Project Abroad is organising a health walk in Accra for Saturday. Volunteers from all the towns in Ghana are going to meet at the office in Accra, walk through Accra‘s streets to an orphanage and make a donation. The walk is planned to start at six o‘clock in the morning and as we can‘t get a bus for Friday evening, we have to leave Cape Coast at 3.30 am.
At 3 am, Eric rings us to ask where we are. We should wait at the house, he will send us a car to pick us. We don‘t understand why as we were supposed to walk but when the bus finally leaves after 4 am, we hear the story. Two of the volunteers in our area were already waiting for the bus at 3 am and they were robbed by a man with a gun. I am glad Eric didn‘t tell us before we left the house but somehow I don‘t feel affected.
We reach Accra with a delay of over half an hour but the other groups waited for us. All dressed in green Project Abroad shirts, we start our walk. A small band with trumpets and drums accompanies us - I wonder how much of what they play is improvisation - and policemen who stop the cars at cross roads. The staff members are dancing and cheering, while most volunteers are covered in sweat by the walk itself. It is early in the morning and already hot. At a junction, children from the orphanage dressed in white Project Abroad shirts join us and together we arrive at Osu Children‘s Home after one and a half hours. As if we were not sweating enough, we are welcomed by an enthusiastic man on a podium - with gymnastics. Stretching, boxing, it is actually fun. After some food, a dancing competition is started for the children. In groups and alone they perform crazy moves and the crowd votes for the winner through shouting and cheering. Some are really good. A final group picture, then we get back into the bus and head towards Cape Coast.
Sunday is Independence day. Saturday evening a group of volunteers met at Oasis, a beach restaurant and bar, and there a waiter told us the ceremony would start at 8 o‘clock in the morning on a square nearby. Although we are tired, we don‘t want to miss this occasion. We find space on a stand among children who are probably watching their school mates standing on the square, waiting for the ceremony to start. At first, there is no order, then the students form neat rows, holding their school banners in front of them. A group of soldiers marches into the square and stop in front of the students, facing the main tribune which is still empty. An orchestra plays marching music but at the same time music is blared out by antique looking and sounding loudspeakers. Then a voice tells the public we are waiting for the commanders. The soldiers and students stand in the sun, the first begin to faint and red cross members start running. Suddenly a motorbike drives into the square, followed by strong jeeps. The commanders have arrived. The programme starts with a prayer and a march of the soldiers, slow time, then quick time. Then the students join them, marching like them in orderly rows. A teacher and a student lead the group, followed by two students with the banner, the girls, the boys and a second teacher at the end. The rows of uniformed students seem to be endless. The music stops, everybody is back on their position, a second prayer is said and the regional minister gives a speech. More and more students are carried away by the red cross members, they don‘t have enough stretchers. I stop counting when I reach thirty. Even soldiers abandon their positions now. A group of sheep runs across the square, chased by a policeman which provokes laughter from the spectators. The orchestra starts playing again, two of the honourable persons are driven along the rows of soldiers and students, standing next to guarding soldiers on the back of a jeep. Then they all leave again and the students march off. The ceremony is over.
At the house, a funeral celebration is going on. Pavilions provide shade for the guests. Everybody is dressed in white cloth with grey patterns as this is the second day of the ceremony. The day before it was black and red. A choir is singing, accompanied by a guy with a keyboard which sounds like an organ. He has no notes and neither has the choir. Again I wonder how much of the songs is improvisation. The songs seem to go on for ages without pauses. When at some point the choir stops to have food from the buffet, a DJ takes over playing Nigerian songs. Then the choir starts again, now with songs that sound more African and less like organ music. They enjoy themselves, dance and clap. Guests join them, get up, sing and dance. After hours, the DJ takes over again and more and more people dance. Three young men want us to dance with them and after a while we give in. I am grabbed on my hands and try to follow the moves of this guy whose name I don‘t even know. Occasionally, a young girl or boy tries to get one of my hands and dance with us, but they are pushed away. However, it doesn‘t take long until Agnes calls us back and we withdraw to watch the celebration from the balcony again. As the day grows older, the dancing becomes more lively. The children in the courtyard next to us start dancing, too. Age doesn‘t matter and neither does gender. Hips are shaken, bodies rubbed against other bodies. From old ladies to little boys, everybody can join. I saw some of the young boys drink beer earlier, but not the young men. They have been dancing from the start, a bottle of water in one hand, a handkerchief in the other hand. It is fun to watch them bending and enjoying themselves. Nobody would think of a funeral seeing this.
