WEB DIARY
(Recorded by Denis Murphy)

Saturday, June 12, 2004

Today's journey started well with a special welcome announcement from the captain to the St. Mary's party. We had a few hours in Heathrow and then six hours on the BA flight to Accra, during which most of the lads slept (Sam is proving to be the most expert napper in the group - he snoozed from Dublin, to London, in the airport, then to Accra). My own rucksack didn't make it to Accra but everybody else is well provisioned and I'm now kitted out head-to-toe in Ghana 2004 t-shirts.

Sunday, June 13, 2004

It's 12.30 local time, and we've just come from Mass. Last night we didn't get a lot of sleep with the heat and also because of the crowings of an enormous turkey belonging to Fr Jas Duncan CSSp (I made a mental note to send the man a jar of cranberry sauce for Christmas and hope he takes the hint). However we woke up pretty fast in the church this morning. During the offertory procession the Irish group was called up in the line and expected to dance its way down the central aisle with the rest. Kevin and myself were the only ones to get away scot free; we both stood on the altar recording the images for posterity.

The lads are billeted in two bedrooms in the mother house which are already beginning to resemble ferret colonies. There was great fun with mosquito nets last night with the hurls in high demand as props to lift the nets away from the beds. Eventually most just curled up in the yokes. Breakfast was 7.30 this morning followed by excitement when a six-inch long lizard took shade in one of the showers. It was summarily expelled and life continued as normal.

We are heading off to see a large hydroelectric project now, and the driver is getting restless. We'll post more entries as we can.

(Later on Sunday)
We got caught in heavy rain up at the dam and retreated to a hotel. There the boys enjoyed an indigenous experience (chicken and chips and had time in the swimming pool - a spectacular sight in the warm torrential rain). We set off for home at 5.30 in the daylight and it was completely dark when we arrived in Accra at 7.00. Our hosts were watching the France-England game and hoping England would win. Our lads had other ideas and a quiet chat I was having with our host, Fr John Kwofie, was interrupted by two successive roars of glee.

Monday, June 14, 2004

Last night there was a spectacular thunderstorm lasting from 4.30 to 7.30. It woke us up but also cleared the air and it's now relatively cool (still t-shirts but not humid). Breakfast was at 7.30, then bags were loaded into the back of a pick-up and the gang piled into the bus. Myself, Fr Colm, Paddy and Stephen are following them in the pickup and will meet up later in the morning. The rain has stopped and hopefully we'll make good time.

Today is tough for the boys with long periods in a small bus but so far there hasn't been as much as a cross word and Fr William is planning to break up the journey with a visit to a market. Come September, we'll be strutting around Rathmines in Nelson Mandela-style shirts. I don't know how I'll handle it when the boys argue that it'll raise awareness in St. Mary's if they'll allowed wear them as school uniform!

I'm writing this on the way back from the airport having successfully retrieved my rucksack, which - Lord Bless them for ever - BA put on their flight from London yesterday. A major relief - I didn't know how I was going to explain to Fr. Flavin that various items of school property had gone astray. Coming back from the airport, Fr Colm suggested we stop off in a roadside shack with an 'Internet' sign (he's keen to check the GAA results). Every type of business lines the road, from banana stalls to barber shops. Many have fantastical Christian names: we've seen 'Jesus Saves Fashion Shop' and 'Doxology Sewing Machine Repairs'.

Outside there's women walking along the red dirt road with bundles of goods on their heads and kids in brown pants and gleaming white shirts going to school; it's hard to believe this post is going to be readable at home.

The boys have set off on their long journey across the country in a minibus with Anthony, Anne, Fr William and Fr Olin. William is looking forward to showing us around his hometown and introducing us to his family. He's already on his mobile inviting people to Dick Olin's homecoming Mass next Sunday; apparently it's going to be a huge event that'll last at least 4 hours. The boys aren't overly alarmed at the prospect - after yesterday's Mass, four hours in an African church doesn't seem too bad.

P.S. The bill for this internet session has hit 2,900 cedi. There's 11,000 to the Euro...

