Talk of the Town

The local community seem to have cottoned on that we're in town. Today, we had a series of shouts greeting us with 'obruni!', to which the twi translation is 'Hey You! White person!'' considering the potentially offensive nature of this comment, it is probably important to note that this happens to be our main distinguishing feature. I have never stood out more.

The greeting is usually followed with an 'etisenne?'. If we respond with 'mehuye', fine thanks, people cheer and poke the person next to them. Others, usually braver, more fearless children come up to us staring and ask 'how are you.' in English. When we respond they either stare back in wonder or run away smiling. Walking through the market, the lady selling gigantic (seriously, seriously gigantic) snails had a similar reaction to us than we had to the snails. Then she tried to sell us some.

I think today's highlight though comes courtesy of a step located on a dusty side street off the market. Janet, Wendy and I sat chewing through the Ghanaian equivalent of a chocolate ice lolly. As we watched the world watching us, we were greeted, waved at, stared at, welcomed and smiled at. Traffic briefly stopped. A street vendor took a seat across from us and eyed us warily, waiting for us to do something crazy. I think we disappointed her when all we did was eat.

Later, when I briefly lost my friends, a group of women all pointed down the street and into a shop: 'your friends are that way.' Very helpful.

The local dressmaker also knew who we were. A group of more experienced seamstresses manned sewing machines in the balcony. I asked one lady if this was the place another friend had been in. She replied with a: 'yes. Your friend, she's tall and a little bit wide. Yes she's been here.' Pull no punches ladies.

I was then introduced to Madam, a short, fierce looking woman wearing a beautiful, clingy handmade dress and yelling into her mobile phone. She continued to yell as I proceeded to be sat down in front of an array of dress catalogues, prompted to skip patterns that wouldn't suit my body shape, age and style before being measured: chest, hips, bum and even the distance between my nipples. I was asked if I planned on hoiking my boobs up any more than where they were already; I gave an answer and was given an approving nod before being re measured.

Madam operated a swift, efficient business noting down all numbers in a carbon copy log sheet. Her seamstress apprentice minions fluttered around me, some at beautiful, hand wound singer sewing machines, others watching me make my decisions. Everyone was on their toes--I get the impression Madam doesn't put up with any crap.

And when all the particulars were done, I gave her my fabric (bought at a stall in the market--3 yards for 20 cedi/£6.50), agreed a price (25 cedi/£8) and a pickup date in two days' time. I hope the dress turns out half as beautiful as the dresses so many of the women wear here--I don't have the bum to pull off half the fashion nor do I have the skin tone, but if I can pull off a funky pattern back in the UK, I'll call it a success.

It was more of the same on the walk back to the hotel. People made busy getting on with their lives whilst we temporarily caused the day's gossip for some of them.

I can't help but fall in love with this country.