Welcome to the Jungle: Ghana Part 1
June 4th 2009 17:21
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T.I.G
This sorta becomes a catchphrase while you’re here. Shit just doesn’t get done. That’s what you’ll notice. Ghana time becomes some warped farce of normal time. Legions of chefs stand in kitchens around the country doing nothing at all while you wait for your food. Presumably it’s all a big national joke.
Hilarious really.
Things start late, people turn up late and you’ll get to work late. Now if jesus was punctual I would be known as the antichrist. I’ve perfected the art of turning up late or, in the case of really important things, bursting through the door at the last minute.
In Ghana, I’m early. It’s unnerving and faintly unpleasant.
Tro -tros are like small busses. They ferry people around at breakneck speeds for less than a thimble of piss. Basically you’re paying for your safety. That is, nothing at all. Tros are also hot. Shockingly hot. It’s painful sometimes. You haven’t experienced Ghana until you’ve had a tro experience. Things like doors falling off, religious sermons being administered and fish being thrown at you. All the while you’re pressed into the side and/or back fat of the massively obese black woman who has managed to sit on you.
Ghana smells.
Well no. Ghana doesn’t smell. Ghana is quite beautiful and full of natural wonder. Accra smells. A lot. In the heat, it’s quite shocking how bad the smell can get. It takes a certain amount of apathy to let it get this bad. There are rivers of sewerage running along the street. Green and Blue sewerage. And the smell. Oh the smell, Jim. For a country that seems to have named itself the friendliest country in Africa, it must take a severe lack of pride in your surroundings to take a dump in the street. Near your house. While I walk past. T.I.F.G
Aishu.
I promised I’d mention Aishu. Well she made me promise. It’s something to do with being an internet superstar. She’s very fickle this Aishu. And intimidating.
And I’m quite sure she’s stalking me. After following me from Cape Town to Ghana, she plans to follow me to university in Australia to stalk me there too. I think she may be the jolliest person I’ve ever met. And she laughs at my bad jokes, so we get along. Aishu has an instant ability to make friends. I’ve seen it happen. She’s a magician. Flings herself into conversation with the force of a pouncing animal. She is also the tiniest person I know.
She has an insatiable sexual appetite, I’m told. But I promised I wouldn’t mention it. Also she’s Indian.
For “the friendliest country in Africa” you find it hard to walk down the street and not get hassled. It’s worse for girls because they have to put up with all the marriage proposals. It’s actually quite infuriating never being left alone. Most of the time I just feel like blending in to a crowd, like I would do at home. It wasn’t like this in Cape Town, but that’s another post altogether.
I miss coffee.
I also miss cheese. I miss hearty meals, strong showers, cold weather, my friends, coffee, vegetables (shockingly), a slight sense of professionalism at the newspaper, Julia, my bike and mosquitoes that won’t kill you.
This Is Fucking Ghana.
P.s
The National Trust is a joke.
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