Safari 3

Early the next morning, our party of four took a jeep tour with guide Mohammed Adam. The gun, he explained, was for our protection only. In his fourteen years here as a guide, he had only rarely fired a warning shot and never had to “take an animal down.” (He did not disclose any actions regarding protection of the animals against man.) He prepared us for what we could and should not expect: essentially most animals kept under the cover of trees, many of the big cats were nocturnal (he had only sighted lions four times), we may see more activity around any watering places, patience and careful observation were vital. The seven species of mammals we saw were from the same families- elephants, primates and antelope- as those seen at close quarters in Mole village.

western hartebeest (internet)

water buck (internet)

Roan antelope (internet)

 With Mohammed Adam’s keen eye and the help of a pair of binoculars we also saw, or glimpsed at, thirty-one types of birds. The constant call of birds filled the air as we slowly drove through savannah woodlands and into open plains with dried flatlands and muddied ponds, a reminder of the lateness of the dry season and the expectation of rain.

Our tour guide, warden Mohammed Adam. In the background, one of the lodges used for overnight accommodation by tourists and wardens on patrol.

Northern carmine bee eater (internet)

Grey headed kingfisher-(internet)-which looked beautifully colourful in flight

Paradise fly catcher- wonderfully exotic

The short stay- just twenty-four hours- was sufficient for a non-scientist, a town dweller lacking scientific knowledge and informed curiosity, and accustomed to viewing, with commentary, detailed recordings of animals’ lives courtesy of David Attenborough and therefore not wanting (and as a volunteer, lacking the funds) overnight camping in distant lodges, accompanying by wardens on dawn, dusk and night-time walks to hideouts, spending patient hours awaiting perhaps for sightings. 

Viewed from above on the terrace by the Mole Motel, elephants visit a watering hole. Behind stretches the savannah and forests of Mole National Park.

Safari 2

Male kob on the Mole village football field.

Wart hog enjoys a bath- note the kneeling position.

An elephant, completely overshadowing the church, eats the wild mint. The usual Ghanaian practice of growing crops to feed the family cannot happen in Mole village.

The walk around Mole village showed us that some of the Mole wildlife is accustomed to humans and has no fear. Rather, the humans are the intruders who must adapt and accommodate.

Safari

Mole National Park (area 4,840 km2area)-  (Compare-Lake District 2292 Km2 , 4528 Cairngorms in the UK)

“Mole National Park in the Northern Region offers close-up encounters with huge Savannah elephants, baboons and other primate species, birds and large antelopes”-Ghana Tourist Board

“The Game Reserve which is the biggest in the country.... was established in 1971 and is home to more than 94 different mammals, 33 species of reptiles, 300 species of birds, four species of monkeys and 700 species of plants.”

Ghana has  seven national parks, huge tracts principally established for the conservation and safe roaming of animals,  ideally free from threats of hunting, poaching and illegal timber logging, sadly all reported by the World Wildlife Fund for Nature(WWF). Unfenced and difficult to patrol and protect effectively, the news periodically carries reports of such illegal activities by individuals and organized groups.

Map- showing position of Mole National Park- I could not find any map marking Mole and the road route- indicative of the lack of a road infrastructure. 

Bushmeat on sale by the road side- the term is generic, meaning any non- domesticated animal. Ghanaians spend an estimated US$ 200M per year on bush meat. (Wildlife Direct)

 In Ghana bush meat continues to be an important source of protein in a country where fishing yields have dropped and on land 66% of all households rear animals extensively, supplying families at subsistence level. The bushmeat trade is unregulated and researchers say it has lead to localized extinction of species and contributed to a  general loss of biodiversity across Ghana. On our journey from Tamale to Mole, we passed a lorry, rather like a cattle truck, loaded with hunters heading out for bushmeat.

Like much of Ghana outside the few major cities and throughout the more northern regions, travelling to Mole was a long, arduous trial of a journey, with hours spent bumping along a ridged, red dust pot- holed road- this route being the main road linking the key regional cities of Tamale and Wa.

Arrival at Mole- looking more like oompah-loompahs, the combination of dusty roads and a vehicle with ill fitting doors, windows and boot, allowing dust to circulate freely.

Comparing experiences later with volunteers  who have been “on safari” in Kenya, where jeeps travel in fleets and tourists are guaranteed to see lions and other favoured  big game, here the touring was quiet, low key, personalized, any sighting s of rarer animals, a privilege to be appreciated (or possibly also a reflection of the “empty forest” syndrome reported by WWF researchers.)

