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…

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

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.

So I think pidgin English should be on the school curriculum. I love the way it is animated and quick. Those fluent in this bastardised version of English use it well well.

I think on this important matter the Pan Africanist advocates would agree with me. Why wouldn’t they. One language spoken across the continent. We are one is all I have heard since arriving in Ghana. So why not make it happen.

I wonder who I should speak with. Tambo Mbeki, where are you, let’s make it happen ooh.

If Robert Mugabe was here I know for certain he would be up for it! His rhetoric was clear, Africa for Africans. Zimbabwe for the political elites. Well Mother Nature disagreed with this fallen icon of Africa. At the Kwame Nkrumah Museum and Mausoleum they have a tradition of getting visiting dignitaries to plant trees. Mugabe has a tree here too. When I told the staff that I was not a Zimbabwean elite they were sympathetic and passed their condolences. They however went on to lament about the state of Mugabe’s tree. It is not doing well at all ooh! Ah, we no go understand why. It is just really skinny and tall.

As a keen horticulturalist I know why this tree is not doing well. It has a parasite within its core. No amount of light, mulch or water will bring it to health. Mugabe may be gone, but the parasite is still within the core. Zimbabwe is still for the political elites, and Africa is for Africans. So far Diboo is my favourite! Gavin rescued a damsel in distress so comes a close second.

Viva Afrique!! Pidgin English anyone?

Oh, so you are in Ghana on holiday? Actually, it’s not a holiday, I am travelling. OK, no one comes to Ghana on holiday; it’s not like Rome. We have museums and a lot of culture in Rome; perhaps too much. This was a conversation I had with a very charming Italian gentleman. It was all very good natured and it came from a good place.

The gentleman is right, it is not Rome. For starters, Ghana is a country and not a city. Unlike Rome, Ghana has very few museums and the ones I visited had quite questionable curation.

However, like Rome, Accra and all of Ghana tell powerful stories of human history and endurance. I visited Ussher Fort in Accra which was built as a trading post by the Dutch in the 1600s; when the Europeans and Africans operated on a more equal footing. It was then turned into a slave holding place when the Europeans found a more lucrative business in trading humans to work on the plantations in the Caribbean and the Americas.

Post independence Ussher Fort became a prison and held many prominent Ghanaian politicians before becoming a refugee centre hosting people fleeing war in The Sudan and Liberia.

Ghana is where the notion of Pan Africanism flourished. So my travels in Ghana have a rather political leaning. Not through design on my part. It just happens to be the first African country to become an independent state, the Pan African ideologue was elevated when W. E. B Du Bois was invited to move to Ghana by Nkrumah and he set out to write the African encyclopaedia.

Ghana draws a lot of Africans from the diaspora as they attempt to follow the steps their ancestors would have taken. It is a painful journey but it provides an anchor that many of us take for granted. It gives slave descendants some understanding of their roots and thus Ghana becomes a representation of the motherland.

So it is not your typical holiday but there are many delights. Ghana is a thriving democracy, the traditional food is superb, the people are friendly and they have a love for colour so a nation after my own heart.