Nzulez-who?

Our latest travels took us Westward to a coastal town called Beyin. The resort we stayed in is home to one of the largest and most peaceful beaches I’ve seen, for both humans and nesting turtles (we didn’t manage to see any, sadly.) Instead we got an awesome thunderstorm, the cabin flashing with light and shaking as if God himself was walking across the sky.

On Saturday morning we headed to one of Ghana’s principal tourist attractions – the stilt village of Nzulezo (try saying that with a mouthful of noodles!)

A village home to 450 people, Nzulezo sits slap bang in the middle of Lake Tadane, accessible only by canoe. Its residents are in fact farmers, and no-one knows exactly why they decided to build their village on water instead of land. Perhaps they just got confused

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Visits are frequent from domestic tourists and foreigners alike, who come from far and wide to visit this strange place. In many ways it is like any Ghanaian village – it has electricity, food stores, churches, and friendly people (surprising given the amount of tourists they have to suffer). The only difference is no football. And they watch their small children a hell of a lot more closely!

The canoe trip itself was spectacular - 5km through tunnels of reeds and dragonflies, opening out onto an enormous lake and parking up “underneath” the village. In a way it epitomises travel in Ghana: uncomfortable, yet so much to see that you seldom care.

The main mode of transport here is the tro-tro; a small minibus carrying as much as physically possible. They travel to almost all destinations, stopping wherever you like, and picking up bystanders from the road side on any road. Absurdly cheap and constantly cramped, a 40 minute journey into town costs just 1.20 (40p), but you may have to share your seat with an intimidatingly large woman. Our 7-hour round trip to Beyin cost us 18c in total (£6), including bone-shattering jolts from the cratered road surface, and a hilarious old lady who couldn’t stop making funny faces.

Tro-tros have their own code of conduct with regards to getting on and paying. Alongside the driver in each vehicle is the “mate”, who leans out of the window and shouts “Takoradi, Takoradi” or “Accra! Accra!” as loud as he can to entice customers. Once you have successfully flagged down a tro-tro (after shouting your destination and improvising some hand signals), you then have to negotiate the tricky task of paying for your journey... Watch out for the mate’s eye contact. Does he want my money now? Everyone is looking at me. How much does it cost? Rummage through wallet. Does he have change? This exchange will usually take place via the medium of hand signals.

The standard of English among many locals is really poor, and most will speak their tribal languages to each other – so when travelling around here, its better to use as few words as possible. Wherever you travel there are people queuing up to sell you oranges, plantain, raw eggs, fish heads…you name it, it’s there.

I’m gradually getting used to the food here, despite the protests of my taste buds. Most of our meals at the school consist of rice and fish in a sauce which ranges from hot and tasty to leaving your lips stinging until bed time. It’s all delicious, despite occasionally leaving you with your mouth at the sink. Plantain and yam are a treat here. After initially grabbing burger and chips at every opportunity I can now survive on a store of biscuits in my room and eat everything I’m given. The oranges and bananas are incredible. The pineapples are so soft and sweet I don’t think I can have one in Britain again! The bread comes in a range; tea bread, sweet bread, or butter bread - all fantastically dense and great for breakfast.

I’m feel embarrassed when I run them through the list of meals I can cook… Welsh cakes are the only thing I can think of making which is genuinely British and easily attempted. I’m going to try and introduce Ghanaians to them this week.

Bon appetite