Its nice to be awoken in the early morning by the sound of a cock crowing. Its refreshing and remarkably earthy and reminds you of just how close to nature you've been in the last few days. It becomes even nicer when you realise shortly after you wake, that the cockerel was only performing a brief solo and that he's in fact the lead singer in an orchestra of birds, as you hear and listen to the amazing dawn chorus of the birds in full flow.
Its not that pleasant however when you are brought round prematurely from your afternoon nap by the loud "Thud", "Thud" of next door's lady-of-the-house pounding foofoo with a mortar and pestle, with gusto, almost as if the taste of the foofoo depends upon just how vigorously it is pounded in the mortar!
Another thing, I'm pretty glad that I gave up smoking, because had I still been a smoker I'd be tearing out my hair in frustration by now. I have not seen a single person with a cigarette in their hand since I arrived in Ghana last week, neither have I seen a single cigarette being sold in any shop or store. I've even gone so far as to search with my eyes for discarded cigarette butts by the roadside, but have not discovered a single butt as yet. Oh of course I know that there must be some people here who do smoke, but they must be very few indeed, next to being almost completely unnoticeable, invisible.
What a far cry from Europe, a continent where the smell of tobacco smoke hangs heavily over entire city districts; where housewives hang out of windows in high rise apartment buildings puffing away at a cigarette held daintily in one hand, mobile phone clutched to ear with the other, (for the gossip must continue, even while making the effort to spare the toddler in the flat the burden of second-hand smoke inhalation); a continent where workers routinely skive off their duty posts when at work, to go for that "crafty fag".
I've been located in a place that thinks of itself as a suburb of a regional capital city, but which in reality is little more than a small, rural village that just happens to be geographically located a few miles from the regional capital city. The thought that came to my mind immediately upon my arrival here was of the similarity of this place to my ancestral home village of Twon Brass in far away Bayelsa State, Nigeria. The pervasive smell hanging in the air in both places is the aroma of woodsmoke, from the open-air wood fires commonly used for cooking. Unlike in Twon Brass where the woodsmoke smell is flavoured with the aroma of smoked fish because the prevalent occupation there is fishing, here in this place in Ghana where farming is the main occupation, the woodsmoke is complemented by the musty aroma of milled maize and cassava. The woodsmoke aside, the aroma of the homemade alcoholic spirit akpeteshie, also known as ogogoro, kaikai, (or atuwor in Twon Brass) hangs in the air.
Another point of similarity between the people of the two places is their fondness for a big, noisy, raucous funeral, or "finral" as they say in Ghana.
Let me conclude this update by saying that I have been searching, but in vain, for red peppers since my arrival here. Alarmingly, I was unable even to convince the lady who sold me some fine, large green peppers at the market, that there are in fact peppers of that size and shape but which are red in colour. She was incredulous and said she'd never seen such nor even heard of such peppers. So there I was standing in the middle of the market, confused, bewildered, scratching my head, but am now determined to get to the bottom of this and find out the reason for the absence in Ghana's Brong Ahafo Region of any knowledge of the existence of red peppers. I must now shut down this computer and get myself into town. Later then..