The beast that is the Bolga Gym…. A very different beast to Greens in Cambridge.

I’m on the ‘I need to get fit’ fad that takes me over for a couple of months maximum every now and again… It’s due in part for my need to keep busy, take my aggression out on something given recent events and work on my bikini body for the new year (it’s a long shot).  As our traditional/hip life/azonto dance classes have fizzled out (yes, I was dancing) and some VSO colleagues starting to attend the gym, I’ve opted for the gym… I need the motivation of others going!  I knew it wouldn’t be the same as Greens in Cambridge.  God forbid there had been a pool in Bolga that I was unaware of. On first glance there is a bizarre resemblance… until you dig a little deeper into this beast of a gym.  It’s in a two story building and occupies the entire 1^st floor and has a raw warehouse feel about it.  There is a large flat screen TV at both ends and some running and cycling machines lined up below them, the entirety of the remaining space in this warehouse is taken up with various weightlifting paraphernalia.  Not worlds apart from Greens, ok there might be a few less electric machines, step up, rowing machines and what not and a few more weight lifting machines...  Clearly there are more non electric bits and pieces in Bolga but given I’ve come to a sudden halt on the runner more than one occasion in the 5 times I’ve visited the gym, it’s not surprising they’ve spent the majority of their capital on the non electrical machines given the unreliable electrical supply.

I’ve never been entirely comfortable going to the gym… more necessity than pleasure… I kept my head down not wanting to look at the lithe, fit bodies that surrounded me… and certainly didn’t talk to anyone apart from the trainer setting up the programme. Not in Bolga. And it’s definitely the atmosphere in the gym that makes this beast an entirely different beast to the gyms you find in the UK… Everyone talks to you, size really doesn’t matter, and neither does what you wear.  There are no barriers…. Unfortunate when you are sweating your arse off on the treadmill barely able to breathe let alone speak and the person you greeted last time wants to have a full on conversation with you.  Apart from the odd one, possibly two Ghanaian women the entire space is taken up with many super fit (in all senses of the word) men… It’s a truly amazing sight.  I’m gutted I’m unable to see quite as clearly as I would like due to the inability to wear glasses as they just slide off my face with the buckets of sweat that pour off me… but what I can see is pure unadulterated muscle rippling around me while they push more kgs than I care to mention in every possible position imaginable… this may be all the motivation I need to keep this up for more than 2 months!

Castro is the not so fit, very tall, pot bellied owner who assists us with our floor exercises.  I like him; he pushes me but not too much.  His side kick, the other ‘trainer’ who I’ve nick named ‘torturer’ is a complete gym bunny; doesn’t take no for an answer, pushes you until you break and frankly lives by the rule ‘no pain, no gain’ far too literally for my liking.  As I write this my legs still feel so detached from my hips after last night’s ‘stretch’ that I’m surprised I can actually walk.  He ignored the fact I said I wasn’t flexible and simply decided to force it on my body… big mistake. At one point he had suspended me in the air with any remaining weight resting on my tits and then swapped to suspending me from the arms.  He’s strong (needs to be after doing that) and I am sure this particular manoeuvre gives him a work out too but I think the little man bit off more than he could chew when he started suspending me from great heights… can’t see him trying that again.  Think he should try it on White Spot as a torture technique to get him squealing on his buddies.

I’m going again tonight… can’t get enough of that feeling you get when you go to the gym… adrenalin pumping etc, etc...or is it the super fit men and rippling muscles that has me hooked….

The prosecutor and the prosecuted…and the farce that is the Ghanaian Legal system.

I was asked by Goswin the CID officer to go to see the prosecutor on Friday, unfortunately, due to a house full of builders this was not possible so a time was arranged for Sunday.  Why I needed to go wasn’t clear.  I arrived unable to shake his hand as it was a stump… awkward (even more awkward given the culture not having a right hand…) He proceeded to ask me that in court, if he was to ask me if I knew the accused, what would I say.  I told him I would say I didn’t. ‘NO! You must say you know him, you have met him, so this must be so’.  It was clear I was to take the stand.. Christ knows why, I wasn’t even there.  He proceeded to tell me that I needed to ensure I gave detail, for detail is important in the court; dates, explanations of acronyms and so on.  It wasn’t until her was finished that he told me Leela would be on the stand too and he had to tell her the same thing… so why not save time and tell us both together???? I was about to meet her, so called her to come and hear the ‘prosecutor’s talk’.  The court hearing was set for Tuesday.

