days that it is really is not worth the effort. I have watched young boys walking amongst people with those tabletop types, so it has provided total mobility to the whole telephoneless population. In Sierra Leone, one of the local cell companies has developed a clever ruse which is now being followed by one of its rivals. It comes to your little shed or shop or booth and paints it in the bright red and yellow colours of the company. Instant tidy shack!

Hope was introduced to me and we all chatted so well that I stayed and stayed. In the afternoon we went for a walk to the wharf which had been created off the old main road where the original village now lies under water. I had explained about the fish-research I am doing and we found some fish. Stupidly, I ignored the warnings and tried to kill a fish with an incredibly strong and rigid spike off its top fin. It went straight down my index finger under the nail and the finger remained painful and unusable for weeks. I could not type with it. Peace took me home and got another mug of boiling water into which I could dip my finger. It is miraculous how this 'treatment' removes the pain! And Ghana was playing in the World Cup... I was welcomed into their crowded room and we watched the match and the jubilation in the street afterwards.

I stayed the night and slept on the outside verandah. The family live in the one room and share the cooking space on the ground level by the stairs with the other 4/5 families in the building. Water is bought from the communal tap, cooking is done on charcoal burners and everything is scrupulously clean. At least they are allowed to do pounding, whereas, in Accra, occupants of upstairs flats are prohibited from pounding on the elevated levels. There is an enclosed cemented room where you can pee and use your bucket of water for a wash, but you have to use the communal latrines for defecation. A rota system is in operation for all the families and they have to stick to their weekly duties of cleaning stairs, walls, food areas, washroom and outside drain which goes into the gutter.

Hope and Peace are members of the Yehovah's Witness Organisation, and I went to Kingdom Hall with them on the Sunday to listen to the memnbers discuss the Bible and interpret certain passages. I did not understand a word, but liked the atmosphere and it was a pleasure to see the place so neat and tidy with a superb garden around the open building. That Sunday they announced that it was necessary to do some weeding, so everyone was asked to come prepared the next Sunday.

In the afternoon, Hope's Uncle had procured a dugout fishing boat and the three of us went on the lake for a few hours. So good to be in a very small boat on a most scenic lake!

The following day was ferry-departure day and we spent the morning together in touristy spots by the lake and the nearby village before they said farewell as the ferry was due to leave at 3pm. Of course it did not, but never mind...

I returned from the North on the following Sunday afternoon and immediately the villagers recognised me and I was welcomed with open arms. This is so very typical of the whole of African society. One really is welcome. But having a white skin helps....

The Monday was a public holiday and I asked the family (having been beaten terribly at Scrabble the previous evening!) to join me in popping up the nearby grassy hill. It looks like Lions' Head in Cape Town with a rump and rocky 'head'. After a while, Peace and Princess turned back as they realised the route was too far and their shoes were inadequate. Hope and I enjoyed the slow climb through trees and farms and even the reservoir system before we hit the 'grass'; From a distance, it had looked like just any other hill covered in ordinary grass as you and I would understand it. Hope had never climbed a hill, so could not warn me, and I had been too stupid to realise that the 4' high rough elephant grass on the side of the road really is the only grass in Ghana and that, when it gets away from habitation, it grows even higher! We were having wonderful conversations (mainly about belief) so just dived into the stuff and clawed our way through. It never got less, just thicker with, 9' (3 m) above us, hundreds of those incredibly intricately woven weaver bird nests with small blue/green eggs in them, swaying on the grass tips. That was magic, but the struggle to get through the grass and often thick areas of lantana was a real challenge. Occasionally one would bump into a large rock and enjoy the space and view. We finall could not see a hill above us and were about to rejoice when Hope pointed out the Lions Head further away! Groaning but determined to be brave and conquer all, we set off. Four hours after leaving home, we were on top of a rock on the highest point in the area! There was even a cement trig point and I explained to Hope how my kids on camp or climbing expeditions, would try to see how many people they could fit onto one trig point! The Chinese State Circus could learn a trick or two from them....

