Being in London is another blessing on what has been an amazing journey.

Thinking of having gone straight from Ghana to Toronto, and seeing how this time in England has allowed a tranistion period, I give thanks for being here!

The journey began with Mawulom meeting me at the airport and helping me to find my Uncle John. With Uncle John I got to see a lot of the countryside, including Cambridge. This week though, I have been staying with Auntie Joanne and Uncle Tony (as well as young Kerys). I mostly spend the morning and the evening with them, and I have been going around London with Mawulom during the days.

While I am doing well in adjusting to the cold (wearing zix layers, without exageration), I have not gone around London as much as I might have in summer. Even still, we walked quite a lot and have seen a number of sights. The Tower Bridge, the Princess Di Memorial, some museums, art galleries, and many major landmarks have been included in our touring. I saw London Bridge...it is really not impressive at all. I was saying, when I say it, 'this is thebridge that the song is about?'. They should call Tower Bridge London Bridge - it is by far more notable.

Still need to do the London Eye, the British Museum, and Big Ben (my Dad used to call me Little Ben because I would always remind of the time we were supposed to be home and how long we had left before we would be late). I also really want to see the southern coast and to sit in a pub with a plate of fish'n'chips and a mug of Guiness watching a football match with some rowdy fans.

For the weekend, I will see Mawulom off for her trip to New York, stay by Giles and Cynthia (more family that I will be meeting), then staying with Cheryce and Joseph (friends I know from TO) before coming back to my base out near Kenley.

Before I go, I have to say that Auntie Joanne and Uncle Tony have been so gracious to me. I could not ask for such hospitality. And Grandma - love you, stay strong, get better - we are praying for you!

The boys down the block posing for a photo.

















Bojo beach on my last day at the ocean.

















Independence arch (J.J. Rawlings flw a jet through that arch after one of the coups)

















At Orgle Road with Bella,Thelma and Bella's neice.






















T-Block...home sweet home.

















Up in Cambridge; it lives up to the rep.






























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































A towering tree in Ghana!



















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































A drive through Enfield Town.




















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































50th anniversary celebrations: the red, the gold and the green - and so many Black Stars.

The prayer and intercessory team at Ridge Church: big things for you all!

Nuri-Haque and I at the beach...Miss you Bro.

Chillin' at the beach with my homeboy Nuru aka Nuri-Haque aka Bush Doctor

The inner court of Kings College at Cambridge...looks warmer than it really is.

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.

A POEM

I have written a few poems over the past eight months, but I have not posted most of them. No real reason for that. I will put the ones that I have typed up over the next week or so.

As for this one, I wanted to give a friend a gift, but didn't know what I should get for her. I prayed about it, then this poem came to me. Once I read it, I could see that it applies

Woman of Faith

Woman of virtue,
Woman of faith,
Standing in the gap
Seeking His face.
Shaped in the attributes of the Holy Spirit –
Putting the word into practice, after you hear it.
Worshiping God in spirit and in truth,
Coming to know Him in the days of your youth.
Accepting correction,
Receiving reproof:
Good ground, like the parable,
Soil to bear fruit.
He has appointed your years,
And has counted each tear,
There’s a powerful purpose
In why you are here:
A Queen to be,
You are the daughter of the King of Kings.
You are a channel
For the healing that the living water brings.
May His touch be felt through your hands.
May the blessings in your life outnumber the sands.
May the vision of His will be made clear to you.
May you know that He is near to you,
That when you pray,
He is hearing you.
Let His love overflow in you,
Removing all fear from you.
Let His light make life clear to you.
He knows what you have need of,
He’s your provider –
May you declare in praise
‘Jehovah Jireh’.
He is your ever-present help,
Ensuring victory –
May you declare in praise,
‘Jehovah Nisse’.
May your giftings be unlocked, anointed and applied.
Wisdom is given to those who ask,
May you seek and grow wise.
He designed you specifically –
Chosen and special,
Set apart and protected,
To be used as a vessel.
To be honoured and cherished,
Your body is a temple –
A living testimony,
To set an example.
Standing in the gap,
Seeking His face:
A woman of virtue
A woman of faith.

WHAT'S IN THE NUMBERS?

The day after I was offered the position with JHR, I attended the 50th Anniversary Gala for the church of St. Andrews. Having got the news Friday afternoon, the 50th gala was my first chance to discuss to the possibility with my family, and most of my family was at the dinner.

They were excited for me, and it was looking like I would being going to Ghana.

Of the ten people hired to go to Ghana, I was the only one hired for 8 months. Everyone else had six months. Had that been my case, I might have left on January 16th, however, I was in Ghana until March 16th, ten days after the 50th Anniversary of Africa’s first nation to achieve independence from colonial rule.

I count myself as privileged to have been there as I am aware millions of people around the world would have loved to be there.

When I was leaving Ghana, I was heading to the UK, while President Kufor (Ghana’s President) in the middle of a visit at Buckingham Palace. He is one of two heads of state to be invited to the palace in 2007, and his visit coincided with mine.

The actual day that I arrived in London was St. Patrick’s Day, followed by UK’s Mother’s Day (or Mum’s Day) for my first trip in what is my families ‘mother country’.

I am also to be in the UK on the 200th Anniversary of when the abolition of the slave trade went from a bill to a law (March 25th, 1807). Note that, the law abolishing slavery (which occurred in July of 1807, known as Emancipation Day) was different than the law abolishing the slave trade.

