Open drains, over and out.

Today was my last day.  I'm heading to the airport in one hour's time and as I write this I'm drinking my last bottle of Star (to calm the nerves before my Egypt Air adventure).

I popped into central Accra and took out a little more money to buy some last minute souvenirs.  I rode the trotro for the last time up to East Legon.  I stopped on the way to Nubuke and bought some kente cloth from a really young weaver at the side of the road.  He was so pleased that I bought some and I took his picture at his loom.  Mira came up to East Legon for lunch and we enjoyed our last Ghanaian meal together at Chez Afrique, the restaurant Kofi took me to a few days ago.  I had chicken and spicy jollof rice and she had red red and plantains.  We followed it up with, of course, a mighty FanIce.

After lunch I went to Nubuke where Odile and Kofi presented me with a beautiful photography book, Max Milligans "Ghana: A Portrait" as well as an ArtHause t-shirt and bag.  I was thrilled and we all spoke about the importance of staying in touch and spreading the word of the Nubuke Foundation far and wide.

So, what will I miss about Ghana.... FanIce and in fact eating/drinking products out of small plastic bags in general, EVERYONE saying hello to you everywhere you go, the amazing efficiency of the trotro system (despite the ridiculously battered vehicle, you can always get a ride) and the mangoes.  I'll also miss everyone I met whilst I was here from the Ikando staff, particularly the legendary Quarshie to the other volunteers particularly Mira, Amy (and boyf Nick), Lola, Sofia, Erik, Sarah, Minsoo, Ravi, Xi, Margaret, Lyla, Laura who made my time in Ghana so special, providing endless laughs, dinner companions and fellows adventurers.  For those who went, we'll always have Ada.

I probably won't miss open drains, the occasional Ghanaian who treats you like an ATM, being unable to drink water from the tap or eat salad and the carb-heavy diet.  

Christopher, you ought to know that when you pick me up at Heathrow tomorrow my first priority will be finding somewhere selling a double-shot Americano.

Thanks for reading x

And then I interviewed Kofi, which was nice.

In the excitement of my 2am blog, I failed to actually mention what I did yesterday before all the fun of dinner, salsa and beach reggae!  (I'd like to clarify that I wasn't remotely drunk last night either, although I was slightly hyper from drinking Ghanaian Red Bull called 'Burn.')  So before all the partying, my day was extremely productive!  It was technically my last working day for Nubuke, although there are some small write-ups I'd like to do when I get back.  Odile had asked me to conduct a couple of interviews - one with Kofi for his website and the other with Florence Benson, a collector of Ghanaian and Nigerian art who is selling off a large part of her collection through Nubuke next year.

I arrived at work early and Kofi drove me to Odile's house, which is a large, beautiful house in a part of Accra I had not yet been to.  Odile then drove me out to Florence Benson's house, on an estate on the outskirts of the city.  The road to the estate involved some of the most spectacular "off-road" driving I've ever experienced; I finally understand why everyone with money here insists on driving ridiculously large SUVs.  Florence's house was utterly immersed in hundred and hundreds of orchids, in all colours which grew in pots and hanging baskets on every square inch of space outside the building.  It was truly very beautiful and Florence quickly confessed that whilst art had always been her passion, orchids were her new love.  Inside her house I quickly realised how immense her collection was with works by El Anatsui, Kofi Setordji, Kofi Dawson, Ablade Glover and many other renowned African artists filling the walls.  As with the orchids, it appeared Mrs Benson was not someone who did things by halves.

We talked for over half an hour and I asked her all about her collection and the Ghanaian art scene in general including how she got started, which artists she was particularly keen on, what the major challenges facing young artists in Ghana and how she might advise someone wanting to start a collection.  She was softly spoken, extremely generous woman who had been a civil servant before stumbling across a painting she loved and the collecting buzz started.  She was wonderfully insightful about the very real problems faced by artists and she spoke at length about why an organisation like Nubuke is so vital, a private initiative with a non-profit remit and public interest.  After my interview she walked me around her house and explained about how she collected various items.  Again, I was so thrilled to be listening to her tales of falling in love and out of love with various pieces.  She also had an immense collection of antiques from Ife heads and bronze figurines to Ashanti wooden doors and combs.  I should also mention that she served the most delicious homemade juice - pineapple, melon and ginger.  As we left she wished me well and I said, sincerely, that I hoped we would meet again before too long.