Later
With the bag triumphantly recovered, Colm, Stephen, Paddy and myself were driven off to catch the others. On the way we stopped at a huge, covered market. Dozens of aisles were packed with every type of goods: bright-coloured bolts of cloth, live chickens, every type of meat (including a large dead rat priced at 150 cedi - a bargain at the price although Dick told us later that sometimes bicycle pumps are used to make rats look bigger than they are), spices, pots, pans, shovels, clothes - Harrods wasn't at the races.

The people at the market were friendly and good humoured, inviting us to take pictures and to buy goods. There was business happening but none of the aggressive hard-sell of markets in some other countries. I would have stayed all day but we needed to catch the others and eventually managed to track them down in Ejisu seminary. As we came up the driveway we could see a hurling match in progress, watched by a beaming St. Mary's past pupil, Fr Austin Healey and another Spiritan Father, Tom Raftery.

By now we had been on the road for six hours, but the hard travel was still ahead of us. Caught in a spectacular traffic jam in Kumasi, it was ten o'clock when we arrived at the home of the bishop of Sefwi Wiawso, Joseph Francis Kwaku Essian.

There His Grace unveiled a glorious buffet on the veranda (including a bowl of Irish stew). Various officials from the diocese arrived and after dinner we had a short presentation on the state of the education system in Sefwi Wiawso. Perhaps the statistic that had the most impact was that only 30% of children attend school at all.

There is a better class of creepy-crawly to be found in Sefwi Wiawso. As Bishop Essian spoke it was difficult not to glance upwards at the insects - some literally the size of bats [Fr Dick has subsequently informed me that, in fact, they were bats. Fair enough, but I ain’t never seen a bat with antennae…] The noise of the crickets was loud enough that you’d raise your voice to be heard over them. One bedroom came with its very own preying mantis - splendid for ensuring no mosquitoes - but the boys took one look, then upped mattresses and moved. What began as five rooms with mattresses on the floors were soon amalgamated into two dorms. It was late in the night before silence eventually descended [very late – this was the one night that I had to get up and shut the lads up. Thinking about it later, it was probably just that they were nervous but at the time, I thought strong thoughts].

Tuesday, June 15, 2004

We've just finished dinner, and a 'lights out' instruction for 10.30 was given. Nobody argued. It has been a long, busy day.

Bishop Essian mentioned last night that he intended to celebrate Mass at 7.00 am on the veranda, and it was made clear that he expected a full house. So, a 6.30 start. After the liturgy - conducted outdoors in the hazy light of the early African day - we were on the road to visit water projects built with the help of Aidlink-sourced Irish Government funds.

Each town had a pump to replace an old well or river as the primary source of water. We saw what people used to drink - filthy, yellow fluid. Now, there is a pump which accesses water deep underground and so no children in those villages have the bloated stomachs caused by water-borne diseases. Whatever else a government in Dublin does in its period in office, it'll still have left a fantastic legacy here, miles down a red dirt road in the remote Ghanaian countryside.

That said, some people still use the old water supply, perhaps from habit or tradition or simply because it is cooler than the clean water pumped up through a deep borehole. Anne Cleary was eloquent in arguing the point with them. Nor was she best pleased when the water committees turned out to have no female representation.

In one village the water pump chairman asked us about ourselves, and why we were in Ghana. David Flood answered for the group, explaining about the connection between St. Mary's as a Holy Ghost school and the Fathers in Ghana. Colm and Dick were beaming - in a few sentences, David had summed up the complex web of relations that have brought us here to Africa.

Dick's ability to speak Twi is a source of constant joy. While we are meeting the water committees, Dick chats quietly to the children and gets another perspective on the issues. And in one village, two men were talking as we passed. 'What are they doing here?', asked one. 'Oh, they're the Catholics come to see the pump,' answered the other dismissively. That put us in our place, all right.

The Ghanaians, Dick has explained, are a very delicate people. When Anne went to find a toilet, Dick was told, 'The lady had some business to attend to' (The code for going to the loo is 'I'm going to visit the chief' - there's a touch of Irish irreverence there, at that). And when Dick asked if there's any danger of unsavoury scenes around our hotel here in Sunyani, he was told, 'Oh no. The hotel has an excellent reputation' (And yes, the area seems clean as a whistle).

The lads are missing their junkfood. They haven't taken to the substitute, which is plantain (a sort of overgrown banana) deep fried in coconut oil. Delicious. They'll come home healthier, but I'll be waddling off the plane.

