In which I talk rubbish...

My more mature readers may remember a government campaign many years ago entreating us to take care of our countryside.  Adverts persuaded us to follow the country code; closing gates, keeping dogs on a lead, taking litter home.  “Don’t drop litter, put it in a bin,” became a familiar catchphrase.  Overall, the scheme succeeded in drawing public attention to an ugly problem and, despite the array of fast food wrappers, gum spots and unsightly fly-tipping, the British town and countryside are reasonably litter free.  Not so Ghana!

In some of the larger Ghanaian towns and cities, household rubbish collection is currently, slowly being introduced but here in Zebilla no system exists.  The result is streets festooned with the ugly remains of daily life; fields planted with plastic bags, tired shoes, broken bicycle parts…

 

To be fair, I haven’t seen any larger items scattered around – there are no dead fridges, beds and sofas hurled into the riverbed.  Such items are endlessly restored, repaired, renewed, regenerated and with relative ease.  So perhaps in this sense Zebilla is far more resourceful than the UK.  However, the town would hugely benefit from the introduction of our “bag for life”!

Wherever you shop here, your purchases are placed in a “rubber” (plastic bag), the most common being of thin black plastic.  Despite insisting on using our own shopping bag we have amassed a large store of them.  Water is sold cheaply and freely in a ½ litre plastic sachet.  The automatic means of disposal for both of these is to simply throw them on the ground.  The Ghanaian mindset is that rubbish is simply dropped.

 

Household rubbish is dealt with by public burning either individually or communally.  The tracks and paths throughout the town are bordered by such burning sites.  Once alight, the rubbish is left to itself to burn or to scatter in the wind.  In schools, children are in charge of sweeping up the rubbish in the school grounds (where the teachers have dropped their water sachets and food wrappers!) each morning and lighting the fires.  Yes, young children are left to light the fires unsupervised!  School Health and Safety Officers would have a heart attack. (Don’t come to Ghana, Heather!).

Compostable waste is much easier – all you do is chuck it over the fence for the foraging, roaming, domestic animals.  There was one time when we left a “rubber” of waste by our door and we suspect some passing, foraging, hungry children had their fill of our tasty (!) scraps.

Public areas are, therefore, in the main, rather unsightly.  However, individual places are not always so.  The matriarch living opposite is outside every morning by 6.30am sweeping her “yard” with a backbreaking twig broom.  No leaf or rubber is safe on her patch; no grain of sand is left out of place.  Once completed she sits on her wall to admire her handiwork and survey the littered field beyond.  Job done!

 

An efficient broom but it breaks your back!

 

A further cause for concern is the drainage system which is more problematic in the towns and cities.  Drains are open and run alongside the roads and pavements and if you are not careful you can quite easily fall into one and end up basking in the dirty water next to the pigs!  It’s slightly better here in the back streets of Zebilla where the water simply leaves your bath/sink and travels into the dirt paths; rather an unpleasant smell but no danger of falling in!  So, these drains are smelly, mosquito breeding, germ traps and they criss-cross the streets, along with the rubbish, adjacent to the market stalls and shopping booths.

We have encountered a couple of very creative recyclers; one lady who uses the rubbers and sachets to weave baskets and a farmer who uses the sachets like plant pots for his seedlings.  I look forward to meeting many more of these pioneers – their skills are badly needed.

 

 

From such observations I conclude that Ghana is breeding a large rubbish problem which currently the government seems unable to solve.  It may not be a priority to return the countryside to its uncluttered beauty but the health and safety aspects will need to be seriously addressed as the populations in the towns and cities rise.  Developing a better drainage and rubbish collection system may not be very glamorous but perhaps some of the leading charities might like to consider lending a hand in this direction in order to save a life!  

 

 

In which I get religious...

Statistics maintain that overall, the population in Ghana is Christian with about 15% Muslim.  A strong current of traditional beliefs, superstitions, witchcraft, juju, underlie both of these, especially with the older generations.  Here in the far north, the predominant religion is Islam. Nevertheless, co-existing peacefully with the mosque, you will find a variety of Christian sects: Anglican, Catholic, Presbyterian.

 
                                Zebilla Catholic Church

Religion is extremely important.  Religious gatherings form one of the major opportunities for socializing (that or the local pito (local brew) bar or spot (pub))!  Church services are long and full.  The tro-tros and taxis all have biblical epithets adorning their windows: “in God we trust” and the like.  Everyone wears T shirts and polos with handy quotes or advertising their church.  Interestingly, these are all Christian in origin though the wearers are not.

