Elephants, mangoes and ceylon tea: these are a few of my favourite things

A wave goodbye

elise_beacom — Sun, 25 Jul 2010 19:11:00 GMT

Waves are recurring motion. Ever tumbling, ever crashing, forming great peaks before hollowing out in a shower of foam. Their existence evokes a sundry of organic human responses. The human can dominate the wave, or suffer its wrath like a forgotten tissue in a washing machine. Surfers find a thrill from riding a wall of water that has enough power to dwarf them. You know, man versus wild, that sort of stuff.

Surfers get snobby about their waves. Locals protect them, taking all the rides save the odd donation to a sun-burnt tourist in a gesture of charity, or pity. Surfers form some sort of salty secret society, their mandate: to protect their territory. During Sri Lanka’s 30 year war, it was the LTTE Tamil Tigers who took the east coast and ironically, protected it from the cheap exploits of package tourism. It’s the same coast that was devastated by the most powerful wave of all, Tsunami - Japanese for ‘harbour wave.’

Now, the beaches are largely unspoiled and Arugam Bay is a favourite among board riders. Friday nights are spent sitting in the sand with barbequed prawns and a beach fire flicking light on scorched faces… Swedes, Aussies, Spaniards, Germans and Austrians debriefing the day’s biggest catches. It’s an international forum but I think they’re speaking English or maybe it’s some secret jargon you learn at the secret surfer society? Crests, tubes, breaks, impact zones… “Yeah, I had a car once,” I join in.

I decided at once that I wanted to be a part of this club, whatever it was, so I took a surf lesson. After two hours of bobbing around, exhausting paddling and getting caught in the rinse, I had got up… for a couple of seconds at least. It was enough. Enough to leave me with the same ravenous appetite as a beer drinker with a plate of pretzels sat in front of me. It tasted good. The ensuing sun stroke – not so much.

Maybe I could join this society on a part-time basis? A weekend here and there? For some of these surfers, it’s a full-time commitment, chasing waves all over the world. Seeking crests but shunning family crests. Chasing the feeling and forgetting another? It’s a fetishist tale of dominator and servant but who plays which role? Nature is always the stronger force with the power even to divide the most basic unit of humanity, family. Who knows if the surfers will wash back onto their home shores… They voluntarily cast themselves off for years at a time, one fellow for twenty years, he’s Australian but his accent is a mongrel. When the wave spits you out, there’s an ankle strap to pull you back to the board, but when you throw out your roots, is there anything left to pull you home?

How to suck the meditative guru out of you

elise_beacom — Sat, 12 Jun 2010 16:54:00 GMT

Leaches. Leaches suck the spirituality to the surface of one’s pores, washing, nay basking the meditator with a heavenly aura…

Well, this is at least what I would like to believe having had several of the evil blood-thirsty bastards gnawing at my feet en route to a remote meditation retreat!

“Yeeeeeeeeeeeee, Oooohhhhhhhh, Aggggghhhhhhhhh, Ughhhhhhhhh!” These were the cries bolting distruptfully through the peace of the mountainside. I’m near certain that the meditators located on the top were shaken from their inner peace by the squeals of four hysterical girls. I hate to be a living, breathing gender stereotype, but I was in this situation, nothing less than a screaming girl!

Having unceremoniously ripped the teeth from our skin, we proceeded upwards in the rain to find a world hidden away from reality. Indeed some of the longer-term residents had escaped reality for six years or so. We were escaping for the weekend.

Night was falling so we joined a chanting session before crunching our dinner of crusty bread and tea in silence. Back at our room – a tiny concrete cell with thin mattresses, no electricity and a bucket suspiciously sat in the corner, we tried to sleep at 8:30pm. It was dark but switching off the mind so early on a Saturday night was a foreign feeling.

At 4:45am, a bell rang out, coaxing the meditators out of bed. One hour meditation pulled us into the new day. Having had no real meditation experience, one hour was a challenge. My mind kept drifting away like a pushbike in a cross-wind. Working meditation was another interesting experience… And guess what job I scored? Women’s toilet block! “Meditate Elise, meditate harder Elise, it’s not a toilet, it’s a fountain!”

After Dhamma yoga, soya bean breakfast and meditation in the garden among the flowers and I wanted to shun my heavy, dark clothing for white linen. The awareness hung in the air with such physicality that you could reach out and hold it in your arms. I could definitely revisit this place but at the same time, it made me curious about its long term residents and the lives they had left behind, the people they had left behind. Plus, who could deal with the leaches for six years anyway?!

Adam's Peak - a sacred climb in the dead of night

elise_beacom — Sat, 3 Apr 2010 17:06:00 GMT

Some guidebooks say five thousand steps, others say six thousand… No matter what the actual number is, let me tell you, it’s a hell of a lot of steps to the top of Adam’s Peak!

