Friday, July 16, 2010

RIP-PBR



It was a fine February evening, when Chief (a colleague who is chief of some small village somewhere) arrived at my gate with a box on the back of his moto. The box was jigging around a bit which could mean only 1 thing! A puppy!!!!!!!! And the cutest puppy ever! I know all puppies are cute but this little fella was the most beautiful pale fawn & white & bright bright blue eyes! Puppy love at first sight.



After a few whiney nights of missing his mammy & sucking, Puppy (to be a temporary name only) settled in well. The weather was getting hot & his favourite place was inside under the fan with his chin on an icepack. Luckily Aunty Michelle (VSO now gone home) was around & happened to be a puppy expert so she helped out big time with the toilet training & within the month, Puppy was sitting & fetching! Clever pup – much to the amusement/ dismay of our Ghanaian neighbours who figured talking to / bathing & teaching dogs tricks was pretty mad. And cuddling! It’s probably similar to running out onto the street and grabbing a goat for a hug! They’re all meat. I got corrected a few times – Puppy’s not a he, it’s an it. However, I’m sure everybody liked him, even Baba (my Muslim watchman- they don’t tend to like dogs too much) and he liked everybody. I mean everybody. He followed strangers trying to greet them which totally freaked people out in a country riddled with rabies. Absolutely useless as a security dog but that’s because I was too soft on him or so I was told.



As the weeks moved on, Puppy got braver & braver & moved from the house to the veranda, to the garden & to the neighbourhood (estate), where he quickly made new friends. He loved roaming with his 2 doggy friends. Dogs liked him too cause he was completely submissive & not the alpha male at all. “Puppy” stuck though he was growing fast & would soon need a doggy name. He became a real creature of habit. I’d pull up at the gate on my moto & beep. Puppy would bounce down the garden & greet me (jump up on me & wreck my clothes). He’d then run round estate a bit. I’d move my bike into the house, he’d come running back in, greet me again, turn round & run around estate for about half an hour, meet his friends, smell things & back again for dinner!



How and ever, it wasn’t all sweetness & light. There was the time he chewed through my laptop cable. Bad dog. I really didn’t like him eating shit either. Literally. And he liked to chase the chickens (in a friendly way) – just playing but it freaked them out. He also bounced around the garden after butterflies. Cute. I was regularly missing a shoe or a sock only to find them down the bottom of the garden. And there was the biting, well not biting but constant mauling. Wasn’t that bad, kinda funny but it soon earned him the new extended name of Puppy Bitey Reilly or, in the great African tradition of acronyms, PBR (thanks Ellie for that one!).



Then along came Pussy. Pussy is my new housemate, Gladys’ tom cat. A small small but fully grown cat. Pussy was totally freaked out by the move & really hated Puppy. It was very funny watching the pair of them. Puppy was kinda indifferent/ a bit nervous of the cat when it was having a hissy fit. He tried to be friends as he did with everything but Pussy was having absolutely nothing of that & really nastily spitted at him & went for him. Puppy occasionally chased it but was generally indifferent & occasionally helped himself to pussy’s dinner. Bonus! I figured on a new name for him too – Chopper. But it didn’t get the chance to stick.

It was a wet Sunday evening last, Holland was playing Spain in WC Final & I was still getting over a small bout of malaria. I was lying on the couch & Puppy comes over, jumps up on me, half on the floor, half on the couch & starts chewing on fingers, hands etc... We played for about 10 minutes, was nice. Was thinking we’d not really hung out in a while. Gladys was on her way out to town & he clocked her & went for the door. I wanted to sit up & tell her not to let the dog out – he’ll follow her & she’s going to town with the real big bad road. But I didn’t have the energy to say it & in seconds they were gone. A half an hour later, phone rings. Puppy was hit by a speeding STC (big) bus. He wouldn’t have known what hit him. Poor little fella. Anyways, with a big juicy body like his, he wasn’t left lying there for long...