We covered a lot of ground this morning. One water project was eighteen miles down a dirt road, a journey that took nearly two hours. The highlight was when the children spilled out of a village school. Aged 6-12, they were identically dressed in brown shorts and orange shirts and were wild with excitement. They treated our boys like visiting rock stars and the fun was infectious. Their teachers were polite but formal. They may not have been impressed at the interruption to classes - one lady was rather pointedly dangling a bamboo rod - but the kids were living in the moment.

Other children not wearing uniforms followed us down to the river. They explained that they didn't have the school fees. One of them told us in perfect English that he was thirteen and wanted to grow up to be a soccer player. The kid with him was eleven. If you'd guessed, you'd have put them aged eight and ten - they were very slight.

We returned to the bishop for lunch. Again there was a magnificent spread, although before we tucked in there was a quiet suggestion that we take time to clean ourselves up. The red dust mixed with insect repellent and suncream makes quite a mess, especially in temperatures of 33 degrees and 98% humidity.

At our departure, Bishop Essian presented St. Mary's with an elegant wood carving of a woman carrying a large pot - a symbol of Ghanaian hospitality. After a final blessing from this good man we piled into our vehicles again.

In every village we had seen spreads of drying coco beans; now we visited a grove of coco trees. The beans come in a pod about the size of an avocado and are white and gooey when they come out. We were encouraged to taste them but not to bite - advice that came a little late for Conor who spent the next hour with the bitter taste of unripe beans in his mouth.

Each village dries its crop of coco beans on open-air racks, then packs and sells them to the government. The beans are shipped around the world and end up in chocolate products. Just before we left the grove the lads stopped to relieve themselves (on the orders of the formidable Alice Asabia, our guide from Concern Universal, we'd all consumed 1.5 litres of water during the morning and vast quantities more at lunch). I couldn't help wondering if our pitstop would affect the chemical composition of some future Mars bar. For the better, of course.

And then the drive to Sunyani - four hours. We'd two jeeps and a minibus and tipped along nicely, stopping every hour of so to change places and stretch. I was in the minibus. Kevin and Patrick were competing to see who could get the most waves from passers-by. The numbers were running to hundreds. Anne was engrossed in a development-education conversation with the boys up the front, while myself, Colm and Ross dissected Irish politics down the back. Conor and John alternated reading and dozing. The final hour saw a furious debate in which Brian held the line that the citizenship referendum was a bad thing (the result of which was on the television news here in Ghana), a position that was passionately opposed by some of the others. They went at it hammer and tongs but the Drumm was not for turning.

In one town we stopped and went looking for a toilet. A family who could not speak English but had fluent French brought us to their home. The arrangements were primitive and when we realised it was a private home, someone said, 'Oh, it's a very nice house'. Our host replied dryly, 'Don't tell lies.' That was a conversation stopper.

Tonight we're billeted in the Regency Hotel, organised by Eddie Smyth of Concern Universal. It's costing less than US$15 each per night and after the last few days is improbably luxurious - televisions in rooms, baths, and in some cases even air conditioning [I afterwards found that all the lads had air conditioning. Dick, Colm, Anthony and myself had rotating fans. Fans!]

We're up at 7.00 am tomorrow and as I write there's not a sound in the hotel. I was thinking earlier that in the last days we've probably travelled more than any St. Mary's school trip. Certainly no other group has spend days packed into an old boneshaking minibus on dirt roads in high heat and humidity. Yet there hasn't been a word of complaint. They're as easy with one another now as they were in Wicklow last week, or at the meeting last Wednesday (only last Wednesday!). There's no cross words, no narkyness.

Wednesday, June 16, 2004

After another 7.00 am wake-up the group was ready for the road at 8.30. With temperatures in the 90s and hot sunshine, today was physically very demanding. We began with an unannounced visit to a large rural school. Students of all ages were in classroom blocks open to all elements except the sun (when it rains, teaching has to stop - when we get home I'm going to promote that cause with the ASTI). The teachers welcomed us but perhaps we ought to have broken into groups - it must have been very disruptive and when we were leaving, we heard that the classrooms we hadn't visited were a little peeved. Even guided as we are by people from Ghana, it's very hard to get this aspect of things right. On the one hand, it goes against the grain to simply arrive on someone's doorstep. On the other hand, people seem genuinely glad to chat and if we arranged formal invitations, they'd go to a lot of trouble preparing for us - perilous considering that it's so difficult to accurately plan time when travelling in a large group.

