Sue Wintle in Ghana - November 2000

IN THE BEGINNING…….
You may think you have read enough travel magazines (can't miss them), novels of Africa (they abound), studied many maps, poured over atlases, talked to many people, watched enough television programmes and films, accessed the web - in short, prepared yourself for the adventure about to begin but, let me tell you : you would be wrong.
If, like me, you are about to embark on your first visit to Africa, nothing but nothing could prepare you for the amazing experience ahead.
True, you would have: been jabbed (both arms), popped pills (anti-malaria), shopped for supplies (anti-mossie wipes), updated passport, obtained visa, kitted yourself out with tropical gear (maybe).

Your first surprise may come as you leave the aircraft on arrival in Accra, in my case, late one evening. The rail of the aircraft steps shocks you with its warmth and dampness and you find yourself looking at your hand, expecting as you were the usual cold metal bar. And then the temperature around you closes in and it is WARM.

Following instructions ( you have been well-versed remember) you proceed through various queuing systems. So far so good. Plenty to observe and no surprises. In fact everything goes to plan and soon you find yourself outside again but within the compound of the airport, and your keen eyesight - stretched to its limit - finds a familiar face in the crowd which is pressing itself into the perimeter fence such that the chicken wire is bending around like a huge parabola.
The sound and size of the crowd milling around and breaking through the darkness jolts you from a semi-stupor of BA cosiness. You have arrived.

Introductions made, new faces committed to memory you may now begin the adventure proper.

…WAS THE WORD
Akwaaba (on everyone's lips)

Refreshed with sleep (air-conditioned comfort for your first night in the Tropics),breakfasted on pawpaw and dazzled by the blooms outside your window (Flame flower, Bougainvillaea, Jacaranda and other startling blossoms ) your sashay into Accra is promised. Here you notice large modern buildings, imposing statuary, western-style hotels and much traffic, progress of which is enlivened, nay delayed by nimble young men (generally) flourishing their wares at your window, beseeching with bright smiles and unwilling to be put off by your pretence of lack of interest. You wonder if someone is going to be knocked over, injured. Despite the fact that you don't need handkerchiefs or half a dozen watches on cardboard, you feel somewhat ungallant at refusing to buy.
You learn more of the late President Nkrumah when you are shown the museum in his memory, and admire the graceful Memorial Gardens nearby. You notice the horn-blowers perched above the waters -very significant in Ghanaian culture. Your photograph is taken beneath Nkrumah's Memorial and you are proud to stand next to a new-found friend.

Already you are aware of the tremendous importance of the word 'Akwaaba'. Still it is your first day and you already begin to feel unease with your western clothes, most unsuitable for the high temperatures, and you make a mental note of the need to get properly dressed. You are uplifted by the welcome you are receiving from almost anyone who recognises your white face.

The journey to your accommodation perhaps several hours away by road provides the first taste of what you commit to memory as being the REAL Africa: the colour red. From the deep blood-red of the soil, to the bright carmine red of the sky - to the earthy tones of the mud huts fringing the roadside, to the rose red of the bee-eater bird and also to the red kite circling overhead; to the red red of your lunch.
You cannot fail to notice the gracefulness of the long lithe bodies carrying heavy loads aloft, babies nestling with legs akimbo astride the backs of mothers, and people, people everywhere.
Destination is reached and the endless miles of ocean stretch into infinity, the palm trees sway in the warm off shore breeze: only a God of All Creation could have been responsible for this.

…..AND THE WORD WAS WITH GOD
Work Begins

You are taken to Padre Pio Leprosy Rehabilitation Centre. Sister Monica of the Daughters of Mary and Joseph offers the oh-so-welcome and refreshing water as you step out of the intense heat and into the reception room where you feel the all -pervading presence of the Love of the Sisters and their charitable lives dedicated to others. Mark Mantey guides you around the peaceful serenity that is Ahotokurom where you meet residents, both children and adults, and notice the pounding of yam being done under the shade of an Avocado tree and under the watchful eye of an assortment of small goats and chickens. A Mango is picked from a tree in the enchanting gardens and presented.

One of the Sisters points out the weaver bird nests colonising the tree outside the door to the schoolroom and you know instinctively that you will not forget that moment. Prospective volunteers must be told how much they would gain from time spent here - you tell yourself to do something about this.

Father Samuel Asantey, Diocesan Youth Director, introduces you to Archbishop Turkson and tongue-tied you have difficulty collecting your thoughts. (Later you hope you remembered to thank him for the gift of accommodation).

Father Emilio shares his birthday cake with you whilst young Ghanaians sing . The music is strangely familiar until you recognise the ubiquitous tune of "Happy Birthday to You".

Father Robert, whose industry with hobbies deeply impresses you, becomes a good friend. You visit him at Holy Child School, high up on the ridge above the ocean, where he is the Chaplain. Photographs are taken of the orderly students going about their day, and of the friendly and hungry wild monkeys visiting the grounds of his home in the school.

Dunkwa -on-Offin where volunteers may choose to teach English. Starry night skies with heavenly music drifting on throughout the night. The sound of voices raised in paeans of praise, punctuated by crashes of thunder and the downpour of a tropical storm drenching the parched dry ground beneath the shuttered window.
The intense heat of the night keeps you awake, and there is time to recollect your thoughts before you drift into sweet sleep - remembering dusty roads with huge pot-holes; birds of prey so numerous and anonymous overhead; the clasp of Sister Helen's handshake as you meet her for the first time, and feel you have known her for always.

You think about Sister Anna, St. Stephen , Convent of Infant Jesus, Rehabilitation Centre cookery class and the cookery lesson (mayonnaise and marmalade) and the wax resist dyeing/printing - again that WORD Akwaaba. The children spring to mind - so many of them and so pleased to see you. Waiting to learn more, and be taught and gain knowledge.