Your religion is one of the early questions you are asked in introductory conversation.  Most business meetings begin and end with a prayer; Muslim to begin and Christian to end, or vice versa.  On Fridays the office is very quiet as the Muslims visit the mosque at midday and often fail to re-appear; Christians seem to down tools in sympathy!  Likewise the attendance in Islamic schools is poor on Fridays, particularly if it also happens to be a market day and despite the fact that school closes at 12pm instead of the usual 1.30pm.  I’m not sure if other schools close early but my guess would be that they do!

Our house is very near to the Anglican Church.  On Sundays the service can last between 2 and 3 hours.  There are also meetings and services throughout the week.  We are frequently (when I say  “we” I mean “I” since Paul can sleep through an earthquake) woken at 4am by the priest calling his congregation in to prayer.  He uses a megaphone so as to drown out the muezzin who is also in full swing by then!
 

Now that the dry season has begun, the locals have a little more leisure time.  So on Friday evenings they gather in force in the church to have fun.  The drums and other instruments, the singing and dancing, fill the airwaves from 8pm – 11pm when, thankfully, peace resumes.  I say thankfully because, I’m sorry to be critical here, it is not in any way tuneful.  A good African drumming session might be acceptable, even welcome, but no!  We have the modern, pop style band, with very little training or skill.  However, the singers and dancers don’t mind and God is praised in a very jolly and wholehearted fashion.  Perhaps the sound is distorted over the 50 metres to our house and then through our paper thin walls.

 

                                      

                                                    Our neighbouring Anglican Church

 

The drums and cymbals are toned down a little for Sunday worship.  To me, both Friday and Sunday seem, from a short distance, to be very loud and riotous.  It may be the fact that they are conducted in the local language of Kusaal; or that the priest shouts his prayers through the microphone over the top of the chorus.  Either way, I am not tempted in; in fact, quite the opposite – I find the style very aggressive and quite threatening.  So, I prefer my own, more modest times for contemplation, prayer and reflection.  Our Catholic friend is also complaining about the length of the Sunday service and is considering creating his own time.

You don’t have to be a Muslim to attend the Islamic schools but Muslim girls are expected to wear veils.  In primary schools I believe there are Arabic lessons after main school: I think these are optional.  Office buildings have designated mini-mosques and a few prayer mats – not widely frequented but they have occasional use.  A few weeks ago we all enjoyed a National holiday (possibly Eid but we couldn’t work it out).  On this occasion the Muslims were out in force, visiting the mosque and afterwards forming a wonderful parade through the little street of Zebilla displaying all their fine clothes.  Very beautiful!

Despite the importance of these formal religions the old traditions persist.  During one of our school screening sessions we discovered a boy, probably 9 or 10, with extremely poor vision (possibly blind in one eye) and red, sore eyes.  When his father was called in to school he told us that at the child’s birth, the placenta had not been disposed of correctly (some kind of ritual involving burning) and therefore the boy was cursed.  Consequently nothing could be done about his eyes.  My Special Educational Needs Officer tried his best to persuade them to visit the hospital but we are still uncertain of his success.  Without treatment this boy is suffering unnecessarily.

There are other stories about children born with a disability – “spirit” children.  There is a strong belief in witchcraft and witches can be blamed for all manner of misfortunes.  Most of these children are hidden away; some are “disposed of”.  I had read this in my guide book before I arrived but I didn’t really believe it could happen in this day and age.  Well, it does!  Part of my role here is to add weight to the argument that treatment is available and there is no witchcraft involved in disability; they call it “sensitizing the community”.  The aim: to get these children and adults out into the open, treated, nurtured and enjoying life.

And on that note, I will close.  God Bless!

In which I relate some animal stories...

By special request from Judith!

Here is Paul’s blog address for those who may not have it and who may be interested in a more serious approach: http://paulinzebilla.blogspot.com

 

Oh how peaceful living in the country far away from the noisy town,

Oh how peaceful living in the country, here’s a place to settle down!

 

Lizards of all shapes and sizes are abundant in this part of Ghana.  First there is the small, speedy one scuttling like an over-anxious crab on the hot, exposed sand.  Yesterday I watched one stretching up on back legs to catch the drips from a water tank, eyes alert for danger, almost tripping itself over in its hasty retreat.