Just a bunch of dates that go beyond coincidence and testify of divine orchestration.

On the morning of Saturday, March 17th, I arrived in London. It was my second time in the airport, but my first time stepping out of it's boundaries and into the city of London. Meeting at that early hour of 6:40AM was Mawulom. She helped me with my language and to navigate the London Underground to meet my Great Uncle John.

After a nap and something small to eat, I was off to meet Mawulom. Where we went was a church called Kensington Temple for a Ghana@50 celebration. Here is a photo, and I hope to add more.

ARRIVED IN LONDON

I am here safe in London.

My last day in Ghana went smoothly. I had quite a few things to do, and, thankfully, I got them all done. One little funny point was getting on a tro tro that was supposed to be going to circle, and finding that the driver decided to go through Tema (to get more passengers) and East Legon (to avoid the traffic that wasn’t actually on Spintex Road) which got us stuck in a traffic jam. Usually, I would have gotten frustrated sitting in traffic for an extra hour, when I had a half-dozen places to go in a couple of hours. Instead, I was relaxed. At one point, I told the collector that I had just wanted to go to circle, and that I didn’t know they were doing tours of Accra. He began to crack up laughing, and so did a few others. That really blessed my heart.

As for the rest of the day, a lot of unexpected twists occurred – from the lady who had the t-shirts I was to pick up not bringing them, and taking me back to the place I had come from (oh, and her shoe broke while we were rushing back from where the t-shirts were) to going to Auntie Elizebeth (Cathy’s Aunt) and finding a huge lunch of fufu on the table and a stack of fully woven kente garments to bring back to her sister in my bags.

In the evening, Bella came by and helped with the last touches on my packing. I was able to see a friend from church around the corner, and sit drinking a malt and talk, before heading back to the house. Together we same a few hymns and prayed, then packed into the car and headed to the airport.

In the car, I was very surprised to get a call from Kary who was waiting to see me off at the airport. She helped me to rearrange some of my luggage, which was just under the maximum weight by about three pounds.

Once I checked in and we said our ‘go and comes’, I got one last opportunity to experience the green shirts of Ghana Immigration. The line of passengers boarding four different flights stretched around the entire upper floor of the airport. I was part a group of the final ten people to board the plane.

It was about 11:30PM when we began to lift-off.

Being on the plane and flying away was not a dramatic moment. The plane headed out over the southern coast, and then turned around heading back over the lights of Accra.

It was not until we were over Spain that I could see any sights. To the east was the silhouette of some mountains, made black by the rainbow that the soon to rise sun had cut into the horizon.

With very little sleep (I stayed up watching Babel), I arrived in London and passed quite smoothly through the passport check.

I was grateful for Mawulom (who is the sister of Elikem and who I had met once at their mother’s 60th birthday party back near Christmas time) came at 6:30AM to meet me at the airport and escort me on the train to where I was to meet my Great Uncle John. Without much of a hitch, we met him.

The cool tempetature inspired a shiver in my body, and my ears were cold for the first time in about a year. I sat in the ‘driver’s seat’ (the left side) of his car, as a passenger, and we proceeded on the left side of the road to his home on Craddock Road.

The area is neat and tightly planned. The houses are small and close together, and all look like they are from another era. Many of the trees were blossoming, but I was unsure of how flowers fare in the cool breeze.

Uncle John’s home struck me with a musty scent, but that soon passed. The room I am staying in is bright, with a huge window facing the east. There are books on shelves around the house, which seem to cover a good portion of the English literary cannon.

Uncle John is a short white haired man, whose wife passed six years ago. He is the brother-in-law of my Grandmother on my father’s side. As his hobby’s, he is a gardener, photographer, cyclist, and an editor. He also has done quite a bit of research on family history through visits to various record keeping offices. When I suggested that I would like to see a family tree(not thinking it was a possibility), he pulled one out that dates back to 1807.

After settling in and taking a nap, I was headed out to meet Mawulom and to go to a program at her church. Having mixed up the directions and waited at the wrong station (plus I don’t have a cell phone here) I caused a two hour delay to our meeting, and I put her through quite a bit of worry. When I finally went back home and called her, realizing that I had been at the wrong station, we decided that we would meet eachother.

To my surprise, we arrived at a service to celebrate Ghana’s independence. That was surreal. The day that I leave Ghana, and come into the drastically different city of London, I find myself back with a piece of Ghana. The music, the languages, the clothing, and the people reminded me of so much. The many smiles that were brought to my face…

After the service, we went to McDonald’s and then I took a few trains back home and made it without a hitch back to Uncle John’s place.

That is what I did.

How I feel. On the plane I did not feel sad. On the train, talking with Mawulom, I did not feel sad. However, when I was in the car with Uncle John, and everything around me seemed to be a bit too cool and still, sadness touched me.

I thought of Mawulom’s words about Ghana as home and her saying that there is no place like it. Later on, in the evening, when the church was lit up with praise in Twi, music and the colours of kente and the flag from corner to corner, she repeated that sentiment.

A day later, aside from my cold toes, I am settling into London. The pace of life (highlighted in the line at McDonald’s were I struggled to match the firing pace of the cashiers questions), the conduct of the people (yelling in public places, bumping into you and not saying a word about it to you, and the PDA’s – highlighted by a man in a line-up with his hand feeling up his girfriends backside) have all been something to adjust to.

