Let Fate Decide: Tamale Edition

Monday, June 24, 13

            Today was one of those days that, when you ask me what Ghana’s really like, I’ll tell you all about; where a series of unexpected events results in pure adventure, smiles foe everyone involved, and everything somehow works out brilliantly.  

            After heading to bed at 9:30,  I woke up early at 7:30 to a thunderous rainstorm.  In Ghana, the rainstorms don’t ever last long – there’s a burst of heavy rain followed by relatively clear skies for a short while before the next one.  I joined Keith for some mango and Ankaa before heading out with Dave for egg sandwiches.  The breakfast was odd; the cook didn't understand our order correctly and we ended up with one monstrous egg sandwich and a cup of tea mixed with instant coffee and a whole lot of sugar.  I was the tea recipient, and drank as much as I could before I decided to peel off in search of interviewees.  

Keith and his chunky egg sandwich

 

This goat was eying us with quite an impressive mustache

            My first stop was a Bel Aqua salesman.  A nice man, Abraham pointed me in the general direction of some water plants, but I had trouble understanding his English.  I decided I’d take a different route; one off the beaten main strip of town.  I took an offshoot down to the left, followed that for a while, and took a few more cuts deeper into the residential area of Tamale hoping to get lost ant take a taxi out later in the day. 

            Far down one street, I could see a lot of commotion and many people gathered near a mosque.  I decided “Why not,” and headed to the cluster.  After returning all the hello’s form the younger crowd, I talked to a man named Hassad who informed me that the gathering was a registry and photo event for National Health Service.  Ghana has recently decided to subsidize the healthcare industry and provide basic healthcare to all Ghanaians who aren’t on a private health plan.  After getting a tour, Hassad fetched his younger brother to bring me to a sachet plant.  

National Health Service registry - notice the picture station to the left

            On our walk, I gathered an entourage of small boys and girls. Obviously, this deep in the village, white people don’t often stroll through.  We arrived at the water plant, Mirror Water, but it was closed.  I asked if they knew of another sachet plant, and an older man nearby overheard the conservation and directed us to another plant.  After another quick walk, we “arrived.”  Or so they told me.  We had walked to the central market, but I wasn’t convinced that here, in the heart of town, a sachet plant was producing.  I asked if I could see the plant, and my entourage asked the woman something in Dagbani.  She quickly moved to a large wooden trunk and began to move large animal skins onto a small table.  She had goat, lamb, snake, alligator, and more.  I stopped her and told the kids – I want to see a “Sachet water plant.”  They all nodded, pleased that they had brought me to my destination.  Obviously my English wasn't working out well, so I decided to go for a visual.  I walked down to the gutter and pulled out an empty sachet.  Everyone – the kids and the skin saleswomen – had an “OH, that’s what he meant” moment.  Apparently sachet water in Dagbani must sound like animal skins. 
            A young man overheard my confusion, and introduced himself as Joseph.  Joseph said he knew of a plant nearby, but we would have to take his motorcycle. “Sure, why not” I said.  He hopped on, and I sat on the metal crate on back, and we drove out of the marketplace. He didn’t talk much on the motorbike, but he let me take a picture of us while riding.

If you can't tell, I'M ON THE BACK OF THIS MOTORCYCLE

            We drove very far, at least 3-4 miles out of town, before reaching a large water plant.  I pointed out the plant, noticing the trucks.  Here, I met Sharif, the salesman for “Icepack” water.  He gladly agreed to a nice, long, recorded interview.  Afterwards, we were sitting in some large armchairs outside the plant, and Sharif said, “Oh, my father has come.”  At the gates, a nice Toyota pulled up.  There were at least half a dozen people, mostly children, in the car.  The driver, however, was no child; An older man with a salt and pepper mustache stepped out of the car.  He wore mirror aviator sunglasses, a traditional northern Ghanaian robe, and had a cigarette between his grinning teeth.  Sharif had told me a little bit about his family, how his great grandfather had immigrated to Tamale from Lebanon, and this man certainly was not Ghanaian looking.  But he certainly was Ghanaian.

The big man and I!

            The man introduced himself as Faiz Moutrage, but Mochacho was his nickname (he had a thick mustache).  We talked for a long while about politics, immigration, business, and I quickly learned that this was a very important man.  He owned  a sachet water plant as a side business in addition to running the Tamale Coca Cola plant across the street (a HUGE factory).  He was a war hero during the revolution in the 80s, showing me scars and bones that had been broken and healed poorly.  In addition, he was a tribal chief of Tamale; but not just any chief, the head chief of the northern district.  And to top it all off, he had recently served as a member of parliament in Accra (the equivalent of a senator).  He shared campaign posters with me, both for his parliamentary campaign and bid for vice president (unsuccessful; he was the CPP candidate, the third party in Ghana and least powerful).  All through this meeting, everyone else around me was silent and kept their heads down; this was a very important guy I had run into!

The poster he gave me from his successful parlaiment campaign - his pseudonym was "Mochacho" during war times

            After pictures, thanks, and phone number exchanges (he entered his name in my contacts as “CHIEF MOCHACHO”), Joseph and I hopped on the motorcycle again and headed far out of town, maybe for a 20 minute ride, to another sachet water plant for another interview.  By now I couldn't stop grinning, and I was hungry for lunch, so I asked if he could give me a ride back to town.  He obliged, but first, he said I’d have to see the national stadium.  We headed to an ENORMOUS stadium which holds 40,000 people, and arrived at the front gate.  Joseph sweet talked the guard to get us in, and I got to explore the stadium floor!  Incredible.

It was pretty cool getting let into the floor of the national stadium

Joseph, my motorcycle buddy, and I

            Joseph finally brought me back to town, and the rest of the day was filled with storytelling, transcription, and some cold Ghanaian beer.  It may seem foolish to rely on fate, but Ghana seems to always deliver.