But it's impossible not to make mistakes. For instance, as we lined up for a large group picture (taken at the instance of our hosts in the school), Ross was blocking my camera view of someone in the row behind him. I barked at him to sit on the ground, but when he did there was a sharp intake of breath from the African children. He had the awareness to get up again, and afterwards we learned that to let your backside touch the ground is a taboo. If a chief does it, a sheep has to be slaughtered on the spot. We speculated afterwards what animal might suffice for a Fourth Year.

Next up was a mushroom-compost farm. Guided by the manager of the plant, Mr Bernard Bempah (who is also the Co-ordinator of Youth in Sunyani Diocese), we saw how the compost is mixed and allowed to ferment in the open, then sterilised in barrels of water brought to boiling point over wood fires. The mixture is bagged in units about the size of a kilo of sugar. The process is painstaking and as there is not enough money to built a shelter for the piles of gunk, it has to be spread and dried in the sun.

Then in Sunyani itself, we went through a maze of mud-brick houses (some thatched, some roofed with corrugated iron) to a tiny shed full of the bags. Mushrooms were sprouting from many, which are then sold in the market next door. The idea is to open up an independent income supply for women, and certainly the one we saw was generating money.

[Afterwards in discussions among the group, Mr Bempah’s name was frequently mentioned. He impressed us with his competence, his drive and his determination that existing and available technology be used in helping improve the standard of living in Ghana]

We also visited a health clinic. As luck would have it, a mother-and-baby seminar was in full flow under the shade of a tree. The babies were placed in a cloth and weighed on a scales hooked onto a branch. I make vague coochey-coo noises and backed away as fast as decency allowed, but Anne was in her element and, aided and abetted by the matron, press-ganged the boys into baby-weighing duty. This was supposed to be a seminar on AIDS but we never got beyond those babies. The women shrieked with laughter as the Irish lads learned the baby trade, and as we were leaving they were making their way home, still in hysterics. So, Mothers of St. Mary's, your sons still know little about the Ghanaian AIDS situation but they can now swaddle and weigh a baby in an open-air clinic.

The final seminar of the morning was in a cooperative producing garri. Dozens of men and women (mainly women) were working in the stifling heat to process cassava. The tubers are peeled by hand, then chipped in an electric masher. The racket was spectacular but nobody in the small room was wearing ear-muffs. The mixture is then fermented, then dried in the sun. The end-product is a crunchy power which appears in every African child's lunchbox. Fr William crunched on handfuls and told us that it's normally mixed with water and is like a porridge.

We'd all been tired at breakfast but as the morning went on, some of the boys really weren't reviving. In particular Kevin was feeling unwell. Fr Dick didn't like the look of it and suggested he'd bring some of the lads back to the hotel for rest. We got more cases of water. Unknownst to me, the brats promptly organised a water-drinking competition and consumed about a half-gallon apiece. The guides recommend sipping but I have to admit the massive ingestion approach was extremely successful (but no, it ain't going to happen again). Energy levels rose to normal levels (a mixed blessing!); just as well as the day was not getting cooler.

In the afternoon we visited Mr Twum, a fascinating man who makes bottled drinks from cashew nuts and honey in a tiny one-roomed factory. Mr Twum spoke passionately about the need for funding for such small businesses, and said that credit is difficult to get for cottage industries because many institutions demand showpiece projects. We bought a case of the drinks and had them for dinner last night-they were delicious, especially after a couple of hours in the fridge. We also bought honey. Ross's eyes lit up and by the time we arrived home, the honey supply had halved!

We got back to the hotel at 5.00. There's an amazing phenomenon: Ghanaians don't get dirty. They must be the cleanest people in the world. We set out in the morning, all in our gleaming white 'Ghanalink' t-shirts. We arrive back in the evening-sticky, grimy and disreputable. Except for Fr William, whose t-shirt looks ready for a washing powder ad. Yesterday evening Alice took me aside for a quiet word. Did I know that the hotel has a laundry facility? Yes, Alice, thank you. We've had everything washed but it's hard to keep a white shirt clean for an entire day's travel on unpaved roads in 90 degree heat and humidity, especially when covered in sun-block and insect-repellent. Alice nodded in an understanding manner, but you could see she still had her doubts.