So, Tuesday 18^th September was always going to be an interesting day…. Just never realised it would only be an interesting half an hour.  We, Leela and I, had both been called to take the stand.  We were told to be there at 8.30 as we shouldn’t be late… court opens at 9am… at 9.40 the mood changed, we were told to stand and be silent for the judge presiding.  40 mins late isn’t too bad here. We both simultaneously looked at each other and tried not to laugh out loud at the judge who had just walked in.  His wig looked like it has once belonged in a fancy dress shop, having been an old grannies wig in a previous life and recently retrieved from a zoomlion wheelie bin (our local rubbish collection service)…. I remember once being at a Christmas concert in a church with my friends and trying desperately to suppress my laughing - I can’t even remember how it started, all I know is… I couldn’t stop.  I couldn’t look at Leela for fear of being in the same situation whilst taking the stand.  As it turns out taking the stand was never going to happen.  Significant holes in the case summary paper which had been given to the judge was the cause; vital details missing… oh the irony given our pep talk from the prosecutor.  Case adjourned until the next day.

Wednesday we were told to arrive at the same time, thing is, this time ours was not the first case to be heard (you’ll be pleased to hear the judge had the same wig, slightly disappointed he doesn’t have a collection; ginger, black…….).  Unfortunately Wednesday was as much of a farce as the day before.  We just had to watch a few more farces before our case got heard ... The day started with a case where 4 were in the dock together.... a bit extreme I thought, until the next case was called... 5 in the dock this time (just).... the next case had an amazing 8 people in the dock (well in the dock and just outside - even with the love of Ghanaian's invading personal space they couldn't all quite fit in)... should’ve been a Jeremy Kyle episode… shocking.  They all seemed to be being adjourned for one reason and another.  It was all a little difficult to follow what with a mixture of Ghanaian English and local languages being spoken. Evils were obviously flying towards White Spot (I've a very scary stare!) whilst thinking carefully about how it would be possible to castrate the bastard and get away with it.... Our case was adjourned. AGAIN…. so that the remaining details in the paperwork could be righted.  

My VSO penguin tells me there is a possibility of bribery and corruption by the prosecuted family which is halting the case in favour of the prosecuted.  The thinking being that it will be halted so many times I’ll give up.  I feel like a dog with a bone right now so I wish them luck and hope they are spending loads of cedi in the process. I'm going to walk through the paperwork with CID inspector tomorrow... I reckon even with my non-existent legal experience I can do a better job than they can.... maybe on Oct 5th the bastard will finally get sent down... in the mean time I rest easy in the fact he's in that hideous rat infested police cell practically naked with a million other men...

Sorry no pictures, I was sorely tempted to get a ‘snap’ of the judges wig to prove my description, alas, Leela put the kibosh on it thinking I may be in contempt of court…. You’ll have to make do with the descriptive (and accurate) written explanation.

‘Builders’ and ‘renovation’

... have a very different meaning in Ghana.  The landlord, whilst assuring me he would increase security around the house said he wanted to ‘renovate’ the house, basically because it’s subsiding and the cracks were getting quite big, gaping would be a more appropriate description.  Renovating in Ghana simply means chiselling the cracks so they are massive (sometimes to the point of being able to see through to the next room), then filling them back up again. This process involves them using no safety equipment (safety glasses and so on), no covers for furniture, finding no alternative plugs for fridges they unplug, choosing to chisel around curtain brackets rather than take them down and not cleaning up as they go along.  It results in a building site within half an hour of starting and me slowly loosing the will to live.  I would say there were 10 men, banging away in no particular or logical order, and 10 men sitting down; they go at it hard for 15 minutes or so, then swap over, sweat literally dripping off them.  My job was to provide water for drinking, water for washing bodies (they all had a bucket bath using the hose at the back of the compound at the end of the day – not often you can say you have a garden full of naked men) and water to wash their bicycles at the beginning of the day.  I’m afraid I put a stop to that one.  Might have been different if the bloke had asked but doing the washing up watching him washing his bike got my goat... cultural difference or not, beginning of day two of the building site was not leading to me being the most flexible person.  Still, one bonus of them coming in to the house was that they discovered 95% of my bedroom ceiling was rotten.  Unfortunately that meant replacing it and I cannot tell you how much mess that made! They’ve also finally dealt with the rotten window in my old bedroom... just the painting to go, then all ready for a new house mate : )

