A Year Later, Chale

High Street abuzz with obrunis and bibinis.

This past weekend the family went for a little street art at the Chale Wote festival in James Town, one of the oldest parts of Accra. The whole family piled in and brought friends with them - apparently Mr. and Mrs. O have the reputation of being somewhat adventurous and pathfinding for the expat set.

Some of the pop-up murals produced during the weekend.

The festival did not disappoint: it is put on for Ghanaians, by Ghanaians and shows not only the rich heritage and culture of the Ga people (Accra's original inhabitants) but also the creativity and forward thinking artistry that exists in the city. Visitors were treated to art installation after art installation on the theme of Death: An Eternal Dream Into Limitless Rebirth. From colourful murals to funeral processions, the festival was a feast for the eyes.

Why yes, that is a wall of sewage on the cliffside.

Also, as a slum, James Town is also a feast for the nose: sanitation is a massive problem in the area and some of the wayward detritus washing up on Ghana's beaches originates from this part of town. Newly-arrived friends were quite taken aback by the smells, but after being in Accra for such a long time, the family is so much at home that they have simply stopped noticing when it gets funky. 

In any case, a short visit to see friends producing artistic Bolga baskets turned into a day exploring the area and taking in the experience. Part of that experience was Little Miss getting regularly mobbed by James Town children (and sometimes adults) who were constantly touching her skin and hair. It is unclear what they expected, but perhaps there could be a Touch The Obruni installation next year? Little Miss, although quite shy, was a good sport and did have fun playing with Ghanaians when not overwhelmed. Kids, of course, can be kids.

Funeral procession of plastic waste.

Little Miss makes a friend.

If any of this rings any bells to readers, this is indeed not the first time that the family has been to this annual festival. In fact, last weekend was their one-year anniversary in Ghana.

In addition to not noticing the smells and minding the mobs of children, Mr. and Mrs. O have noticed that they have indeed been feeling "at home" lately. Things have become routine, but never dull. While the travel has slowed down somewhat, going out at night with friends is a more common occurrence and they are starting to know "the scene" in Accra. Mr. O was particularly excited in the run-up to Chale Wote, knowing some of the artists and anticipating the excitement of the festival. If all goes well, the family might even be around for Chale Wote 2015 - and is already counting the days.

Flamenco dancing.

Bolga Baskets reimagined.

"Social Reality" by Ibrahim Mahama

Life and Death in full colour.

Baba the Kebab Guy

Where the magic happens.

Down the street from Mr. and Mrs. O's residence is a cluster of stalls catering to a mix of construction workers, students, day-laborers and the more adventurous expats. Some are like mini-convenience stores, whilst others sell the usual local staples of fufu, banku and tilapia. Some are semi-permanent metal and wooden structures while others are basically a folded table and an umbrella, coming down at night and avoiding any messy taxation issues - namely, the propensity of vendors to not pay them - and ensuing demolitions by the Accra Metropolitan Authority, which can be quite devastating for a micro-entrepreneur.

One business of note is Baba the Kebab Guy. Baba hails from Bolgatanga in the Upper East and has brought his specialty down south wih him. For reasons that perplex obrunis, kebab vendors are fairly scarce in Accra - but a great kebab is good any time of the day. For 50 cents, one can get a stick of beef or sausage, coated in suya spice and with a bit of onion and green pepper for flavour. So if Baba is not sold out by the time Mr. O returns from work, everyone gets a nice snack, with some fried yam or sweet potato from the lady the next stall over. The combo is fantastic.

Baba is no friend of The Man.

As you can see from the crude red paint on his sign, Baba is not a diligent taxpayer in the eyes of the AMA. Part of this is due to the byzantine bureaucratic structure for small business owners to follow and part of this is him trying to stretch his limited cedis in a city of inflated costs.

Legal troubles aside, one expects that Baba will be selling his kebabs for a long time to come.

If you are asking, yes, Baba will cater your party. A spicy beef kebab pairs well with a frosty Club lager, which will set you back about $2. And he apparently will cook goat or guinea fowl by request. Order today!