The larger varieties are slightly less prehistoric looking and tend to lurk more around trees and undergrowth than buildings.  Some have flashy orange heads used like a periscope to seek out insects (and danger).

 

Then there is the gecko, again in many varieties; the ones with the orange spots or the enormous suckers on their feet; long tails; short tails; ones that hang upside down from the ceiling or scurry around on walls and behind cupboards sounding like a plague of rats; and finally the very communicative ones.  Imagine the loud sucking/clicking noise made by a toddler sucking very enthusiastically on a dummy and there you have it.  I never knew they made a noise at all!

The pigeons here are also of the loud variety: same size and shape as the collared dove but with pretty pink and blue/grey feathers and a much larger voice box!  It’s like having a miniature chimpanzee laughing outside your room. Paul thinks they are laughing doves.  Sometimes we are tempted to call in the heavy mob – the vultures and black kites which hover around – just to keep them quiet!

Insects also fill the air waves with their constant clicks, buzzes and whistles…as long as they are singing and not biting that’s ok with me!   Perhaps the bats living in the roof of the office block help to keep down the insect population whilst making their enormous contribution to the harmonies of wild Africa.  It’s like working in a large, busy office where every door is rusty and in need of a good oiling…creak, creak, creak!

Guinea Fowl are the next creatures on my list of outrageously vulgar and argumentative cacklers, particularly at 5am outside your window.  They are even more annoying when they chase each other across the road right in front of you; it’s like a witch’s convention, all screaming at once!  However, I did feel sorry for them yesterday when the tro-tro we were riding in ran over one.  There was really no need; the driver could see the mother crossing the road with her brood cackling behind her but he chose not to slow down.

Other creatures roaming freely around the land and adding to the cacophony of sound are the donkeys (one has just grunted outside as I type!), chickens (yes, there goes the cockerel, full throttle, …who cares what time of day or night it is), goats, pigs, dogs and the occasional cow.  All are scrawny, lean and mean, half starved creatures scratching away at the ever decreasing vegetation and ever increasing piles of rubbish.  Most of them will end up in the pot sooner or later; yes, even the dogs!

A few animal stories:

1       Without going into too much detail here, we have to turn our water on/off at an underground tap every few days.  Paul went out to perform this task at dusk one day and on his return was warned by our friend Adam that dusk is a dangerous time to be fiddling on the ground as the scorpions are beginning to forage!

Also relating to the water tap:

2      Paul coming in from turning it on and looking somewhat stiff and uncomfortable: “Jane, can you help me take my sandals off.”

Should I panic now? Looking for killer bees or the like: “Why, what’s wrong, what have you done?”

“Now help me with my trousers…carefully!”

Eventually, after ferretting around in his trousers for a while, out pops one very bewildered gecko.  It had inadvertently darted chosen the worst possible escape route!  It spent the rest of the day hanging on the wall in great shock.

3      Ghana is full of unsightly litter.  Whilst eating lunch under a shady tree one day we were surprised by the loud squawking of a neighbouring chicken.  It had inadvertently stepped on a black plastic bag (known as a ”rubber” here and in constant use at the market) and was flapping and squealing in terror as the bag chased it around.  Eventually the bag slipped off and peace was resumed but young chick stayed very close to mum thereafter.

4      Another gecko story…Never leave your fruit salad unattended!  I had prepared two bowls of delicious, cool fruit for tea and left them ready in the kitchen.  On my return there were definitely two geckos eyeing them up and possibly leaning over the tops of the bowls.  Honestly, I’m sure of it!  At first I was a little dubious about whether or not the food had been contaminated but, ah well, needs must…and we are here to tell the tale!

5      There are few decent roads in Zebilla.  I was travelling to a school with a colleague recently along one of them, wondering why he was cruising slowly (usually he dives into all the potholes like a rally driver).  Suddenly, directly in front of us, charged 4 arguing donkeys braying for all they were worth and kicking each other…straight out of the bushes into the middle of the road…then proceeded to battle their way up the highway in front of us.  Clearly my colleague has second sight (or he’s driven that road before!).

As you can read, life in Zebilla is never quiet.  The walls of the house are paper thin and the windows, where they exist, are permanently open.  We live in a world where the outside joins us inside…whether we like it or not.  Peaceful?  Not here!

One day I may be able to add a few photos…

In which I introduce you to school life...

