Tropical birthday

Falling so close to the festive season, my birthday is always intertwined with an unescapable Christmas theme. Not so in Ghana, where Christmas lights are few and far between and the sight of the odd lifesize Father Christmas effigy in swathes of red and white fur makes me break out in a double sweat.

Far far away from the bitter northern hemisphere, I spent the day in glorious equatorial sunshine, playing frisbee on the beach, riding a horse, paddling in water warmed beautifully by the hot sun. Quite spectacular and it succeeded in taking the edge off a significant birthday.

Later, I donned another outfit made by the legendary Mr Teiks and stepped out for some amazing pad thai, red curry and jazz music. I had a joint party with one of the other volunteers, and the highlight was an amazing birthday cake with both our names written on it and some great and completely unexpected presents.

Waking up

There is no such thing as a lie-in in Ghana. The nights draw in early – by 6pm it is dark - so many people are in bed early and hence awake early. It is completely normal to get a call at 5.30am from a Ghanaian for a general chat.

Every morning, each of my senses experiences its own awakening. First, the rays of strong sun penetrating my windows, my eyelids and falling in warm patches on the bed. Then the scent of freshly lit coals wafts through the windows as a lady begins cooking breakfast outside at a chop bar behind the house. Its acrid smell makes me wrinkle my nose, and irritates the remnants of the stubborn cough, which is now all but gone. At the same time, a loud sweeping sound reaches my ears, accompanying the charcoal scent, as a girl sweeps the entire compound with the noisiest brush. The culmination of the rude awakening is most certainly a cold shower, and as we enter the dry season, our mains water supply is increasingly erratic, so we have the additional exertion of drawing water from a communal tap in the compound and being on top of storage.

Ir de compras

Shopping for anything at home is full of choices, and shopping of any kind is mostly an enjoyable pastime for me. At home, small independent businesses are being forced out of the market by big competitors. In Accra, the shopping experience is more variable. The micro business model thrives. Choice exists, but at a cost, and by a strange twist, you can buy almost anything you could want for on the street, except when you are looking for it.

For groceries, I choose between small market stalls by the roadside and supermarkets. I am slowly building up a relationship with some of the stall owners and they now throw in or ‘dash’ me something extra – a mango, say, or an extra cucumber. Supermarkets mostly target the ex-pat community. It means I can buy things like marmite, cereal, shower gel, but all with a heavy mark up. Unless it’s on promotion, a box of Special K can cost the equivalent of £10. In my first few weeks I was scandalised at how imported goods, some with ‘99p special offer’ clearly written on the packaging, were being sold for at least six times the price. The whole experience is reminiscent of shopping at H&M: there is no certainty that if you find something one week, the same product will ever be in stock again. Most shocking were the prices of tin openers – a basic pound shop tin opener can set you back about 16 ghana cedi – around £8.

For clothes, there is the joy of the Accra mall, which is hideously overpriced, and not really on trend. There are shops with ex-catalogue, end of range UK stock from new look, next etc but from circa 1991. A pair of Aldo shoes would cost 250 Ghana Cedi (£125). The popular volunteer choice for clothes, shoes and bags is what is famously knows as ‘dead obruni clothes’ in the circle market. The name comes from discarded clothes of foreigners. Here second hand and almost new, on trend, items can be picked up at bargain prices. Well within the volunteer allowance!

There is also a huge demand for handmade, bespoke clothing. Yards of brightly coloured fabrics are available by the roadside and in more upmarket stores, and tailors are hard at work in small booth-like shops, just set back from the street. But there are strict protocols governing what is appropriate to wear, and when. One volunteer had a couple of shirts made and was mortifyingly told that the fabric he had picked was actually to be worn by new mothers! My tailor, Mr Teiks (which sounds like a cat’s name) is very skilled and able to re-fashion anything – a Gap dress, Mexx trousers to a perfect fit.