Everyone was sad & shocked by the news – kinda surprisingly so. Richard, my Ugandan friend sent me an email saying he hopes Puppy “rests well in eternal life”. Chief was particularly taken aback. So much so, he insisted on a funeral! No joke, it’s happening tomorrow at 4 over wine (no less!) & a fowl –chief mourners only – that’s me & Chief & our neighbour Miranda coz I happened to see her on the street & she reckoned it was a good idea. She & chief are Northern Region people who apparently believe that if you don’t have a funeral, all future pets will die young. Or it could just be an excuse to come to my house & be wined & dined. But, perhaps she’s right. All our favourite dogs died/ bunked off young – Hercules, Snoops, Dink...Maybe this funeral will put an end to that one.



Call to glory: Puppy, a.k.a . Puppy Bitey Reilly (PBR), a.k.a. Chopper. Will miss your bitey ways :)

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Ghanainisms




Chop chop – Some of my favourite Ghanainisms


Here, to eat is to chop, edibles are chopables and restaurants are chop bars. It’s a great word and still after 8 months it makes me smile when people talk about chopping this and that. Of course, it can lead to misunderstandings like the time another volunteer had a Ghanaian friend in the kitchen helping her cook dinner and she asked him to chop the tomatoes, only to find him chop chopping!


Another great & overused word here is pick. You can pick a taxi or a taxi can pick you. You pick someone on the back of your moto. You pick water from the fridge, you pick a phone call or if you’re not answering you’re not picking. The funniest use of the word I’ve heard however was a colleague describing caesarean sections as a “cut & pick”. I’ve also heard cut and paste as “pick & put”. Cracks my up!


To flash means to call someone & hang up before they answer in the hope they will ring you and thereby save your credit. It does lead to pretty funny sayings like “he keeps flashing me”, “flash me”, “did you flash?”, “I will flash you later”, etc....endlessly amusing to us whites.


My all time favourite though is these high-pitched exclamations – oh! It has to be done in a proper high pitch & is therefore particularly funny from the men. I have heard a colleague on the phone answering only in these high pitched exclamations & hang up. It cracks me up. Then there’s the other o. Not high pitched & just put on the end of a sentence like “I am hungry o” or “we suffer here in the north o” or “i like your dress o”, etc... It’s nice o. To agree with something or if you are getting something (“are you getting it?”) it’s a kindof deep nasally “ahaaaah”. Everything is “ahaaaah”. It’s funny o!


Another one I hear a lot in Bolga here is Sollamia – meaning white person. “Sollamia sollamia I am greeting you”, “sollamia good morning”, etc... Or I might be sitting in work or on the bus & I hear blah blah sollamia blah blah & people are obviously talking about you, the only sollamia around. Sometimes I get called white lady, white man or my favourite, just white. Hello white. White, where are you going? I like it. I’m white, they’re black. None of this PC business.


Another incredibly overused word here is come. “I’ll go & come”, i.e. I’ll be back later or shortened to just “go come”. “I’m coming”. People are constantly coming. They make take a while to come but they are coming. The rain is coming. The cheque is coming. You regularly hear sayings like “let me free myself and come”, “let me bath and come” or as our secretary at the last Senior Management Team meeting said “let me urinate and come”.


Of course, if it’s not coming it’s finished. Like the rain is finished. The rice is finished. The chicken is finished. The photocopier is finished. It’s finished. I saw recently a picture of Jesus on the cross with the title -It is finished.


Funerals give rise to some funny use of words. So, if the person died recently, it’s a fresh funeral, meaning the body is “in the fridge”. Otherwise the funeral is not fresh, the body was buried ages ago but they are just having the party now. So, when you ask someone how their weekend was, they will invariably mention funerals – fresh & not fresh! Anyways, it’s getting to 9, gotta pick something to chop and comeJ


Other favourites:




  • Are you sure?

  • It is not the best. (could be a great understatement, e.g. The famine is not the best.)

  • Let me land (let me have my say).

  • Walloped! (enjoy something such as he walloped the money/ the girl etc... )

  • But why? (with the upturned hands)

  • How? (short for how are you?)

