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Published: August 14th 2009
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Whilst in Ghana, there are lots of things to see and do, but one of the most breath taking views for me is not the scenery of golden beaches, or the beautiful overviews of Mole National Park, but the way of life within one of the simplistic areas of Ghana. In my view the Nzulezo Stilt Village is truly remarkable, the way of living here is unbelievable, and the hardest thing to do was to leave to our luxury Beyin Beach Resort.
As another weekend went by we decided to travel towards the West coast just 12km from the Ivory Coast border. As we arrived in Beyin to a beautiful beach resort, surrounded by towering palm trees golden beaches and the ocean breeze, we were in luxury not to mention the treat of a Hot Shower, personally my first glimpse of hot water since my arrival in Ghana. As we sat back on the beach with a cold beer enjoying our evening meals on the ocean shore, nothing was going to prepare us for our trip to Nzulezo. The term ‘worlds apart’ was truly realised whilst visiting the village.
Saturday morning came, and to be honest the only
thing that was on my mind was not the stilt village or the beautiful surroundings, but shamefully and guiltily the only place I wanted to be was Home. Saturday saw the start of the Football Season, and as we all know that is one thing close to my heart. However the feeling of missing out on the actual game was not the heart wrenching moment I was pining for, but admittedly the whole day. It was a struggle to explain, especially to the girls, but this was the first true moment of sheer home sickness. I was on the most beautiful beach, with a great group of people that have become extremely close to me over the past weeks, but the prospect of spending the morning at home was too much to bear.
A morning of Bacon Butties with my dad, sat watching Soccer A.M eagerly anticipating the days events, whilst increasingly driving my Mum potty with our anxious and annoying morale. To me that’s the only Saturday morning I know, and missing it honestly brought things home. I can honestly say that my mind was somewhere else that day.
However with the prospect of a day in
the stilt village, I grabbed the essentials (my mobile phone for the football updates) and hopped in a canoe. The canoe ride was so peaceful, if it wasn’t for Luis Theroux in the background using my camera to video what she called “Somalia Pirates” and “Ghana’s wetland.” Come on if you have read my previous blogs a name is not necessary, is it?
As we arrived at the village, it was something that was unbelievable, how these people could live in such a place was remarkable, never mind how they built it. Tiles and tiles of cylinder wood planks tied together, that they actually called “streets.” As we travelled around the village and took in some history we realised these people had nothing, the piles of waste that had been thrown aside angered me at times, but what else could be done, the sanitary issues were also hard to believe, but these people had lived like this for centuries, and believed they could do for some time.
After a taste of the local Gin, that certainly gave us a warm feeling, we began to ask questions, one gaping question was: “What emergency plans does the village have in
place.” The answer was unexpected but not as unexpected as to what event was going to unfold. The chief answered the question in a ridiculous manner stating: “We have no emergencies.” Just as this quote was spoken, the sound of an almighty scream alerted our attention. A mother was fishing her distressed child out of the water, with a river of blood pouring from the child’s eye. The young child had slipped and smacked his head on a sharp wooden pole. With the chief looking rather embarrassed after his previous comment, the lady grabbed her child and bundled bandages around him, health care that would certainly not pass back home.
As the commotion died down and fortunately the child’s cries softened we eventually got back on the canoe and paddled back to the beach resort, I left the village with a degree of guilt. Feeling guilty for leaving, leaving for a life of luxury, in comparison to the children of that village.
Back on the beach, I lay grasping my phone, waiting for the updates, in a place of paradise I could not help the degree of guilt, a time with friends in a beautiful country, but I felt the need to be on own, again it wasn’t the fact of missing the game, but the whole build up of the day, admittedly I was keeping check of the time, and comparing the days events to what id be doing at home. 10am: Bacon Butties with dad. 11am: Soccer Am, 12pm: meeting Paul and Andy at the Pub. 1pm; Pre match build up on the Radio, and 3pm: KICK OFF. Again it wasn’t the meaningless objects of Soccer AM or tucking into a Bacon Butty, (which admittedly, sounds bloody good right now.) I missed, the day as a whole, the bonding with family sharing the tension not just with my dad and the lads but even the tension with my Mum and Sister as they pretend to know what is happening, and quietly pray for a Bury win, as the consequences would be too much to bear on our return home.
As I sat on the beach I felt selfish and ungrateful, but I think it goes to show that no matter what you say, it is impossible not to miss your creature comforts.
With the football scores quickly coming in and the result dramatically going against us, I can not say I didn’t want to be there, the fact we were losing made me worse, but after the game, I wasn’t one bit bothered about the result. After sitting thinking of home, I soon came to terms with the fact I will miss games, it may have been the fact that it was the first and now it will get easier from there.
As I write this, I can image some people reading, thinking that I am pathetic to feel such a degree for football, but I feel it is the same for everybody who has a common ground to bond, with me its football, a game, just a game, but a game that brings my family together, something that I missed more than I thought I would.
The only thing I could take comfort with was the fact I did have the opportunity to see such a remarkable place, and witness how other live and survive. Last Saturday was one of the toughest I have had since my arrival, however one of the most rewarding.
I now look forward to more weekends away, but as I come closer I can’t wait for Saturday’s at the football with my family.
But just a word of warning to all volunteers who read this, if you think I was a nightmare last weekend, stay away on the 29th August, Rochdale v Bury, no explanation necessary.
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