Turkey wielding wizards

It’s been the strangest thing to get back, not least because I had the aftermath of the break-ins to deal with.  I had a good attitude.  Be strong – don’t let the thieving bastard win and this is despite a 3^rd break-in that happened more or less a week after my second break-in.  Thankfully this was not in my house.  Unfortunately it was in another volunteer’s house in the neighbouring region, in the next biggest town south of Bolga, about a 3 hours drive away. This is Penny’s* house.   She is 71 years old, to look at her you may think she was older… Ghana has not suited her health wise; she has lost a lot of weight (she didn’t need too) and frankly looks like she could be blown over in the next puff of wind.  Frail I would say in body… but not in mind. She lives’ there with Rachel* (in her 60’s), the lady who has a room set up at my house and splits her time between mine and Penny’s house, although spends more time at Penny’s…. She and I had stuff stolen in the Bolga robbery. Abby*, a Bolga volunteer was travelling so just happened to be staying there that night.  Their break-in involved banging on the gate, which led them to open the door; Unfortunately two Muslim men had already hauled themselves over the wall and were hiding behind the door, they pushed their way in using machetes as weapons. The women spent a significant time bound and gagged and had all their things taken.  It would appear they had been staking the house out for some time as the asked where the white man was, unfortunately the white man only stayed their occasionally and wasn’t there on that day.  Clearly I’m much better off that they are, having not been subjected to a physical attack, (although no one was actually hurt in this thankfully).  Rachel and Abby went to Accra while Penny decided to go straight back to the house… everyone dealing with the emotional aftermath in their own way.  But what was clear from Rachel and Abbys recollections of events was that hindsight and the ability to laugh about such things is a real healer.  You might be wondering how one can laugh about being bound and gagged…It seem there are two types of criminals in Ghana, the stupid and cowardly who get caught (‘my guy’ – more on ‘White Spot’ later) and the just plain stupid.  The 3^rd break in involved the ‘just plain stupid’ kind.  They were described as young men, Muslim who had clearly been watching too many movies and this robbery was quite possibly their first.  You see the binding wasn’t enough to hold the women’s hands bound together, they just pretended it was, leaving them free to defend themselves should it become necessary and the gagging was also somewhat of a failure.  When discovering an unopened bottle of single malt whisky in Penny’s wardrobe the stupido robber took the moral high ground, aghast that this elderly woman should be drinking.  It would seem that no one had had the conversation with them about where, morally, robbing people sat on that ‘morality continuum’. Oh, the irony of being robbed while the robber gives you addressing down about your drinking habits.  One stupido robber also found it acceptable to place the machete next to the badly gagged and bound woman he was holding against her will and then turn his back on her.  She considered the possibility of grabbing it and whacking him round the head with it but rightly so, with another stupido arse in the house, decided against it.  I firmly believe that such sharp items are more dangerous the more stupid the person holding them is, so I feel, a wise decision indeed by the white woman being held against her will...

*Names have been changed

My welcome home from Leela and Hanana was this bunting and a house that had been turned the right way up... god love those girls!