Adam’s Peak is no gentle slope, measuring 2,243 metres in height, the mountain is sacred to Buddhists and boasts a beautiful Temple at its summit. Monks clad in orange robes greet and bless pilgrims at the beginning of their ascent – wishing them well for the spiritually and physically grueling upwards journey. Climbers often follow the track during the night, arriving at the peak in time to witness a glorious sunrise. Sometimes pilgrims will see a shadow is cast across the surrounding mountains - a spectacular sight if the sky is clear! Tea houses mark the pathway with purplish blue lighting and pilgrims can ward off the cold with cozy cups of tea or milo and steaming chickpeas for protein (and inevitable muscle repair!) A local dog may even befriend you on the way up. One energetic mutt made fools of us all, bounding up the mountain in front of us with remarkable ease!

Completing the climb itself is quite an achievement. It’s a big enough effort to acclimatise to the blistering cold and it’s one of the only places in Sri Lanka where you will need a scarf, gloves and jacket! People descending the mountain have an expression of accomplishment smeared over their faces. Those still hiking stop to stretch and massage their muscles intermittently. Some even carry sleeping children or elderly relatives up the mountain. It is touching to see families supporting each other to achieve such an incredible feat.

A thick guiderail lines the upper half of the climb. Trekkers’ legs jiggle like jelly under their own weight. The pain is often so excruciating that it feels like your limbs might turn to stone. At the top, the air is crisp, yet thin. Worshippers pray and await the sunrise in the frosty night. A serene-faced monk blessed me and tied orange string around my wrist. I wore the red dot on my forehead with a humble sense of pride. The pilgrims ring a large bell once for every time they have completed the trek. After I rang the bell for the first time, a feeling of triumph washed over me while the metallic sound rang out over the breathtaking valley.

Photos: Hello Colombo!

elise_beacom — Sat, 13 Mar 2010 20:14:00 GMT

Colombo - a haven of chaotic calm

elise_beacom — Sat, 13 Mar 2010 20:08:00 GMT

Colombo is a confusion of districts, traditions and traffic. Taking a tuktuk across town, despite any motion sickness, I see a dizzying display of temples, churches and mosques. Any serenity brought by such overt spirituality is soon quashed by the sound of violent beeping rising from the exhaust fumes.

My house is like the jungle in captivity. Leafy plants and tropical flowers sprawl into my living room. Designed by a student of legendary architect Geoffrey Bawa, the open-air layout and natural light evokes a sense of meditative whimsy. I feel like a fairy hopping around a moss cave. My bedroom looks out on the garden and the odd lizard sometimes pays me an impromptu visit.

Stepping into the street feels like falling into a bowl of warm soup. The air is hot and viscous, cushioning my body in sweat. Colourful saris float by and lingering eyes stare at the recent addition to their neighbourhood. I sweep my eyes across the landscape, taking care not to meet everyone’s gaze.

Crossing the street is an adventure in itself. Designated crossings are no more than yellow lines painted on the bitumen. Timing is everything! Step in front of a motorbike and you’ll get cleaned up! Pedestrians walk slowly across while the vehicles slide around them like tetris pieces.

Not everyone is always so lucky though. On the road from Colombo to Panadura, a bloodied man lay very still on the road. He had been hit by a runaway bus. The driver did not stop for fear that bystanders would bash him and set fire to his bus. Rather, the witnesses chased the bus cursing in Sinhala and throwing bricks, stones, rocks through the windows with great force.

The sight hit me with a solid reminder. This oasis called Sri Lanka has a recent past. The very diversity that renders the country so appealing is the very hubris that brought the country so much pain.

Thank you all!

elise_beacom — Sat, 20 Dec 2008 19:31:00 GMT

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who offered donations to the Human Service Trust Orphanage. You have helped some beautiful children better their quality of life. I also ran a medical outreach programme in Abura near Cape Coast with a Community Based Organisation. We provided medicines and wound care to disadvantaged market women and children in the area. Here's how all the money was spent in Ghana cedis and Australian dollars:

Locks and keys for orphanage doors: 13.60 GHc = $17.66

40 white t-shirts: 60 GHc = $77.92

Supermarket supplies: 56.52 GHc = $73.40

125kg rice: 154.5 GHc = $200.65

Medicine cabinet built from scratch: 50 GHc = $64.94

Medical supplies for orphanage: 118.4 GHc = $153.77

Maize: 12 GHc = $15.58

3 Hospital trips, lab tests, medication for Mercy: 40.5 GHc = $52.60

2 Fufu pestles: 2 GHc = $2.60

10 buckets for bathing: 20 GHc = $25.97

Excursion to Coastal TV: 10 GHc = $12.99

30 cups, 30 spoons, 30 bowls, 30 plates: 29.9 GHc = $38.83

1 flask for hot water: 7.8 GHc = $10.13

1 year National Health Insurance Scheme cover for 21 orphanage inmates and 50 people in the surrounding community: 399 GHc = $518.18

