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Danakil negotiations

I arrived at Mekele airport with my small backpack and excitement in my belly. I was headed to the Afar region were Dallol and Erta Ale are located. But first I needed to go and negotiate with the mafioso travel agents who call the shots in this town. I had intel from the lovely Miriam on how much I should not pay for the tour and I was ready to bargain hard. First to my hotel. With the formalities out of the way, the hotel manager asked what my plans were. Before I could explain that I had everything under control, a guy with a shiny car had arrived and he was ready to whisk me to his office to negotiate. I grudgingly obliged and on arrival I chose my itinerary. He asked where I was from; from the school of hard knocks, I said, I live in South London. I clearly did not show my street cred as he proceeded to give me a stupid price. I thanked him and told him it was a no deal. He dropped me at a local restaurant that only has an Amharic language menu so he came in to help me to navigate it (kind these mafia types). We said our goodbyes and he said he would be waiting.

I got back to my hotel and they wanted to know if the deal had been done. No I said, I don’t have that kind of money. The disappointment was written on their faces; they would not be getting their cut.

I called another agent and told her my itinerary. She gave me a less stupid price but I knew there was room to negotiate. I told her my budget and she laughed; she told me to come in for negotiations. Seriously, I was beginning to feel like Michel Barnier with the constant negotiations. I arrived at the office and promptly declared that I needed a good price. They gave me a good price and the tour was worth every penny.

I was in the most inhospitable place on earth and I could have stayed there for eternity. An experience that I will always cherish.

Do talk to strangers

I consider myself to be relatively kind, I would help if someone was in need and I occasionally smile at tourists. Like the next person, I am time poor so would definitely not clear a whole day to help out some blow in from out of town. Not so for Sisai, who I was introduced to by my go to guy for Africa. On my very first morning in Addis Ababa, Sisai turned up at my Airbnb with a driver buddy in tow. He greeted me as if I was long lost family and declared that today was my day. My British sensibility kicked in and I wanted to know what the catch was, I mean, why would a dude devote a whole day to a stranger. Soon enough, I was grateful to have Sisai by my side. Addis is an impossible city to navigate for a novice, particularly one who struggles to identify their left from their right. My first port of call was a travel agency run by a Spanish woman, Miriam. In Addis they don’t have the same numbering system as we do in Blighty, so you rely on landmarks and micro local knowledge for directions. Just as we were about to give up, we found Miriam’s place and what a find she turned out to be. I gave her my aspirational itinerary and she gave me a reality check. Ethiopia is expensive for solo travellers particularly ones on a shoe string budget but with a phobia for pedestrian chic.

Miriam soon put me in my place and then she hit me with that kindness thing that Sisai had shown. She decided to give me her intellectual assets for no charge. Her reward was the fact that she was helping a solo traveller, the help she needed many years ago when she and her sister did Ethiopia. She loaned me a small back pack which is imperative for agile travelling. I have a date with Miriam on my return to Addis and can’t wait to tell her about my many amazing experiences.

With half my gear left for safe keeping with my lovely Airbnb hosts in Addis, a great adventure ahead of me and a SIM card from Sisai, I was ready to do take on Ethiopia.

Hello Danakil!

So you think you can dance

I am not a shabby dancer and after a few beverages I am pretty awesome. And so I thought until I stumbled upon the Street Academy! I say stumbled upon, it really was my new Accra buddy who took me there.

I watched the dancers doing their thing and I was entranced. There was one particular woman who was made to dance. I so wanted to dance like her so I asked if I could join them next time and just like that they were happy to have me.

I was super excited and when the day arrived I turned up ready to dance for my life. We started off with a prayer! It seemed rather appropriate as I was dancing for my life. And so we began, easy steps, rhythmic, I got this I thought and I was rewarded with a compliment after the first round and the second. The third was a rude awakening, I had to shake my booty, much like the woman from the other day. My world came crushing down, I am just not built that way. Mine does not really pop out and to get this booty shaking thing going I needed one of those. Well, I couldn’t exactly refuse to partake on the basis of of having a non-pop out butt! So I persevered and for the first time I was one of those people who have no rhythm and no butt. I now understand…

Ghana, I must go

I depart Ghana with a heavy heart. It has been a whirlwind. I have never met a more cohesive people. They are proud Africans and have managed to preserve their culture whilst still being outward looking. They have taken the rough with the smooth, it’s chaotic in places but it works.

My first home was simply stunning and my host had some seriously cool Afro swagger. She knew it and she flaunted it, it was real and I loved it. Arriving in the Cape Coast I was greeted by a true Rastafarian, he had heart and little style but I ain’t here to judge. His side-kick was super ace, the girl was a kitchen warrior and she made some knock-out Ghanian diners.

The Cape Coast is sobering, with the Atlantic wild and untamed; they didn’t call the crossing the middle passage for nothing. Yet it is still beautiful even with the deep ugly scars of history.

I visited Elmina and Cape Coast castles which were used to process millions upon millions of African slaves. Listening to the horrors of the slave trade you can’t help but to put yourself in their shoes but you can’t stay there for too long. It elicits visceral pain and opens up wounds you never knew existed.

I came and I saw and I will never forget and nor should anyone!

I have made many friends, the wonderful Gabriel, a university lecturer who is trying to convince me to move to Ghana. He was kind and caring and called me on my departure date to bid me farewell. Diboo, a market trader who showed me alternative Accra and made things happen for me, what a gentleman he was. I have countless telephone numbers from people who just wanted to connect on a human level.

My final morning in Accra was elevated by the beautiful and oh-so-wise Kofi who took me for a traditional Waakye breakfast. It consists of cow-skin, fish, plantain, red beans and rice, spaghetti, sauce, gari, black chilli, and a boiled egg. My, it was to die for.

Whilst my beloved Zimbabwe has been captured, my home England on the verge of nastiness, it was wonderful to call Ghana home, albeit fleetingly.

x

I love you long time

Samson is young, fit and has a swagger. He has a killer smile and he ain’t afraid to use it. As I walked on the golden sands of Ampinyi beach, this fine specimen greeted me with great confidence, I got the feeling he was well practiced and I was well prepared for the unfolding story.

I got the usual barrage, where are you from, are you alone, do you have a husband. My plan was quite simple, I was not to mention that my ‘country’ was ‘remainer’ London so I stuck with Zimbabwe. It was obvious that I was alone and yes I do in fact have a husband. Samson seemed quite buoyed by my response, so he started telling me a little more about himself. He has a good job in Tokaradi, he comes from the local fishing community and he honed in his fishing skills by age five. I mean, this is impressive stuff.

He asked for my number and wanted to know whether I was free that evening. I was in fact free, but no, we could not spend the evening together. Samson was very gracious and he asked if we could just have photographs instead. He also wanted to show me his prowess on his home turf and I swear he did a near slo-mo like run as they do in Baywatch into the sea. The boy had skill and I hope he meets Miss Rightnow soon enough.