We prepared to 'swim' though the grass again and I set off to lead the way. Fortunately I noticed that the grass was no longer a thick wall in front of me and remembered just in time that there was a sheer rocky drop to one side of the summit. Hope was told to move over horizontally and for a while we communicated out positions with long sticks waving above the grass. I eventually looked back with horror to see just how close I had been to stepping off the rocks... When we finally hit the main road a few miles from the village and Hope was ready to take a taxi, I appealed to his pride and we did do the full walk back in the dark. A very good exercise and one to be proud of as well as remember as one of my best days in Ghana. At least it scotched the belief Hope and so many other locals had, that human sacrifices were performed on the hilltop. Just too difficult to get to the top. Africans are not natural hill climbers. I remember speaking to a very articulate Ghanaian woman about a hill in the distance, but near enough to where she had lived all her life. She had never been there and was afraid that she might fall off. Maybe it is spacial awareness like the pygmies who cannot understand the desert and its endless vista when they are removed from the thick forest...?

While Hope and I discussed religion and wrestled with impenetrable grass, Peace had been to the hairdresser who attached a very fetching extention 'ponytail' to her short hair. This was to make herself look well-off and flourishing for the sake of her family and parents-in-law as we were to get a tro-tro the next day to visit the town from which they came. Hope stayed at home and Princess was in her best party frock when we set off to go south to the Volta Estuary. There is a very comfortable 'guest room' in the complex which Peace's brother had had built and I was happily installed whilst Peace and Princess had their own room next to her widowed mother's. Her brother had started his own church for which he had received European funding, so could open a few branches and was doing very well, thank you. Promise salvation in the hereafter and the contributions come pouring in.... With my daily allowance to spend, Peace could maintain the illusion that they were doing well despite Hope not having work. She is so typical of the local people who simply cannot keep money in their pockets! She was endlessly having to buy whatever was being offered through the tro-tro window or along the road. Chewing and munching between meals, which I have just not done for so long, seemed strange. All members of the extended family had to be given money/gifts and we visited Hope's family where the same illusion of prosperity had to be continued. Being with a white-skin ofcourse also meant that she was regarded as someone who is getting a lot of money from me. Although Peace never asked for money after I had offered to pass on my daily contribution for fares and accommodation and food, it was there; the implication that I could afford more. A sense of budgeting is very foreign to the African. (my prejudice!)

We walked around the town and visited the local riverside Spa where Peace would never have been allowed in to be shown around by the PR staff if she had not been accompanied by a white-skin. Steam baths, saunas, indoor health and beauty treatments, exclusive restaurants, tennis and squash courts, smart boats on the river...

Her father-in-law arranged with his neighbour to take me fishing early the next day (an amazing experience with metal pipes which had been crudely blocked off at one end, being the traps into which the fish swim. As they cannot swim backwards, they stay there to die or to be lifted from the bottom of the river and shaken into the boat!) . One day I took various tro-tros to visit the actual estuary with its rice-farming and flourishing market gardening and to see the old Portugese Slave Fort. Due to lack of funds and visitors, the place is incredibly run-down and the poor Guard/Guide really does not have a good time of it. It also though, reminded me of a museum which I visited in a large city in the North. It is housed in a large room with some sub-divisions and display cases. The models need attention, the picture frames can do with a small nail or two and generally a bit of love and care could transform the place into looking smart and inviting. When I arrived in the morning after a very hard struggle to find the place as there were no signs anywhere and no-one seemed to have heard of it, there was nobody in the museum, but someone came along from out of a group of people sitting under a tree. I paid and was allowed to look around. When I chatted to the member of staff later, she told me that they employed 14 staff (including 2 night watchmen). All I saw was a group of people under a tree. In contrast, in poor and underfunded Freetown National Museum, there is hardly any material worth seeing, but the two times I popped in, it was very alive with groups of children doing some or other projects.

I had to return to Accra as I was getting worried about funds and time, so left sooner than intended as it was easier from the Estuary rather than to go back to Kpong. And the internet as the local riverside Hotel charged 20,000 as opposed to mine in Accra which charged 4,000 per hour!

21 KILOS…..contd. to the end…. (all lost in Accra when the electricity died…)

Mary S.