Conor and Steven had spent the afternoon in bed. Conor was completely re-energised; Stephen felt fine but went to bed immediately after dinner. Fr Dick had a fair idea what the matter was with Kevin and had been waiting for our return before he arranged a visit to a doctor. Eddie Smyth of Concern Universal promised to meet us at the clinic immediately, and Anne set off with Kevin. They were home within 90 minutes with a neat parcel of medication. Kevin's blood test had shown a mild form of malaria. His symptoms were like a flu. The daily doses of Malarone had probably taken a lot of the sting from it, as had Fr Dick's quick diagnosis. Still, the 'M' word came as a shock but we were reassured by Alice and Dick that the illness would pass within a day and would not recur. I went to his room to see if he was ok and found him sitting in his bed watching the soccer, surrounded by the other nine lads. It was like something from a 1960s peace protest. Kevin was getting buckets of sympathy, so I told him he was a top-class ferret and that if he ever got malaria again, there'd be hell to pay. Then Anne booted us all out. If the Vatican ever goes co-ed, Cardinal Ratzinger has his successor.

[Subsequently several others became ill. Some were also diagnosed with malaria, but when we got home we discovered the tests were inaccurate. What we’d had was a gastro outbreak).

We chatted about the schedule. Mark spoke for the boys when he said it was important to work hard and keep up the pace-that, after all, was the purpose of the visit. He pointed out that morale is high and there's nobody who would swop this to be anywhere else. Nevertheless, someone else added (to affirming nods), a sleep-in would be appreciated- maybe 8.30 rising rather than 7.00. Fr Dick and Fr Colm also declared that a time-out is needed to regroup and let all the new knowledge sink in. Alice said that she has organised it so that there is no travel tomorrow-we'll be in the school across the road doing classes and so on. We'll take a long break in the afternoon. On Friday, we travel to Kumasi-a straightforward three-hour drive.

The hotel here is some miles outside town, and as Alice promised, 'it has a good reputation'. Within the grounds there's a big garden with tables and chairs and last night it witnessed a poker classic with stakes of tens of thousands. The boys eventually called a halt at 10.45 and Mark ostentatiously sorted a huge pile of notes. Cedi, it is true, but a splendid pile nonetheless. By 11.00 most were asleep, secure in the knowledge that they won't be woken at an unmerciful hour. Except for Anne. Her second last act of the day? To set her alarm clock for 3.00 am and 6.00 am checks on Kevin. And her last? To fling the alarm clock at my head when I wished her a good night. Did I say something?

Thursday, June 17, 2004

Mrs Callanan rang from Dublin at 6.00 am. The news is not good. Mark's dad fell ill last night and it is necessary to get Mark home as soon as possible.

It is the call every traveller dreads, particularly those based in remote parts. Thankfully the support systems kicked in. Concern Universal sent a four-wheel drive and a driver. Fr Colm offered to accompany Mark back to Dublin. Eddie from Concern advised immediate departure to Accra in order to maximise the number of flights available, so Mark had to pack quickly and start the first stage of his long journey home. For him to go in such circumstances is dreadful. Simply dreadful.

By the time Mark and Fr Colm reached Accra, Mr Byrne in St. Mary's had arranged seats on tonight's 9.00 p.m. flight to London. With space at a premium, this had been a big concern, and we acknowledge our debt to British Airways for looking after us when we needed looking after. In Accra Fr. Kwofie gathered the new documentation and had it ready when they arrived by 10.30 on Friday morning. Finally, in the Aidlink office in Dublin, Dhruba booked the flight from London that will, we hope, get Mark home - 26 hours after leaving Sunyani. As I write this on Thursday night, Mark and Fr Colm should be on the flight to London. May their journey be as easy as it is possible to be in such circumstances.

Friday, June 18, 2004

Pat Callanan, RIP

All of us here in Ghana were grieved to hear of the death of Mr Pat Callanan, father of Mark Callanan who accompanied us on this trip to Ghana. We extend our deepest sympathy to Mark and the rest of the Callanan family.

Fr Dick Olin celebrated Mass this morning for the peaceful repose of Mr Callanan's soul.

The group has decided to remain in Sunyani for another day.