In general, schools here start at around 7.30am; however, children arrive from 6am.  This is cleaning time.  It is the responsibility of the children to keep the school environment clean and tidy.  So, sweeping parties are organized to brush the playground and collect the litter.  Classrooms must also be swept, boards cleaned and tables straightened.

 

To be honest, it’s not much of a playground; a patch of sandy ground scattered with stones and the occasional tree.  Goats and chickens, sometimes cows and occasionally a speedy motorbike also make use of the space.  Still, it is a space, and children being children, enjoy the freedom to chatter, skip and even kick around an old, deflated football.

The classroom boasts only a chalkboard; no books or displays to worry about, and the hard wooden desks and benches are almost Victorian in style.  One enterprising young science teacher has brightened up the brown walls in his classroom by painting the periodic table.  I think I need to study this!

 

These observations are based on visits to some half a dozen schools but in particular a local Junior High School here in Zebilla.  We have been working with the Head teacher, staff and pupils in Hamdaniya JHS, a school catering for the equivalent of Years 7, 8 and 9, after which free, compulsory, basic education ends.

After our initial introductions at the school, we have turned up on a weekly basis, first of all observing and learning and latterly providing help and support.  Lessons are predominantly teacher led: not surprising when classes can be as large as 60/80 strong.  Ideally teachers would like to move towards child centred learning but the practicalities are formidable when faced with no resources.  Hamdaniya School has no electricity; the staff room consists of 2 tables under a shady tree…

                                             This is where the school dinners are made

The staff have been very welcoming with some positively seeking our advice and developing new ideas.  In fact, one student teacher this week experimented with some paired writing we had talked about and she seemed genuinely pleased with the results. 

We have also begun some English intervention work in JHS 1 (in theory Year 7 but the age range can be from age 12 – 18).  We conducted a baseline test with 48 students using some of the most popular first 100 words.  Many were OK with these but complained that they failed to understand what they read.  A few struggled and had no groundwork in the mechanics of reading – phonics and sounds etc.

 So, now we have 9 groups of varying abilities, some focusing on vocabulary building and others on word building.  Of course, there have never been intervention groups before.  There are no facilities.  We have one plastic chair and some tree roots; no flip chart, no pens, no paper…nothing!  It’s a million miles from what we’re used to and it’s forcing us to be endlessly creative.  It’s amazing what you can do with a piece of scrap paper and a few paper clips we found on the floor in the office!

 

 

In which I take you on a tro tro ride...

Picture a brand new 15 seater minibus.  Now give this 20 rounds in your washing machine with a sack of rocks and imagine the result.  Ok! You now have more of an image of your average tro tro: dented, rusty, chipped windscreens, badly fitting doors, wobbly seats, slashed upholstery, shattered suspension, an engine that just about works.  I could continue but I think you get the idea.

Picture a newly laid road, smooth and glossy, stretching like a glistening heat wave into the distant horizon.  Now get real and pop your road in the washing machine with the bus and the rocks; cracks, mountainous holes, caked in dust… to name but a few of the hazards!

Picture a cool, air conditioned, empty tro.  Now…remember how you can barely get in the car in England on a hot day?  Expand your image to include the relentless equatorial sun beating down and you are getting much nearer the mark.

Now, you + husband and at least 17 (yes, I know it’s a 15 seater!) more Ghanaians of all different shapes and sizes pile in loaded down with bags and animals (alive and dead) and babies and any other parts of the kitchen sink you may need on the way.  Oh, and don’t forget the mobile phones with which you can communicate very loudly and very often.  Also hear the wide variety of peripatetic tro sellers vying for trade all around you.

The scene is set – well, almost.  Did I mention the large, large roof rack crammed with goods from fridges to goats? (I did actually see a whole herd of goats strapped onto one roof rack but I didn’t manage to get the all important photo).

So, off we go, 30 miles, 1 hour, to Bolgatanga.

There are two ways with which you can regard this journey:

1             The White Knuckle Ride of a life time:

Swerving to avoid the voluminous potholes, crashing down and out of the ones you can’t avoid; careering across to the other side of the road to grab the smoother bit before the next man, narrowly avoiding the incredibly large and laden lorry looming near or the small motor bike heading straight for you; waiting patiently for the armed guard to take you past “the highwayman” who once upon a time held up a tro (to be fair, you only have to endure this one after dark); driving in zero visibility due to the enormous  quantities of dirt and dust thrown up by all the charging around.