After just a few hours sleep having arrived from Accra in the early hours of the morning, I was shouted at in the usual way by Redwana from across the road, excited to tell me ‘He is back, the Teif is back, now go and tell the police!’ (Ghanaians don’t pronounce their ‘th’s’; dat is de way don’t you know…) Me telling the ever present patrolling police of this remarkable development led to around 20 police men and women assembling en mass in the space of about 3 minutes then splitting in two to surround and dramatically arrest ‘White Spot’ (unusually speedy behaviour for Ghana).  White Spot being the stupid thieving coward of a man that broke into my house twice (although there is no evidence for him doing me over the first time) with his stupid cowardly thieving mates.  I don’t know White Spot (thank god – it was a fear I had), probably because two weeks before he was thieving from my house he was locked up in jail.  His compounds is just two compounds behind mine and unfortunately he has a mother and a brother who have been protecting him (mother and brother are up for charges of harbouring a criminal – yeay!). White Spot is very stupido.  He has a very distinguishing feature. A perfect circular patch of white hair in the middle of his black hair on the back of his head.  For a robber who spends most of his time running away with his back to you, you would have thought either a different profession or some hair dye was in order. I had the ‘pleasure’ of riding with White Spot in the police truck and spoke, more like spat at him in a very ‘Mad white woman’ kind of way asking him why he did it while I listened to him telling me it wasn’t him and telling me ‘Madam, soon you will know, it was not me’.  I asked him how old he was and which school he went to. As he was 15 he told me he went to Abilba #1.  I told him I would be having words with the head teacher.  The policemen just laughed telling me he was not 15, he was lying.  Lying to my f***ing face so he would go to borstal rather than prison.  What an arsehole. I wanted to punch his lights out but given I was sharing the truck with 5 Kalashnikov brandishing policemen I thought better of it.  Anyway I knew he was going to have to share that hideous, rat infested, hot, sweaty cell with a million other naked men until his case went to trial… I took comfort in that. Who would have known I ran an Amnesty International club in a previous life?

With all this having gone on, despite my initial bravado, I was a little wobbly.  Still I managed night 1 perfectly fine, although in hindsight I didn’t sleep all that well.  Still, positive attitude remained.  Don’t let the bastard get you down, this continued into night two until about 2.30 -3pm, when I heard a bit of noise in what seemed to be my compound, beside my bedroom window by the poly tank… something like plastic buckets being moved around on concrete.  Not too long later I was brave enough to go and check this noise by poking my head through the louvered window slats (not brave enough to go outside I might add)… bravado quickly diminishing…I saw some shadows but convinced myself that my mind was playing tricks on me and spent the rest of the night fitfully sleeping trying to grab the remnants of any bravado that might be hanging around in the ether with my head firmly under the covers… coz it’s safer there.  The next morning, tired but alive, I ventured out to Hanana’s shop to pick up some bread.  It was at this point I realised I couldn’t get out of my compound; someone had pulled the gate latch on the outside, and locked me in.  I opened the house back up, grabbed my phone and phoned Hanana to get her to let me out. Before I got back to my gate she was telling me the gate was open, I felt like I was going mad. I tentatively opened the gate fully only to see a small boy, maybe 7 years old outside the gate with a whacking great big smile on his face looking like he needed a damn good wash. I asked him what he was doing.  It was at this point he started to laugh at me. A real full on chilling, evil laugh, (clearly heightened by the madness which was evolving in my mind).  ‘Someone in your compound’, ‘Someone in your compound’ was all I could understand from him.  I tentatively walked back up to the house only to be dumfounded by what was on my veranda table.  Boris’s water bowl, with a black rubber inside containing some dodgy looking vegetables and a 5litre plastic water container.  Now my mind was switching to juju… I confronted the boy with the things (who just gave his chilling evil laugh again) and took the plastic water container.  By this time Hanana had arrived and was talking to him in FraFra… unfortunately he wasn’t responding clearly and after another chilling evil laugh directed at Hanana it became clear this boy was ‘not all there’. Visions of juju and madness evaporated now I had a safe, secure and logic explanation (for the boys behaviour at least).  It became apparent he had been outside my gate since before light, wielding a slingshot and refusing to leave.  The neighbouring nightwatchman (who’s about 150 years old, as much good as a chocolate teapot and with no English to speak of) kept calling the boy a wizard…. In Ghanaian terms that means he should have been ‘put down’ at birth… not great.  Still the Wizard continued with his chilling evil laugh.  Eventually a passing neighbour recognised him and knew the family so walked him back, which was great, as I had spent about 10 mins trying to find out who he was, where he came from and why he was there with only a ‘There’s someone in your compound’ as an answer.  By 7am Kwame had arrive (yes this was all before 7am In the morning!) to do my washing and shortly after a couple of builders had turned up to sort out the gate and measure up for an iron gate on my front door (instigated by my frenzied phone call to the landlord at the crack arse of dawn.. I think he sensed the mad solomea in me at that point, hence the unusually prompt appearance of help).  They were all gone by 10 am and at this point I decided to go round to the poly tank to see what I could see… maybe there was someone there last night.  It was about this time I came face to face with the Biggest Turkey in the World just beside the house.  How had it been overlooked ALL morning?  Juju popped into my head again, while I tried to shoo the thing away whilst simultaneously wondering if I could keep it till Christmas.  It wasn’t budging, just shitting.  Someone had tied it to the house…then the pieces of the puzzle started to make sense; ‘Someone is in your compound’ probably translated to someTHING… ie a Turkey. The water running in the early hours of the morning, the plastic water container and boris’s bowl… water for the Turkey and the boy and the sling shot – protecting his... his pet Turkey?