Saturday, June 19, 2004

We decided to remain in Sunyani for an extra night to give us time to come to terms with Mark's departure, and also to allow time for the lads with the various stomach bugs to recover. We went over to St. Joseph's at lunchtime yesterday to celebrate Mass for the Callanan family; Fr Dick conducted a simple and solemn liturgy. For the rest of the day the boys gathered in small groups outside and in the rooms, quietly chatting, reading and writing up their journals.

By this morning everybody was ready to travel. It was a straightforward two hour drive to the outskirts of Kumasi, then another 30 minutes to reach the Spiritan Noviciate where we're staying for the next two nights.

Kumasi is a city of two million people and home territory for both Fr Dick & Fr William. We had lunch in Ryan's Irish Pub (burgers & chips - what a joy!). An unpleasant interaction happened here. A group of rough-looking Australians were having dinner outside and bullying the Ghanaian waiter. ‘Why isn’t your shirt ironed?’, they were asking the man, who clearly found it hard to follow their English but understood enough to be visibly distressed. And the one that brought the loudest guffaws: ‘We’re not going until you go and wake up the man you stole that shirt off’.

After lunch we went down to an Ashanti memorial service. These services take place some months after the death and is designed as a tribute to the person who has died, and also as a fund-raiser for the family. The guests wear black robes; the family red. Everybody sits under canopies around a square and when we arrived, we were brought to shake hands with those in the front rows.

At one side were the family; in the middle of their row was a cash-box with two men busy writing receipts. In the same line were two enormous men, one holding a fly whisk: the representatives of the King of Bantama. We shook hands nervously and they granted us imperious stares. In the last leg of the square was the band, who were giving it socks.

The racket was immense – drums, trumpets, trombones belting out upbeat tunes. A woman danced with each of us in turn. I tried my level best to stiffly nod my way through in the approved Northern European manner but that caused even more sniggering from the boys behind me.

We were seated with the other guests and the family brought us drinks (we asked for soft drinks. Most of the guests were well-oiled and in high good form). Fr Dick – who knew many of the people there - sent up a donation of 200,000 cedis. A receipt came down, then a man stood up and introduced our group and, to approving nods, read out the amount of the contribution. This was done for all the guests.

Finally, the two chiefs got up to dance. Amazingly nimble for such huge men, they danced surrounded by acolytes holding umbrellas sheltering them from the sun. Despite the heat, the noise, the booze and the size of the dancers, the movements were so much part of the rhythm as to bring a lightness of touch and even delicacy to the scene.

Afterwards I stopped off at this cafe; the boys have gone downtown with Anthony and Fr Dick (in fact, they've just arrived back to collect me - time to go).

Sunday, June 20, 2004

Last night Fr Dick had undertaken all sorts of anti-mosquito precautions: spraying the rooms, lighting bug coils, and reminding everybody to go heavy on the insect repellent. Then he retired to what I suspect is his favourite point on planet earth – the veranda he built that commands a third-story view of the noviciate and its neighbourhood. A splendid eyrie.

The rooms were small but serviceable, but I wasn’t wised up enough to know that the water supply wouldn’t stretch to multiple showers. Fr William woke me up at 6 am with his wild preaching in the adjacent church and I made the crucial strategic mistake of lying in and enjoying the show rather than grabbing a wash while I still could.

Starting the day with a shower and shave in a bucket was a new experience, but sure isn’t that what the trip is about?! Then it was dress-up time for Fr Dick’s homecoming Mass. We duly turned out resplendent in our new t-shirts, organised by Dick and William. After last week we knew what to expect, more or less. This one followed the same pattern: two full choirs, a fiery sermon from Fr William (unfortunately for us, in Twi), and the exuberant offertory procession. Most importantly, this liturgy was a celebration of the life of the late Mr Pat Callanan, as well as an opportunity to remember Mark and his family. It was done in great style, and in the African way. It was, we hope, a fitting tribute to a man who’d been such a great supporter of this trip.

I made sure I was safely ensconced on the balcony when Fr Dick invited the Irish group to dance on the altar. He sent an altarboy to ask me to join them. I could see Olin’s grin at 50 yards and was tempted to return the altarboy by the shortest route.