It is exciting, being here and seeing this city. Mawulom has extended herself so much to me, Uncle John is a great host (and such a quirky guy), and the city of London has been a feast for my perceptions and reflections.

I miss Ghana though. The desire to return has already begun to rise in me. Ahead of me now though, is the wonderful chance to be in Toronto – a city I love.

GO AND COME

The dry season ended today, and rain fell on the city for the first time since October. Mama Ackerson said that it is “showers of blessings”. I told her that Ghana is crying because I am leaving today. She laughed.

Today, I have a few errands to run then I will relax at the house before I go.

Just as it was hard to believe that I was here, it is hard to believe that I am leaving. I used to say to myself, walking down the street, “wow, I’m in Ghana”. I can imagine now waking up and realizing, “whoah, I’m not in Ghana”.

If you have read my journals, or have been in touch with me, you know that I have been greatly blessed and have been through many challenges. Through it all, Ghana has been good to me. Being here was not just visiting a country, but through the love I have been shown, I have been at home here.

While I will be boarding a plane leaving to England tonight, I don’t have the sense that “I am going home”. ‘Akwaaba’, is used to say ‘welcome’, but more exactly, it means .you have gone and you have come’. So I don’t feel like I am ‘going home’, I feel like ‘I will go and I will come’.

And now, so many possibilities have been opened to me. Canada is where I live, and the deep roots I have there are strong. The family and friends that I love, the beautiful land, and the city that I have been raised in are central in my heart. I see Ghana in my future, and I see other places on the globe in my future.

There are so many people and places that I have been privileged to know. My contact with them will now be in memory and over the ocean, until I return again. That saddens me. I don’t know if tears will fall though; if my eyes will open up like the sky has. Though I leave, I am returning to others that I have only been in contact with over an ocean. That excites me.

There are treasures in my heart, and my vision has been expanded. My faith has been increased, and my destiny has unfolded further.

We don’t say goodbye then, we say, ‘go and come’. In July 2006, I had gone, and March 2007 I will come.

10 MONTHS AGO

Ten months ago, I got a phone call after work. I had just dropped a friend to the bus and I was heading home to begin the weekend. The call was from Emilee, who works for Journalists for Human Rights.

I can still see the parking lot, and the intersection that I drove to while on that phone call. I was told that I was being offered a position to work in Ghana .

Even though I had applied for the job, I did not have the expectation of leaving Toronto. At that moment, a window of opportunity was opened before my eyes. I was told that I had the weekend to think it over, and that they needed a response by Monday morning. The decision to accept the position did not come to me immediately. In that moment, a number of people were laid on my heart, and I wanted to speak to each of them.

Each of the people I spoke to encouraged me to go. On my own and in prayer, I recall thinking of not going for a few seconds, and the feeling I got was terrible. It was like I would be throwing away a God-given opportunity to enter into the next stage of my destiny; and it would be some time before I got another shot, and that shot would be more difficult.

I don’t need to tell anyone that I accepted the position.

Over the weeks of preparation, I saw God’s hand everywhere in my life. I learned the lessons that it is not “if God can” it’s “if God will”. I also learned (due to the fact that I was having a going-away bbq and still had not secured my plane ticket), that it is better to be embarrassed with people and be where you are supposed to be, then to save face and be out of step with destiny.

Once arriving in Ghana , the adventures were numerous. I visited almost every region of the country, I made some great friends, and I survived a long list of not-so-desirable circumstances.

Now, with just over 48 hours left in Ghana , my senses are heightened. I am savouring the smells and sights, people and places more than usual. My days are quite full between wrapping-up my placement, seeing friends, and preparing to leave.

My feelings are all heightened: there is some sadness, and some excitement which compliment each other, rather than compete.

Ghana has been good to me, and I plan to return (don’t know when). There are so many more stories and so much more to be said about this.

From here, I will be going to London for twelve days, for my first experience on the European continent. I will be whisked around the city between family and friends, then I will arrive in Toronto on March 28^th.

I want to say that every text message, phone call, email, and prayer has been a blessing to me. If you could see the whole picture, the way each person’s place in my life contributes to this fantastic 3D panoramic masterpiece, you would know why I am so grateful.

I have a great destiny. I am so loved. I am blessed, not without trials, but blessed. I have a unique path, bringing me along a wonderful journey. And these things are true for each of us.

Monday

I have four full days in Accra before I board a flight to London. I will go from eight months in Ghana to twelve days in England – a country that much of my family is from, yet this will be my first visit.

On my way to Ghana, the flight had a six hour stop-over in Heathrow Airport. While there, I envisioned the time that I would return and get a chance to exit the airport premises, even though I still had nearly a year in Ghana ahead of me.

With that said, I am not getting ahead of myself. I am here.

This morning, I headed to Labone junction to meet with an author named Pam Handa. She is proudly Indian and has been living in Ghana for thirty five years. We sat on her patio drinking tea and discussing the four books that she recently self-published. Three of the books are poetry and one is a novel. I sat at her table and listened for about two hours as she detailed the story of her and her husband in Ghana, and the contents of each book.

It was a pleasant morning, and with complimentary copies of the books in my bag, I headed over to the campus. On my way though, I enjoy some sun warmed sugar cane, and fresh coconut.

Once at the campus, I had a few errands to run which brought me by the Legon Hall and the campus bookstore, after which I took a lunch of banku, fish and pepper.