Odile and I drove back to Nubuke, chatting about the interview and how lovely Florence Benson is.  We talked about Nubuke's PR needs and the possibility of expanding its development programme.  I quickly realised how much more I'd love to be able to do for Nubuke and I hope very much that this placement is the start of a longer term engagement with the foundation.

In the early afternoon I had my chance to interview Kofi.  It felt appropriate that this was my final task at Nubuke.  I'd prepared a list of questions covering all aspects of his epic career - from early days as a graphic designer, through her career as a painter and sculptor, his work at Nubuke and his aspirations for an art school in Ghana.  We talked at length about "Genocide" his memorial to the Rwandan genocide that has travelled all over Africa and Europe.  It was reading about this project whilst research memorial culture in Rwanda last autumn that I first looked into working for Kofi at Nubuke; it there therefore amazing to be able to discuss the work with him.  We also discussed Kofi forthcoming trip to Italy.  He, along with Mona Hatoum, is one of the inaugural Bellagio Creative Arts Fellowship funded by the Rockefeller Foundation.  The fellowship involves a three-month residency at Lake Como and an exhibition next year.  Kofi is truly inspiring and an immensely talented individual with a real vision as to why culture and creativity is a necessity in the twenty-first century; I feel honoured to have had the opportunity to discuss his ideas at length with him.  (I'm typing up the interview next week and I may post it on this blog because I do feel what he had to say would be of great interest to any studying art, museums or African culture in general.)

So that was my final assignment...and I ended the day, of course, eating, drinking and dancing (again) to Bob Marley on the beach.

Innovate With Us

Its 2am but I had to write something before I went to bed on my final night in Accra.  We just got back from the reggae party at Labardi Beach which followed some hilarious mass-choreographed salsa at the Wednesday hotspot Coconut Grove and, more importantly, a brilliant dinner party in which Eric (with a little help from Quarshie) cooked Red Red (a tomatoey, beany stew with palm oil) and fried plantains for all of us.... So good and an amazing last evening.

This evening actually just tops off a pretty wonderful last few days.  I had asked last week if Kofi would take me to ArtHaus before I leave and on Tuesday we drove there.  ArtHaus started out as Kofi's personal studio; he designed the house and built with three friends over 18 months.  This was nearly 15 years ago.  Since then its has been transformed into a multi-structure complex which is capable of housing group printmaking workshops, an artist-in-residence (complete with self-contained flat and studio space) and, from all accounts, some pretty amazing parties under a large tree in the middle of the garden.  ArtHaus was also the home of the Nubuke Foundation until February 2009 when it moved into its current premises in East Legon.  As we drove there the first substantial rain that I have seen here started to fall.  It thundered onto our car as we wended our way down red mud tracks.  The rain fell so hard that it puddled in every pot hole and the ground was so warm that it let out steam which mixed with the red dust and contrasted sharply with the polished green of the palm plantations.  Arriving at ArtHaus I dashed for shelter under the verandah and surveyed the garden, a beautiful assemblage of fooliage, Kofi's mixed media sculptures, scrap metal awaiting transformation and bottles strung from the trees.  

Kofi proceeded to show me around, first the artist-in-residence studio where I was able to look at all the fabrics that were printed and dyed at the PrintWear WorkShop event a few weeks ago, all of which will be displayed at the Goethe Institute in early September.  There was such variety from beautiful abstract colours and rich patterning to comic sketches about business corruption and a lottery ticket design that looked like a never-ending mathematical equation.  Hearing Kofi talk about the workshop I saw how inspiring it must have been to learn such techniques from him.  He believes firmly that Ghanaian traditions are important but that they should not be static and to this end he has created whole new ways of combining dyes, batik and screen printing.  The subtitle for the ArtHaus is 'Innovate With Us' and I soon understood why.