Material to make school uniforms: 119 GHc = $154.55

Shoe repair for Issac: 0.6 GHc = $0.78

1 large box chicken: 31 GHc = $40.26

Pots and pans: 44 GHc = $57.14

School books and brown paper: 189.4 GHc = $245.97

School shoes: 105 GHc = $136.36

Medical outreach medicines: 230 GHc = $298.70

Seamstress fee for uniforms: 36 GHc = $46.75

Donation to NGO Medicine on the Move: 10 GHc = $12.99

Total: 1,739.22 GHc ---> $2,258.72

I had raised $2,200 but I rounded the amount up to just over $2,250.

At the time of purchase, $AU 1 = 0.77 GHc

I have retained all receipts if anyone would like to see them. Thank you so much again for your contributions!

South African Safari

elise_beacom — Sat, 20 Dec 2008 18:12:00 GMT

Coming to the tail end of my adventure, I donned the safari khakis and got wild in Kruger National Park, South Africa.

We spent four nights in tents under a starry South African sky, listening to baboons, lions and elephant calling to one another in the depths of the night. One elephant came into our camp during the day, nuzzling a tent which contained an unsuspecting sleeper. After seeing all the uprooted trees littered around the park, if just one of those elephants felt a little hormonal, it could surely trample the whole camp.

We rose at 4.30am each morning for a 3-4 hour walk. It's much easier to appreciate the sheer enormity of rhino, elephants and hippo when you're on foot (particularly on my foot). We also spotted leopard, buffalo, impala, chameleons, giraffe, mongoose, eagles, vultures, zebra, wildebeest and even the odd dung beetle rolling its precious poo cargo up a hill. I was losing faith in our quest for lions until we stalked four (two female, a male and a cub!) hunting on the last night. They were so majestic and had such presence. With only headlights and a spot lighting the way, it was always a bit of a worry when we lost sight of them. It would have been the perfect scene for a horror movie where the guests get picked off one by one.

Unfortunately, my very battered camera decided to pack up and so it threw in the towel after day one and revived itself on the last day - typical. But on the way back to Joburg, camera or no camera, we visited a very very spectacular Dam (of which I can't remember the name). It was so grand, breathtaking, wonderful *insert other adjectives here* that it was impossible to condense into a tiny digital frame. The drop was extreme and a blue river trickled far below. The scantily barricaded gorge could bring even those unafraid of heights into a sweat.

So now I have two nights left in Joburg to read, relax and contemplate my navel. It's been the most amazing five months but all good things must come to an end and it will be great to spend Chrissy and new year with everyone (including the new 20 kg puppy).

Ode to Odododiodio

elise_beacom — Sun, 14 Dec 2008 23:40:00 GMT

Politics is like sport here. People roam the street clad head-to-toe in their party colours, as if going to a football game. They cheer and dance to campaign tunes and sit in the back of utes shouting rhetoric through mega-phones. Politicians plaster their faces on giant billboards and party merchandise is sold on every street corner. Politics is a big deal in Ghana and the country's current democratic stability means the stakes are high when Ghanaians go to the polls.

Ghana held its general elections on December 7th and I was lucky enough to be reporting on a 'flashpoint' constituency, Odododiodio. The name itself was ominous but the biggest challenge we faced all day was how to pronounce it!

Waking up early, we hit some of the 116 polling stations with our green 'access all areas' media passes. Our job was to ask presiding officers how the day had transpired and take down figures of voter turn out. Of course, we had to sniff out any brawls or blatant stuffing of ballot boxes, neither of which happened.

We twisted and turned through Jamestown (housing many boxers who like to pick fights - apparently), crossed a very black, icky, muddy river bank and wandered through slums to reach tiny polling stations. Market women waved inky fingers and the more eager lined up from 2am, when the polls opened at 7! Granted, the elections were surrounded by much apprehension from Ghanaians, terrified the polls could turn violent like in Kenya or Zimbabwe.

We were privy to watching the public count of thumb prints on ballot papers. And voters anxiously waited for the results at the collation centre. Hearing constant updates, revelers could see the NDC party(the incumbant in that area) had won the parliamentary vote and supporters dusted their faces with white powder - claiming victory!

The Electoral Commission had 72 hours to declare the official parliamentary and presidential results for the whole country and on Wednesday afternoon, it announced that Ghana had no president. Neither of the two leading parties (NPP and NDC) had received the required 50 per cent plus one vote. The race was extremely tight - so much so that the country will return to the polls on December 28 and sadly, I will miss the announcement of Ghana's new president.