A Brief Musical Interlude

As much as Mr. and Mrs. O would like to identify with it, they are most definitely a step removed from the average Accra resident, for whom life is not all manicured gardens, pool parties and weekends at the beach. But for those who would like a colourful window into the everyday hustle of Ghanaian life (accompanied by an infectious beat and impeccable flow), have a listen to "Someway Bi" by M.anifest. If Accra had a theme song, this would be it.

(One day, there will need to be a proper introduction to dear readers to the rich musical history of Ghana. In the meantime, enjoy.)

WORLD CUP!

"Everyone's Ghanaian at World Cup!"

In the traditional area of the Ga people, there is an annual one-month period called Homokwu, in which outdoor noise is forbidden, including dancing, drumming and music. This year, it started May 12, conspicuously ending by June 12, the start of the 2014 World Cup.

The World Cup is an event anticipated and celebrated around the world, but for the people of Ghana, it has become an event of national importance as their men's team, the Black Stars, not only qualified in 2006 and 2010, but became loveable underdogs who defied expectations and made the pundits reconsider the capabilities of Africans. Indeed, its one of the few times that the world gets to know an African country, even if only its wealthy, athletic males.

For Ghana, there is no other sport (although field hockey remains perplexingly persistent). So every qualifier, friendly, injury, transfer and coaching choice is scrutinized by every Ghanaian.. Is the training adequate? Should the coach be local or European? Will the captain get enough top-level experience playing in the Emirates?

Curious characters come out of the woodwork as well. The Government of Ghana sponsors a delegation that includes politicians, national football association reps, booster club members and all sorts of hangers-on. Even curiouser, there is an unusual Ghanaian element this year, as a well-known fetish priest claimed to place a hex on Portuguese opponent (and perhaps the world's best footballer) Christiano Ronaldo.

The excitement has snared Mr. O, who became a convert and faithful follower of the Black Stars, joining the legions of fans watching the matches, whether on giant flat screens in spacious living rooms or small boxes in drinking spots and shops. He even saw them qualify in 2005 and 2013. Counting down the days (and even months) was a regular habit for him. He was quite excited, even though Ghana drew for the third time a "Group of Death" with Germany, the United States and Portugal.

For the opening match versus rivals the United States, Mr. O was in the remote Upper West Region outside a simple bar in Wa watching the match under the stars (seriously, there is almost zero outdoor light in Wa). This was the match that was considered a lock, as Ghana had beaten the US in 2006 and 2010, but the Americans were out for revenge. The Black Stars quickly got behind and spent the match trying to reclaim their mojo, losing 2-1 and missing out on key points needed to advance to the knockout stage.

For their second match, Ghana was up against the powerhouse Germany, the match the Black Stars were certain to lose. However, the plucky Ghanaians actually got ahead 2-1 before Germany equalized for a draw. In the end, Germany won every other match and the cup, so at the least, Ghana can claim that it was the only team the champions couldn't beat.

By the third and final match, it all came down to which team would have the highest total points and goal differential. Suddenly, every Ghanaian became a mathematician (someone should apply this to encourage kids to learn arithmetic). In short: if Germany beat the US and Ghana beat Portgual, the Black Stars were in. However, while Germany did its part, Ghana - or at least Asamoah Gyan - tried but came up tragically short, losing 2-1 to an anemic Portugal who was already eliminated. (Ironically, the hexed Ronaldo scored the game-winner).

And so for the first time, mighty Ghana failed to progress to the knockout round. The qualifiers overall were very exciting, with plenty of goals (Van Persie's header!) and shockers (Spain collapses! Suarez bites someone again!) and the knockouts were entertaining, although low-scoring and straightforward (Brazil's epic 7-1 loss to Germany aside). Soon enough, it will be the African Cup of Nations next year, then by 2017 qualifiers for the next World Cup. In 2014, Ghana fielded one of the youngest teams, which bodes well for the future. You can be sure that wherever he may be, Mr. O will be dusting off his lucky jersey then.


POST SCRIPT: Mr. O recently finished a highly engrossing book by British journalist Declan Hill called "The Fix: Soccer and Organized Crime". His research has yielded some very unsettling allegations of bribery against the Ghana Football Association and individual players, including allegations of match-fixing at the 2006 World Cup. Given the history of the team, some unusual playing in key matches and a public dispute over players' bonuses that ended in money flown from Ghana to Brazil, speculation on the possibility of match-fixing is rife in Mr. O's head these days.

