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.