Northern Delights

elise_beacom — Wed, 3 Dec 2008 03:33:00 GMT

It was time to ditch work and hit the road running for a week…

Travelling North in Ghana is an epic trip due to poorly maintained roads and equally dodgy vehicles. But the 4am bus rides, the hours of sitting with live chickens stuffed in plastic bags below my seat, the dust sticking to the walls of my lungs, interesting toilet experiences and the blown tyre were ALL worth it to see three elephants wallowing in the mud.

The road to Mole National Park is a bumpy one, dusty and riddled with crater-sized potholes. We took the bus from Tamale at 5am, originally planning to sleep for most of the journey. However, we were shaken violently back to reality when our keen bus driver flew over the potholes and while we passengers flew a meter out of our seats!

On our first trek through the park, we saw plenty of warthogs greedily nuzzling garbage, baboons, monkeys and gazelle. And back at the lodge, a greedy baboon riffled through one guy’s bag, stealing his camera before jumping on a girl to hijack her packet of crackers. I froze (once again, no rabies injection) when a monkey jumped on our table at breakfast, rose to full height in front of me, sniffed around, took all my sugar cubes and ran away.

Day two we were more successful and came across three Savanna elephants with massive ears flapping about and bathing in a waterhole. They stood 20 metres away and were just beautiful. I felt so small next to them (well, smaller than usual).

Just out of the park at a small village called Larabanga, we saw the oldest Mosque in Ghana which contains one of the seven original Korans from Mecca. It was a prehistoric looking structure made of mud and sticks.

On the 12 hour bus trip to Tamale, I met a woman from the UK helping establish a medical clinic in a tiny town outside the city. So we paid a visit to the village to experience real village life. The men live in square huts, separate from the women in round ones. The women can only stay in their husbands quarters when they’re invited (hello!) We wandered into the communal kitchen – a hut which uses maize cobs as fuel. We met the chief who was wearing an Osama bin Laden t-shirt either in really bad taste or simply because he didn’t know what it represented. His three wives offered us their babies to carry around on our backs, wrapped in cloth – African style.

It was wonderful wandering through the school and past the women pounding fufu with a three-month old sleeping and dribbling hitching a ride. The village was extremely poor and without even a well for its water supply. Tribal markings (small scars made with a knife at birth) are still a feature in this part of Ghana and allegiances can be deciphered just from looking at someone’s face. The practice is being discouraged because tribal conflicts have been a main cause of conflict in Africa.

Travelling south again, we browsed West Africa’s biggest market in Kumasi before heading west for Green Turtle Lodge – an eco lodge with a beautiful beach and delicious food. Walking, swimming, reading, sipping rum (pirate style) by the fire on the beach. Finally, we ended the trip in Cape Coast where we went to a friend’s pyjama party before heading back to Accra on a trotro filled with a tub of industrial sized butter leaking all over the back seat and a door coming off its hinge. A policeman on the way asked for an extra generous bribe to account for the melting butter (apparently that butter was breaking some imaginary regulations?!)

So after a week of go-go-go and in the tradition of most holidays, I returned to Accra more tired than when I’d left.

Gallery: Beautiful people

elise_beacom — Wed, 26 Nov 2008 03:19:00 GMT

Some of the amazing faces I've come across on my travels

Ghana on a Plate

elise_beacom — Fri, 7 Nov 2008 01:11:00 GMT

Think of a diet packed with enough carbohydrates to give posh spice a severe heart attack. That is what my stomach encounters daily in Ghana… White rice (starch), potatoes (starch), yam (starch), plantain (starch), bananas (starch), cassava (starch), maize (starch), bread (more starch…)

Don’t get me wrong, the food here is DELICIOUS! And our starchy staples are supplemented by chicken, fish, beans, jollof sauce or goat. It’s usually unadvisable to associate the mangy chickens and goats tottering in the streets with the food that appears on your plate.

We get out eats from little booths on the side of the road or head-food (food carried in boxes balanced on women’s heads). Some of these women risk their lives to criss-cross through traffic and fill the tummies of hungry tro-tro commuters. We also go to spot bars (small bars with plastic furniture that serve very cheap meals and local beer). One spot I saw last week was interestingly aptly named “Comfortable Stomach Spot Bar,” because frankly it can be a gamble sometimes. Some spots serve bush meat and there’s no identifying exactly which animals constitute ‘bush.’ It could include anything from monkey to grass cutter (a massive rat-like creature). I stay away from bush meat.

What’s for dinner?…

- Red-red is fried plantain (like banana), served with a bean stew which often includes fish or tuna. Yum.

- Ground nut soup with omo tuo (rice balls) is a peanut soup usually served on Sundays. Like most Ghanaian food, it’s spicy and is served with chicken. This is one of my favourites!