The day at work was mostly focused on making arrangements for stories and interviews to take place after I leave.

By 4pm, I was off. A friend and her sister came by the station and dropped me part of the way to dinner at Layata’s sisters place, with another of her sisters and two cousins (Rhiana). I had jolof rice with fish and chicken, and it was delicious. More interesting than what I ate was our long discussion what love really is and what it isn’t.

On the way to the taxi round, I met up with another friend that lives in the same area (it’s called Abelenpe). We didn’t get to speak long before I jumped in a taxi and headed back to Sakumono.

Of the weekend that just passed, my highlight was going to Bojo Beach Resort on Saturday. I had sent out a text message to about two dozen people inviting them to come, but I was determined to be there with or without the crowd. I am not sure when I will be this close to a warm ocean again. After similar plans not working out on the national holiday that followed independence, I was not going to depend on others to get out there.

While I intended to get there by 11am, we got there by 12:30pm (which was not bad at all). The crew was Christina (from Nebraska), Bella, Felix (a film student) and Hilda (met her and her cousin in a tro tro on independence day). Also meeting us there was Tugz (he’s a poet from England that I met in Toronto who I found out was in Ghana through Kamau) his girlfriend, and a few other friends/family from the UK.

The day consisted of football on the beach, lunch, sunshine and swimming.

On Sunday, I had wanted to go to church in the morning, but that didn’t happen. Instead, I used the morning planning my week and holding a devotion at home. I then met up with my friend Shelia to go to the final day of the trade fair. The crafts and art on display was really beautiful, and if space in my luggage and finances were not concerns, I would have bought a quarter of the place…not that much, but enough to furnish a very large home.

From the trade fair, I went over to the Sunday afternoon youth service that I have been attending for the past few weeks. I was initially invited by a friend that I met at the university (Karen), and I have come to make attending a part of my weekly schedule.

As for schedules, the rest of the week is feeling exciting and full. Tomorrow I go back to Ghana Immigration to get my passport. That is a story to itself…they are nuts over there. Oh, Kamau is now back in Toronto…that is another story to itself, though it is not a crazy story like ‘Ghana Immigration’. And there is my last trip to Tamale that I want to write about. Of course, really looking at what it means to be at the end of my eight months in Ghana and heading back to Toronto.

So much to do, so much to write. I need to complete my packing, do one last workshop at Radio Univers, ensure some stories get covered, organize my handover note, lots of meetings, and saying ‘bye for now’ to so many friends. There is quite a list of things to do, but I have to say that I can feel God’s grace in it all – it’s amazing.

Uploading photos has been difficult, but here is one in the midst of the crowd. You can see President Kufor standing on the podium.

Where's The Photos?

I am taking great photos, and I would love to be posting them, but a connection strong enough to do it on has been rare. I will keep trying though!

GHANA CELEBRATES GOLDEN JUBILEE:

A Great Day to be in Accra

On the eve of the 50^th anniversary of Africa’s first nation to break-free from European colonization, I decided to take a walk through the downtown core. For the last few months, the city had been buzzing with preparations for the event. Over the past few weeks, that buzz had become visible: renovations were being done, statues put up, lawns being manicured, curbs being painted, and structures were being decked in the national colours of red, gold and green.

On the 5^th, walking through Accra, the atmosphere was at a new height. Having been to the airport a week earlier to meet Kamau who was arriving from South Africa, it was apparent that crowds of visitors had been wooed by this romantic highlight in the history of Pan-Africanism. Many of those visitors and their counterparts could be seen walking through the streets, decked in Ghana’s colours with their cameras in hand.

On the roads, large trucks with massive speakers lightened the mood in the city’s slow moving streets, as the sounds of hiplife gave the crowds on the back of the truck something to dance to.

At the Independence Square, a long line-up of people stood at the outer gate. When I inquired what they were lined-up for, I found out that they were just there to see what preparations were being made. Across the street sits the Independence arch, etched with the date “1957” and the words of the national motto “Freedom and Justice”. I took a few minutes to sit under that arch and contemplate upon those two words, and what they really mean in Ghana, in Africa and in the world.

While sitting there, one Ghanaian woman must have thought my being there was an interesting scene, so pulled out her camera and she snapped a photo of me.

Before I had gone to walk around the downtown core, I had taken my lunch at the British Council office. Over my plate of fried fish, fried chicken and jolof rice, I paid close attention to the BBC coverage of the upcoming anniversary; I did my best to recognize the places that they used for their live broadcasts.

Back at my spot in the shade of the Independence arch, I could see a celebratory crowd pressed together in front of a camera and a journalist with a microphone.

At the National Theatre, the lobby was being used for a display of photographs telling the story of the nation. My main interest was in the section chronicling Ghana’s political history. The first photos were of Nkrumah as the formation of “The First Republic”. In one photo he walked in the centre of Emperor Haie Selaissie of Ethiopia and Dr. Julius Nyerere of Tanzania, while in another photo he danced with Queen Elizabeth smiling gleefully. There were images of the men that led the coup that took Nrkumah out of power and sent him into exile in Guinea. There were photos of Rawlings as a General listening to chiefs speaking, and there was one of him sitting closely and listening to Fidel Castro, both of them in fatigues. There was Dr. Limann that the coup led by Rawlings put into power (after an election), and there were photos of Rawlings being elected as Head of State afternoon leading a second coup. Lastly, there were photos of President Kufor taking over leadership of the nation in an election after almost twenty years under the regime of Former President J.J. Rawlings.