On an afternoon walk with guide Christopher, we watched within 10 feet of African elephants as they sucked the dust from the track and sprayed it onto their bodies-apparently to protect against ticks and parasites. They were surprisingly quiet, their movements slow, deliberate, even. After several minutes of dusting themselves, they smoothly turned and retreated back into the woodland, gently trampling back over shrubs and smaller trees.

An older male guides a younger elephant, estimated to be about 20 years old, back into the woodland. The elephants' life span is about 70 years.

Christopher took us to the Mole village settlement, built to accommodate all the park’s guides, wardens and their families. Amid the single storey housing children played, men sat with cards and opportunistic baboons, in search of an easy evening meal, ran, scaled walls, scrambled over zinc rooftops or sat and observed. The warthogs rolled happily in the mud. A kob (small antelope) stared at us from the football field.

A baboon eats the entire cabbage he has stolen from a nearby house- we heard the shrieks of dismay.

Quite Interesting. (QI)

Question: remembering that in Saudi Arabia women are not allowed to drive, where in the world are only women, but not men, allowed to ride motorbikes?

Answer: Bawku Municipal District, Upper East Region, Ghana. Since 2010, in response to the latest outbreaks of violent disruption, attributed to historical conflicts between two tribal groups and also criminal individuals, a complete ban on all males riding or travelling as passengers on motorbikes was decreed, and is enforced by Ghana’s National Security Council.

Map of Ghana- Zebilla is mid-way between Bolga(tanga) and Bawku. Photo BBC

Photo-internet

I travelled to the town of Bawku, some 40 kilometres east of Zebilla, along the main tarmac road leading to Burkina Faso, with my work colleague Haruna, and his family. I was to be a guest at a Baby Naming ceremony of his great niece. 

Many streets of Bawku are lined with trees, giving welcome stripes of shade. The town bustles with trading, as a destination, a passing through place and home for three to four thousand students of the High School, the Technical School and the Vocational College. With men cycling in twos and threes, women scarved  and brightly clothed from head to foot sedately cruising on their motorbikes, there is a quietness, a slower pace than Zebilla, with an echo of Amsterdam, but in brilliant sunshine and heat.

Photo-internet

The Baby Naming- for the child Naida-required my greeting the beautifully dressed infant, housed in her mother’s room with her mother and giving my best wishes and a small token gift. I was then seated, on a chair, rather than the mats on the floor, within the extended family’s square, enclosed courtyard, to listen to the chatter of the women and young children as they took their share of the prepared food and admire the brilliant colours of the clothes worn. The men and older boys talked under the hired gazebos, sitting on the hired chairs, outside the compound. It was a pleasant social gathering. I was introduced to Haruna’s mother-in-law, who sat on a small low wooden stool in one corner, quietly watching the proceedings, receiving her sons and daughters, her grandchildren and other visitors.

Proud mother and beautiful baby.

The family's courtyard, hosting the baby naming. Guests enjoy  food cooked by the sisters. Time:- around 9 am.
The men are outside, under the hired gazebos. The cooking began at 4am.

The great grandmother (second right) with three of her eight children, and one great- grandchild peeping over the heads.
Haruna's wife, Haleema, is second left.

During our journey we learned of the death, the previous evening, of Haruna’s elderly Auntie, who had been ill for the last two years. And so, collecting our portions of the food, in typical “take out” small plastic bags, we set off again, calling first to see Haruna’s invalid mother, offering condolences for the loss of her sister, and then on to the funeral, at Auntie’s home.  (As a Muslim, Auntie would be buried within 24 hours of death.)

With no time to arrange for catering, hospitality being so important and prided in African culture, only well water from the family’s own courtyard, was available. Food for guests would feature at subsequent memorial events for Auntie, the first being the following weekend. 

Again, the women, never less than fifty at any time, were seated about the inner square courtyard of Auntie’s family’s courtyard, mostly on unrolled prayer mats, while the males congregated outside sitting in reserved, allocated` areas among the parked bicycles, motorbikes and occasional car. The women wore long scarves to cover their heads, the men caps, but otherwise all were in everyday clothes. 

Auntie’s corpse, shrouded and in her room, laid on the floor, was to be seen, prayed for, by each adult, and so I was ushered in to take my turn. The room was small, and with a dozen mourners present, was crowded, dark but not gloomy, or over laden with grief. Following the lead of Haruna, I knelt, composed my thoughts and paid my respects for a precious life now finished.

