Kumasi, the gold of the Ashanti
It was difficult to find accommodation in Koforidua, and I had to spend the night outside the town. The next day I set out to
In
Some hawkers do without a proper display and content themselves with unfolding bales of clothes and putting the contents out for sale at knockout prices. Fashion clothes from overseas clearance sales or directly from Chinese factory outlets are advertised by the shouting vendors, their voices sometimes outstripped by the blaring amplification of street preachers.
If you’re hungry, food is not lacking, but again, the impression is one of improvisation. It seems that whoever wants to run a food joint can do so by just placing a roadside stand and offer cooked food or prepare it then and there.
Life seems harsher, dirtier, and more disorderly in the city that in the countryside. Some denizens like to show off their elegance sporting gaudy jewellery, ridiculous dresses, unnatural hairstyles, and take on a vulgar look compared to simple country folk. I feel a gulf opening between me and this lack of refinement.
The Presbyterian, Methodist and Catholic churches all occupy as many hill tops as if each had vied to conquer a position of pre-eminence. I chose to stay at the Presbyterian guesthouse.
***
I visited the small museum, and gained an insight into
The mythical sword that indicated the position of the
I averted my gaze, but a pungent stench of formaldehyde reached my nostrils from the morgue, and I was again reminded I was in the very presence of death. Characteristic as it might be, I was unable to bring myself round to snap a picture because somehow it seemed an ill-fated thing to do. For a moment I imagined having to face the nightmare of hospital.
It took the market to heal me from this shocking experience. Monday is terribly busy after the weekend rest. It was so disorienting that I hesitated penetrating into the compound, but once inside the impression was altogether different. It is organised in an orderly fashion, and I enjoyed observing wax print fabrics, vegetable sellers, slipper makers, and yam roots being unloaded from a lorry. The immense area occupied by the stalls is sheltered under corrugated iron. All around, the old railway line is the only passageway for shoppers, the rest being invaded by sellers. It makes rather inconvenient walking because of the decrepit cross beams, but it is very original. Hausa sellers with their straw hats and white tunics add a note of exoticism to this already interesting place.