There’s something you should know, I just came to say Hello

The Ghanaians must truly be one of the friendliest, most welcoming people in Africa. Every morning while cycling to work people greet me from both sides of the road with a cheery Good Morning White Man or the local equivalent. Every time I meet someone new they invariable open with You are welcome! The kids here greet me with a hearty Good Morning regardless of the time of day, evening or night and the older folk erupt into delighted hysterics when I attempt to respond to their salutations in Kasem, the local language.

So I have to admit to really being taken aback when I started noticing in the last few days that some people hissed at me when I walked past them. Was this some latent resentment for their horrific colonial past? Considering the disgusting history of slave trade which took place here for so long I couldn’t blame any of them if they never wanted to lay eyes on a white person as long as they lived.

Whenever I heard the loud shrill hsssss, almost always from a group of women, I quickly put my head down and shuffled by quickly hoping to avoid anything unpleasant. This had been happening regularly, especially in the busy market and I cocooned myself in denial and pretended that it simply wasn’t happening. Until yesterday when it occurred at a part of the market that was a dead end. The hissing was so loud and obvious and there was no escape route so I had no option but to be brave and face the taunt. When I looked up there were three women sitting down, all beaming gigantic smiles at me and the liveliest of the three had her hand held out to shake mine. Taken totally off guard I immediately responded in kind and received a hearty handshake and the usual You are welcome white man!  I thanked them in my pigeon Kasem and they screamed in delighted and laughed so hard and so long that I could still hear them at it after I had long left the market area.

When I got home I asked Weja, our source of all local knowledge, and he explained that when someone doesn’t know your name they’ll simply hiss instead – just to get your attention. Absolutely no disrespect intended – they just want to get to know you, that’s all!

Another day down, another Ghanaian mystery solved.

One, two princes kneel before you

With my almost irrational loathing of all things royal I find it utterly perplexing that I have to date met three princes in Paga.

In fact the very first Ghanaian I met was Prince. He was the saviour who furnished me with the address that allowed my dramatic entry into the country. Everyone calls him Prince and I’m almost certain that that is simply his name. Some of the names here are quite charming while others are baffling. I’ve met people called Justice, Oxygen, Bismark, Success, Charity, Blessing and even an Adolf.

The second Prince I met was whizzing by on his motorbike when he caught sight of the two white men out walking – so of course he veered over for a chat. I am the prince he announced and so I will talk to you. As we are more than happy to converse with locals of any rank we nodded and offered our hands in friendship.

A handshake in Ghana however is not the simple motion we are all familiar with but more like a well coordinated mating dance involving shaking, pressing and hugging the hands all topped off with a grand finale of finger clicks. The idea is that both parties are competent enough so that the clicking is achieved by each person sliding their index finger off the other’s so it lands on the thumb with a satisfying and impressively audible pop. Needless to say this is a constant source of embarrassment to me as I have yet to produce any sound whatsoever and usually offer a separate individual snap once the handshake is long over. The Ghanaians being ridiculously friendly people indulge me this inadequacy and never stop trying to initiate me all the same.

This Prince however wasn’t amused. By anything. Both his eyes were red and we couldn’t establish if he was drunk or stark raving mad. Either way his conversation was even more confusing than we are now used to and so we both just nodded at him and smiled, hoping that that would be enough to satisfy his need for our attention. With a stubbornly serious facial expression he informed us that seeing as he was a prince he would be paying us a proper visit, soon. We used that cue to take our leave and said goodbye leaving him to make his royal exit on his speedy bike.

The third prince is my favourite. In fact I am his best friend. And I met him in the most unorthodox way possible. We had gone to a nearby village with a whole bunch of volunteers to be officially welcomed into the community in a ceremony overseen by the Chief of the area. He himself arrived amid much singing and dancing, with the largest umbrella I have ever seen carried over his head while three older ladies fanned him to further keep his royal self cool in the extreme heat. The ceremony was captivating as we were introduced and then welcomed, first as a group and subsequently individually. All with special dances and songs. It did however drag on somewhat and eventually my bladder had reached emergency capacity after drinking bag upon bag of water to stave off dehydration.

Now in Ghana the world is your toilet and, especially for men, it is never difficult to just slip off somewhere to relieve yourself. However being within the walls of this adobe village surrounded by enthusiastic revelers I hadn’t a clue what to do. So I decided to discretely ask the man I knew best: the man who had helped arrange my position at the clinic.

Where can I go to the toilet I asked him in a whisper as he was with some other men from the village. Hmmm he answered, okay let’s see… and then went quiet, deep in thought for at least a minute making me feel more and more uncomfortable. Surely I am not the first person who has ever needed to relieve himself in the village I thought to myself as I watched him root around in his briefcase before brandishing an A4 printed page. Will this do? He said to me hopefully.

I couldn’t help but laugh and then quickly disguised it with a cough. Ahm, actually I just need to …um…urinate!

Ohhh he said with a huge grin no problem. Vincent here will bring you around the back – no problem at all.

And so Vincent and I walked away from the group and once we rounded the corner he turned to me and asked with an adorable look of expectation will you be my best friend? Of course I will I agreed and he took my hand and led me first to the spot where I could do my business and then on a tour of the entire compound. He is one of the most immediately likable people I have ever met in my life, wonderfully proud of his village and his modest room where he has his bed, a couple of ancient faded pictures and a place to boil water. He offered me a gift of a huge bag of peanuts he had himself harvested and asked me when he could see me again.  When I replied that I would be back as soon as I can he began laughing and again grabbed my hand and led me to one of the villagers who had a camera and demanded that our photo be taken.

I cycled to the village again last Saturday and Vincent’s welcome was even greater than before. This time we walked around the huge expanse of land the village is centred on. He explained what crops grew where, which animals did what and asked countless questions about Ireland. As I looked around at the green savannah lands peppered with huge trees, maize, millet, peanuts, yams, peppers and bursting with all sorts of domestic animal life I told him he was very lucky to live here. And I honestly meant it. They don’t have electricity or running water but what they do have is a well founded pride in themselves and their land. Theirs is a completely self sufficient life and a community brimming with good will and harmony, even in the face of hardships I couldn’t even imagine.

The Chief would like to talk with you Vincent informed me when we returned to the buildings.  When I was seated in the cool shade of the Chief’s quarters the man himself shook my hand and thanked me from the bottom of his heart for befriending his son, the prince. I never knew that my friend was his son and therefore had his own important title. I had brought Vincent a gift of a torch and some extra batteries and this had been hugely appreciated. In return the chief handed over a plastic bag brimming with fresh eggs, as a thank you and welcome from the village.

I left with a genuine promise that I’d come to visit again very soon. I also cycled away with a much more accommodating attitude to royalty than I ever thought possible.