We met about 30 years ago…a lifetime! Mary’s sense of humour has been a constant throughout our ups and downs. And she knew there would be times when I want to be warm and glamorous, hence the lovely pashmina which has not yet been used in the warmth of central Africa. But it will! On the other hand, being a bit mean, she gave me a small lavender-filled bag of the most delicate pink. Made by her who is making the ring cushion for her daughter’s wedding. Such an honour! It was a delight to go to bed on a hard surface in the desert and to smell the lavender….except that the bag was far too small and somewhere along the way it became lost... A bigger one next time please! And then Mary keeps asking in emails ‘where are you?’ I’m in Africa, Mary.

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.

Milly C.

When Milly’s daughter Jenny came to visit the UK just before I left, she spent some time with me and was incredibly helpful during the ‘packing’ days. With her, she had brought a delicate scarf with African patterns from her mother. Just the thing to make one look less rough. I wore it on the ‘plane to Agadir and in the tiredness of the moment, must have dropped it somewhere. What a start to the journey!

Mungovan Family.

Amongst the photos I carry with me, is the last one taken of Francis when he was with his Primary School Class boys at the Mungovan’s home. This had become an annual event when they came together to watch the Cup Final. Mary is the mother Francis always wanted; full of good cheer and a good listener and the world’s best cook who would never let you enter her house without you being showered with good food and bottles of wine. And Tom, one of Francis’s oldest friends, was the rock on whom to lean during the funeral when he read a lesson. He repeated this moving tribute at Dick’s funeral. They also kindly keep an eye on the joint grave.

Optician: R. Brown.

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. I was also given two sets of plastic spectacle cases which are ideal for dusty desert conditions.

Paul F.

A loyal friend to Francis, Paul is an extremely good barber and I shall miss his haircuts when my dust-encrusted hair needs trimming. When they were in their mid-teens, Paul and his brother and another friend and Francis went to Italy for a holiday at Paul’s father’s place. Swimming in pools and the sea and walking through Rome with its monuments as a backdrop, with bare chests proclaiming their virility, is all captured on video. And one can listen at the way Francis never answered a question without thought.

Pete C.

Pete would probably not want to be called a son-in-law, but he has been a brilliant partner to Ingrid for over 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 would be one weight too many. But the two pairs of thick ‘designer’ socks to wear with my boots and to keep the mosquitoes at bay, have already proved their worth.

Practice Nurse, Astrid

Astrid, who thought I was very daring, wanted to make sure that I was prepared for all eventualities and thus gave me many precious appointments over many weeks to have injections, inoculations and requisite doses of whatever to protect me. Because she was gentle and did not rush the treatments, I had no side effects and she saved me from spending 100s of pounds!

Ramesh S.

To embark on two years of not seeing a dentist needs drastic preventative measures. One’s dentist does not necessarily feature in an account like this, but apart from the toiletry bag and various goodies like dental repair kit which he gave me, he has given me a new mouth of implanted teeth which means that, for the first time in over 50 years, I am not aware of my teeth every time I chew something. What bliss!

Ronnie L.

Years ago, when Ronnie and I were much in each other’s company, he gave me a very colourful African cloth. For over 40 years this has been used whenever I went on holiday to use as a cover-all on the beach or by the poolside. Sadly, the cloth disappeared in a Mali taxi. He introduced me to Interdens, those flavoured toothpicks which I still carry with me. Above all, Ronnie was an African who embraced life with no prejudices. In the 1970s he taught me to use the newly-introduced ‘Zola Budds’, which is the Tro-Tro or Poda-Poda taxi I have been using in West Africa. In those days in South Africa it was rather unusual for a white-skinned person to use them, but Ronnie was not aware of that and many a time we would go into ‘African areas’ without a thought. We saw each other regularly over the years and his humour was always there. When I last saw him three years ago in Cape Town, he introduced me to the attendant at the indoor 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 cut and he was left to bleed to death. Just another African statistic…

Sally O.

A gift of dental floss in a sturdy round container. Such a practical item! My dentist will be pleased and I enjoy the different uses it can be put to, which are endless. The ‘string’ currently sporting an interestingly shaped stone with a hole picked up on the beach.

Dr S.

Ann’s friend-in-crime….to defraud the NHS of items I shall need over the next two years. But as I shall not be there to waste their appointment time…. Dr S. prescribed antibiotics and various other medicaments which could be useful. My ‘medicine bag’ is bulging! But I am happy to let Africa heal and hope that I would not need any of those items. A good insurance though!