I walked to the state house, to the conference centre and into the lobby of the parliament house. I ventured over to the international trade fair, and observed the rows and rows of kiosks housing carvings, kente cloth, jewellery and many more items.

That evening, I met with Kamau again who had gone around the city for the day with his friend Tugz, and we headed to the airport for his departure. Crowds awaited the arrival of foreign dignitaries which included the Nigerian President and the Duke of Kent. One worrisome moment came our way when we say about a dozen men dangerously close to having a huge signboard that they had been hoisting to the upper wall of the airport drop to the ground. Thankfully, by the time we passed them again, the sign was raised and the men were standing around talking (probably about how close they had come to a very serious incident).

Once home, I laid in bed listening to the radio broadcast of the session held that afternoon in the house of parliament. I wanted to go to sleep, but I was unable to slow my mind down enough to drift into dream.

As a result of my restlessness, I got up and turned on the TV to see the live broadcast from the Kwame Nkrumah Memorial Park, where the President and other guests were gathered for some musical and dramatic presentations.

Around 2am, I finally drifted asleep. However, by 4am I was up again.

Liz (who I went to York with and worked with at Northwood Community Centre) had arrived the same day that Kamau left. We were able to get in contact and planned to go down to the festivities with Adwoa and her cousin Madonna.

In order for us to meet up and beat traffic and the crowds to get a seat at the venue, it we needed to leave for Independence Square at 5:30am. Knowing that ladies tend to take awhile to get ready, and motivating people to be on time can be a major task, I was up at early to ensure we got there on time.

While I did my best, a few delays had us heading to the city an hour later than we had planned. Traffic was not too bad. Along the way, nearly every person or vehicle that we passed was sporting the national colours.

Once we had arrived at the venue, we had to force our way through a crowd, being organized and impeded at the same time. The crowd was entering the premise by climbing a short stone wall. Once through that hectic scene, we proceeded to the grandstands to find that they were completely full. The crowds along the walkway in front of the grandstands were thick, and could only be seen over by those with an eye level of about 6’4”.

At first, we didn’t know what to do: the crowd was thick, the heat was amplified among the crowded areas, and we could not see a thing. Eventually we made our way with numbers of others onto the actual parade grounds, and settled on the ground in front of a section seats that had seemingly been filed for at least an hour. As we waited for the program to begin, more and more people began to settle in front of us. As the crowds surged into restricted areas, moments of chaos were plentiful: police with batons chasing back crowds caused small stampedes, and large trucks bringing barricades opened the gates to swells of revelers.

Eventually, the ladies I was there with (who had not had breakfast) decided that the chaos of the crowd, the inability to see or hear what was going on, the heat of the sun, and the delay in the program was too much. They wanted to leave and go have lunch. While I was also hungry, I told them “I can’t, in good conscience, leave here for lunch”. I told them that they should go ahead, and that I would meet them later on.

Once they left, I decided to roam the grounds. I moved through the crowds on the parade grounds at first, but after almost getting trampled in a stampede, I decided to take a seat on a wall marking the edge of the grounds. I waited for the moments when the estimated crowd of 50,000 would simultaneously roar and wave the small flags that were in nearly everyone hand and littered the ground.

From there, I went to see the status on the grandstands, but the humidity and congestion was too much.

Independence Square is actually set along the coast. The grandstands are set up on the east and west of the square. To the north is the road and the roundabout with the Independence arch, and the south has a very tall structure which was used for the diginatries, which has the sea to it’s back.

When I reached that tall structure, the open breeze from the ocean was delightful. I entered another crowd that was standing underneath it and I was able to see Kofi Annan and his wife, as well as Predient Kufor and with his guests of honour.

On the sea, were a number of military boats. In the air we jets and helicopters, which roared over the crowd, becoming the highlight of the day for most.

Around noon, I decided to depart the square, and I walked towards the statehouse to find the streets gushing with happy crowds.

Before I left the grounds though, I took some time to reflect and soak in what I was seeing and where I was.

To be in Ghana in 2007, in Accra on March 6^th, and at Independence Square for the 50^th anniversary is a turn of divine design in my favour that I will not foget.

Ahhhhhh….finally some time to breathe. This week has been FULL. There was the Access to Justice conference this week (Monday to Wednesday), Kamau arriving the Sunday night (and arranging a ride for him from the airport), a short day trip to Cape Coast and returning to the castles, and a trip to Tamale and back which included 31 hours out of 55 hours on the bus!

The time in Tamale was short, but sweet. Going by Radio Justice and seeing a lot of my friends up there was surreal. Being in Tamale really felt great.

Kamau began to feel malarial symptoms on Friday, so that was a major concern. He’s doing well now though.

In the midst of it all, I am preparing to wrap-up at Radio Univers, getting ready for Ghana@50, and preparing myself to leave this country that has become home. It’s amazing how eight months turns to two weeks, and something that I had not thought I would do has now become a part of my experience.

Well, the time to breathe is up, as my time on the net is almost up.

I have lots to write, so look forward to that shortly!

Jubilee Lecture Series - Part II

In January, I was privileged to attend the launching of the Golden Jubilee Lecture Series, which was christened by the first public speaking engagement given by Kofi Annan since leaving his post as UN Secretary General. While the speech was impressively precise in evaluating the state of affairs on the continent, and major areas of concern, it was just as much the celebration of the homecoming of a national hero.