  • By His Grace – way overused e.g. How was the weekend?

By His Grace.


How will Ghana do against Uraguay?


By His Grace we will score them!



  • God is a Ghanaian!

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Religulous!


Almighty God, His Grace, Allah, Jesus & Satan are just some of the big cheeses vying for attention, appearing on bumper stickers, shop fronts, taxi windows, t-shirts, dresses, shirts & water sachets and praised and worshiped in churches, shrines & mosques throughout the length & breadth of Ghana. I have yet to meet someone who does not practice some religion, and many have tried out a few different ones or have a couple on the go. God is invited to everything – to join us at our Numeracy workshops (we had a Christian prayer, an Islamic prayer, a Baha’i prayer????? and a minutes silence for the atheists at our workshop last week!!!), guide us through our Monday meetings, get us off this tro-tro alive and is even invited to join us for a beer in the evening. He is a very busy busy God indeed in Ghana & I wonder if he has any time left after all that for the rest of the planet.

So when I am inevitably asked what religion I am (not do I practice a religion?), it initially was Christian, but not really practising to “nothing” which I am now. Of course it would be easier to say “something” (though maybe not as you will be missed at the something church) but I’m getting fed up now with the religulousness of the place & I’m not taking it lying down any more. Oh no, I’m armed with ‘The God Delusion’ and I’m out there to liberate some souls.
At the moment I’m working on Simon, an accountant at work. He’s a lovely small man, married with 3 kids, though you would guess he was about 18 and he’s studying further, through a long distance course to climb the accountancy ladder somewhat. So, he’s been having some problems with maths so I offered to help him. He preaches at The Assemblies of God church in Tongo. He would love to travel abroad to work & make some money (as would many) & also to do some evangelising along the way. I’d say that would go down a treat on O’Connell Street alright – the thoughts of the poor fecker standing there in the cold being ignored and harassed by scumbags sends a shiver down my spine. Anyways, you can see I have my work cut out for me. Simon did the junior cert equivalent the same year as me, 1992, but didn’t complete secondary school til 2001 as he had to work hard to pay the fees. He travelled south to work on the farms for 6 years before he had the money for school. He worked from 3:30 in the morning, God knows where he stayed and he tells me it was God who put him through school! He takes no credit. Gods grace did it. So we’ve been having some philosophical conversations round that. I presume he’s also trying to evangelise me somewhat but its been interesting & he’s not actually horrified that I don’t practice. He said as he was leaving the other day that he knew plenty of church goers who are not as good as me! So, we’ll stick at it!!!!

Another question I’m often asked is why I think The West is not so religious & Ghana is. I’m finding that one a tricky one to answer. I guess education is a part of it, but that sounds a bit mean, i.e. you guys just haven’t been schooled. And it can’t be the whole answer either, look at America. Access to the appropriate kinds of information helps as it did for me, but again, look at America. Sometimes I reckon, God was just made obsolete in the West – we don’t need to pray for rain, we will eat anyways. Buses and roads are safer so we don’t need to invite Jesus on the journey. Perhaps here you need to put your faith in something because you can’t have faith in the elements or the breaks on the bus or your school fees being paid. But then again, look at America. They’ve no excuse. So I’m not so sure of the response to that one – I usually turn it on them & ask them what they think – usually not a lot.

So these past few days I have been craving Hitchens, Hawkins & Dawkins, just for a little balance. “Thank God” Michelle brought The God Delusion with her so I am enjoying, plus secretly been enjoying Orbital’s ‘Satan’ really loud on my walkman – feels naughty. Though I have to say, religion does provide a little colour & the sticker on my bedroom door makes me smile – “MY ENEMIES ARE FIGHTING IN VAIN, in Jesus name, amen”.