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 smart. But I remember his home; a tiny shack as large as a single bed amongst the stones and trees on the side of a 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 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.

Over a few years, Teresia would bring her students from the USA for a semester and I would be asked to give them a guided tour of London. We became friends. She stayed in London and traveled about. When she left, she gave me a handy little thermos flask which was ideal for my winter holiday in Europe, but impractical for this trip. Also included was a magical ‘towel’ which, again, I used in Europe but did not include here as I do not believe in carrying towels when on this kind of trip. But it is the kindness of people which I appreciate so much and whose images come to comfort me when I need to think of friends.

Thea W.

A few years ago before she retired and became a Tourist Guide in the Cape, my sister supplemented her earnings with selling various cosmetics and cleaning products. I obtained a bar of shampoo which always struck me as a very useful item. It lay in a drawer, waiting for the right opportunity. And it has been very handy! Far easier to carry and use than a bottle which takes up unnecessary space.

TNT

The weekly ‘Bible’ for backpackers in London….A free magazine which keeps everyone in touch and up-to-date with what is going on in that nebulous world of moving people. Once a year they have an ‘Open Day’ in which their advertisers come together to sell you your dreams. I was even seduced this year into joining a Backpackers’ Club which offered all kinds of dreams and cheap accommodation and ‘price off’ deals. And they gave away free packs of playing cards. I try to wake up with a game of solitaire and marvel every day at the brilliance of the design of such a simple but effective thing which gives so many people pleasure or even ruins lives (gambling). And many a happy hour has been spent in the company of others around a pack of cards.

Tom E.

Francis’s oldest friend who has survived more travel and life experiences in his short life than anybody I know. Before going to South America a while back, having spent years working on the border with refugees from Borneo, he left his mosquito net in London. His mom gave it to me…. And very handy it has been too, although, fighting endless pieces of netting with nothing from which to hook it, on the mud-brick rooftop of a building with torch, book, radio and sheet-sleeping-bag, is not the easiest!

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 traveling through East Africa. His nimble hands made me a delicate leather bracelet which I wear. Inside this innocent-looking adornment, is enough space for a US $10 bill ‘in case of emergencies’.

Vi and Pat.

Near neighbours in my block of flats, they have saved many a situation because they hold a spare key to my flat. Vi bought herself a bright red-patterned cotton skirt once and then found that it was too long for her. She gave it to me and for months it has been my constant basic garment. However, swimming in the fast-flowing Niger river in clothes, did not do them much good and before I realized the damage being done, some of the button fastenings had been pulled off. In Lome, a small hut with a man and sewing machine, sewed up the glaring gaps and the skirt was as good as new! Except that I forgot to take it off the washing line when leaving a place and I just hope that somebody gets as much use out of it as I did.

Vinca and Zain.

An inspiring couple who traveled the Sahara and West Africa in an ordinary car. They have been a font of knowledge and good advice and I am enjoying recognizing the things of which they spoke. The books they lent me helped a lot and although I declined the loan of their water-purifier (weight!), their advice and experience stays with me.

William G.

William was a neighbour whom I befriended. He had no family in England and, when I discovered his relations in Ireland and we visited them, they showed no further interest as this old WW11 veteran reached the end of his life. He made me his Executor and it was an honour to inherit furniture from him. But there were also lovely wooden-handled tools and the odd items like a metal nailfile and unused razorblades, the latter being very handy on this trip. Yes, despite the often bucket-only conditions for washing, I am vain enough to shave my legs! And having no household or gardening chores to do, my nails are elegantly filed and undamaged; a state of affairs unknown under ‘normal’ circumstances!

WWWWW

Known as 5W (Women Welcome Women WorldWide), this is an organization for women from all over the world who may wish to visit and learn from others. I travel with the latest address list of its many African members and look forward to learning about their way of life. Sadly, in Ghana, despite my emailing and telephoning many addresses, there was only one response.


The above (and earlier parts of this alphabetical list) is the baggage made light which I carry with me through Africa. Much has already changed, been lost or added, but I will embrace the world as I always do and adjust accordingly. To know that so many friends have contributed to my comfort and memory, is a great solace. I think of friendship like a spider’s web. There are many interrelated strands. Some break and others are strengthened, but they are all part of a whole.