- Banku is fermented maize mixed with pounded cassava. We eat it with a spicy red Okra sauce. This dish is definitely eaten with your right hand. (Don’t ever dream of handling food, or even passing someone money, with your left hand) Delicious!

- Jollof rice is rice cooked for about two hours in a red sauce until the rice absorbs the vibrant colour. Once again – spicy and served with chicken or fish.

- Yam and Palaver sauce is either boiled or fried yam served with a spinach-like sauce which is sometimes mixed with tuna or chicken.

- Fufu is plantain and cassava pounded until it forms a goo-gacky-doughy-plastic consistency. It’s a specialty and is usually served with light soup. It sticks to the roof of your mouth a little. I can take it or leave it but it is nice to see the women pounding fufu in the mornings. My attempt was rather unco.

I have to admit that I do miss vegetables, dairy of any kind, cereal and red meat but Ghanaian food is amazing and often when given the choice between a 'continental' dish and a plate of red-red, I’ll take the red-red.

Other favourites: gorgeous pineapples, papaya, bananas, ground nuts, tiger nuts, fan yogo, plantain chips, kili-kili spicy plantain pieces, yam balls, banana bread, and these really delicious soya bean balls mixed with vegetables and deep-fried like dim-sims.

The egg-sandwiches are awesome! Ama, our local ‘egg-sandwich lady’ in Cape Coast made the best ones hand down. 70 peswas (around 85 cents) buys you an oozy omelette with vegetables and laughing cow cheese melted into it and served inside pan-toasted white bread.

Some of the most delicious things I’ve eaten came from unidentified opaque black plastic bags offered to me by strangers in taxis or tro-tros. They say, “you’re invited” and it’s polite to take some. I enjoy sharing my own food with strangers in transit also because sharing is so integral to the culture here.

My host mum, Mrs Djan, is going to teach me to cook some traditional dishes so I’ll be making a beeline for the markets in search for some scarce Ghanaian ingredients when I’m home.

You’re invited!

Wli Waterfalls - What Wonderment!

elise_beacom — Mon, 3 Nov 2008 22:30:00 GMT

The Volta region is only a stone’s throw away from Accra but the lush, dense greenery is a telltale sign that you’re out of the concrete jungle.

Weekends are when we stretch out our legs and relax. Or, more likely, cram our legs into the confines of an old rickety cramped tro-tro and journey for hours hoping for dear life that the driver will deliver us to our destination in one piece.

Two weeks ago, we scuttled off to Wli Waterfalls. After a late night journey, we crashed at Waterfall Lodge ready for an early morning walk. There were two waterfalls, and being the hardcore travellers that we are, we chose the four-hour round trip to the Upper Falls. We followed a narrow path which cut the vegetation of the mountain. Walking the untainted trail was serene, with trees all around and bright butterflies kissing our sweaty shoulders. The track was incredibly steep and unrelenting. Impossibly large tree roots blocked the way and rocks scraped our calves. Concentration was key to avoid falling into the cavernous valley to our left. When we weren't busy being exhausted, we noticed how amazing our surroundings actually were.

After losing several litres of water, it was an amazing feeling to reach the Upper falls. Stunning. Think Peter Andre dancing under a cascading waterfall, topless (duh!), in one of his cheesy 90s video clips. The falls were so beautiful that any fear of contracting Bilharzias was overridden by our desire to cool down. The sheer force of the water rendered it impossible to swim under the downpour but we waded as close as we could. The hard wind prickled our backs with drops, charging our skin. It was invigorating. You don’t get much closer to nature than that.

The descent was perhaps more trying than the incline. Our guide cut us some walking sticks with his machete to help us negotiate the trek. I am proud to say, I only fell on my bum once.

Relaxed and recharged after our weekend retreat, we reluctantly commenced the homebound leg. At one of the barriers, we were asked to produce our documents for the customs officials. I was the only one who had no form of identification whatsoever but I stayed relaxed. The guard said, “So I guess I’ll have to detain you,” and I replied, “Yeah I guess so… But maybe you could just detain me next time.” He laughed and agreed that he would detain me next time. Making light of the situation is often the best way to manage it. I didn’t even have to bribe him – which was a plus!

Coming back into Accra, the sky was dim and dusty. We heard some faint screeching that was getting louder and louder, until we looked up and saw some small batman-shaped objects whizzing overhead… bats… and a lot of them. There were literally thousands flying low and chattering disgustingly. Having skimped on a rabies injection, I closed the car window tightly.

Coming Home

elise_beacom — Tue, 21 Oct 2008 21:35:00 GMT

After only two weeks of fast-paced life in Accra, I paid a visit to my beloved Cape. It was lovely to be back ‘home.’ The first person I saw when I descended my taxi was a friend from the radio station and I was greeted with a big hug. The rest of the weekend, I continued to bump into friends here there and everywhere – in share taxis, at spot bars, in the street etc. The chances of that happening in Accra, are slim to nil.