Sunday, February 7, 2010

January 2010



African Cup of Nations
Where has January gone to????? Well, there was the African Cup of Nations – great tournament. Started a bit shaky with Togos’ bus getting gunned down by rebels- 3 men died. But good news for Ghana as they were in their group so 1 down already! They played a lot of their under 20’s (who recently won the under 20’s world cup), who looked a bit young & inexperienced compared to the Ivory Coast who beat them badly in heir first game. We thought it was all over for Ghana, but lo & behold they held their own and beat Burkina, Nigeria & Angola to make it to the finals against Egypt! God is/was truly great! The final was very atmospheric in a hot small room, full of men naturally, with 2 TVs going side by side showing the final & Arsenal v Man U simultaneously. Was a bit confusing but eventful! Egypt beat us in the last minute – was a hard blow but everyone reckons the boys did well & everyone’s well proud of them. (picture of 2 young men sporting the Ghana colours)



Out with the old......

My great big Ugandan house mate, Richard moved out to his own house. Was sorry to see him go after 2 months of sharing skills and changing lives. I am glad to say he left knowing what a mop is & I finally learned what offside means. Michelle arrived in his place, a head (the ball) teacher from England, who will be staying for 3 months – also placed in the same office as me in Tongo. I reckon she’s going to shape things up a bit up there!

A missing cow & a dead donkey
January saw the annual Talensi Nabdam Teachers Day of appreciation. We are only district who does this, bringing all the teachers together (700) for speeches, music, minerals & food. So, very kindly the local chiefs donated crates of cokes, malts & beers, goats & 1 very generous chief handed over a cow. Much appreciated. However, 2 days before the big event, the lucky cow escaped! Bovine intervention apparently! So, we were all very worried what will the teachers eat? Can teacher’s day possibly go ahead? Well, the cows luck ran out & just in time he was returned & enjoyed by me and 700 teachers in our jallof rice. A great day was had by all (except the cow of course).

Myself & my neighbour Laura, a VSOs wife & Vet sat with a dying donkey just outside my house a coupe of weeks ago. Was pretty sad. She had been knocked over by a lorry & was just lying on the side of the road. Her baby was hanging around eating grass. So I called Laura for her advice, who came down. The only option was to find the owner & cut her throat to put her out of pain. Not a very nice option but better than her suffering for possibly days. So, as the boys went off to find the owner, she started getting very agitated & went into a bit of a fit & died. At which stage the baby came over & started neighing & was all very sad. I was sort of relieved it was all over at that stage, so I could go home & watch the footie.

An Imam & a monkey
The same neighbours, Anthony & Laura are after adopting a little ugly, frisky monkey. So, we were sitting up one their roof, enjoying a little sangria, when the little monkey jumped on my leg & started humping away! Managed to shake him off & was a bit grossed out. But I guess he’s probably a bit lonely & frustrated. No such excuses for the local imam though. He called round to my house later that evening & hugged me (firstly, they shouldn’t even shake women’s hands never mind hugs) rather inappropriately!!!! The man has 4 wives & is easily 70. Tempting!!!!!
Oh yeah, work.......
January has been a pleasant month up in Tongo. Work is still small small but getting more familiar with people & places, protocols & acronyms, budgets & the rest. It’s all very interesting. Also, while things are still a bit slow, I’m helping the statistician, Saani, teach some high school children maths – really lovely girls, which is nice & keeps me busy. So I’ve actually been working 9 – 5 & doing some marking in the evening also. All good! (picture of little visitor to the classroom)

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Happy Easter!!!!