I do have an overactive imagination at times but I have to be very grateful for the volunteers… they’ve been great. James turned up later that day and did all things practical to put some semblance of normal back again.  Ionut and Emma stayed with me the next night after a few beers and to Rhys stayed the following night until Thursday for a work assignment… but it was perfect timing.  He got the brother pleading for we can only presume the charges to be dropped. He’s lucky I wasn’t there. Now for the trial…  Let’s hope it’s an open and shut.  Taking the stand is going to be an experience…

*VSO Penguin:

This is linked with an analogy VSO gave us about culture at one of our training sessions back in the UK.  We were given this diagram;

In this analogy the iceberg was the culture – most of which is unseen to most people who are visitors. The fish represented the locals - native to the waters, immersed in the culture and with a perspective that is submerged.  The seagulls represented volunteers who fly in and are able to fly out again and interact with the place while they are landed a bit like a bird, picking up what they want in a potentially selective and superficial way. However, like birds we have the choice of the extent to which we wish to make the land our home. The penguins represented someone who is able to relate to the birds and the fish, normally a local with local knowledge but who has had experience of Western culture too (maybe in schooling) – Penguins have the ability to dive into the waters, or local territory and are very familiar and comfortable with the environment and culture.  They can also move around on the land and relate to the birds who come in to land.

The key message at the training was to find your penguin fast!  I’m lucky, I’ve got penguins for different situations… I’m a very lucky seagull.

Meet-ups and break-ins

For the last month I’ve been home, in England’s [cold, wet,] green and pleasant land.  It’s been quite a mixture of emotions really.  Had a super fun time catching up with people; I’ve had family meet-ups, good friend meet-ups, spa day meet-ups, new baby meet-ups, Newmarket race meet-ups, surprise meet-ups, old time meet-ups, ‘godchildren’ meet-ups, new friend meet-ups, New Zealand travel buddy meet-ups, Ghana volunteer reunion meet-ups, old colleague meet-ups, fellow PGCEer meet-ups.  I’ve travelled through Cambridgeshire, Suffolk, Norfolk, Guildford and Hereford (England’s true green and pleasant land… bloody gorgeous) and a few counties in between.  In what? I hear you cry; in a Peugeot 206 souped-up with every ‘sporty accessory’ possible; aka ‘Heaven’ - for a 17 year old boy (not a 37 year old woman)…. Still it had an invaluable sat nav which only went off the boil twice sending me to places far flung from where I should have been.  I missed the man on the corner giving me directions; ‘turn left at the baobab tree and right after the large pile of rocks, when you past the goats it won’t be far’…. I haven’t seen everyone nearly as much as I would have liked (including family) and some people I haven’t seen at all…. Really sorry, you are of course welcome to visit me in Ghana.  Fancy riding pillion on my moto?!  If not we must ensure we meet this time next year, before I go off the Oz… 

Coming back I’ve realised (or been reminded) of a number of things; I can survive perfectly well without Eastenders, BB etc in my life… they were not missed in the year I was away and I have had no desire to reconnect with them on this visit. I still ache for a house like those they show on Escape to the Country, I love antiques and old things (there is something about the history of England that cannot be recreated anywhere else in the world) and I would still like to buy a house at an auction.  I’ve really missed my doona and hot showers and Cambridge retailers are surprisingly friendlier than when I left (no they really are… noted on several occasions!).  It’s also clear that I really was born to live in a warm (if not hot) climate and what’s more, I am broody as hell (highlighted further due to new babies Eadie, Charlie and Isla who were born while I was away and are totally gorgeous).

