SO FAR, SO COUNTRY!

After an all night flight from Accra, and going out the following evening, I was due for a sleep in. I did not wake up until 11am, but I enjoyed the rest in the brightly lit, lilac wall papered guest room at Uncle John’s place.

Knowing that I am interested in music (Granny P let him know that), he had suggested that we go out into the country to the Organ Theatre. I agreed to go, not sure what it was, but I was happy to go with his enthusiasm.

So, we drove through the rolling hills of the English country side. That may sound like a cliché, but clichés are often clichés because they are true – the countryside really is full of rolling hills. The solid green of the fields of grass before my eyes, the country homes and old stone farms, the fences made of rocks and mortar, and the mostly bare trees (interlaced with the odd tree in full flowery blossom) captured my attention. The countryside in Ghana, full of palm trees, tropical foliage, land cleared by fire, and mud brick villages had become the norm to my eyes. This new scenery contrasted with what I had become used to; and my mind toyed with the idea of blending the best of both worlds.

After 45 minutes of winding roads and green expanse, we entered into a village where we found a parking spot. Though the sun was out, we walked quickly through the cool wind and entered the door of the organ theatre into the musty, mothy smell of old…old carpet and old wood.

There is one corridor where an older lady collected money and an older man who opened the door into the theatre.

The theatre itself was bursting with a sort of music that I had never heard before. It was a mixture of crashing marching drums, accordions, and various other percussion and organ sounds. When I stepped around the corner to see the source of the music, there was a huge wall size contraction (about twelve feet tall and over twenty feet wide) with lights flashing and instruments moving. This was one of the organs that we were there to see. Behind the organ was a man who reminded me of Igor (the assistant to Dr. Frankenstein) feeding the machine with cardboard sheets that contain the music that is played.

Around the room, there were a few more of these monstrously strange contraptions. One of them weighs three tonnes! They would be brought from village to village and set up for a few days at a time for people to have a party in the earlier parts of last century. What a sight that must have been!

We also saw a variety of old music boxes (some of which were quite large). I found them to be more appealing, though the giant organs did make me smile. The people who do the tour are a collective of about four, and they are part of a bigger team that meets every Tuesday to maintain the machines and just hang out.

Having an engagement back in London, we left before the first intermission and skipped to complimentary cup of tea (they really do drink a lot of tea here…people always ask me, ‘do you want a cup of tea?).

I wanted to enjoy the ride back through the countryside, but I fell asleep in the car. Once back in town, I realized that my cousin Giles lived too far away to see for the afternoon. Instead, I headed down to the London School of Economics to meet up with Mawulom. She copied some Ghanaian music (gospel and hiplife), I ate some spaghetti, and we just chilled out for awhile talking about Ghana, London and Canada (places we now both have in common).

Heading home, I was to take the train back to Enfield Town. I didn’t know that there were about 14 platforms to choose from. I asked a bunch of people and was directed to platform 1, which had a train that left not even a minute after I boarded it. I spent the trip reading, and when I got to the end of the line, I found out I had been on the wrong train!

The guy that helped me realize that was one very strange fellow coming out of a train on the other side of the platform. If you can imagine Smegel from Lord of the Rings in the body of a slim Lebanese guy with a British accent, and drunken limp and a joint in his mouth.

After confessing to me that he had been mistaken, and that the hair that the police had found wasn’t his, he offered me a draw of his joint. When I declined, he offered me one of the beers in his jacket pocket. I took the first chance to get down to the other end of the train.

An hour later, I was back on the right track, and had just caught the last train going to Enfield Town.

The next morning, Uncle John and I set off for Cambridge. After another drive through the country, we arrived at the storied and historical campus. The shade was very cold, and the sun was just warm enough to enjoy the surroundings. As we toured the streets and the famous colleges (Kings and Trinity), the sun dipped behind clouds and came out again.

While in Tamale I had actually watched a program about people going punting (in the boats) that tour the canals of the university grounds. While it was a bit cold for that, we did at least stand over one of the bridges. I was cracking up as three students (kind of inexperienced) managed to crash their boat into the wall (don’t worry, no one was hurt).

After a few hours of cathedral tours, admiring the lawns and the architecture and really taking in the atmosphere of Cambridge, we decided to head back home. By His grace, as we boarded the bus to the car park, it began to snow! I was glad not to be in that mess.

As for today, I headed down to south London (in the burbs) to see my Auntie Joanne. She lives with her husband Unlce Tony and her daughter Kerys (I think that’s how you spell her name), and they are very nice. The house is a place my Mom would love! The area really looks like a Victorian town, with huge trees, great gardens, and houses with character. Their garden looks like a career to maintain, and it’s not even summer yet.

I spent most of the day eating and sleeping, but the evening was filled with a great discussion of history, astronomy, global warming, and racism.

Tomorrow, I head into London to see a bit of the city…right now, it is 1am and I am going to head to bed.