From here we dashed past his metal working area, past his fruit trees and macadamia plant, to his current studio, a high ceilinged airy structure with a mezzanine housing virgin canvases and paint pots.  All around were huge, colourful canvases, some finished - like a painting evoking the tale of Icarus - whilst others were not yet signed (Kofi's final gesture).  I was particularly drawn to a vibrant, abstracted canvas painted on coarse, jute grain sacks on which the word "Ghana" had been printed.  Kofi left "Ghana" to shine through haze of colours and geometric forms; the work comments on the fact that such sacks, once made locally, are imported from the Far East, which Kofi finds entirely illogical.  Amidst the chaos of market transaction the word "Ghana" appears like some stable signifier which is actually wholly misleading.  A postmodern canvas indeed!

I wandered slowly around Kofi's studio, photographing everything from his brushes to his etching desk to a pile of dyed Ghachem papers which he hopes to do some sculpture with.  Kofi is the master of appropriating and rejuvenating found materials.  He smoothes rotten wood, polishes rusted metal and sculpts with scrap paper.  I felt immensely privileged to be able to walk around the space where he works, ask any question and photograph freely.

After spending the morning at ArtHaus, we drove back to town and Kofi took me out for lunch. A veritable feast of yam chips and fried tilapia (I'm back on it, post-food poisoning), we washed it down with Star; for the past three weeks Kofi has said he wanted to drink beer with me...I just wasn't expecting it to be a Tuesday lunchtime.  I then headed to the National Museum, where Amy works, to do some research on Ghanaian currency for a commission Odile has received for a London-based Ghanaian financial institution.  The unit of currency here is the Cedi, a variation on the word "ceedee" meaning cowrie, the predominant mode of transaction pre-European contact.  One of Amy's colleagues gave me a great introduction and I made some notes to take back.  

At the end of the day, Amy and I wandered back home, via some markets and a FanIce cart.  I think I mentionned the wonder that is FanIce before, Mister Whippy (soft serve for you yanks)-style ice cream in a bag!  The carts are pushed all over by men who honk a clown horn endlessly (none of that vaguely creepy ice cream van music nonsense) and we all get excited when we hear it.  Amy and I enjoyed a FanYogo this time, a delicious frozen portion of strawberry yoghurt, also in bag, of course.  After dinner Amy and I went out for drinks and dinner (at Paloma on Ring Road) and continued our ongoing conversation about Ghanaian museum culture!

LONG POST. The most amazing weekend.

I have just returned from the most amazing weekend.  As I mentioned in the last post, our destination was Ada Foah, an old fishing village about 2 hours east of Accra.  We all left work a little early on Friday, met at the house before heading to Tudu lorry station in the city to pick up the tro-tro to Ada.  Accra’s air is polluted at the best of times but in rush hour on a Friday it was spectacularly unpleasant and the journey out to Ada took nearly 4 hours (2 of which were spent trying to get out of Accra).  Approaching the village we were hurtling over 100 mph down pot-holed tracks in a battered van. I closed my eyes.

Our destination was the Maranatha Beach Camp, an amazing place on the peninsula at the mouth of the Volta estuary.  The camp has the tranquil, millpond-like river Volta on one side and the roaring Gulf of Guinea on the other.  We had read somewhere that the camp owner, a Mr. Winfred, was a community-spirited chap who was involved with running programmes for the local children.  This description grossly underestimated what he has achieved.  A warm, smiley, 30-something man in tie-dyed t-shirt and signature red hat, Winfred is the most wonderful individual.  Raised locally and acutely aware of the serious lack of opportunities in this old fishing community for local children, he set up the Maranatha Beach Camp to generate enough income to fund a primary school which now educates, clothes and feeds over 300 kids.  More than this, his camp employs over twenty local people – not because he needs that much help, but because those people need jobs.  When he isn’t making enough to pay them all, he provides at least food and shelter.  Winfred is a true inspiration, both as a successful entrepreneur (he has another resort, less remote than Maranatha) and as a development visionary.  He wanted us to spread the word about Maranatha because he is desperate for volunteers – particularly teachers, but anyone who feels they can spend some time helping out.  He would give you free accommodation and food would be 15 Cedi a day (about 7 pounds).  So, tell your friends and if anyone knows of a volunteer placement organization that might be interested, please email me because we’d love to help Winfred with the amazing work he does.