The family was controlling arrangements. Everyone else filled their time patiently, talking quietly but cheerfully enough. Some hours later, when an absent son, trying to reach Bawku from Accra within the 24 hours, gave his consent to go ahead without him, the final rituals began.

While Auntie’s body was washed and prepared for her coffin by immediate relatives, her eldest son led the women in chanting song and prayer. After moving outside to the men, the women gathered themselves, the prayer mats were rolled and all flowed through the connecting passage to the sun-baked outside. Here, men and women segregated, praying took place.  At least one hundred and fifty mourners had gathered now, in row after row, kneeling. Then silently, fluidly, all stood, moved back calmly to line the entrance of the family home. Auntie’s body, now in its green steel box coffin, was carried out and the men left to take her to her final resting place in the cemetery, the women waiting back in the compound.

The event to my eyes was respectful, accepting of death, with visible signs of grief from some.

Image- internet

Non Formal Education- Night School 2

Setting off onto unlit tracks at 7.15 pm one Thursday evening,  “picked” by Supervisor Haruna on his motorbike, I visited a class called Awensungiti-“God help us”, behind a church on the main Zebilla to Bawku road.  In this well established group everyone was quiet and serious, taking their turn to read the phrases and words on the chalk board, to recite and to help and correct others. 

 A second class, off from the dusty, unmade, red earth road behind Zebilla town leading to Tanga, was situated in an open field, with learners occupying the high three sided benches seen at many gathering places. This class was newer, still learning the routines for regular steady learning, and with a number of restless children, attending with parents, who would eventually learn to settle and follow. Behind, around and above the classes the dark night stretched away.

I learned a new Kusaal saying:- Kuo sun maan nin- Drink good water, good health.

Each class member takes their turn to read the sounds and words- everybody helps and encourages each other.

The facilitator- referring to the text book- emphasizes the vowel sounds to be learned.

Accurate attendance registers are kept. Learners details- their gender, age declared  and occupation (typically grower of crops or small trader) are recorded.

Non-formal education.-Night school.

The elder sister of School for Life, Non-Formal Education organizes classes for adult learners who never attended school and wish to learn reading and writing. Rates of illiteracy are estimated at 70% in Zebilla and up to 90% in the surrounding  small rural villages.  Previously funded by the World Bank, now by the Government of Ghana, the network operates with minimal expenses. As with School for Life, each district has a coordinator who oversees supervisors. At community level, classes are taught, for free, by unpaid “facilitators” who are rewarded at the end of the two year learning period with goods in kind eg zinc to make a roof. At present though, limited monies mean that facilitators are not paid at all, and are having to buy their own chalk boards and torches to light the teaching area.

Mother attending class, reads from the chalk board-constructed and taken to each lesson by the facilitator.

Details causing me to stop, and double take, continue. A class of learners and facilitator meet three evening s per week for about two hours each session for two years. Classes take place out of doors during the dry season, sheltering within a church or wherever a roof is offered during the rainy season. Each learner brings their own torch. 

Around Zebilla town itself, there are currently twelve classes, each with 25 learners enrolled.

As with School for Life, there are primers or text books for each learner. They offer a structured teaching of phonics, using the English alphabet system. Once sounds are learned- there are 29 basic sounds, with three extra vowel sounds represented,- decoding and writing Kusaal, the local African language, is straight forward. Lessons use a mix of shared learning and participation, oral activities and reading for meaning. Women are encouraged to enroll, partly because of greater levels of illiteracy, but also women remain to look after family, whereas males tend to migrate south during the dry season when there is little paid work available in the arid north of Ghana. Each group of learners is given a small grant to set up an enterprise to generate funds for the class: women are typically asked to take on this role too.

The party goes on.. and on.

The children do some crayoning.

The finished feast- fried fish, vegetable stew and jollof rice. (Vegetarian option abandoned for this evening)

Food served- but first the "Happy Birthday" song, with second  verse "How old are you now?"

The Party goes on.

Celebrating a birthday in Zebilla- “What do I do?” I asked.

“Buy everyone Coca Cola,” was one reply.

For a number of sound reasons that was never going to happen. 

Instead I opted for sweets, a wise and popular choice. The lollipops, with sticks that doubled as whistles, were extremely popular with the staff at Ghana Education Service, and supplies were exhausted before I reached the local children they were intended for, they having to make do with remaining plain boiled sweets.