Just returned from a dusty, bumpy adventure-filled two weeks of travelling with my senior sister, Eileen, aka Yin Poka (her adopted local name meaning female god, no less!). She touched down on the 20th, we spent a couple of days bumming round Bolga/ Tongo & then, on the 23rd we decided we really should get a plan together & start moving before xmas. Neither of us had anything particular we wanted to do or see, so we decided we would roughly make our way slowly south & see what happens!
We arrived in Tamale (2 hours south, 3rd largest city in Ghana) which feels like a big bad city compared to Bolga. Tamale is a bit of a crossroads – you can head west (ghanas least developed region), keep going south, heading for the volta (world’s largest manmade lake?) or east of the volta – which has some nice mountains (eileen) & yendi, a small divided town which was out of bounds for a long time due to chieftancy disputes (me). So east it is! It was lights out in Tamale, so we had an early enough night in our sweaty little room at Al Hassans & slept fitfully.
Christmas eve & Tamale bus station is a busy little spot. Like a lot of these stations, you often have plenty of time to sit & people-watch & browse the goods that come to you via the many many hawkers. This particular morning we sampled nescafe in bags (skawldy), and a very strong ginger tea from a very handsome young man from Niger. The bus eventually filled up & was feeling very excited & adventurous about heading in to the unknown (yendi), not knowing where we will stay that night , would there be room at the inn???????
Yendi is a lovely little spot, you’d never guess there has been any troubles there until we spotted the odd military tank. There’s a real back water, 1 horse town feel to the place & everybody greeted us. I don’t think they get too many visitors. Fortunately, there was room at the Yahaya Iddy Lodge. Comfortable little place with a\c (didn’t need) & no running water. Xmas eve was spent literally saying hello to everyone as we walked the length & breadth of the town. The kids were particularly excitable. We ate in the local constituency office, was invited to a baby naming ceremony (muslim) and watched a big group of men practice their drumming & dancing, twirling in their smocks– great! We saw young men weaving the local cloth & then headed to evening mass – catholic. Was disappointed as it was exactly the same as home apart from the choir (nice) & getting splashed with holy water by priest.
Xmas morning we were hungry & walked down the street looking for food. It wasn’t looking too promising, until we discovered a stall selling fried egg sandwiches & tea – was the best xms breakfast ever! Was very happy. Yendi is mostly muslim so it was all business as usual, which was grand. We hired bikes off a dude on the street & headed back to the lodge to rest for a while (the heat can be pretty exhausting). Wished a lad (Saani) sitting outside our room happy xmas & he informed it was actually a sad xmas as his crops had all been burnt down (they burn the grasses annually here to keep snakes etc at bay & sometimes they get out of control). So was chatting to him for a while & the manager about the situation in the town. Turns our there are 2 sides, each with their own acting chief. Their previous chief died 20 years ago & they have not had the funeral yet & they say there won’t be peace until the funeral happens. All very interesting stuff. There was a public announcement made saying there would be no fire festival (usually celebrated on the 28th in the northern region) as it would be the perfect opportunity to start burning houses down (thatch roofs on all these little mud houses). So, when sis was rested enough, we went for a cycle out of town where we pretty much had the road to ourselves, apart from the odd other dude on a bike (remember al Hassan & his mother on the back and his dog after them – not for eating!). Investigated termite mounds (huge!!!) and passed by little villages feeling like we were on a living documentary. Had a lovely xmas dinner of rice, beans, macaroni, chicken & coke x’s 2(thanks dad - dad sent out 50 euros for a nice xmas dinner – must give him the 47 euros change!). Laughed at a little 1 on the way home, who was caught short going to the toilet & ran away from the “soulamias” (us whities) crying with her skirt around her feet – everyone was laughing. Night fell & had a nice cold beer & watched the world go by on Yendi high street – the silhouettes of the girls going home with the loads on their heads, the men out praying & all the usual goats, sheep pigs etc rummaging around. Was joined by a nice lady, Souira, who offered us a lift back to the lodge on her moto. Nice. Ate some cake & pud (thanks mum) watched some crap tv & felt a bit more like christmas!