OR

2            The Ultimate Spa Experience:

Arrive at your destination caked in road dust and mud from head to toe, stew in it for the day and return home to scrape it all off and plunge into the cold shower; cook yourself inside the Turkish bath whilst being entertained by the many conversations buzzing around you; tone up the bingo wings as you grip the seat in front to maintain your balance whilst working wonders on your behind by clenching tight to what’s left of the seat below you; enjoy the Jacuzzi effect of the hour long bouncing in and out of the potholes – but watch your head on the ceiling!

And the great thing is that you can enjoy it all again on the journey home.  All this and more, for a mere 9 Ghana cedi return – about £3 to you!

In which I relate Adam's story...

20.10.13

Adam’s story is in many respects a typical one of growing up in Ghana, particularly in the poorer northern regions where we are.  The difference is that Adam is one of the luckier ones whose talents were spotted and nurtured so that, coupled with his own hard work and determination, he is beginning to achieve his ambition.

Education is not a high priority here.  Basic education is compulsory (up to the age of about 14) but the law is never enforced.  Children are often needed to help on the farm, sell produce, complete household tasks, especially in the rainy season when crops are abundant.  Respect and obedience to the family and to adults is absolute.  If a child is told to work at home then there is no option but to comply.  So, attending school can be a problem. 

By the age of 12, Adam was struggling to balance home commitments with school and consequently school attendance suffered.   He had moved from his parental home to live with his grandfather, a considerable distance away, to an area where schools were better.  However, his grandfather, with two wives and families, struggled to support him and he worked in various capacities outside of the home to feed and fund himself: cleaning, building labouring, farming.

Here in Ghana, if you don’t pass your end of year tests then you don’t move year groups.  And of course, if you are not attending school regularly, then you don’t pass the tests.  Staying in the same class is very demoralising and demotivating…which leads to a further fall in attendance!  A vicious circle!  It also led Adam into some bad habits, “hanging out”.

Eventually Adam came to the notice of a VSO volunteer when he won a school quiz competition.  Over time the volunteer befriended him.  She gave him maths tuition; encouraged him; chased him into school on many occasions.  Life was still hard.  Adam continued to absent himself from school on a regular basis in order to earn money for his basic survival needs; mainly food.  However, he valued the new friendship which was helping him to gain focus and direction.

Other volunteers with a diversity of interests came along and were introduced to Adam.  Through these contacts he developed interest and curiosity and a thirst for knowledge.  He recognised his own keen interest in nature, particularly animals, and from this, developed an ambitious plan to study veterinary practice.

Adam achieved his Basic Education Certificate Examination (BECE) at the age of 17.  He determined to study at the Senior High School in Bolgatanga where he would need to look after himself for the week and return to his grandfather in Zebilla at the weekends.  Unfortunately this plan was a little over ambitious as he had to once again absent himself from school in order to earn the money to live.  So he dropped out of school after only one term.  When the VSO volunteers discovered this his case was brought to the attention of the local Chief and a place sought and found in Zebilla Senior High School for the following year.

Paul and I met Adam on our arrival in Zebilla.  As an adult he now supports new VSO volunteers to settle in and find their way around the tricky local systems and customs.  At the time we arrived he was about to sit Senior High School exams.  Some were re-sits; there had been no physics teacher in school for some time which rendered exam work somewhat difficult.  He is currently awaiting the results.

Meanwhile Adam continues to keep himself busy.  Not only does he keep a watchful, helpful and supportive eye on us, he volunteers at the local internet café; is teaching computer skills; maintains links with VSO local staff; helps his grandfather on the farm; writes articles for the local newspaper.  We see him regularly.  Last week he taught us how to cook “Red Red”, a traditional local dish.  He likes Star Trek (sorry, that’s our fault).  He is a great source of local and national knowledge and history.  He is a good friend and companion.

Adam is 25.  He wants to be a vet.  We wish him every success.  In an ideal world life would not be quite such a struggle.  In the ideal world every child would have the opportunity of fulfilling his/her potential.

 

 

In which I confide some of my many panics...

I will start with the current one:

We have a large gas cylinder for cooking which is beginning to run out.  In order to get a replacement it must be taken to Bolgatanga, 30 miles west, along a half tarmac, half-track road, both full of potholes.  We have no means of transport except the tro tro or bus.  So, we face the prospect of begging time off work in order to lug this thing, in 30° heat, to the bus, find the stall in Bolga, and return with a full one.  That is, unless we can come up with a better plan.  I’ll let you know!