I also invited friends and sisters Fatima and Mouda, along with their young children round for a meal, the deal being that I paid for the ingredients but the Ghanaian women cooked. And so, amid dancing to recordings on the mobile phone, crayoning, singing and general jollity an excellent jollof rice and fish supper was prepared and enjoyed.

Fati and Mouda prepare vegetables and fry fish.

.... and dance

Nasallah (the white woman) joins in.

Easter diversions

Good Friday and Easter Sunday are the most important days in the Christian calendar. The Christian communities in my current home town, Zebilla and in Bolga, where I have spent the holiday period, for the most part active worshippers, have packed the churches, praised loud and long, with those who have the means dressed in fine new clothes. Sharing bought snacks outside or joining organized church picnics on Easter Monday add to the social dimension of attending worship, important and not to be trivialised in small communities where alternative social diversions are few.

I had come to Bolga to meet with VSO and other volunteer and to seek out social diversions, partly to celebrate my forthcoming 56^th birthday. Friday night took a small group of us to the Soul Train Nite Club, in a building as charmless as a UK concrete sports’ centre, and as dark as a scary pedestrian underpass. However, once inside, the non-stop play of decent Ghanaian/West African hi-life, reggae, and hip hop (I think), a surprising lack of alcohol casualties by UK standards, and a universal love of dancing all made for a friendly atmosphere and several happy hours flew by until that point was reached when the many unattached males suddenly began to seek out among the much fewer women “that certain one” and it was time to split.

I decided to be an observer at the Pool Party, in the compound of the as yet unopened Tuode Hotel. The smallish pool was “standing room only” but still the men insisted on somersaulting into the water amid the chaos of a ball game and non- swimmers trying to navigate around the perimeter in large rubber rings. A mix of loud music, soft drinks and some alcohol, chairs around the pool and general hilarity all round made for a holiday mood. And again, the crowd was 80% male- where were the women?

A more serious visit, and one that has made an impact, was to the venue of Operation Mango Tree, one of the projects run by Bolga and UK based charity, AfriKids. ( http://www.afrikids.org/operation-mango-tree) The orphanage- for that is what Operation Mango Tree is,- had an air of friendliness, warmth but also calm, with children playing outside on some playground equipment and older ones preparing the communal meal of jollof rice and meat over a charcoal fire.

Mama Laadi

The AfriKids website describes Mama Laadi and her work:

The goal of Operation Mango Tree is to give the most disadvantaged and vulnerable children in Bolgatanga’s community a fair start in life.

Operation Mango Tree is the development of one remarkable woman’s work with children; Mama Laadi. Mama Laadi is a trained community nurse and from her own time as a street child she has constantly been helping the most vulnerable children she meets, often when they have been written off for dead because of their state of health, because they are orphaned or believed to be spirit children. AfriKids first started working with Mama Laadi in 2004 when we met her living in a tiny nurses room with 12 children, caring from them by stretching her own small income and begging, borrowing and appealing to people she knew locally for support. AfriKids quickly rented her accommodation and as she proved her ability to care for larger number of children with complex cases with the same level of love and care, we built her a large permanent home.

Mama Laadi’s Foster home is a family home to 35 children who care for each other through a buddy system, overseen by Mama Laadi and her small support staff. It is a unique home for the small percentage of children who cannot be resettled with family and require permanent high quality residential care. As the children grow up they are helped through to independent life by the Young Entrepreneurs Programme.

Operation Mango Tree has a strongly supportive and active local management team which is working with AfriKids Ghana to develop businesses that will help the project become independently sustained. These include 'Mama's Place' a popular guest house which opened in Bolgatanga in 2009 and generates a profit to help pay for the running costs of the foster home.

AfriKids aims to be self sustaining by 2018.- photo, showing London underground adverts- AfriKids website.

While there I noted one young boy, Peter, aged about 10, with learning difficulties. Finding that he does not attend a school, I offered to return with some simple low-tech equipment and give a training package/follow up to staff on using motor skills, which would enable a simple therapy and learning programme to be developed for Peter. 

Elmina castle 2

Active Christian worship was observed. The Catholic chapel, built to meet the needs of the Portuguese was converted to an officers’ mess by the conquering Dutch, who then created their own Protestant chapel. 

The first church- now housing the information exhibition.

Parallel kitchens were built, first Portuguese, later the Dutch, with differing layouts, hearths and ovens.