And yes, Liam Quinn, Kevin danced. Vigorously. On the altar. So that is one tonne for the cause, please. [Mr Quinn had e-mailed an offer for 100 euro for video footage of Kevin dancing].

The boys got into the spirit of the event and Fr Dick himself swayed from side to side like a professional Ghanaian chorister. I think it was only then, seeing Dick so integrated into the life of that community, which is culturally so different than anything we can imagine in Europe, that I understood the magnitude of the task facing missionaries, and the sheer scale of the achievement of those who make a go of it. I’ve never been prouder of Templeogue than at that moment.

David, our linguist (every Ghanaian group has a linguist, or spokesperson), was invited to the pulpit after communion to explain our presence. Speaking in short sections that William translated into Twi, David began by thanking the congregation for joining in this Mass that had been offered for the repose of Mr Callanan. He went on to discuss the reasons for our visit and how we had been received in Ghana. Typical of this warm-hearted community, the largest round of applause came when he said, ‘We have had a wonderful time’. He finished with a ‘Go raibh mile maith agaibh’, translated by William as ‘Thank you Thank you Thank you Thank you Thank you!’ It was David’s finest performance yet and, sitting at the back, I felt a glow (a small glow!) for St. Mary’s.

The lads had seen on TV that today was a big match day in Kumasi: Ghana versus South Africa in the world cup qualifiers. Tickets were somehow procured and off we went. in triumph. Ghana had never before beaten Bafana Bafana but on this occasion were all over them, and at each goal the crowd reaction was more entertaining than anything on the pitch. At half time two Irish lads came over to introduce themselves; medical students from UCC (and one ex-Belvedere College, at that), they were on placement in a hospital here. We left just before the final whistle and got slagged on the way by people who assumed we were South Africans, but on the way home in the flag-bedecked Hiace we got a rousing reception from the delirious locals. It was the biggest street party since the semi-final of the Social Rugby league.

And the day wasn’t over. We were issued with another set of t-shirts and told to clean ourselves up again for a cultural evening in the parish of Corpus Christi in New Tafo, Kumasi. When we arrived a party was in full swing outside the church and the lads vanished into the melee. The reasons for the celebration were unclear but there was a full band and hundreds of people dancing. Watching from the balcony on the parish priest’s house, we could see the white shirts bobbing up and down in the crowd.

Eventually William ploughed in and fished them out. There was a swift dinner (eaten partly in the dark when the power cut) then it was over to the parish hall for an exhibition of astonishing skill from a troupe of dancers backed by a five-man drum ensemble. They performed several dances each of which had a story (one or two of which you didn’t need to be Ghanaian to understand – Anne was giggling away while we sat nonchalantly, pretending not to be fazed). The evening ended with the Irish boys taking over the stage and trying out the drums, much to the amusement of their African hosts. We’d a job getting them out but eventually arrived back at the noviciate at a semi-respectable hour.

Monday, June 21, 2004

Today we travelled to the Cape Coast. On arrival at our hotel, we spend several hours trying to get lunch. Eventually we set off and tried to beat the falling twilight to Elmina. It proved to be a remarkable busy and scenic (little did we know!) fishing village, with hundreds of long canoe-like fishing vessels (like the boats in Hawaii 5-0). We had a brief tour of the fort but it was getting dark and the guide had little English and no interest in answering questions (Conor insisted on continuing to ask, ever so politely, and the man continued to ignore the interventions). We finished a somewhat tantalising day with a swim in a hotel pool and dinner on the terrace overlooking a Bounty-bar beach scene. A happy compensation.

Tuesday, June 22, 2004

Anne and myself were keen to see the village of Elmina again, and so down we all went in the morning. It proved a strange mixture of tropical paradise and human sordidness. According to William, the fishermen don’t launch their boats on Tuesday (if they do, they’ll be eaten by the sea goddess). We walked down by the docks and everywhere encountered indifferent, even hostile stares. Any hint of pointing a camera led to shouts of warning. One sign said it all: the ‘F--- You Hairdressers’.

Anthony (perhaps used to this sort of thing) suggested we cut the visit short and we were glad to go along with him. It looked like we were destined for a quick getaway but while we were walking, our driver and minder Kwasi Agyekum slipped back to the fort and explained to the office that our visit last night had not been satisfactory. ‘They paid their money’, said Mr Agyekum, ‘And they are going away none the wiser’.

