By Wednesday it is well and truly time to wash my lank hair.
The feel of the cold water on my sweaty head and running down my hot, clammy
body is blissful. Today is the day to get properly clean and put on a light
dress because today I will interview Justus about his distinguished career and
vision for the cocoa industry!
I have woken up with a sore throat and stuffy nose and tiny
spots on my stomach and have a momentary panic about malaria but realise it is
more likely just a minor bacterial infection and flea bites, not mozzie bites.
I spend a solid four hours writing under the fan in the
living room, feeling useful and productive, rather than an aimless interloper.
It is satisfying to record my observations and subjective experience, hopefully
of interest to some curious readers beyond this insular community.
I wander to the dusty High Street in search of throat
lozengers but buy two large bottles of gin for Justus instead, to thank him for
his hospitality.
After lunch with Anna and Gabi, I settle in for a
comprehensive interview with Justus with my little recorder primed for two
hours of taping.
I am hoping the Global Development Editor of the Guardian
will pick up the story of how this small, rural community is embarking on an
innovative and sustainable project that will set up future generations.
Half way through, we are interrupted by a group of villagers
who come to consult Justus on some worrying matter. People continually drop by
the house to seek his wisdom. He listens for a few minutes and gives a ruling
and they leave with the issue resolved.
When we re-start our interview, Justus outlines his vision
for reviving the cocoa industry throughout the region by forming a Union of 300
farmers of small plots. There will be strength in working together. He wants to
bring jobs and income to the people here that they once enjoyed before the
fires of 1983 destroyed the farms. The ambitious goal is to establish a factory
where the beans are ground into powder for export.
Suddenly an afternoon downpour drowns out our conversation
and cools the sweetly scented air. A gush of water streams off the roof and
runs into the drum filling it for our washing needs, in a perfectly natural
cycle. No wonder they are not that worried about the lack of plumbing.
After our interview concludes Justus and Gabi and Anna and I
enjoy a glass of gin and tonic and I whip up a bowl of guacamole to have with
crackers. Yesterday an old man came to the verandah, sat on floor and took out
five plump avocadoes from a sack. We realised this was a wordless transactional
moment so I fetched three cedis and he glided away happy and I was impressed
with his enterprising home delivery service!
We chat passionately over our drinks about potential cash
crops for this verdant tropical region; Justus tells us a substance in mango
kernels can be used for weight loss to combat the epidemic of obesity in the
west. I suggest coconuts, rich in nutrients are a super food with immense commercial
possibilities and permaculture would be ideal for these small farms. I remember
an Australian expert whom I will google search. The locals could use some input
of outside expertise to train them in these ecological methods.
Tonight’s meal is a veritable feast; fat yam chips, red
curry sauce, chicken for Gabi and Anna and hard boiled eggs for me,
mouth-watering corn on the cob followed by chunks of succulent mango.
I never know what will happen next. Clinton approaches me
with a request to buy him some football boots. I quiz him about how necessary
they are. If he had a choice between boots and camera what would he choose? How
dedicated is he to football? He mounts a persuasive case.
Why should I buy Clinton football boots? Because he asked.
Because he needs them. Because he wants them. Because I can.
So I ask his mother’s permission and Doris not only agrees
but asks if I can also buy some for his best friend Felix. I realise later that
she is not being greedy. She is being fair. The boys train together every
morning and it wouldn’t be right for Clinton to have the advantage of proper
boots with stops over his friend.
John also told me yesterday that you cannot give a Ghanaian
one gift. It would be lop sided, like hopping on one foot. Visitors always
present two bottles, not one, to the chief. I can not dispute this logic.
So we devise a plan to take Clinton and Felix to Ho on
Friday when Anna and Doris go food shopping. I will take the boys to try on and
buy their boots. Of course Clinton knows exactly where the shop is. He has been
praying and wishing for them for a very long time. Everyone deserves to have
their prayers and wishes come true.
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