We were up lovely & early Stephen’s day to get the early bus to Bimbilla – thinking if we get there early we can keep going – head for the hills. Six o clock in the morning is by far the nicest time of the day. It was cool – could even wear a jumper! I don’t bother but you do see dudes with coats & woolly hats. Watched the lads load up the roof, goat after goat after goat & tonnes more stuff then finally more passengers! A young man with a copy of ‘the merchant of venice’ asked me if i wanted a read. Can’t really figure why they study that stuff here. Anyways, was sorry to see the back of Yendi, which we affectionately renamed Dink City, DC. The journey started out lovely, with a belly full of egg sambos & sweet coffee. The road was great for about 5km. Then suddenly hit the dirt road & the entire bus shook & the windows rattling was deafening. Dust poured in the windows & it felt more like a choppy sea ride than a bus. That wasn’t so bad, but then heard a snap & part of the roof was broken & was sagging at which stage everyone was shouting at the driver who shouted back & kept going. I was sooo scared. The thoughts of that steal roof caving in , followed by the boxes, crates, bags, furniture & a farm full of goats & people was not good. Surely only God could get us there now. (I’m starting to appreciate why everyone puts their faith in God – there isn’t much else!)Eileen must have looked pretty scared too as at 1 stage the Shakespeare boy told her not to be scared. Tried to think of something else (for the next 2 hours) & not look at the roof but was hard. The roads are scray enough here without also having to worry about he roof caving in! Was most releieved/ shaky to reach Bimbilla in 1 piece & after a nice cup of tea & hearing they would be having the fire festival we decided to stay for a couple of days. Some boys showed us the Junior Originals’ Guesthouse & we chilled for the afternoon.
Not much going on in Bimbilla, bar a lotta lotta dust, which gives it a bit of a run – down feel. Strolled down the road – not as ridiculously friendly as yendi but friendly all the same. Going past the bus station , a young man greeted us, wished us a happy EasterJ & showed us where we could eat –nice little place. His name was Ibrahim, he had just finished secondary school, failed English & maths & was now selling fone credit under an umbrella in the bus station. He was very sweet, I was asking him about the chief situation here (similar problems as yendi aparently ) & he told me he didnt know as he was only a small boy. So he taught us a few words of local language (language changes in practically every town!) –how to say good evening & respond & thought us saying it was the funniest thing ever. I love these dudes – there’s a real sweet innocence about them – not like in the cities! Although Eileen got a “whats up” off a few cooler dudes wearing baseball caps that night. Was talking to some funny drunk guys back at Originals, who wanted to come to Ireland in my suitcase (if i had a cedi for everytime i heard that 1!). They told us the story behind the festival. A long log time ago, a chief/ prophet married & he and his wife had no son. They tried & tried (only got daughtersL) and eventually the gods smiled on them & they had a son! They were soo happy. One day the wife couldn’t find the son. The chief didn’t now where he was either. They were very worried so they called together everyone in the village (using the “talking drums” –dude acted this out for us very well!) to tell everyone to go out & find the son. So they took torches of fire & off they all went. They eventually found the boy under a baobab tree so they took the boy & some branches from the tree & returned to the palace – the branches symbolise new hope/ beginnings. Nice story.
So, the following day was to be the Festival. Asking around & people were very vague about the details of the wheres & whens. So, after mass (again – boring apart from singing but not a lot else happening) & wandering around and resting and meeting some lovely children, we sat for a beer as the night fell around the spot where apparently it would all be happening. 6, 7 oclock, still nothing. Then, out of nowhere we could hear drums & shouting & saw fire & a procession of thousands of people marching past – incredible! Everyone had torches - women with babies on their backs, children, young men with big knives, faces painted white, devils horns – the works! So a young girl, Freeda caught me by the arm, passed me a torch & said come on , so me & Eileen were whisked away into the sea of fire! There were literally thousands of people & they were delighted to see the whities taking part! Soon enough our friend Ibrahim clocked us & he and his friend flanked us on either side & became our bodyguards for the night! The kicked small children out of the way – told us when to stop, when to “branch” & basically warned everyone close by to keep their distance. Meanwhile bushes & grass & everything along the way was being set alight. I had 1 small scared girl clinging to me til Ibrahim spotted her & gave her her marching orders. It sounds intense & it was, but it was absolutely hilarious. I felt like royalty. Eileens bodyguard, Saani, a cute little 15 year old ,wouldn’t let me open my water bottle myself & practically held it to my lips. Very funny. So, we reached the tree, swapped our torches for branches (relief!) & all headed back to the village. The lights went out & everyone just piled home. Freeda wanted to go to the disco so the 5 of us piled in had a boogie & was then escorted home covered in dust & black. What a buzz!