I had three main reasons for my pilgrimage-

1. To get photos taken of 50 orphans and guardians for their National Health Insurance ID Cards.

2. To run a medical outreach organised by my Aussie friend Morgan and I in collaboration with local Community Based Organisation Abura Abrempon-MBA.

3. To visit Cape Coast Castle.

The medical outreach was a wonderful success. About 800 people came and 500 received medical treatment. The other community organisation ran an HIV/AIDS awareness programme simultaneously so members of the community could participate in a questions-answers forum.

Morgan and I bought medicines to treat malaria, diarrhoea, head aches, sore throats, worms and infections. We also set up a wound-care table for market women, men and children to have their wounds dressed. About 10 volunteers came and pitched in, working in the scorching sun for four hours. We also had translators so people could state their symptoms in fante and we could prescribe their medicines.

Some people who visited our market ‘clinic’ said they had aches all over their body and often all we could give them were re-hydration salts, multi-vitamins and vitamin c tablets as a placebo.

One funny case happened when a man kept coming back with different symptoms. After treating him the first time, we turned him away with some bags of multi-vitamins. He then brought other people to the table and explained their ailments so that he could take their medicines. He would say “this is my cousin, she has sore eyes, her head hurts, she can’t see” and we would recognise the girl as an ice-water vendor who just happened to be standing 10 metres away. He gave the game away when he brought another girl over and said “this is my sister.” He produced the piece of paper on which her symptoms were recorded and two symptoms didn’t quite add up – read: penis pain and premature ejaculation. Hmmm. Either, the man was too embarrassed to ask for medication himself or that girl had bigger problems than we were equipped to handle.

We also donated toothbrushes to children, condoms to young men and mosquito-nets and repellent for pregnant women. At one stage, we were surrounded by people grovelling for items for their families.

The day went really smoothly and we were happy that we could help people in our local community and most people were really grateful for what we did. The Abura-Abrempon group gave us t-shirts with their logo painted on as a thank you.

In the afternoon, I visited Cape Coast castle where Ghanaian slaves were kept before they were sold. It was a harrowing and gloomy experience. We saw the mossy and damp dungeons they were kept in. There was barely any ventilation and the captives often ate off the same floor on which they defecated. There were even prisons designed for women who refused rape by the soldiers. Slaves were branded according to which company they were owned by.

I left the place with a really negative attitude towards humanity. History is a grim beast but the fact that people could treat their fellow beings in that manner is unfathomable.

I stayed with my Cape host family for the whole weekend and they cooked for me too which was so lovely. Staying in my old room, it felt like I’d never left.

Roving Reporter

elise_beacom — Thu, 25 Sep 2008 01:34:00 GMT

As much as presenting the news live stirs the adrenalin, getting out of the studio makes for the most interesting experiences.

Last week I went with a journo to investigate an illegal gold mining operation upstream from a water treatment plant.

The miners were using mercury and cyanide which were polluting the river, having serious implications on the water quality.

We drove for an hour on a road that resembled a slice of swiss cheese. Tackling the cavernous terrain in a barina-sized car was slightly disconcerting.

After bush-bashing through a village, we found the miners resting in the middle of the river. It was a Wednesday so they weren't working because the Gods won't allow them to cross the river on that day.

Their operation is being funded by a rich man in the community but the miners wouldn't talk. Nor would they come to the shore.

We simply yelled into the middle of the waters and they yelled back. The men were laughing and joking until one thought it would be funny to expose his 'private parts' to the white girl. I didn't give him the satisfaction of sneaking a peak.

From obscene exposure to exposure to obscene religion, I attended a press conference run by an Evangelist from the UK. He spoke about the importance of prayer in maintaining peace for the upcoming elections.

I had to put my Ghanaian hat on when writing this story because the people here are so religious and believe in miracles and healing. Men preach in the streets and people wail and shout at the sky on football fields in the evenings.

When reporting here, I've learnt that I have to think as a Ghanaian and not an Australian and herein lays the key to reaching my audience.

Hi, this is Efua and whenever I come to Ghana, I listen to Yes 102.9 FM

elise_beacom — Thu, 25 Sep 2008 00:59:00 GMT

In Ghana, radio stations don't sit atop the city's tallest building... Instead, I trudge every morning up Cape Coast's tallest mountain.

Yes FM is a friendly place. Presenters take photos of themselves or even answer their mobiles during their programs. Hip life music blares almost as loudly as the political diatribe from impassioned callers.

Here my radio name is Elise Efua Beacom, or just Efua (my Fante name). There have been rumours circulating that I'm actually a Ghanaian woman changing her voice to sound like a white lady so one day I had to tell my life story to the listeners as proof of my origins.