And so we were offered another tour. It proved to be well worthwhile. Our guide, Mr Charles Adu-Arhin, was a practiced storyteller and made the stones come alive in this, the largest slave-trading post in history. Even with the palm trees swaying against the sea, it is a grim place. Like the death camps of wartime Europe, every aspect of this building was designed meticulously to achieve its end. For instance, the doorway into the ‘Gate of No Return’ – the room through which the captured men and women were loaded onto ships – is so low that you need to go through it virtually on your knees, making it impossible to fight your captors. Standing there, my mind went back nearly ten years to a visit I made to Auswitz on a wet and miserable evening. The landscape here is very different from the dull browns of eastern Poland – all blue skies and green palms and white waves – but the buildings have the same sense of seeping with the memory of the human sufferings for which they were designed.

On the way out we were surrounded by aggressive teenage boys demanding money for ‘sponsorship’ cards. They handed out shells with their names and contact addresses, and alternately pleaded for our money and harangued us for being part of their economic oppression. Ross’s watch was stolen in the crush and it took William’s intervention to clear them away to allow us to leave. It was our first – and only – experience of Ghanaians without dignity and as we drove away it was hard not to conclude that the disorders sown by five hundred year of being a slave trading town continue into the present generation.

And so on to Accra. The Spiritan Mother House is the first place we stayed in Ghana, and now we were returning for our last night in the country. We were met by Fr Jas Duncan who still hasn’t done the decent thing with that bloody turkey (I eyeballed the yoke on the way in – it’s about the size of a small elephant) and shown to our rooms, exactly the same as we’d left them ten days ago. Coming back here, it brought home to us that this remarkable journey was coming to its end.

We met for a formal debriefing, with the highs and lows of the trip analysed. Fr Dick chaired this meeting, and one of the conditions he laid down was that the contributions would be confidential. Therefore, it’s hardly appropriate to be specific, except to say that the discussion was open, on occasion emotional, sometimes funny, and above all reflected the fact that we are united by the fact that we’ve fallen in love with this country.

And Anne was formally declared ‘one of the lads’. John and Sam had been keeping this up all week. Yesterday, they solemnly declared it simply wasn't possible. As John said, it wasn't up to them. ‘The lads as a concept is so much bigger than this group’, explained John patiently (‘It goes from generation to generation’, Sam added helpfully). But at last they relented, and the official declaration was made.

Wednesday, June 23, 2004

For most of us, last night was a late one. The boys have taken to poker (Ross is down several hundreds of thousand cedi) and played well into the night, while Fr Dick and I spent hours on the veranda with Fr Jas Duncan. An amazing man. This morning Mr Leahy took great pleasure banging on doors at 7.00 am. Young pup.

We are in the market in Accra, and the boys are shopping away under the eye of Fr William, who is giving them advice on the art of haggling. The traders are pretty cheesed off with him and feel he is letting down the side by protecting all us whities.

The traders here were very different from the Ashanti – aggressive and demanding, they nearly succeeded in putting us off. The ferocious heat didn’t help. Eventually they got the message that we wouldn’t buy anything if they continued to grab at us and in turn we got into the spirit of the occasion. The boys expressed outrage at the prices and generally haggled down to about a half of the initial asking price. Another set of drums were bought even though negotiations were complicated by a doped-up Rastafarian who tried to divert us to his stall.

I'd better go and catch up with the group. We need to get the stuff back to the Mother House, then onto the truck and to the airport.

Thanks for everything.
Denis.

Friday, June 25, 2004

e-mail received from Alice Asabia

ATTN-- STUDENTS

My dear young friends,

I count myself lucky to have met and interacted with such sweet teenagers! You helped to change my perception of teenagers and all the blues they make adults go through. You were very disciplined and appreciating. I pray that you remain same good teenagers and grow up to be very caring adults.

I hope you will always get in touch for us to share educational and development ideas. Do not hesitate to make me your resource person in search for all you want to know about Ghana, especially in the areas of education and rural development. Let us share knowledge.

When you visit Mark, remember to mention that I share his grief and that I am always praying for him, his family and his late dad. The Good Lord will give them the strength to bear the loss.

My dear young friends, GET IN TOUCH FOR I LOVE YOU ALL

Alice Asabia
Concern Universal, Sunyani.