So, we arrived late on Friday.  To get to Maranatha you have to take a boat from Ada Foah and as we all climbed aboard the narrow pirogue canoe, we fell silent.  The river was so still and, although there were some twinkling lights on the shore when we first set out, we quickly left electricity behind and were engulfed by the darkness with only the most brilliant stars and moon to see.  It was an awesome ride to the camp; we all just sat, mute, drinking it up.  After some food and cold beer we checked into our huts and in the darkness we had no clue about the size of the place.  Each hut was a small, reed-walled, straw-roofed construction with a flag painted on the day and a double bed with mosquito net.  The floor was sand and, in the darkness, small crabs scuttled around both inside and outside the huts.  We all crashed out, exhausted by the journey and unsure of our surroundings.

Saturday was perfect.  Laura and I were the last to rise and when we finally stuck our head out of the hut we saw brilliant sunshine, painted palm trees, a whole host of other huts and the rest of the gang enjoying coffee in the shade.  In spectacularly leisurely fashion, we slipped into bathing suits, lay by the river for a while before venturing down to the beach.  We saw local fishermen hauling their huge, laden nets out of the ocean and we watched the waves crashing against the sand.  I was sitting on my own when a local rasta man, Yaweh, approached selling his jewelry to fund his music.  The other girls joined and we all picked out some classic Ghanaian seed necklaces, local bead bracelets and shell jewelry.  Yaweh was so pleased he gave us an acapella concert on the beach (singing hilarious songs about legalising weed and “coke-shaped” girls!).  He gave each of us a string of beads as a thank you for “supporting da rasta man!”  After he left we all decided to jump in the sea to cool down.  Little did I know I’d already badly burned my back.  Idiot.

The rest of the day was spent lying around and playing beach volleyball with some (rather competitive) University of Ghana students.  Later in the day dancers from the National School of Performing Arts were rehearsing with djembe drums; they are running a workshop with the kids on Monday.  Mira and I met some of the most beautiful children I have ever seen who were endlessly amused by me taking pictures and then showing them on the camera screen.  One particularly gorgeous little boy, called Joshua, literally squealed with delight every time I showed him a picture of himself.  I bought a coconut, drank some of the juice and shared it with my new, little friends.

As the sun started to go down we decided to venture into the bucket shower area where you fill a bucket with water and use a coconut shell to pour it over yourself.  With four of us girls in one shower hut, ladling water and sharing shampoo we laughed about recreating the Herbal Essences advert.  Showered and changed, we all went to the beach to watch the sunset and take pictures whilst our food was cooked – the usual spread of rice, chicken and hot Ghanaian shito sauce.

After dinner, when the cold bottles of Star started to flow the performance began – an awesome cacophony of djembe, singing and dance, all against the backdrop of a raging bonfire.  Later in the evening, we decided to take up an invitation given to us earlier by a rich Lebanese man called Tanal who was hosting a party on the other side of the river.  We called him and he sent a speedboat over to get us!  Arriving on the other side, we truly saw how the other half live – beautiful, enormous, floodlit villa full of people swigging gin and juice.  To be honest his party was shocking; the music was a crap combination of poor European house and heavy American hip-hop and stark contrast to the cheery (if cheesy) reggae that had everyone dancing on the other side of the river.  Everyone sat around self-consciously knocking back the alcohol…and we all longed to be back under the torch-lit palm trees on the other side.  It was interesting though, to see a different community, even if we did have to justify ourselves to a white Zimbabwean girl who were highly skeptical about Western volunteers coming to “save Africa.”  The debate raged for some time! The contrast between our camp and the party was so shocking.  We were taken home in the early hours and crawled into huts, exhausted by our busy day of chilling!