The actual lecture series has twelve dates (the last Thursday of each month), and will cover a holistic range of topics exploring all facets of Ghana @ 50.

Last night, the topic was “The Struggle for Independence: 1947-1957”. While the venue was the same (Accra International Conference Centre), the atmosphere was toned down. The premises was not swarming with soldiers, the numerous entourages of luxury vehicles were not present, the jubilant welcome and introduction were replaced by a monotone welcome, the musical interludes in the program were skipped, and the full house was scaled back by half.

I sat with Adwoa, and awaited Henrietta and her friend in that auditorium that is growing more and more familiar (I saw Jay-Z there too).

After a lengthy welcome, which surpassed the length of Kofi Annan’s previous lecture (giving his own speech on the topic and listed every step of education, position held, honour received, and many of written publications of the speaker), Dr. Yaw Saffu stepped forward to the podium.

As a doctor of philosophy, Dr. Saffu interested me; I knew very little about the years that preceded Kwame Nkrumah’s March 6^th declaration that Ghana was “free forever”.

Over the course of the next 90 minutes, Dr. Saffu – in meticulous detail - went through every piece of legislation, every significant meeting/conference/convention, the evolution of political alliances and animosities between many key figures, and the major events which pushed forward (by over thirty years) the British ‘willingness’ to loosen their colonial reigns and make way for self-government, and made Ghana the continent’s first.

While absorbing all of that information would be difficult for even the most enthusiastic of political and policy junkies, his work is commendable. Previously, much of the information that he presented was to be found in bits in pieces in sources ranging from rare books no longer published, copies of newspapers from that era, the records of British colonial authorities and political parties (some of which have now disbanded), and a great deal in the memories and stories of those who witnessed and took part in those events. Putting it all together in a clear, chronological, singular source is a remarkable feat and a gift to the nation.

He traced the events and riots that put pressure on the British authorities to relinquish power to moderate domestic authorities (mainly chiefs), the rise of criticism and eventual rejection of this system which only modified colonialism, the repression of the unions and leaders that mobilized this dissent, and the eventual achievement of independence. The speech also traced Kwame Nkrumah as the central character, illustrating his ability to mobilize the masses as an upstart outsider in the political realm, explaining what led to him becoming a political prisoner, following how he became Prime Minister under a colonial reworking of the Gold Coast, and then to the final destination as the nations first president.

After that mountain of facts, the audience was clearly relieved that the long winded chair of the event conceded that he need not say anything more on the subject.

Domestic Violence Finally Passed

Today, I was brought back to a moment in November when I was standing on the Radio Justice balcony. With daytime sky was overflowing with sunshine, and the traffic of trucks, motorbikes, and bicycles was passing, I stood out there asking the director of a local NGO for help.

A young girl had recently come to the station after being assaulted with a razor blade by her uncle, and I was looking for some guidance in the situation. I was briefed on the people I should talk to and places I should visit to help her.

“That’s why we need the domestic violence bill passed”, I was told, “if it was passed the government would be required to provide a shelter for her”.

I had not heard about the domestic violence bill at that point.

“It’s been before parliament for almost two years now, but they won’t pass it with the marital rape clause”.

Many of the MPs refused to recognize that a man could be charged for raping his wife, or that rape and wife were two words that could occupy the same sentence in a court room. Furthermore, I later came to find out that part of the delay in passing the bill was the insistence by it’s advocates that an article (Article 29) in the Criminal Code which permits the use of force in marriage be removed as law.

On Wednesday, February 21^st, the long awaited, hard fought moment arrived, and the Domestic Violence Bill was finally passed.

Once it is signed by the President, the state will be required to put a number of measures in place to carry out the provisions and protections that the bill articulates. Shelters for victims of abuse, restraining orders against accused abusers, and regulation of the treatment of house help are among those provisions.

Unfortunately, Article 29 remains in the criminal code.

For me, hearing of this news brought me back to that balcony, hearing about this bill that so many were fighting to have established. When I left Tamale, that young girl that had been assaulted by her uncle, and had her life threatened had returned home. Initially, she went to stay at a friend’s house, but after a month, she had nowhere to stay.

If the accountable authorities follow through on their duties, she and others who find themselves in a position like hers will have somewhere to go and someone to help.

Cocaine Scandal Goes To Court

In August of 2006, the Ghanaian media in all forms, was absorbed with the ‘cocaine scandal’. The actual scandal was surrounding 76 packages of cocaine, valued at 4 million US dollars (36,400,000,000 Cedis). This illegal shipment had been confiscated by police, but it went missing in their custody.

The drama was magnified when a ‘secretly recorded’ tape surfaced, containing the voices of a high ranking police official, some major business men, and other police officers. An arrangement to find the ‘missing’ cocaine and divide the profits from it’s sale was recorded on the tape.

Soon, connections to the Ashanti King and the President and high ranking members of the ruling party began to be made. Though the accusations have been denied and stifled, many are aware of how complicated the web of cocaine money in Ghana is.

Over the weeks of top story coverage that this issue received, there was also an exploration of Ghana’s role in the international drug trade. Presentations were made which showed the nation to be part of a gateway for cocaine from Latin American and heroin from Asia to make it’s way into Southern Europe.