"Say it ain't so, Gyan!"

The days are just packed

Seriously? Has it been a year already?

Where does the time go? Of course, the elderly are expected to say things like this to express their amazement at the passage of years. Yet Mr. and Mrs. O have been looking at the calendar and exclaiming the same thing. Already, it has been over ten months since their arrival. To put this in perspective, Mr. O’s life-altering stay the first time around had already wrapped up by this point (and he had much to show for it). But when one has a job, a house, friends, swimming lessons and errands, free time gets chipped away and excursions tend to be a once-a-month(ish) occasion. Driving one’s personal car, sitting in an office and living in a compound does not lend itself to wacky anecdotes like flaming tro-tros and random foreign visitors..

The output on this blog has certainly lessened in recent months. The plain truth is that the family is too busy living to stop and reflect. And that is okay. Staying in and watching a crappy movie is more boring than a random night out with strange characters, but also important for not burning out. Surfing expeditions are important, but so are children’s swimming lessons at the nearby pool.

Yet there are so many reasons to write. To document, to remember and even to give a view into a tiny corner of the world for those who would not normally see it. Mr. O has been noticing the usual African headlines: war, disease, poverty. And yet nobody talks about the sage professor teaching white kids about colonialism, the Norwegian-inspired waffle lady, or the people producing fantastic shea butter products and leather shoes. If Ghana is to be documented, it needs more voices (even whiny expat ones).

There Will Be Elephants

Mr. O's parents are quite enlightened and fairly culture-savvy. However, they also clearly stated that if they were coming to Africa, they were not leaving without seeing elephants. So, they made plans to head to the North.

Note the subtle differences in Northern Ghana.

While somewhat artificial, most separate Northern Ghana and Southern Ghana as two completely separate countries. Indeed, if the British had not claimed the land they did as the Gold Coast, they could have easily been separated as independent nations. The South is wet, jungle and dominated by Akan-speakers and Christians. The North is dry, savannah, with a very large Muslim population and several regional languages. The average resident of Bolgatanga has much more in common with their cousins over the border in Burkina Faso than to someone in Accra. So the North remains the neglected child of the nation.

In spite of this, the North has a lot going for it: unique architecture and art, disarmingly pleasant and hospitable people, fresh watermelon juice, delicious guinea fowl...

"I knew I should have taken that left turn at Ouagadougou."

Just as exciting for tourists is the chance to undertake a bona fide African safari at Mole National Park. A major caveat: the West African safari experience is quite different from its Eastern and Southern African counterparts. There is no Big Five, no luxury hotels and pampered game drives and certainly no pith helmets. That being said, there is something very cool about an ultra-cheap safari on the wrong side of Africa.

The good news is that getting there is easier than it used to be. In the good old days, Mr. O needed to take an overnight bus to get to the fledgling metropolis of Tamale, then a boneshaker tro-tro for several hours to the park. While it is still the main way to travel for the average Ghanaian, flying has become relatively cheap and convenient. One hour in the air and less than two at the airports compared to 12 hours on a bus with frigid AC and blaring Nollywood's most ridiculous films. The gravel road between Tamale and Wa is also getting a much-needed paving that is making the area significantly more accessible. So Grandpa and Grandma went for the airborne option, early on a Sunday morning. They stopped at the Gariba Lodge, whose courtyard is the ideal place to enjoy an omelet and a cup of freshly-brewed coffee.

Migrating creatures frolic at the watering hole at sunset.

They pressed onwards to Mole in a rented SUV. Notably, they saw a fellow with a camel surrounded by curious children. Somebody's uncle was apparently visiting from Mali.

On arrival at the park and eponymous Mole Motel in the mid-afternoon, they waited for lunch and observed the poolside fauna: athletic British students, not-so-athletic German forty-somethings, sunburned backpackers and - lurking just around the corner - baboons looking for an opportunity to steal a few morsels. Baboons can be quite clever, adventurous and aggressive, which is why it is best to stay near one's food and to keep their room's doors and windows locked at all times.