Today we just got up, had some suspect French toast and took the boat back to the tro-tro station.  Our journey home was relatively uneventful apart from the van breaking down.  Fortunately we were moving again soon enough although I got back to Accra too late to go to my work, where the new exhibition was opening.

Getting to the city was a jolt back to reality, although we’ve all taken it easy this afternoon.  I took some material round to the lady on the corner and she is making me a dress and a skirt (hopefully), as well as an Obama bag!  We all had dinner together tonight and, for the first time, it dawned on me that I will really miss this place and these people when I leave on Thursday.  Three weeks is a very short time but we’ve all been through so much together since we arrived that I sincerely hope we'll remain good friends and always reminisce about tro-tro adventures, rastas and shito sauce.

Almighty God, bless this installation...

My second week comes to a close and I can’t believe I’ve only been here for 14 days. I’ve gone from having no real inkling as to what Accra would even look like to being able to walk from Nima to the ocean, ride tro-tros all over town and haggle for everything from cabs to Ariel washing powder and mangoes. This week at work has been very interesting. I worked hard re-writing and editing Nubuke’s lexicon of Kwame Nkrumah ready for publication shortly after I leave. It was such a wonderful project for me to work on, giving me the opportunity to learn so much about Ghanaian history and politics, the fight for independence, the struggle for industrialisation and the dream of pan-Africanism. In terms of his presidency Nkrumah is a controversial figure whose economic handling left much to be desired, but he is undoubtedly an iconic leader whose passion and determination took him from non-violent protest and imprisonment to throwing off British colonial rule and signing the Republic of Ghana into existence. He was undoubtedly a man of great intellect and if the practical application of some of his grandest schemes did not always deliver, acknowledgement must be made of the scope of his vision for rejuvenating not just a country but a continent.

The gallery has also been re-hung this week with the exhibition of contemporary art coming down and the exhibition of Fante Asafo flags going up (complete with my text panels and leaflets!). It is testament to the inclusive remit of Nubuke that the foundation can one week be celebrating today’s innovation and the next be educating visitors on a characteristically colourful local tradition. The exhibition looks very slick and visitors are also greeted by the sounds and songs of the Asafo people as they enter the gallery. A workshop for children is planned, as well as quiz sheets to fill in around the gallery. Having seen the National Museum, I can’t help thinking that Nubuke does appear to be doing a better job of exhibiting and educating across the breadth of Ghana’s culture.

Speaking of the National Museum, we went to an exhibition opening there last night courtesy of Amy, the Ikando volunteer based there. I can safely say it was the most unusual opening I’ve ever been too. It was very grand-sounding with posh invitations and a promised appearance by Ghana’s Minister for Chieftancy and Culture. There were TV crews and GBC (Ghana Broadcasting Corp) radio present. The gallery actually had a ribbon across it, which needed to be cut, like a new supermarket. Before this however, speeches were given and – get this – a prayer was said to bless the display! Now, I’ve tried to imagine what might happen at Tate Modern or White Cube or Haunch of Venison if you announced that the Opening would be preceded by a prayer… Going to Openings in London usually involves making a beeline for the free wine and then debating the quality of the canapés (which, in poorer times, would constitute my dinner). If someone asked everyone to bow their heads and began saying “Almighty Father…” a rumour would ripple through the crowd that some outrageously blasphemous performance was about to occur (to which the response would, universally, be gleeful expectation). The exhibition was a small offering for all the pomp and amongst, in my opinion, some very dull generic paintings of stick people and mud huts and brash neo-cubism there was an unusual oblong canvas by Betty Acquah, who I’m really starting to like. It was also a selling exhibition, which again raises the question about where the private and public art worlds intersect in Ghana. I resisted the art but bought some earrings from a lovely girl called Della, who seemed to be working harder than any of her male colleagues.

