Tamale Teaching Hospital

The hospital was build by the Germans and doesn‘t seem to have seen any renovations since then. I enter the main building. Patients are sitting on a low wall, waiting to be seen by doctors. I am shaking hands, meet doctors and nurses and can‘t remember all the names or faces. In the morning‘s meeting, young doctors present their cases and have to answer questions. A discussion is going on about mechanical preparations and antibiotics. Some of the young doctors seem not to know what they are talking about. 

I am shown to the neurological ward. At the entrance a man is sitting at a table with patient folders, watching TV. There are eight beds, each covered with coloured cloth, equipped with a pillow with floral patterns. Curtains of which I can‘t tell the original colour, give patients a little privacy. A nurse explains the cases to me. A boy got hit by a vehicle, he doesn‘t open his eyes. A man is totally paralysed, another just starts walking again but can‘t speak. Next to the patients sit their mothers or other relatives. The doctors do their round. We gather around a baby with a double head. It needs to be fed at least every three hours. - ,Can I sit down please?‘ - I feel better when I help some nurses binding bandages to some pieces of cloth to make new curtains.

Second day in the hospital. In the septic surgical ward, patients are waiting for amputation. A woman, barely more than skin and bones, is walking along the corridor, while most of the other patients are sitting on their beds, staring holes in the air. At the theatre, a patient is waiting for his surgery. He is lying in his bed next to the TV in the entrance area of the theatre, half blocking the door, while doctors and nurses are chatting and laughing beside him. He doesn‘t seem to notice. You can see every muscle of his body, only his left hand is covered in bandages. We are waiting for the anaesthetist to give his okay. After a long while, the nurses begin their work. The bandage is cut before the patient even sleeps but then everything goes very slowly again. Some nurses and doctors are just standing in the theatre, chatting about early pregnancy. They had quite a few cases like this in the last weeks. The patient was shooting but then the gun exploded itself. Under the bandages, his hand is merely recognisable and has to be amputated.

On the street

The meat I eat normally strolls along the street. It‘s Guinea fowl. They just wander around the huts together with the chicken. There are also many goats, sheep and some dogs. They walk around as they please, enter courtyards and don‘t think of going away when someone is passing. I saw some cows crossing the road. Cars have to be careful not to hit the animals. There are lots of children. They call me when I walk along the street. Siliminga. The clothes they wear are dirty and either too small or too big. A girl of maybe six years carries a baby. I wonder whether their parents know or care about what they are doing and where they are going. 

And then there is the rubbish. Everywhere. Plastic bags mostly but I guess you could find everything on the streets. Nobody seems to care about this. There are no bins. People just throw their rubbish over the next wall to get rid of it or drop it wherever they are going.

However, closer to the town centre, many people are dressed very nicely. Shirt and tie, blouses and these beautiful, colourful dresses. It looks a little bit odd when you see them dressed like this in crammed taxis or on motorbikes, winding their way through the dusty streets.

The town is full of motorbikes. They are more practical than cars as they are better in bending and avoiding potholes and can pass almost everywhere. However, cars here are able to do very odd things as well. They use paths meant for pedestrians and fit into the most narrow gaps still leaving enough space for a passing motorbike.  

Food

,Sit. Eat. Eat.‘ I sit in the pavilion and rest. People come and go, exchanged greetings and nods. I join two girls buying charcoal (gas has run out), but I am not supposed to help. ,Sit. Sit. Taste some.‘ I am eating almost constantly and can‘t stop anyone from loading heaps of stew and meat on my plate. ,Add some. It is prepared for you.‘ How can I  refuse?

I watch the girls prepare the food and when they bring me a spoon I ask them to show me how to use my hands like they do. It works. ,Lisa, come to the dining room.‘ I realise that I am supposed to eat inside with the parents while the rest have their dinner outside. So I eat again, now with knife and fork. At least the rice. Then: ,Don‘t be shy. Just grab the meat. That‘s the African way.‘

Accra to Tamale

Early in the morning, 4.30 am. I have to go to the airport and everything is going rather fast. Tani is not coming but a brother. I remember some phone calls during the night. A house that seems to be Tani‘s had caught fire. 

I am late and run from the taxi to the domestic departures hall. A man takes my bag and pulls it for me. When we reach to check-in desk, he asks for a tip.

During the flight I am half asleep. Just before the landing, I see the landscape. Trees on brown ground, red streets. 

This time it is cooler when I leave the aircraft. There are two doors labelled ,Arrival‘. One for passengers, the second one for baggage. Why so complicated? We could just take our luggage out of the aircraft directly.

