Conversations in Ghana pt 1

+ Peter, a reporter from my station, and I are interviewing a lawyer who represents an international trade fair held yearly in Accra. We perch on chairs in his comfy office littered with books and newspapers, legal texts and the ubiquitous framed photograph of President John Kufuor that I have seen in more than one “big man’s” office here. A tv set bleats insistent news from TV3, a local network. There’s a story about Zoomlion, a country-wide waste management company. The volume is low and we can’t figure out what the story’s about. Shots of the workers picking up trash are juxtaposed with shots of various streets and neighbourhoods in the metropolis, littered with plastic “Pure Water” bags, paper, and occasionally, mounds of burning garbage. In Accra, it’s hard not to follow the herd and litter; trash is everywhere, piled high in the open sewers and set aflame at the roadside. The lawyer sighs so heavily that papers fly off his desk. “What is wrong with us?” he asks. “We can’t even pick up our own garbage? How can you solve a country’s problems if you can’t even pick up the garbage?”

We don’t answer. We smile helplessly. Later we will interview the Director of the Fair, who will deny that most people in Ghana don't have enough money to shop there. Later still Peter will ask for my advice regarding some girl problems.

+ I am sitting with two roommates drinking at the beach bar near our place when the power goes out. This Ghana group has been lucky as we just escaped a period where rolling blackouts were a common occurrence across the country. These days blackouts are rare. It’s the water shortages that are becoming acute. At our place the water stops running for one or two weeks at a time. At alternate weeks, the taps sometimes begin flowing again and we frantically fill buckets anticipating the next time they go dry. On this evening, however….we are waterless and powerless. On top of all this, the heat is the most oppressive it’s been since we’ve arrived. No power means no fan, which means lots of sweating and sleeplessness, and means waking up smelly and sweaty in the morning with no water to shower with. We skip home and light candles, excited at first, and then the reality of the situation sets in. My roommate begins to rant.

“This is Ghana,” she says. “This isn’t Liberia, where they’re recovering from a civil war. This isn’t Sierra Leone, where the country was torn apart by revolutionaries. Those countries have a reason for power outages. What’s Ghana’s excuse? The politicians pouring their money into campaigns when there is no money for water or power?”

We don’t answer. Instead I eat trail mix sent from Sophie's mother. I read an article about cocoa pods and fall asleep, the bed already soaked.