I say a few fante phrases on the radio too because it makes my colleagues laugh. I also had the embarrassing job of recording some 'jingles.' That's right... I'm the annoying voice that says "Shake your booty, you're listening to Yes FM!" So my voice might remain in the airwaves long after I've left Cape Coast.

In the mornings, I read the newspaper leads so they can be translated into the local dialect. Guests also come on the morning show and discuss issues. One man came on to talk herbal remedies. I had to stifle laughter as he told us his remedy for alcoholism... He said alcoholics should mash mango leaves and mix them with... (wait for it...) gin. Boozers should drink this tonic daily before breakfast... hmmm.

Sometimes I'm a special guest on Dela's morning show and I give my Australian two cents on anything from power-sharing politics to female genital mutilation. The three regular panelists are informed and forward-thinking, making for some feisty debates.

In the evenings, I read the foreign news which was formerly a copy-and-paste-job from the BBC website. Now I edit the stories into radio-friendly scripts.

Doing the foreign stories is great because I can avoid the long Ghanaian names like Nana Ama Adzo Okudzeto. Try getting your tongue around that one!

Lost Images

elise_beacom — Wed, 10 Sep 2008 00:30:00 GMT

It's impossible to go one day without seeing something to inspire. Sadly, often these images go un-captured in abidance with cultural sensitivity.

I have only words in my artistic artillery...

A woman carries a crate of six live chickens on her head - battery hens on a smaller scale.

A man sits alone, crouched in full length robes while his house crumbles around him. Engrossed in his text message, he is too busy to notice his breathing irony.

A woman with a bone through her nose is typing away at the computer along side me.

Such visions often marry tradition with modernity.

The Kings of the Oguaa Traditional Council were offered gifts of Sprite and Fanta carried on the heads of 20 Ghanaian women.

A hybridisation of multinational corporations with traditional practices is infiltrating everyday life here.

It is these images that so fascinate me yet locals do not look kindly on photographs. They fear we will either try to make money from their plight or mock them back in our countries of comfort.

The White African

elise_beacom — Mon, 1 Sep 2008 22:14:00 GMT

After a month in Ghana, I feel like this is home. I am speaking as much Fante as possible because it earns you so much respect. I greet people in the street in Fante and they are always surprised by the white girl speaking their language. Some ladies around the corner from my house have offered to teach me some more and I think I'll take them up on that.

My neighbourhood is friendly and as I become a more familiar face, people welcome me home in the evenings. It's lovely. I pass a girl called Daina everyday and she has invited me to her house "so we can talk about ourselves." I play ball with some children too except the ball is a plastic sack of dirt that we throw around. I have no idea why but an Obroni catching the ball is hilarious to them!

Feeling more local means you're less likely to get ripped off. Apparently white = rich here, which can be highly frustrating. "odoso" (too much)and "todo" (reduce it) are among my favourite new expressions.

Monday I had my hair braided. Read: well over five hours of tugging, pulling and fiddling. Then they put wax in my hair and set it on fire - I was slightly worried at this point. It was painful and heavy for the first few days but now I like it because it means I never have to wash my hair ever again! Dirty hippy here I come.

I finished my placement at the orphanage officially on Friday. We had a big party and cooked chicken and jollof rice. Jollof is rice cooked in an oily, spicy tomato sauce. It's quite a process but very delicious. The children were in a fashion show on saturday night. The designer tailor made them outfits to keep and they strutted their stuff on the catwalk. They were absolutely adorable. In fact, I'm embarrassed to admit that I cried like a proud mother at their child's concert. I start radio placement tomorrow but I will keep visiting the kids till I leave because I'll miss them too much!!

Went to Kakum national park yesterday and did a canopy walk over the jungle. The seven bridges were constructed by eight men and were effectively 'well engineered' ladders joined together with ropes. The ladders had planks of wood plonked across them. The suspension bridges swung dangerously and the guide failed to mention that last week, one of the bridges snapped in the middle (my friends saw it swinging sadly) But fear not, I warned all the other tourists half way through the walk. The view was definitely worth it though.

We were told we didn't need any insect repellent because of some trees which naturally repel mozzies. Although a wasp and massive ant climbed up my jeans and had a field day. The ant had sunk its teeth into my leg and wouldn't let go till it had drawn blood the nasty thing. And... we saw a snake on the path. It was only small but big enough to give me a fright!

On the theme of nature, I pat a huge nile crocodile as well. I have photo evidence for those sceptics! The woman gave me a reduced price because I was 'a local.'

Despite jumping straight into Ghanaian culture braided-head first, there is one barrier which will always exist... the colour of my skin.

