Bolga, Paga, Crocodiles, Sirigu, Pottery and paintings

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It is 0240am and I am unable to sleep. Perhaps because I went to bed at 1930 not feeling too well and I slept till 2330, from which time I have finished a book and been totally unable to get back to sleep. It is partly due to being rested but largely due to the most recent loss of a little life at work. A little girl of 2 was bought in to the hospital the day before yesterday. Her condition on admission was critical but there is always hope, isn’t there???? I worked hard at keeping her alive, dragging no less than three doctors in to review her, that is all the doctors we have at the hospital, one is a fifth year med student but I thought he might have a few good ideas. I entreated the nurses to give her her medication at the correct time. I stood over her myself and administered as much as I could for her but to no avail. She slowly slipped from our clutches and her death was greeted with the same lack of emotion that I cannot comprehend as being normal. I am told by the Ghanaian nurses that a child’s death is almost commonplace and that a mother can just have another baby. This attitude is mainly cornered on the Muslim men, who often have no less than 4 wives and often 9-12 children and if one wife loses a child, there will be another born soon enough. How does the individual mother feel though?? It seems that she is not allowed grief and I have seen only one woman express grief and that was surreptitious when the husband had left the room. I am no expert in affairs of faith but surely no god would want the little children to be so little thought of.
I had to leave work early, just to get back to see my own children, healthy, happy and very much alive.

Anyway as I am awake I thought I would finish off our trip to Bolga. The first entry was done at an internet café in Bolga and so I don’t quite remember where I got up to, so excuse if any repeating…….

We scored some very nice rooms in the Black Star hotel. The outside of the building did not really inspire much confidence and looked a bit like a pit, but the rooms were clean and large and we even had air conditioning. The children were insistent that Richard and I should have a nice room to ourselves and accordingly promised to be very good and share a room so we could have our own room. Folly you might think, to believe them but the heart is always willing.

As it turned out apart from a minor room trashing by Marc and Huw and a minor (ish!!) scuffle between Marc and Sian the children kept to their word and were very well behaved. Unfortunately Richard and I came off second best. No we didn’t fight all weekend!! But we certainly ended up with the dud room. First of all there was a smell that made me want to throw up, a bit like rotten fish, Marc continually told me that after 15 minutes I would get used to it, not really…. Secondly we had very spasmodic air conditioning. On the second night I think a fuse blew in the socket and the air conditioning died all together. Bolga was a lot hotter than Tamale and I certainly felt it that night. The air was heavy and still and I woke feeling suffocated and unable to breathe. There was not the slightest hint of a breeze through the window that we had recklessly thrown open and I lay bathed in sweat and horror that I was so hot and Richard was happily snoring away. Did I have malaria?? Surely I shouldn’t be so hot. Common sense prevailed and I got a wet flannel, sponged myself down and waited for the minor breeze stirred up by a lazy fan to waft over me and cool me down. Eventually it worked and I dozed off. Visiting the children’s room to wake them later in the morning I discovered that it was a bit like a fridge and they had enjoyed a lovely cool night with the AC on and wrapped up in the cotton eiderdown. I was extremely jealous.

We had a very nice, and solitary, breakfast in the dining room where our taxi driver from yesterday met up with us, his name was Baba and he was great. We set off on the 60KM trip to Paga to visit the sacred crocodile pools, where for a small fee you get to feed a crocodile and sit on its back. Of course we all vowed to do no such thing. Unfortunately the guides have other ideas. You have paid for the experience so you are going to get it. What amazed us first was when we arrived at the pool, supposedly full of crocodiles, there at the edge were two children having a leisurely splash and morning wash. I immediately thought that there could be no crocodile’s here but was soon disabused of that thought.

We were led to a marshy area and sure enough a crocodile was lured out of the pond by the squawking of a live chicken that was included in the price of the tour. Out of the water ambled a smallish croc about 1 ½ metres long. We all stood a respectable distance away and watched in amazement as the rangers lured the croc out. Before I knew what was happening, Huw was also being lured, TO the croc, and there he was lifting up the tail and looking quite at home with a deadly killing machine at his feet. The guards were busy snapping pictures while we watched in fascinated horror. Huw obviously captured their hearts and so they decided to find the BIG ONE for us. Around the pond and under a tree we found the one. He was much bigger at about 2 ½ metres and looking terrifying. Before I knew it I had moved forward to protect my baby and found myself holding a crocs tail with Huw on its back and Sian standing by, what was I thinking. Anyway we did escape unscathed and I still can not believe I allowed any of us to go so near to a croc, but what a story. The Ghanaians believe that the crocs are sacred and to kill one is tantamount to homicide. Because, once the humans of the village die, they inhabit the crocodile, so killing a croc would equal to killing a person. The crocs wander the village at night but we were assured that they do not even steal chickens let alone attack humans. If a naughty croc were to steal a chicken or a goat, then when he goes back to the pond the other crocs would beat up on him and maybe kill him for stealing from the humans who are friends. I’m not convinced but to reinforce the story we saw yet more children swimming in this pond that is inhabited by many many crocodiles..