Other panics:

The first days

No amount of training can prepare you for the moment when you are left to fend for yourself in a completely strange environment and culture; the utter desolation and shock of being alone, not knowing whether to turn right or left when you leave the house; not knowing a sole for hundreds of miles.  It is frightening!  With my heart in my mouth, pounding away, we boldly went where many men have gone before … but not us.  Needless to say, we survived.

The first night was also a trauma.  Now, some of you may know I’m a little claustrophobic.  We have a mosquito net around the bed (Paul now refers to it as The Wendy House).  So, we are tucked in all around and the air is stiflingly hot…the sort of hot where you can’t get enough air into your lungs and you want to dive into the fridge (I have great sympathy for you asthmatics nowadays!).  Add to this the fear of the dark; not your average Oxford night but – the dark – no electricity for miles etc.  Paul, true to form, falls asleep instantly. I lie awake, trying to breathe, calmly; next door has an electric light shining into our room…makes no difference…I’m days away from my family, from anything and everything I know about.  Up I get, palpitations, panic; what if…how can I get back?  Paul patiently talks me through all the emergency plans and procedures and produces the little wind up torch. 

 I still wind the torch up every night and go to sleep by its comforting light!

The phone

I did not bring a phone on the understanding that once in Accra we would be shown how to buy phones and sims.  Everyone else seemed to have brought phones.  Did I get it wrong?  It took until day 3, with me constantly worrying the staff (when are we going to buy phones; how do you do it; what’s the best network?) before we were escorted to the Vodaphone shop.  From there it was easy.  The staff just sailed me through and, after a few practises, my phone is my lifeline!

Incidentally, most Ghanaians have mobile phones (often 2 or 3) which they use constantly- for greeting (yes, they phone just to say hello and then go again) and for all manner of business!

The modem

Despite more worrying of staff in Accra, we did not purchase a modem there.  We were assured that it was better to get one in Zebilla to ensure purchasing the best network for the area.  In true Jane style I worried and festered over this; I like things done and dusted.

Well, actually you can’t buy a modem here; you have to go to Bolga (I knew it).  So, on our first Saturday we braved the tro tro to Bolga.  As we arrived we asked one of the young men on board where we needed to alight.  When we explained that we needed a modem from the Vodaphone office he not only got off the bus with us but escorted us on the 15 minute, sweltering walk to the shop; waited whilst we purchased the modem; showed us where to go to register it and then exchanged phone numbers so that he could call and greet us the next day.  This is typical of the generosity of people here.

The internet

continues to have me on tenterhooks, causing frequent mood swings and bouts of despair but also joy when I can connect.  The day after installing the modem I turned on my computer to discover everything…YES-EVERYTHING had been wiped.  No photos, no music, no files…nothing.  We rebooted many, many times.  I despaired, paced the room, cursed, wailed, berated VSO!  It wasn’t until Paul remembered a similar problem on a friend’s (thanks Stella!) new computer that we realized it was a windows 8 problem.  Paul managed to find and restore the files and all was well (apart from the damage to my heart as it spent the day in overdrive).  Well, until today, when it happened all over again!  I don’t think you can imagine how distraught it makes me…my connection with you all and my past (yes, it’s all on a hard drive at home but what good is that!).  Ok, so I need to store it here too.  Poor Paul, he has to ride many a storm!

The water

The first time we ran out of water came as a bit of a shock.  It has happened several times since and we are resigning ourselves to the on-going problem.  We have a large polytank which at present is full.  However, the ballcock which stops the water coming in (like in the toilet) is broken, so the thing keeps overflowing with water leaking out all over the place.  Then you have to switch it all off and sometimes we lose the flow…all very complicated.  The landlady is aware but it seems to be a difficult problem to fix.  Fortunately we have bins full of water in the house (clearly this is not a new problem) so we are all right so far.  However, bathing in a dribble of water is not the most fun!  I wonder what it will be like when the water becomes scarce (perhaps I’d better save that panic for a later date!),

 

All in all, everything is more of a challenge here in Zebilla.  But hey!  We have completed our first month away… and we’re still hanging on in there!  And next time I’ll be able to tell you some of the highlights!

In which I describe Zebilla...

The internet in Zebilla is painfully slow, that is, when it works at all.  I have been trying to upload photos for the blog but not so far successfully.  I will keep trying but it may be that we have to wait until we go to Bolgatanga, about 30 miles west which may prove more successful.

Zebilla is remote.  Very remote.

