A few people have contacted me to clarify how they can get any monetary donations over here. The highly amateur approach I had in mind was for anyone to email me and I can either give them my bank details. Western Union and the like I feel will eat up the money and from my experience with the Nike package could become a nightmare. All receipts will be kept and circulated with signed affidavit should anyone think this a desperate quick rich scheme from a unemployed ad man facing a credit crunched winter in the UK and that in fact I am superimposing sports equipment onto playground images.
A few altruistic souls have contacted me wanting to offer a helping hand to our brothers and sisters over here. Chance has it that there is a little project I have in mind which I thought it best practice to open up to everything, should they feel the urge do a good deed for Christmas.
Currently I am residing as acting Head of P.E at Mandela Secondary School. Although Physical exercise is a legal requirement, up till this point there has been nobody taking any sports whatsoever. Principally because there is not one piece of equipment.
Even for as creative a mind as mine, it’s a slight leap to teach netball without a netball or nets. As it’s an urban school there is no grass playing field, but the square pictured above has great potential to be a hive of sporting excellence with a little help from you.
The exception this will have from other charitable endeavours is you will actually be able to see the fruits of your generosity come to life. Rather than dropping a couple of quid in well shook collection box with a photo id of dubious quality attached, I will be able to post pictures of the children partaking with gleeful aplum with your donations.
Plaques reading:
The Mrs J Lee ‘Butterly’ dance mat
The Mr N Chester ‘Well bone’ skate ramp
The Mr S.L. Blank ‘Powerhouse’ gym
Any hoo, I have tried to set up one of those ‘Just Giving’ accounts but it looks like you have to be a registered charity to go on it so I will have to settle with an email (maxkennedy@hotmail.co.uk) should you want to contribute- unless anyone knows of a more efficient means.
In a country where the average wage is less than £10 no contribution is too small.Even enough to buy some table tennis balls would be a godsend as I am not sure how many more ‘Star Jumps’ I can do and keep sane.
After having spent two months without turning a tap or flicking a light switch I bid farewell to Konko. The dusty road is replaced by the sandy beach. Mud walls with concrete. The jungle mist (I hope) will become a sea breeze. As I cram into a local tro-tro public minibus, the wind of change also blows across Africa. Its collective psyche jumped a notch this week as Barack Obama entered the Whitehouse. Reggae songs bearing his name blear out of radios and chalk boards announce parties in his honour. As I settle down in my new abode, the deafening calls of frogs and crickets have been replaced by muffled music from the beach, the sound of a cooling fan and the prospect of a cold beer!!
But it's a case of 'ko bra' ('go and come' in Twi) because in two weeks I will be back to visit the bush for my birthday and have already selected the goat which is to be killed and shared to celebrate. But for now it's time for some modern century R&R- Microchips, Segway tours, Laser disk movies- whatever it takes.
While half of the village's kids have torso akin to junior Peter Andres, the other half seem to going for the Jocky Wilson look. On further enquiry it turns out they don't in fact have a secret darts league in the bush but their paunches are the work of worms. Apart from leaving the kids constantly famished, there are a lot of not so nice side effects from these uninvited guests. After a chat with a local clinic it seems one tablet before bed time is all required to show them the door.
So on November 8th I staged Konko's inaugural 'Stomachs in Need'. After procuring 200 tablets we set up store in the school. The nurse administered the medicine while I played Terry Wogan, weaving the occasional anecdote between awarding prizes for 'best stomach in show' and 'best newcomer' for some of the babies. Within three hours we had reached our 200 target on the 'stomachometer'.
My time in the bush is drawing to a close. But before I can leave the charcoal fires, wandering goats and chickens there are a few loose ends to be tied.
First off, the school has to be finished. After forty days flying solo and a crumbling spine I decided to accept some of the guys' offers to lend me a hand. Obviously they can paint a thousand times quicker than me while using one tenth of the paint so progress from this point accelerated somewhat. While at the same time picking up a few colourful Twi words along the way as the banter flowed. My personal favourite being 'oakrasini' meaning 'villager'. Nobody wants to be labelled as such so it comes in handy for gentle cajolement, especially while coaching football i.e. 'last one to fill in the blank is an oakrasini.'
Two days before my departure date, 52 days, 27 buckets of paint, two rollers and seven brushes later we finished and dined out on warm beer and rice. I don't think the Ghanaian Elle Decoration will be calling to do a double page spread nevertheless it definitely looks a lot better. Plus my attitude is that any splatters of paint are due to the influence of Jackson Pollock rather than poor workmanship.
P.S. All the guys in this picture informed me that they are looking for white wives, sight unseen if necessary, if that should be of interest to anyone. It's just I promised them I'd mention it.
Rastamanand me took a rest from the bush and headed to the Capital for the Celebration of the Coronation of His Highness The Emperor Haile Selassie. If Church of England services were this much fun I am positive that Britain’s churches would be packed to the rafters with young worshippers
When a funeral comes to the village the place temporarily transforms to the African equivalent of Ibiza. They bring generators and blare out music from 7 in the morning till the small hours for three days solid.Whether you have ever met the deceased is of no importance, you pay your respects by dancing all night and getting a little merry. With no electricity, when the chance to party appears the locals don’t have to be asked twice.
This occasion afforded me the opportunity to sample the local tipple. Brewed out in the bush from sugar cane and some other unspecified ingredients. The first of couple of swigs were a bit of a challenge, but after the initial shock and once the spluttering subsided I started to develop a bit of a taste for it. A cross between petrol and mead, if it will keep, it will definitely make a welcome addition to the cocktail cabinet. “Would anyone care for a bush brew martini?”
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