Tonight we’re going to Ada Foah (on a tro-tro), a small fishing town on the peninsular in the east of Ghana, with the Volta River on one side and the Gulf of Guinea on the other. We’re staying in sand-floored beach huts without electricity or running water! In order to get to the place we have to call Winfred, the Rasta owner, when we get to Ada and he’ll pick us up in his boat to take us to the resort. The plans for the weekend largely revolve around chilling, eating Fan Ice, drinking Star and lying in one of the many hammocks that are suspended from the palm trees over the water…

God of Consuming Fire...and Reggae

Ghana is a very godly country. I had read about this before I arrived but nothing quite prepares you for the fairly constant barrage of evangelism, on the streets, on the tro-tros, on mobile phone stands. No, seriously.  Ghanaians have perfected the art of evangelical advertising - I don't mean advertising God (although they're quite good at that) but using God to advertise.  Many shops here pay homage in their own special way and these are amongst my favourite so far:

- God of Consuming Fire Cosmetics

- Jesus Loves Fashion

- Lord, my Saviour Tyre check

- God's Choice Catering

- Alleluiah Phone Accessories

Many of these were spotted this past weekend as we took a tro-tro out of Accra and headed to Kokrobite, a small beach town full of the sort of wooden shack shops that God has personally endorsed.  Getting to Kokorobite was fine, although we rode in a very battered tro-tro and arrived when it was very dark (it gets so soon after 6pm).  Jumping out the van and visually screaming tourists we felt a little uneasy, but fortunately a very nice local man walked us to our hotel down pitch-black dirt tracks towards the beach.  We stayed at the Kokrobite Garden Restaurant, an Italian restaurant (!) with adjoining wooden huts for guests to stay in.  It was very beautiful.  We decided to have some food at the hotel and I managed to nibble a bit of pizza (the food poisoning was still vaguely lingering...and I should probably have been at home in bed, not going to an all-night reggae party).

The reggae party was held at Big Millie's Backyard, a campsite and guest that backed onto the beach.  It was pretty busy (although apparently in other weekends it is really rammed) and on the stage a series of reggae bands took their turn - crooning through a catalogue that ranged from Bob Marley to Peter Andre via some (clearly very popular) Ghanaian classics.  There was undoubtedly something very awesome about dancing around on a beach, under the palm trees, singing along to 'Kingston Town.'  I wasn't drinking (food poisoning has rather put me off...) and instead knocked back a Ghanaian Red Bull called 'Burn' which kept me dancing for several hours with both our gang and my new Rasta friend Bubbo!

After the reggae party was over, around 2am, lots of us migrated to the beach where Luis, a guy we all know from Accra, was doing a drumming performance with about 6 or 7 other guys and complete of dancers.  They lit a bonfire and we all lay on the sand watching.  Another amazing moment - listening to the ocean compete with the djembe beat whilst watching two boys somersault around us.  A few of the group danced and some us ended up trying to drum (spectacularly badly).  It all ended around 4am and - after an unfortunate altercation with a girl, high on something pretty special, who'd taken it upon herself to take money for the public loo (and used the very tiresome line of "...will you not pay me because I am African, because my skin is black?") - we headed back to our cabins.  Digging out the drum that was in our room we tried to reenact the party whilst eating cold pizza...like being back at uni all over again!

Everyone slept in on Sunday, despite the overwhelming noise of wildlife and ocean in very close proximity.  When we rose there was one thing on our minds...french toast and coffee!  We'd spotted it on the menu the night before and, having not had coffee in over a week (Ghanaians do not drink coffee), there was pretty much nothing that could stop me getting some caffeine.  After breakfast - and a party-debrief - half the group headed to the beautiful Bojo beach to chill whilst the rest of us headed back to Accra, keen to shower and rest up (the water wasn't running at our guest house - a common occurrence here).

Sunday evening was spent at Nubuke Foundation where I'd been led to believe there was a poetry performance event. Of course we arrived too early - everything starts at least an hour after the advertised time - and when it did get going, it quickly dawned on me that this was not a night for spectators, it was an open mic!  I felt a few of my friends squirming slightly, but fortunately a few of the regulars to the event got up to read and the inimitable Mr. Black got the 'TalkParty' going with an amazing performance.  In the final 15 minutes of the show a whole host of local uni students (and poets) arrived and proceeded to get very drunk on the (trust me, lethal) palm wine on offer.  All in all, a hilarious end to another amazing weekend.

