To the Lighthouse via La Palm Beach Paradise

I named this blog ‘Ghanaian Beats’ in anticipation of African cultural music played in sultry seaside settings, djembe groups on white sands and local pop classics. I forecasted music in local tongues like Twi or Ga and tunes to get the shoulders moving. However, the bulk of what I’ve heard so far has been the expressive gospel music in Isaac’s car each morning and incredibly cheesy American 80s pop. There have been episodes of Hip hop or Reggae blasting out of speakers from joints such as the ‘Rising Phoenix’ bar that pull in a certain local crowd. In the end, never quite knowing if it’s lamentable when traditions are ‘lost’, or just representative of a Western desire to preserve cultures in a pleasingly time-warped state like marmalade for us to sup on, eventually the onlooker must accept modernity as it flows.

   

That said, on Fridays in the office everyone wears cultural dress. I wasted no time in getting mine made up in the week by one of our clients who’s a seamstress. I liked the novelty of being measured for clothes and the idea of wearing a garment that perfectly fits the bust, waist and hips rather than 40,000 Primarkers. One of my colleagues chose the material. It’s an Egyptian blue with a typical Ghanaian pattern and is cut so it hangs off one shoulder.

On Thursday I had felt like I was starting to come down with something; by Friday morning it had developed into a stinking cold. I started feeling feverish in the afternoon so Chairman worried I might have malaria, which made me worried I might have malaria. It was my first Friday night in Accra and I went to bed at 8. Thankfully it's passing now.

On Saturday I went with Leonard and Katie by taxi to La Palm Beach Hotel. The contrast from the dusty urban sprawl was like escaping from an ants’ nest to paradise. Businessmen lay on loungers with i-pad minis perched on rotund bellies. Russian twins stalked past in matching bikinis. Such is life in golden cages. I went to the bars at the edge of the compound which protected guests from the outside world and surveyed the sandy stretch of beach through the gaps. Labadi beach is not attractive, but it’s not ugly either. To the left some children were playing at the water’s edge. I’d only been there a few minutes when a man approached and tried to sell me bracelets through the bars. After a brief conversation I receded to my sun lounger under a coconut tree and barely moved for the entire day, nursing my cold with fruit smoothies. I went to bed at 7pm.

On Sunday I felt better and we walked along the beach. It was good to finally connect the dots on the map and gain a sense of our bearings. To get there we wandered through an area of wooden housing with narrow gaps for amblers; washing hung on lines outside, women sat preparing food and children played freely. There were baby goats and chickens milling around the spaces between homes.

On the beach people swam in the ocean or played football. Our presence attracted a lot of attention. There aren’t many beggars or people selling things in Accra, but every man and child wants to shake your hand, ask where you’re from and ask if you have Facebook. If out and about on your own it’s sometimes best to take the Paris Hilton stance of wearing sunglasses and earphones so you can’t hear when people hiss at you (in a friendly way) or shout ‘obruni’ (white person). We passed Independence Square and arrived at the lighthouse. The British built the lighthouse in the 1600s, and from the top was an amazing view of the city below, with the mayor’s house, children playing football and a small fishing cove in the foreground, topped off by a refreshing sea breeze.