Cape Coast Children

elise_beacom — Fri, 22 Aug 2008 02:09:00 GMT

Ghanaian children are beautiful. They holler at you wherever you go, be it to giggle at the silly white person, touch your milky skin or just so you'll wave back. Last week I was swarmed by a dozen children who desperately wanted their photo taken. Upon showing them the playback, they squealed and laughed and wanted more and more taken but they refused to stand far enough from the camera to get a decent picture.

The children at my orphanage are wonderful and intelligent. They read so well and are so eager to learn. One day, seven year old Judith was reading a book to me and stumbled on the word 'horse'. To help her, I pointed at the picture for a visual aid. I said, "what's that Judith?" to which she replied enthusiastically, "zebra!" It was such a tiny moment but perfectly illustrated the cultural differences between children here and children back home. I have no doubt that had an Australian child been trying to decipher the word, 'zebra' they would have labelled a zebra as a 'horse'.

Full of passion, energy and spirit, the children all have ambitions to be actors, doctors, teachers... and they are probably the most clever and self-sufficient kids I've ever seen. They cook breakfast, lunch and dinner, hand wash their own clothes, sweep, everything... and they barely ever complain about it.

The orphanage is often filled with the joyous sound of gospel singing. They sing everywhere and will burst into song at the strangest moments. Yesterday we went on an excursion to the coastal tv station and crammed 30 children and seven adults into a Tro-Tro (a small van with a capacity of 15). The children sang all the way there and were amused whenever the tro tackled a gaping pot-hole. At the Tv station, we organised for the kids to be in a mock filming. They sang sweetly on camera and one of the older girls, Selina, recited a poem about the importance of education for African women. It was so incredible and so poignant that I really had to pull myself together.

Next week I'm planning to take them to the dentist (because they've never been) and have organised free treatment for the children. I only have to buy the equipment. A carpenter has made me a medicine cabinet which I will fill with medical supplies. The hospital care is quite average here. I spent four hours at the hospital yesterday to take one of the girls who'd sufffered a bite. We waited in four separate queues, she was tested for Typhoid and Malaria but the Doctor couldn't figure out what was wrong. Four hours later, we left with some anti-histamines and vitamin c tablets...

We had a party today because it was Hannah's 10th birthday. We did face painting, played limbo and made her a huge card which all the children signed. Hannah is more shy than some of the others so it was nice for the spotlight to be on her for a while.

The hardest time of the day is when we say goodbye and the children look up at us with the curliest eye-lashes I've ever seen dotted across their big innocent eyes and say, "Are you leaving? Will you be back tomorrow?"

First Impressions

elise_beacom — Wed, 13 Aug 2008 02:02:00 GMT

Ghana is unlike any place I've ever known so here's a little observation that might help paint the scene...

I wake up when the scorching sun filters through my open Cape Coast window. Untangling myself from the mosquito net, i wander across the concrete floor to the corridor. outside, my host family are cooking on the stove. we have no kitchen, everything is prepared outside.

after eating some warm sweet bread (with vegemite..) and an egg, I meander through the streets towards the main road. the streets are dirt, lined with open sewers. I'm a little paranoid I'll fall in one day. Mangy dogs, sheep, goats and chickens scatter themselves around the place, picking at the empty water sachets littering the gutters.

Nearly everyone I pass says "hello, how are you?" and their answer is always the same, "I'm fine thank you." Some children yell out, "Obroni" (white person) and I reply, "Hi Bibini" (black person). This response is always met with giggles. It's strange being so obvious.

In the streets, women are carrying babies held precariously in fabric tied to their backs. Their heads are loaded with anything from fresh fish to pots and pans. Men sometimes walk holding hands and I still can't quite get used to public urination.

Taxis line the roads and beep incessantly to inform us that they are empty, or simply to help us get out of their way. Shops look like little shanties and are often named with Christian connotations perhaps to help bring them business. 'Glory of God Hair Salon' and 'Blood of Christ Sewing Centre' are commonplace.

The market is filled with colour and odours. Bananas, plantain, yam, watermelons, pinapple. Bright African fabrics are draped over the stands while beaming saleswomen negociate prices.

Time goes fast here in Ghana but less gets accomplished. It's the African way and so far, I'm loving every minute.

Three days of creature comforts

elise_beacom — Sun, 27 Jul 2008 21:26:00 GMT

It's Sunday night. I'm wearily sitting in front of the television after ample coffee and cake. I feel lazy, all cosy in a dressing gown with a laptop poised on my lap...

Usually, I would take this comfort for granted but in the lead up to a simpler life in Ghana, I keep noticing how comfortable my Adelaide life is. With three days left at home, I will cherish every shower, every glass of tap water and every homecooked meal.

In three days, my imaginings of Ghana will be thrust into the realms of reality... and I can't wait.