Next morning we were up at 6 to get the early bus out of town, heading further south. It left 7 hours later! so we had plenty opportunity to familiarise ourselves with the bus station, the toilets & the sisters who made the best egg sandwiches in town. Of course our pals from the previous night showed up & we were relieved to get on the bus & roll out of there after lunch to Hohoe. Hohoe is another lovely bigger town with a few tourists knocking around. We visited the “biggest” waterfalls in west Africa. Nobody is quite sure exactly how high they are & local estimates range from 20 meters to 2km! But they are big & for the first time in Ghana it provided a safe place to swim, which went down well. It was pretty quiet with just a couple of kids having a splash, a Togolese Jehvovs Witness & a young man who sang Celine Dion to me in a bizaarly high pitched voice!
Heading into new years, we hit the hills to mountain paradise lodge, pretty much what it was. I got a rough cold though & pretty much convalesced in a lounger looking out over the hills spotting the odd butterfly, reading Adrain Moles The Prostate Years & dozing small small. New Years eve we were joined by a few other travellers over some delicious groundnut soup & forced ourselves to stay awake til midnight. Nobody broke into Auld Langs syne thankfully!
So, New years day & business as usual as we descended the hills & hitched a ride to Ho from a lad with the National Lottery. I was pretty nervous in the car as we seemed to be going pretty fast & couldnt tell if this lad- Mensah- had been drinking or what was up with him. He was certainly tired, having been in church till 2 in the morn to bring in the new year. Later learned that was pretty much how everyone celebrated! Unfortunately we missed that one! So tried to relax a little & enjoy the scenery (lovely lush jungle) & was relived to arrive safely in Ho. We immediately squeezed into a trotro to the coast.
Keta is a very peculiar backwater of a place, which has practically been washed away by the sea. There are old colonial buildings lying in ruins & the town is all sand & very curious indeed. Not too many visitors here either it seemed. The beach is lovely & pretty much empty apart from a few young boys trying to surf on a plank of wood. We jumped in enthusiastically but got scared of the strong tide so settled for a little paddling pool by the spot, which was really lovely for an hour or so. As was the swimming by our hotel, which we really enjoyed the next morning for a few hours. We decided we needed one more adventure before returning north, so headed out of town to visit a famous fetish priest (possessed by the local god) at his shrine, who gathers with his congregation every Sunday after 2, according to the Bradt Guide. So, we arrived in this small small village with a big big shrine. We asked a young lad if it was ok to visit the priest. He went off, came back & asked for our names & country. He went off, came back, said that was fine!? & so in we went. There was a strong 200 plus congregation, doing some drumming, singing & dancing. We were introduced to the priest, via his secretary who wanted to know how we heard of this place. We showed him the guide, he wasn’t aware of it, so he photocopied it & the ceremonies began. We sat in the fancy chairs up the top, singing & dancing stopped & all took to their seats, women on the right, men on the left, the priest & his men up the front. No photos allowed. They brought a man out, who stood before the chief in robes. The chief stood up, removed 1 robe, then the other to reveal a naked man! Very interesting. He then wrapped a grass “skirt” around his waist & led him round in circles & then made him do a dance. Amazing. So he was done & now it was time to start seriously offering up some cocks (chickens) & goats to the gods in exchange of favours granted & to be granted. They held them up before the shrine by the scruff of the neck, drummed a bit & then they were dead! Didnt realise they were actually strangling themL Pretty rough. So there was loads more dead chickens, blood & dancing which was really cool. So, when we’d had our fill of dead chickens, 2 hours later, we took to our heals for the big smoke & a 13 hour bus ride home-which wasn’t boring cause we had 12 hours of Nigerian movies & they saved the foaming at the mouth bible stuff for the last hour arriving home sweet home to Bolga at 5 in the morning.
After a couple of days chilling,staff party (check out sis & our new chief!) had to say bye-bye to sis at Paga after 1 last egg sambo at the lorry station & more g-nuts & milky sweet coffee. Best xmas ever! (well at least since i got bootskates off santa in 1988).