The main reason for coming home was because I was to be an Auntie.  Being an Auntie has been fab, not nearly enough cuddles though, I’ve tried ever so hard not to overwhelm Button (and Buttons mum) with the over exuberant baby focused cooing that I am known to do.  It’s been tough to step back when a) I know I’ve only got limited cuddle time and b) I came to help as much as I could and my sis clearly is doing so very well… I do hope I’m as good when/if it happens to me. Can you believe I’ve only changed two Button nappies… so unlike me!  Luckily I made up for it visiting Charlie and Isla!!

There have been other incredible parts to my holiday home apart from seeing friends, family and new babies, having hot showers, using my doona and driving a car. Food.  As much cheese in as many varieties as I desire, milk and yogurt every day, olives by the ten dozen and enough pickle to pickle my insides…I’ve dined at the Snug and Las Iguanas, Chez Webb, Chez Brown, The Elm and had my fav mum made meal.  I’ve had a Starbucks frappaccino, a M&S sandwich, lunch at The Orchard and other yummy lunch venues.  I’ve managed to amass any small amount of weight I may have lost on one year and some more to boot in a mere month.  Marvellous.

I’ve had to spend a lot of time, too much time, sorting out finances (or lack of them) and the house with a change of tenants and various things to sort out … paperwork seems to have multiplied and expanded beyond what is truly necessary in the year I’ve been away.  Boring. It’s also meant I haven’t quite got as much of my Post Grad in Development done as I had planned over this month… kind of regretting saying yes to that one now I’m snowed under with everything else.  With reading, assignments to do and a piece of Action Research to complete, alongside working out exactly when and how I’m going to Oz and what the hell I’m going to do once I get there, next year could be quite hectic.

There has been a huge blight on an otherwise great trip.  My Bolga house has been robbed.  In the first break-in (yes, there was more than one…) they stole my moto, helmet, mattresses and some smaller bits’ and pieces from a friend (some sentimental rather than expensive) that they removed with her suitcase.  The second time they stripped the house of anything else which was mildly worth nicking.  They took the remaining mattresses, the fridge freezer, the gas hob and the gas bottle along with other smaller bits and pieces that I’ve tried to figure out before I go back so I can take it back with me.  I was luckily that the second robbery was discovered while I was away in Guildford.  My stress and panic at others having to deal with my shit and the disappointment of the likely hood of someone in my local area having done the job and me possibly knowing him was much reduced due to the hilarity and drunken jokes/songs the steeling of the fridge freezer bought… they were ready to pack me off with a replacement – a cool box!!  I had an amazing network of people both volunteers and local people headed by the amazing Leela who helped to discover the thief and get some of the stuff from the second robbery back.  Neighbours and good friends Hanana and Mohammed noticed the break in, organised the house to be secured, phoned the police and explained in local language the series of events and what had been taken.  Lewis the VSO Penguin (VSO Penguins probably need further explanation…but later) and his policeman friend instigated the eventual police raid (with loaded riffles).  Even the landlord got involved having been accused of being involved as he had been at the property the day before the first robbery and wanted/needed to clear his name.  Leela was the one who held it all together liaising with everyone and managing to support getting a new detective to deal with the case.  The first only working on the case if he was being bribed… Unfortunately I do not know the full extent of what went on all I know is they have all helped me out so much.  How do you thank a bunch of amazing people like that? Think I’ll have a lot of paying back to do.  Unfortunately the thief is yet to be arrested but was known as a ‘bad egg’ by the locals and had only just come back from a stint away in a Ghanaian jail.

The greatest thing about going home was the support I received in a number of different ways; one of my Uncle’s was even trying to get me a slot at his Rotary Club meeting to try to get more funds.  Unfortunately a slot couldn’t be found before I went back but what a lovely thought!  Support has been given in words and encouragement for doing volunteering, which people seem to think is a mad, hard but wonderful thing to do (to be honest it’s not all that hard at all… in fact I feel a little bit of a fraud to hear it all as I’m enjoying it so much and doesn’t in the whole scheme of things seem like a chore).  Support via money from friends and family who gave generously. I amassed in one day nearly 600 pounds sterling to take back to Mama Laadi’s Foster Home in Bolga.  This equate to sufficient Ghana Cedi to support one child in the home for nearly one year. Finally enough gifts to take back to ground a plane; books, clothes, stationary, Olympic memorabilia, bags and some toys… things to make small children very happy.  I feel very lucky to have such supportive and generous friends and family.  You are the amazing ones. Thank you.