After the croc experience we were led across the road to Al Hassans house which was certainly worth a visit. He tells a good story and has some very interesting artefacts. He told us how when the slave trade was at its worst, Paga was a village that was used to steal slaves from quite mercilessly. The houses here are different to further south, in Tamale. Instead of a pitched roof covered with thatch, the houses in Bolga area are flat roofed. There seem to be two reasons for this. Firstly when there were wild animals the family would dash to the flat rooftop via a ladder crafted out of a tree fork and then pull the makeshift ladder up after themselves. The second use was when the slavers were sighted the Paga’ins would climb to the rooftop, pull up the ladder and then lie flat on the roof, trying to evade capture. I suppose it worked until the traders cottoned on to the trick. The chief of Paga was a firm opponent of the slave trade and helped his people as much as he could.

Paga was blisteringly hot and we could certainly feel the difference in heat from what we are used to in Tamale. As we drove from Paga to Sirigu, we noticed that the landscape was quite different too. One of the areas we passed made Marc think of lions and animals hiding, the grass certainly looked as though it was hiding a few creatures and we were not keen to get out and find out its secrets. The houses were also different as mentioned earlier and at Sirigu they had the added enchantment of being painted and looking quite fantastic. The Sirigu visitor centre we went to was fantastic. It is a working commune, ecotourism project, where the local women work together making pottery, painting and making material. They even make their own material for painting on. It was a lovely place to wander and we had a very good guide. As in many of these places, it had been set up to receive visitors very well. There were local huts, Tamale style, and similar to what we stayed in at Helping Hand at Nkoranza. They had solar power for lighting, one of the huts had running water the others shared communal showers that were immaculately clean and a beautiful dining room that we couldn’t take enough pictures of. If we had known this existed we would certainly have stayed here, at least for a night. The only disadvantage is it is a long way from the town and transportation, but would be worth the experience.

Baba was a great driver and helpful person and enjoyed having his picture taken with us, we have his address and the promise to send him some copies. He deposited us safely back at our hotel where we all collapsed in the children’s room, cooler and smelling fresh….
We had our usual picnic lunch and an hour of resting, reading and watching TV. Richard Sian and I then set off for the internet café and left the boys wallowing in the AC watching TV. We had a pleasant little walk to find the internet café, but it was so hot that we ducked into a taxi. Bolga is a lovely town, much smaller than Tamale and with quite a different feel to it. We felt quite at ease walking the streets but felt more like tourists here than we do in Tamale, but of course we are. It also helps having a bike in Tamale and we are now such familiar faces that we rarely get accosted by ‘guides’ trying to help us, so it was a bit of a shock to be faced with that again in Bolga. Not threatening, merely a little annoying.

We were going to be adventurous tonight and try out a local chop Bar but could not decide so instead went to dinner at SWAD, which is like a bit of a chain, if you get chains in Ghana?? It specialises in Pizza but you can also get Ghanaian food and some Indian dishes as well. Marc enjoyed a whole guinea fowl and an enormous plate of jollif rice. The local rice dish, which is yellow rice and spiced, very nice. Sian and Huw had pizza and I had a Spanish omelette which was superb. Richard settled for Beef stroganoff and that too was delicious. Eating out is amazing. Service is hilarious. When we arrived at the restaurant, the waitress certainly does not get up to greet you and you find yourself a table. Our waitress was slumped over the counter, too tired to bother too much with the patrons. This continued all night and we had to send various children to ask her if we could be served. I was told the other day that time means nothing to Ghanaians and we are certainly finding this to be true and even enjoying it, on the whole.
We had a marvellous time over our extended meal with great conversation, much laughter and of course, too much food. Luckily it was a nice walk home and we walked off our fullness. We have certainly discovered that to eat Ghanaian food, you never really stuff yourself like you do if you were eating a European meal. For instance, rarely do we leave the table saying, I am so full, as we would often do at home. The odd occasions we do eat home food, we eat too much and get too full. I like the Ghanaian way much better. Hopefully we will train ourselves into better habits..

All too soon the taxi arrived on Sunday morning and we had to squeeze ourselves on the return Tro tro. Still just as packed but we divided and conquered the children with me having Marc and Richard having Huw and Sian. Instead if having to go into Tamale the Tro tro dropped us at Jisonayilli and we arrived home in the middle of Birgit's lunch party for the volunteers. We gate crashed, ate leftovers and then headed to the pool for a swim. What a life!!!

As always we love and miss you all and would appreciate a few more letters from home!!!! oxoxoxoxoxoxo

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