Village boy Impressions

Beware of using the road in Tamale Elsewhere you look left, look right And left again, then cross briskly Not here, not in Tamale. Here you look left look right Look back look front look sideways And begin all over again You do it once you do it ten times You’re still no nearer to finding space No one stops here no one pauses For another to use the road Not even if you were a centenarian On three legs or a toddler at the crèche   The motorbikes are the real menace Right way wrong way Walkways sideways Way behind you way across you  Way in front way all round you Like butterflies in a flowering field All other road users are in their way Pedestrians are but sheep Walking mindlessly across the way Motorbikes  cannot stop for sheep Even to use a zebra crossing When the cars stop for the sheep The motorbikes will run you over Asking if you were a zebra And double curse you In heathen tongues!   Everyone is in our way Even the scanty traffic light

It was a small room about three or four square meters in size and with nothing to sit on but the bed. The man himself and a small boy who came from the school with me were lying on the linoleum-covered floor. The man motioned me to the bed, partly shielded by a curtain and I sat on the edge of it. The roof was leaking right at my feet and he placed a tin bowl there to collect the drops.  I would have liked to look around the room but it felt disrespectful to get too curious about my benevolent host’s domestic space. At first, I was uneasy about being in a strange room in a faraway village where I could not speak a word of the language. After a few minutes, however, I chided myself for being stupid. Villagers are typically decorous towards their children’s teachers and it is probably the same courtesy that they were extending to me. How could I meet such a kind gesture with suspicion and mistrust? I, therefore, looked up at my host and smiled. He returned my smile and said a few words t

It was my first visit to the Nkwanta North district and it began like any other day. My mission: to support other members of the Lively Minds Technical Team to set up the GES Lively Minds Programme in the district. We were at the stage of Training of Mothers popularly called ToM. At 7am, we left the hotel and drove into the town to get breakfast. When the cars stopped, one of my colleagues walked over to our car and informed us that those in the first car were going to eat fufu but he wanted porridge. Fufu at 7:00am? I asked. Interesting. "But there is also waakye and ‘raster’ porridge," he added. I told him I had taken a cup of coffee and I had an apple in my handbag. The driver burst out laughing. “Hahaha!! We’re talking of food and you say you have an apple?” We all laughed. Everyone eventually bought some food and the fufu team returned to report that it wasn’t ready. So we drove to the education office to meet the district team (DT) and begin the day's work.  I me

Photo by Dominika Masarska (Bybanen stop at Nonneseter) The rain is falling everywhere Falling, falling, falling… all year long!  It rains on the mountains and hills  And on the shops in the valleys.  In the parks, lakes, and fields  On trees, shrubs, and grass it falls.  Bergen is rain and rain is Bergen.

Caught by the snow whilst outside; I was elated 1. Falling, falling, falling all around me  Like shredded cotton, the snow falls  And soon, the ground is a white foam I am ecstatic as a child in my first snow  What shall I do with it now I have it?  I scoop it in  both hands and sniff it  I roll it into a ball and kick it  I hug it but it is too cold!  And soon my hands are frigid  But I can’t let go, it’s my first snow! Soon the whole ground was white 2. I want to roll in it and squeal As the pigs do in the mud at home I want to take it home and say, “Look Mma, water from the heavens; Here, the clouds do not rain; They fall down to the ground!” But then how shall I carry it? No, I will describe it to her But what shall I say to describe it? Mma has no word for this alien miracle. No, I will just fill my own curiosity That is enough for Mma. A snowman was built the next morning 3. Now it’s too co

Abelikpien! Abelikpien! Tell me, oh do tell! Where do you come from? You lie empty, dry, and desolate As many long rainless months go by Under cloudless clear skies by day And twinkling bright heavens by night. The parched harmattan blasts Leave you dry to the core And the pitiless sun roasts you Until your sands burn our feet So we wince and hurry Across your dry bed in the long months     Our fathers say you come from the 'forest' For no matter how much it rains at home, You are desolate and dry And at times with hardly a drop here You turn out in full flow Bursting at your banks. You are foaming and weltering, Chuckling and cackling downstream. And we; your worshippers, call out in glee “Hey, water has come to the river”! As we race to the hill To watch your rough waters race by   Sometimes you bring so much load Enormous trees that you uproot and carry In the mighty arms of your current Even the adults are scared

I woke up late today,  And saw a ray of light peeking  under my curtain.  But I am slow to respond to it.  I lay yawning and stretching forever.  When at last I dragged myself to the window,  The sun is frowning!  Ugly sulking clouds loom all around.  I am still hopeful of seeing his beautiful smile. At last he does not disappoint!  All the brooding clouds are driven away,  And the sun is shining happily again. “Quick! Get out before he goes into hiding” So saying I emerge for to stroll. But the air is still cold (by my reckoning). I walk with my hands in my pocket, Heading straight ahead for the park yonder. Read:  Village Boy Impressions - When the Sun Shines in Bergen The park is bare and brown. And the trees are leafless like dead wood. Ulriken and Løvstakken lie like sleeping giants, Facing each other in eternal silence. I take the path cutting through the park. An old man is coming down from the other end with his dog At the intersection

The sun is a shy fella in Bergen  Hiding behind hills and clouds,  He sneaks across the sky  Obliquely.  Afraid to show his handsome face  To the elegant ladies of the city  So the clouds weep nonstop  Bleeding rain that fall and fall  Falling from Fall to Spring  Even the Summer is not spared. Read:  Village Boy Impressions - A Walk Through the Park Sometimes the sun emerges though!  And everyone is both surprised and elated!  To see his smiley face at last.  Everything comes to life then!  Work and chores must wait I think  For homes and shops are emptied  And Parks and hills are filled!  Their seams bursting with happy smiley people  Lying, sitting, rolling, all basking in the sunlight.  For it is harvest time  One must harvest as much sunlight as possible  Before the drunken sun gets sober and shy  And run to hide again behind a cloudy curtain And the heavens hang their washing out to dry.  Bergen, City of Hills

A city on a hilltop cannot be hidden!  But this city is not on a hilltop  Bergen is at the bottom of hills  Pressed from all sides by rugged hills  That lie like  sleeping  giants.  Visitors stand in awe of them.  Beloved by the children of the city  Who walk not but run up and down  The rugged slopes all day nonstop! Read:  Village Boy Impressions - My First Snow Ah Bergen! What a city! I should never tire Of gazing at the little houses The red, yellow, white homes That litter the quiet valleys Stretching into cracks and crevices Strewn along the slopes of countless hills From whose tops countless lakes lie. A visit to Bergen is incomplete Without a hike up the seven sleeping giants Fløien the beloved and Lydderhorn Blumanen, Rudermanen, Sanvidkfjellet Løvstakken with the spectacular view And Ulriken that towers above them all! Up their slopes all day long Not one of them is ever lonely For