Cheeky monkey.

Mole is the largest protected area in the country, but it is woefully underdeveloped. There are a few regular roads for safari, but very little access into the heart of the park itself. This means both limited tourism prospects and greater difficulty for rangers to observe animals and patrol for poachers. There are also few options for viewing, although it has improved in recent years. One can go for a morning or afternoon drive in a private or park-owned vehicle, guided hikes, birding excursions and now night drives to see hyenas and civets. Accommodations are also improving: there is the nearby Mognori Eco Village homestay and after many years of talk, they are also building an upscale eco-lodge nearby.

Surprisingly difficult to see if one is not looking carefully.

Well, perhaps you DO have the right of way, sir.

The family did the afternoon safari and there was lots to see: various species of bucks, crocodiles and colourful birds -  their guide Usman had a keen eye and knew his birds, which made the birding part rather fun. They drove out for almost two hours with a convoy, staying out a bit later to look for the beautiful-yet-unassumingly-named grey kingfisher. On the way back, the group was rewarded with a private sighting of four massive elephants browsing the forest and going for a stroll in front of the vehicle. Seeing elephants at Mole is almost guaranteed, but getting that close was a real treat.

There did not appear to be an organized night drive, so the family slept. However, one of Mole's quirks is that the only public bus through nearby Larabanga comes at 04:30, so one could hear quite the ruckus of tourists packing up in the middle of the night.

The following morning, the group joined a walking tour to nearby watering holes, where elephants congregated. There were also plenty of warthog (who seem to be quite cozy with the locals) and a flock of wild guinea fowl. The walk was a nice rendez-vous before the morning sun got too hot. The pool was used afterwards to great effect.

All worth it for a photo of this adorable warthog piglet.

On the way back to Tamale to catch their flight home, Mr. O took a detour at Nyakpala to the SeKaf shea butter village and processing plant, which produces high-quality shea butter TAMA line of cosmetics for export. If Northern Ghana is to harness its economic potential, it will be in no small part due to outfits like this one that not only harvest local goods but add value, package professionally and sell internationally. In Tamale, the group also went to the craft market, which is much quieter and with less hassle than in Accra. The group also passed by Tamale's most noticeable landmark: a giant football stadium purpose-built for the 2008 African Cup of Nations, now sitting disused without a local team.

The group flew out that afternoon, making a whirlwind of a safari in 36 hours. Not a bad way to tick the quintessential box on an African trip. Grandma and Grandpa would leave a couple of days later feeling quite satisfied with their trip, between the beaches, the markets, the chop and the elephants.

Sunday Morning Surprise

Not long after Mr. and Mrs. O settled into their house in a relatively quiet and non-descript neighbourhood, they discovered one of its many quirks.

On Sunday at approximately 5:45AM, Mr. and Mrs. O heard a noise. It started like a faint heartbeat and started to steadily grow in a rhythmic fashion: drums banging, bells tapping, voices chanting. What could possibly be happening? Was this a religious experience (overzealous pentecostals)? A political demonstration (remember the start of Hotel Rwanda)?

Greatly disturbed, they jumped out of their beds and nervously peered through the iron bars of their window to try and get a view of the street over their compound walls. (If it were the rapture or civil war, at least they would be fortified)

What they saw was unexpected: joggers. Lots of them. Of all shapes, sizes and sexes. And they were going for a light jaunt down the street, merrily singing and banging away. Then two hours later, they came back the other way.

From what was gathered in the subsequent investigation, this is a running group that gathers early in the morning and jogs down towards the beach as a critical mass. Some have even seen obrunis running with them.

Now they are part of the weekly routine. Some mornings they are ridiculously loud and wake up Little Miss (who wakes up Mr. O, who enjoys his weekend sleeping in) and some mornings they are barely heard, passing through dreams seamlessly.


Addendum: This phenomenon is actually quite prevalent in Accra. One morning catching an early flight, Mr. O saw the main highway filled with runners. For young males, it is an opportunity to train or warm up before an 8AM match, play a little footy and then skip off to the usual marathon church service for the day. So Sundays are not so lazy in Ghana after all...