There is no one to pick me up. I try to look confident and get out my phone - no chance. The taxi driver leaves when I tell him someone is coming for me. But not the man who looks more like someone official in his yellow vest. I just want to wait but he is already looking for a phone that works, unlike my own. A few minutes later he has given me his number and email address and asks for mine. When I am finally being picked up, he hurries to heave my bags in the car and quickly leaves me alone. Mr  Ibrahim apologises for the delay. The car had broken down but now it is running and we soon arrive at Mr Ibrahim‘s house, my home for the next weeks. A big house painted in green with a wall and a gate and a pavilion with couches in the courtyard.

I am told not to give my number to anyone. Mr Ibrahim seems to know exactly what the man in the yellow was asking for. How am I supposed to know who is just being friendly and who offers help for a tip? How am I supposed to know how to handle each offer or request?

In daylight

Did I sleep? I don‘t know. I heard people talking, a boy crying, a cock crowing, a phone ringing. It is bright now, I sit up and at once Tani gets up and takes the boys outside. After a shower I go outside and finally see where I am. In the courtyard a man is washing clothes, humming a tune. An old woman is sitting in the shadows and two girls are cooking on a fire. They bring me something to eat and then I am occupied with a little boy who follows me everywhere. I don‘t understand a word of what he is saying. Women are coming, sit down on plastic chairs under a tree and chat. Kids who come to buy something from a table put up in front of the house hurry away.

I need to get a ticket to Tamale so Tani calls a brother to pick me up with his motorbike. My first ride on a motorbike is very bumpy. I can‘t see much as my helmet constantly slips over my eyes but I understand what made the car drive a slalom the night before. I can see people walking along the street, carrying basins on their heads, goats and sheep.They are not afraid of the cars and motorbikes rushing past them. There don‘t seem to be any rules for road-users. On the motorbike we overtake cars both on the right and the left side. We ignore the few traffic lights and lines on the road. Somehow, we arrive at the correct office and after some difficulties we get my ticket. 

On our way back, I ask for the name of a fruit that is sold on the streets. It is some sort of coconut. The seller chops off the top with a machete and I drink the juice. It feels good.

We get back to Tani‘s place and she takes me to Kokrobite beach where her uncle is building a guesthouse. While we wait for a bus, a car stops and offers us a lift. The driver is coming from church and obviously in a good mood. We change to a Trotro and next to a taxi. How many persons fit in one car? What are the conditions for a car to drive? At each stop, girls crowd around the car to sell food from their heads. I wonder how the driver knows where to stop. I don‘t hear anyone telling where he or she wants to get off and I can‘t see any signs indicating spots as bus stops. Finally we arrive at the beach and I can enjoy the water. It is not actually cool but still a refreshment after the hot and sweaty time in the cars.

I don‘t recognise any places on our way back and have no idea where we are going and just follow Tani. Big advertisements line the streets and I wonder where you can buy these things. We sit in a Trotro, change the car and suddenly I find myself on a market. At least that‘s what I think it is. There is no time to have a look around as I don‘t want to lose Tani. Then I sit in a bus again, squeezed into a backseat. It is dark when we reach Tani‘s place.

Outside in the courtyard it is cooler than in the house. A little breeze makes the heat bearable. Three guys are passing by and stop to have a chat. English of course, some words in French, Spanish and German. Still, it is not easy. Sometimes I am not sure, whether they don‘t talk in their mother tongue.

First impressions

Accra from above: lights like little candles in a sea of dust. It‘s too dark to distinguish houses and streets. I leave the aircraft and welcome the thick warm air after seven hours in the plane. Across the field the passengers walk to a door labelled „Arrivals“ to enter a corridor. It seems they didn‘t take their Christmas decoration down yet for chains of lights twined around pillars are blinking in green, red and blue. Officers in green uniforms, some sleeping. I pass the immigration point without problems. Then men in dark trousers and white shirts. To take my luggage in my other hand I stop and immediately one of them approaches me and offers help. But I am being picked up. Tani takes one of my bags and indicates me to follow her. „Welcome in Ghana. You‘ll like it, it‘s not all bad.“ Outside of the building, she talks to more men in white shirts. I don‘t understand a word of what they are saying and then we get into a car. Where are we going? It is dark. We pass stalls, people are selling their goods or strolling along the road. First stop: Shell gas station. We pass two officers in dark uniforms. With a torch they look into our car but nothing is said and onwards we go. The road is getting worse. I see promising buildings with walls around them, but we are not there yet. Sometimes the car nearly comes to a halt but then it goes on. After a long while, the car stops in a courtyard in front of a small building. Someone takes my bags and I follow Tani in the house. Somebody is sleeping right behind the door. I am ushered in the next room and told to sleep on the big bed. Two boys are sleeping on the floor, Tani lies down beside them. There I am, on a big bed in a house somewhere in Accra, listening to the humming fan.