Post Card From Ghana: Culture Shock

Yes, Accra has changed. And I get the impression that change is still occuring at a rapid pace. Physical development is plain to see; computers/mobile phones have revolutionised personal and business communication as they do elsewhere across the globe. The government is democratically elected; the local currency, the cedi , is equivalent to one US dollar; non-African foreigners mingle easily in town; international restaurants offer traditional English fare, pizza and Chinese food. High performance gas guzzlers are backed up in traffic and taxis are barred from exclusive neighbourhoods. There is no mistaking the sights and sounds of affluence dotted all over Accra. They are plain for all to see.

And yet, and yet....

I am irritated by the poor water supply, frustrated by the tiniest break in electrical power, baffled by the number of people I must involve in every single move I make. Sweat pours from me and I stink of mosquito repellent. People tell me they are used to the heat but they avoid going out in the torrential rain. That seems weird to me. Don't the two things go hand in hand? And let's not even talk about drink-driving or policemen who ask for 'something for the family'.

The delicious food I have craved for so long is still biteyourfingersoff delicious but, spicier than I imagined and, full of carbs! Haven't people heard of the Atkins Diet? Seriously, I'm going to have to hit the gym as soon as I get back to London.
People smile when I mention these things. Ghanaians are far more critical of their own country than any old Writer Girl who pops over for a few days. Still, I wonder if I should be writing about Ghana at all. Have I been living abroad for too long? We'll see. I want to talk to some people; find out more. It's still early days.

Post Card From Ghana : Welcome Home

(I wrote this some days ago in Ghana but could not get on the net till now...)

Heathrow. Bags in tow, early on arrival, electronic check-in sorted, The Child and I strut confidently to the Nice Lady at the desk to put our bags in the hold. Nice Lady reflects my beam and says, let me just check your visa....
Visa. Of course, we need visas for Ghana. Crap, I forgot to get the effing visas. Who can I blame? My hectic life, my far away job, everyone who recently pissed me off and made me lose focus, myself?????
My smile is still brave if a little less certain. Nice Lady gets on the phone to see if I can make a visa application in Accra.I swallow hard, and explain to The Child that mummy made a big mistake and now we can't go to Ghana. The Child says, that's okay mummy, relieved that she can now avoid sleeping in a mud hut, being bitten by mosquitoes and running into lions and tigers on the street... I make a frantic phone call to the Benevolent Parent who paid for our trip. (You really didn't expect a poor Writer Girl to fund this herself did you?) Benevolent Parent says, don't worry you can do it here. Nice Lady confirms the same with a note on our tickets. Phew. I feel an idiot but still, phew. We head for the departure lounge and who do we meet there? Only an Old Friend who tells me, don't worry. There is no such thing as a problem once you get to Ghana. I stare at him. He laughs and tells me I worry too much. This really is nothing to get stressed over.
We board. It is a half empty plane so Old Friend joins us for what is arguably my best flight ever. Did you know that British Airways serves jollof rice en route to and from Ghana? With fried plantain and chicken? Not bad at all. Old Friend is a magnet for other Ghanaians on the flight and very soon our little corner of the plane is buzzing with wide ranging conversation and mybellyisbreaking laughter. I am still worried about the visa situation but one of our party is a Very Important Airport Person who tells me that there is a facility for visa application on arrival and all will be well. He is right. We arrive, at Kotoka Airport. I sail through the process, fill forms, pay the fee and step out to meet Sir K (my cousin) who is waiting to greet me and The Child. It is a strange yet lovely welcome back to the old country. And I am looking forward to re-discovering it.

...just birds and bees and flowers...

I love this line from Roy Ayers' Everybody Loves the Sunshine. It reminds me of lazy afternoon picnics in the park and blurry Pimms-filled evenings. This past summer was just not long enough. But no matter because I am going to Sun. Yes, in just one week, my feet will touch down on Ghana soil. Ah...my days will be filled with noisy heat and laughter; my evenings will vibrate with crickets and croaking sounds. I hear the electricity service is still erratic inspite of the rapid development every where. They say the women are more beautiful than ever, and the men more outrageous. There must be new fashions, new trends. I left as a teenager, I am a bit older now. Will I understand the new slang? Do I even know my way around town? Hmm. I want to spy on clubbers as they dance to the latest sounds, gawp at young girls as they turn down eager suitors only to give in to them after a few more tries. I want to hear that sound; that special whispering sound of palm fronds in the breeze. I long to sink my feet in the sea water then marvel at barefooted young boys as they shimmy up a smooth coconut tree. I want to drive past Stevie Wonder's house and pretend I'm not excited. I want to blend in yet, I want to bore everyone with my tales of how good it feels to be coming back to the Sun.

Pink, red and orange flowers; sunbirds, green pigeons, Diana monkeys. A woman balancing oranges for sale on her head; young boys swimming in the lagoon; school children reciting their two times tables. I am preparing my eyes to store up images; my mouth waters when I think of the food....I can't wait to leave. Can't wait, can't wait.