Six months later, the tape in question was finally played in court.

That day I had been walking along the beach road of old Accra after an appointment at the Ghana@50 office. The avenue is lined with national monuments: Independence Square, the Independence monument, Kwame Nkrumah Memorial Park, the House of Parliament and the Supreme Court.

After passing through the tall, black metal gate, and alongside the trio of bronze busts commemorating pioneers of Ghana’s legal system, I entered the bright white building. After passing through a series of hallways and staircases, I reached a courthouse crowded in the entrance, both inside and outside of the court room.

I made my way through the crowd to an open seat near the front of the courthouse.

Sitting before a solitary judge on a bench with ten black leather chairs, were two quartets of lawyers – all of whom were dressed in black robes and wore light brown wigs, compete with curls and ponytails.

The ‘secret tape’ had just been played and the prosecution team was presenting a number of statutes to support their contention that the tape should not be considered evidence.

The defence then listed the statutes and precedents that supported the use of the tape. The debate was of critical importance, as there is no evidence strong enough to secure a conviction without it.

During the argument given by the defence, the power in the court room went off, disabling the recorder needed to keep a transcript. With ‘lights out’ becoming an unpredictable inconveinience that so many have gotten used to, the judge and the prosecution were prepared to adjourn. While discussing another possible date, the defence was persistent that they finish. Finding that there was a back-up recorder, the defnece was allowed to continue.

Part way through the debate, one man in the front of the audience had his cell phone begin to ring. The judge, annoyed by the disturbance, addressed the man.

“Ghanaians”, he said, with frustration. “The instructions were simple: I asked everyone to turn off their phones”. He continued vent on the issue, before allowing the defence to continue.

Once both sides had thoroughly expressed and contested all of the points of the issue, discussion of the next court date began. This next appearance is critical to the case, as that is the date that the judge is set to rule on whether the tape can be used a evidence. A trip to the country that the judge was making and the upcoming independence holiday and celebrations meant that they would not meet again until March 14^th.

Before adjourning from the day, the judge requested that both teams provide him with photocopies of all of the articles of law and precedent cases that they cited. He added, “Our library is not up to date. Those books you have with cases from 2002 are too new for us – I will need the copies by the weekend”.

As we all rose for the exit of the judge, I went to report the breaking news, and made an appointment to be back on March 14^th.

I HAVEN'T WRITTEN A LOT LATELY

It is Monday and I just completed a draft of a workshop outline as well as two articles for the JHR site.

Over the past week, I have been thinking of writing so often, yet I have not sat down and actually wrote much.

I have been leaving the house in the morning and getting in quite late each day. Though my observations have been in writing mode, it has been difficult to get my mind into writing mode.

I have four weeks left in Ghana! At the forefront of my mind are a few things. For one, I want to do a great job in the last few weeks at my placement. I have found the university environment to be very ripe for what JHR does. People are eager to get involved with human rights stories and issues. Not only are they willing to do the stories, but they are also willing to take action. Last week, a series of stories on the violent robberies taking place across the campus resulted in a protest, a petition and a forum to address the security issues. There is also a great desire to improve skills through workshops. The people that make the station run are mostly student volunteers with little journalism training or experience. In addition to the group workshops, many one-to-one workshops have been popular.

Within my four weeks I also have a few places that I want to see before I leave. For one, I need to go to Tamale. I really miss my friends up there and I want to see for myself how things are going at Radio Justice. Apparently, Razak still wants to do a going away party for me with the Radio Justice staff. I have been thinking of Mr. Fresh, Sister Saphora, Wakila, Layata, Chelpong, Melimba, Abu, Razak, Somed, Soldier, Vera, Mabel, Phidelia, Trouble, Jamima, Soldier, Wisdom, Ramadan and many others. I won’t get to go up there for long, but I plan to go for a few days.

I also want to see Koforidua aka Kof Town. Adwoa is supposed to bring me out there, but she has delayed and delayed. I have a friend that I want to go see out there, and I hear that the place is beautiful. I have not visited the Eastern Region, so that would be nice.

A good friend from Toronto, Kamau, also arrives in Ghana on February 25^th. We went to York together and have had our paths connect at various points. He, like Pierette who came in July, was in Kenya. He will go to South Africa first, then swing up to Ghana. That is really good for his first time on the continent having seen East, South and West on one trip. That is more than most people in the world ever see. He will be staying with me for his visit, and we plan to head out to Cape Coast and El Mina in order to see the castles.

As for plans this week, I will be attending a lecture on Thursday evening titled “The Struggle for Independence” and a play on the weekend called “The Blinkards” The play was written in 1906 and is about this Fante couple that represent in different ways a superiority/inferiority complex between British and Fante culture.

Franklyn and I will be going out this week to cover outreach work with street children, Ophelia and I are working on an HIV/AIDS story connected to the annual anti-stigma initiative taken by Radio Univers, and I will be doing a workshop on interview skills.

This past week has also been quite full. I attended church with a friend from the university named Karen. There was an afternoon youth meeting on Sunday and then a program on the eve of Valentine’s Day. The material was thought provoking (though I mentioned that in my last blog). While he made some points, there was so much that was being revealed to me that I wanted to add.