Zebilla is hot.  Very hot.

 

At present it is the rainy season so we are surrounded by lush green vegetation.  Millett and maize are planted hap hazardly wherever there is a spare patch of soil.  Rice grows in the wetter lowlands.  There are some beautiful, tiny yellow butterflies flitting around in abundance; frogs croak; a rather loud local pigeon begs to be noticed.  Lizards of all shapes and sizes abound.  I didn’t realize how noisy they are!

We are told that come the dry season all of this fertile land will become arid and brown and I can believe it, having experienced the heat.

A variety of livestock roams around freely: goats, pigs, chickens, guinea fowl.  If you are not woken up by a helpful cockerel each morning then the call to prayer emanating shortly afterwards is sure to get you!

 

 

Zebilla is a town of some 23,000 ( I found this figure somewhere but it seems rather large).  The main road cutting through the town is a busy thoroughfare filled with bikes, motor bikes, tro tros (the local bus, like a minibus), buses and lorries.  It is alive with kiosks, huts and traders making and selling their wares from early morning until dusk.  On market days there is a cacophony of chatter; greetings, trading, bargaining, all of which is a bit overwhelming for the “nasara” (white man). Couple this with the fact that we have no idea what many of the products on sale are – strange powders, dried fish, nut like fruits, oddly shaped vegetables – and it becomes an endless game of “name that object”!

 

 

                  

Moving further back from the main road are the channels of dirt tracks leading to the living areas.  These can vary from the traditional courtyard farm houses built around a shady tree using mud bricks and a local render with thatching and corrugated iron roofs, to something more like ours, the “white” house. 

Our house is basic but adequate.  Well, apart from the mosquito prevention!  We spent a large part of the weekend stuffing old plastic bags and fabric into the holes in the doors, walls and netting.  They still get in!

 

 

Zebilla is incredibly friendly.  Large proportions of time are spent in greetings.  These are filled with genuine warmth and are a reminder to all that life is precious and it is a joy to be alive each new day.  If you need something you only have to ask and help will be forthcoming.

 

 

 

             

In which we practise packing...

Question:

How to get a round peg in a square hole...or, alternatively, how to pack a house into a suitcase?

Now, packing in our house is usually man's work...all I have to do is make the task increasingly impossible.  Works a treat!

The suitcase came from Paul's grandma many years ago and has been sitting in a cupboard with a variety of treasures such as my wedding dress, baby clothes, birthday cards and other such mementos.  So, you can imagine the first trauma of finding space for them all, along with all the memories.  Can I throw them away?  Far, far too hard!

We've never used this suitcase for its correct purpose because it's far too big...well that is until now!  We have:

• 2 motor bike helmets
• 1 iron (yes!  In Ghana everything gets ironed to kill off the insect eggs that have been laid in the washing whilst it's drying.  Great!  No skimping on that job then)
• 1 printer (We were told it would be a useful item to avoid frustration)
• 2 laptops
• A year's supply of sunscreen, insect repellent, shampoo, moisturizer (don't go ANYWHERE without this), ibuprofen and the like
• Boots and shoes (Oh! How to choose which shoes to take?!)

To name but a few things. 

Clothes are just a minor part of the process.

Anyway, we concluded (or at least the packing genie did) that we have sufficient bags to pack everything in.  I'm not convinced we have enough camels to carry it all though.

"What about wheels?"  I hear myself ask.  Clearly wheels are not manly enough!  Man made backs first didn't he?  And anyway, you can't pull wheels across the ruts in the roads in Zebilla. 
I can't really argue with this; I'll just have to keep up with the weight training!

So, now for our next trick...

In which I learn to ride a scooter...

 

The 12^th, 13^th and 14^th August, allocated for motor bike training, have not been easy!  It became obvious on day 1 that I was not a natural, even reverting to a scooter with automatic gears.  Why? Fear!

However, with a little lesson adaptation, lots of encouragement and a certain degree of determination, I now have a certificate rendering me competent to handle a scooter.  It will take a whole lot more practice to make me confident and comfortable!

Packing the gear…which boots do we use for riding a motor bike?  We are complete novices!

 

 

Well at least we got this right!

 

After the training. Phew!  The look of terror is beginning to fade.  Paul is all smiles…he loved the experience.  Well, he has been pedalling a push bike for 30 years!                                                                                     

So here are just a few of my cuts and bruises!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jane (ps You would not believe how long it took me to do this...but it is all my own work!)