Museums and Mausoleums

Everything was going so well - work was great (just started a research project for Ghana's first President Kwame Nkrumah's centenary), I'd finally got my head around riding the trotros, I even haggled for stuff in the market...then, on Thursday, I was struck down by an extremely unpleasant bout of food poisoning.  Despite all my caution and alcohol handwash, it goes to show that sickness in Accra is all down to luck - but I'm not sure I'll be able to face tilapia, rice and lager for quite a while.  I spent much of Friday lying in bed, apparently a very funny colour, feeling sorry for myself.  By the evening I was well enough to drink some water and rehydration salts and discovered, in a pile of DVDs in our lounge, the perfect tonic - Bridget Jones' Diary.  I awoke on Saturday a little sore but considerably better.

I was relieved to recover so quickly because we had some serious plans for this weekend!  On Saturday morning I went with two friends, Eric and Minsoo, to do some cultural stuff.  We headed for the National Museum of Ghana where one of the other volunteers, Amy, is currently working.  It is a 60s modernist structure and from the inside is potentially an impressive space, with a large rotunda-like space and adjoining galleries.  The collection is clearly rich in archeological pieces as well as examples of Ghana's broad visual cultures.  The text panels, however, are distracting consisting of dense paragraphs which don't appear to elucidate on the objects but dwell on amorphous concepts of inter-cultural exchange, etc.  What I was looking for was some history but what I got was vague discussion.  There's no getting away from the fact that many of the objects on show (even if their display is a little ramshackle) are sublime.  The museum has a large collection of Ife bronze heads, for example and, given my work at Nubuke, I was happy to see Asafo flags on display.  

Without doubt the most amazing piece of all, however, was Kwame Nkrumah's ceremonial seat from the day in which he signed the constitution of the First Republic of Ghana.  A faded, but still glorious, red, green and gold chair with a seat of red leather and adjoining footstool, it sits slightly obscured by a staircase, like a footnote in the museum.  That this was not on a pedestal or in a glass case astounded me.  Indeed Western mores about not touching objects in museums does not apply in Ghana and the result is that objects of national and historical importance, such as this, seem to have deteriorated far quicker than they should have done.  Anyway, Amy and I had a long discussion about museum practice here and its made me realise that the Nubuke Foundation - with its tagline 'record, preserve, protect' - is truly unique, most notably in that it had money (albeit private funding).  The question is then raised as to whether Nubuke is positioning itself as the more equipped guardian of Ghanaian culture or if it has any intention of working in partnership with public institutions such as the National Museum - a question I am sure to ask Kofi this week.

After the museum we headed to Kwame Nkrumah National Park, where Nkrumah's body is interred. A leafy space on the waterfront, with trees recently planted for the Golden Jubilee in 2007, the Park was deserted except for a wedding party having photographs taken in front of the mausoleum structure.  The latter is the shape of a tree stump, evoking the notion that Nkrumah's life was cut short.  There is an adjoining museum in which Nkrumah's various things - from his overcoat to his walking cane and his books to the school trunk - were preserved.  The walls were covered in photographs from Nkrumah's life and, in particular, of all of the key people he met.  Seeing Cassius Clay ('Muhammed Ali') standing proudly in front of an Nkrumah statue reinforced any notion I had of how internationally momentous it was to see a African proclaimed as head of state.  The photograph of Nkrumah dancing with a young Queen Elizabeth was also pretty amazing to see and his portrait with Fidel Castro reminded me just how ridiculously old the latter is.

So after imbibing much history and culture we made a bee-line for a Fan Ice truck (possibly the most amazing vanilla ice cream) and then started to head back to the house.  Rest was needed because latter on Saturday afternoon we jumped on a tro-tro and headed for Kokrobite....the legendary location of the all-night reggae party (I'll save that for the next post).