The speaker was a man referred to as Prophet Eddie. At the end of the service, he began to call people up to the front of the room to share with them what he felt he was hearing in his spirit. Eventually, he asked me to step out of my seat, and to the front of the room. I obliged. He mentioned a few things about my having felt stuck before, but that I was free and moving to a new level. He mentioned that I had gone through a lot of bad situations, but they were so that I could help other people get through the same things. All of that resonated as true. One thing that he said that had me thinking, was that “you have been duped by someone”, adding, “don’t look at the past, don’t be stuck there”. Since then, I have been wondering if there is truth to that, and who ‘duped me’. I don’t worry about it, as I know that anyone who speaks into my life should be confirming what God has already told me. It was interesting though.

Having been to so many churches in Ghana, and seeing such a range has got me thinking. The pastor for Lighthouse Chapel in Tamale is a man that I am glad to have met. He is really genuine, and I greatly enjoyed meeting him. There was the guy that I refer to as ‘Kumasi boy’ who was lying to the church and among other things insisted that ‘Jesus had a three bedroom apartment’. For a lot of people, being a pastor is a path to prosperity or a career option where unemployment is quite high. As is the case all over, a lot of people that go to church don’t read the Bible enough to know how what is being preached fits into the book. Again, it is not a Ghana thing, as we have two 24 hour a day ‘Chritian’ channels that often show broadcasts that seem to have ulterior motives.

Even with the service that was nice on Valentine’s Day, Prophet Eddie bluntly asked people to “bring me your offering”.

On Thursday evening, after work I had planned to attend the BBQ at the Canada High Commission. Being in the area a bit early, I decided to stop in at the Golden Tulip Hotel to relax. With a shandy and some French fries, I sat poolside watching some children playing and doing some organizing of my thoughts. After about an hour and a half, I left to head to the High Commission. The place, to my surprise, was really nice. I should have brought my shorts to go swimming, as the pool was really nice and even had a basketball net.

Though I didn’t go swimming, I still enjoyed the evening. Most of the JHR people in Accra were there. Idrissa was there too, and it was good to finally see Kary after her trip to Toronto. We ate chicken tortilla’s, pasta salad and rice krispy squares (yes, I know that there is pork in marshmallow’s, but I ate them…apologies to all my Seventh Day Adventists, Rastas, Muslims and vegetarians…lol).

This weekend Nuri-Haque came down to Accra from Kumasi. I have not seen him in months, so I was really happy that he was coming down here. I had wanted to go out to Kumasi to see him, but I have not made it out there since I came down to Accra.

So, on Saturday morning, after bringing Bella to get her stitches removed at Dr. Lokko’s house, she and I waited for Haquee’s call from the bus station. We went to get some food and chilled until the early afternoon. While waiting, I got a call from Denice back in TO, which was nice.

This is Dr. Lokko and his wife...Love You Doc!

Once meeting Nuri-Haque, we headed out to his sister’s house in an area called Abelepnke. The way there was to go from Circle to a place called Tiptoe, then through Pig Farm ,until we reached the neighborhood. While I didn’t se any pigs at Pig Fram, I did see an interesting sight at Tiptoe. The heart of the area has more cell phone stores than I have ever seen. You also find people set up all the street selling stolen phones. One guy had about fifteen phones that he had sitting on a cardboard box with no packaging and no chargers. There must be something like 25,000 phones in that area.

It was still light while we were there, but we had no intention of being around there after sunset.

Once we got to the house of Nuri-Haque’s sister Rhiana, we were treated to some spaghetti which we ate while watching Blood Diamond. One of the highlights was Rhiana’s 9 month old baby Dee. What a sweet and easy going baby. She just laughs, eats, and even dances. Oh, and she tries to eat everything, leaving drool whatever her mouth touches.

The next day, me, Bella and one of her friends headed over the Rhiana’s house again. This time we watched Dreamgirls over a plate of Jolof rice. We then decided to go down to a restaurant near Labadi Beach and hang out near the water (that is before the sunset).

That evening was concluded with a house call at the Volunteer’s Abroad house. That is where a few JHR people live and Idrissa also stays. I knew Idrissa was in Busua with Adwoa, but we still went by to see who was around.

Sitting at the table in the kitchen was Eva (works at The Statesman newspaper) and Daryl (works at Joy FM). For the next hour or so, we discussed the issue of ‘Instant Justice’. The conversation was prompted by news that Eva had her phone stolen at a tro tro yard. Each of us (Bella, Nuri-Haque, Eva, Daryl, and I) added our perspective on the public lynchings that take place when people are caught committing crimes. For me, it was an eye-opening moment. As I listened to Daryl I heard the very same words that I spoke to Nuri-Haque back in September while we were in Kumasi. I still agree with his point that ‘Instant Justice is not justice’ and I agree that it only increases violence. Yet, there is a certain acceptance that I feel that I didn’t feel before. Both Bella and Nuri-Haque expressed a similar contradictory viewpoint to my own; knowing that it is wrong and it only makes things worse, but somehow okay with it. The acceptance has more to do with a frustration over the threat of being victimized and the sense (false as it may be) of protection that this vigilante action offers where the security that the police are supposed to offer is pretty much void.

Soon after that, I headed home, having missed the dinner of fufu, to bread, jam and tea.

Oh, being February, I have to shout a bunch of birthdays. Wendy-Ann! Sharifa! Asha! Prince! Ashley (aka Lolipop)! Joy! Micheal Jordan (apologies that I missed your party in Vegas, but I don’t really do Vegas)! Paris Hilton (…yeah…)!