The views from the ramparts indicate the important strategic positioning and the useful permanent rocky coastline for anchoring ships.

The remains of a jetty can be seen like stepping stones. Today, traditional wooden fishing boats are crafted in the yard below the castle walls.

The slave trade continued under the Dutch until 1814:- Britain having banned the Atlantic Slave trade in 1807, following the Danish, who were the first to effect such legislation in 1792, the economic benefits of trading in human cargo began to diminish. The British Royal Navy, which then controlled the world's seas, moved to stop other nations from continuing the slave trade and declared that slaving was equal to piracy and was punishable by death. 

In 1872 the Dutch Gold Coast, including Elmina, became a possession of the British Empire during the European colonisers’ “dash for Africa”. The castle was used as a training school, for army recruits and later by the police force.

Britain granted the Gold Coast its independence in 1957, and control of the castle was transferred to Ghana.

The town of Elmina, from the castle- The two storey buildings, uncommon in  Ghana, were constructed by the Portuguese and Dutch, partly to house mixed race families created during the castle's European occupation. 

The castle overlooks the town of Elmina, which remains much as the European conquerors left it, a small fishing port, relying on its twin exports, now combined to maintain a flourishing trade in preserved salted fish.

Photos- internet.

A UNESCO World Heritage site, conscious of lessons for humanity following four centuries of the Atlantic Slave Trade, of racism against Africans a consequence, a plaque on the walls of the castle offers these thoughts for endorsement:

Elmina castle

Elmina Castle.

While staying on the coast of Ghana, my daughter Rosie and I set aside a day for exploring the historic  Elmina Castle, with the help of tour guide Gideon and some useful written and picture exhibits in the military barracks, once the castle’s Catholic chapel.

Elmina castle, with high straight white walls, fixtures and features in black, has an appearance of elegance, peace and calm which belies its history. In three layers, with the airy spacious accommodation for the Governor and associates on the upper floor, the officers’ rooms, military barracks, kitchens services and places for religious worship in the middle and the dark storage dungeons beneath, a tour of each circuit in turn contrasts the lives and very different status of the occupants.

Elmina castle from the beach- photo- internet.

Within the castle- the governor's residence overlooks one side of the enclosed courtyard. The entrances to the dungeons are through low doors at the ground level.

Built by the Portuguese in 1482 from imported pre- fabricated sections, it is the oldest European building south of the Sahara. It first served to protect the trading port on what became known as The Portuguese Gold Coast, a tenth of the world’s gold being exported from this area annually in the 15^th century.

16th century map of West Africa showing  Amina- "a mine". (Wikipedia)

Within two hundred years trade had shifted and cargoes of captured West African slaves, first exported out of Elmina, became far more valuable commodities for the new colonies of Brazil, claimed by the Portuguese, and later also parts of the Caribbean claimed by the Dutch, who seized control of Elmina castle in 1637. By the 18th century, 30,000 slaves on their way to North and South America passed through Elmina's Door of No Return each year. The slaves came from northern interior tribes, captured and traded by particular African chiefs and kings who moved from the lesser rewards of dealing with Arab merchants. Thus Elmina played its part in what some scholars call The African Holocaust.

The Door of No Return- lead straight to awaiting small rowing boats, taking slaves to the larger ships. Photo- internet. 

As visitors to the castle, we were encouraged to imagine the different  conditions experienced by the slaves, as they awaited transportation, by the officer and service classes and by the governor and captain of guards, controlling the operations.

Males and females were separated, each slave dehumanised, a nameless commodity with no reference to kinship or marriage, locked into low ceiling stone dungeons, some 300 per room, measuring about 30 feet by 12 feet, any light and fresh air creeping through few narrow barred window spaces. Diseases of dirty water supplies, poor sanitation, insect bites and fetid air were rife. 

This dungeon would hold three hundred slaves.

The women’s courtyard could be viewed from a higher gallery, where the governor would take his pick of suitable concubines to satisfy his lust. Refusal to cooperate with any command was punished by chaining a cannonball to the foot and leaving a woman out in the courtyard, exposed to the merciless heat of the sun until she submitted. 

View of the women's exercise yard, from the governor's balcony.  Beneath the wooden trapdoor is the  well supplying water. (now disused). Any woman refusing to obey an order would be brought out, chained to a cannonball and left in the heat until she submitted.

Male punishment was singular- the offender was taken to the death cell, an alternative door of no return.