The journey continues......

The morning after – I am still hoarse from shouting and worn out from this rollercoaster white knuckle ride. Go Black Stars, Go Ghana. Hosai Ghana! Last night battling our way through the crowds after the game – “Are you happeee? From your heart? We won your people!!” Just about everybody is on the streets – barefoot snotty kids, grandmas, Assembly members – all come out together to celebrate their heroes. Cars with flashing lights and blaring horns speed through the heaving mass of dancers - singing, drumming, screaming hordes.

“If God is with us anything is possible” – an enduring image – Goalkeeper Kingston – arms held aloft to the heavens – guardian angel of the Black Stars goal. He has become a favourite – at times brilliant, at others erratic – “eccentric” in the words of one pundit. In the game against Germany he played a blinder but in the end even he could not prevent a goal. At the other end the forwards just could not find the net. It was left to the men of oz – and the hand of God – to save the day, running out unlikely winners against a polished Serbian side, that could not take their chances. Fate again saw the Americans score in the very last seconds to clinch top spot and set up last night’s game.

Feverish speculation up and down the land about the lack of goals, the tactics of the coach – the scruffy Serb who doesn’t speak English – his loyalties questioned. The Pastors working overtime to win heavenly grace and who knows what juju sacrifices as the country prepares to take on the might of Amerika. One man tells me that he is relieved that Ghana is not playing England, “our colonial masters” so that unnecessary tensions can be avoided. It is hard to grasp how much this means to everyone – forget the happy, colourful, sanitised multi kulti Africa presented by the international greed machine – here in the sweaty heat, the dirt and dust, nothing else matters – the Black Stars carry the dreams and aspirations of the whole of Africa and they are proud.

The Minister of Communications has urged discipline and modesty in the celebrations to prevent “ill effects” – wasting time! On Saturday the town closes – the whole of Ghana shuts up shop – only one thing now on everyone’s minds – the game. The excitement and apprehension mounts as evening approaches. Flags, whistles – the vuvuzela – the hour approaches. One common belief, one faith – Go Black Stars. The game at last kicks off – and before anyone has settled Prince Boateng has run half the length of the pitch to score a cracking goal – hysteria – have to check that we are not dreaming. Someone grabs me in a great bear hug - “I love you, I love you people”. Singing, dancing, we are on the way. Half time – so far so good but then the tide turns. After the break the yanks are off the block and take the game by the scruff of the neck. A goal has to come and sure enough they win a penalty – all square. For the rest of the game the Black Stars are on the back foot, restricted to occasional counter attacks and defending for their lives.


Extra time and somehow – by God’s grace – Black Stars get a new burst of energy and within minutes they are back in front – Gyan scores a brilliant goal – brings tears to the eyes. From then on we all know they can do it. Everyone runs their socks off – this is a team that plays together, for each other – Kingston holds the fort, sinking to his knees at the final whistle, giving thanks to God. The dream a little closer, the eyes and hearts of afrika – hosai Ghana – stumbling home, shaking hands, embracing, cheering – yes we are happeeee!

Ghana 1 Serbia 0

The whole town is on the streets, people cheering, waving flags, blowing their vuvuzeola, deafening horns - yellow plastic courtesy of MTN, official sponsors . Wow – the Black Stars did everyone proud – played their hearts out and deservedly won. Heart stopping moments – Serbia down to ten men but with fifteen minutes left to play, suddenly looking dangerous – Kingston the keeper makes a stunning save – we breathe again and then the penalty. Cool as ice – our man number three, Asamoah Gyan steps forward – no mistake – he buries it away – everyone on their feet ecstatic. The whole place erupts in joy - dancing, screaming - heaven. The rain has stopped – the telly held out – no power outages today – we are on our way. Go Black Stars – Go.
Party o

We are ready - Go Black Stars, Go

It is Sunday morning - just a few hours to go, prayers are being said in churches for our heroes - don't let us down - onwards to victory and new glories. The whole place will come to a standstill, streets empty, silence except for the roars and cheers when the goals go in - we hope. A tough match, the opener, against a tough team - Serbia and mixed loyalties for the Black Stars coach - but an overwhelming confidence and anticipation that we will do well - especially after the Africa Cup of Nations.

It is rumoured that President Mills flew out yesterday to join the boys at their training camp - to motivate them and remind them of the heavy burden they shoulder on behalf of the nation - it all rests on you! Kofi Annan, big football fan was there too - he thinks that the young team have big hearts and will deliver the goods. Hard to imagine David Cameron doing the same - play to win chaps!

Football frenzy - Africa. The incessant, continual babble of everything football - television, radio, street corner - we will win, we will win. Mesmerising Messi - our arch rivals the Super Eagles played off the park by all accounts. Shaky England, poor tactics and poor goalkeeping (every keeper's nightmare - takes me back to childhood dreams and agonies between the sticks). Or is it the new fangled Ball doing strange things, flying long and unpredictably, or some terrible conspiracy - radio controlled to take out the enemy?

Everyone loves to talk and talk and shout - I have never seen people get so excited about the smallest decision, throw in, goal kick, anywhere - even by football fan standards everywhere - at one recent game someone even demanded that everyone stay for a post match review - wow and that is in the claustrophobic sweat and heat of a tin shack with fifty hot bodies pressed together in front of a small screen.

In Accra the whole city is awash with flags, banners, caps, shirts exhorting our heroes to win. Every street hawker has something football to sell - plastic hooters, wall charts, wrist bands, streamers - berating any taxi driver they find who does not fly a flag. Here in Ho it is a little more low key - people dont have the spending power of their city compatriots but it is no less passionate. Everywhere you go people want to talk about the match.

So - the minutes are ticking away, the build up is on - I have my new Black Stars shirt but first need to get to the market to do the shop. Soon people will cluster and huddle around every television and radio - Africa World Cup - we are ready - Go Black Stars - Go!

"Under Arrest"

The other day we were walking into town with our friends Theo and Nelleke. At the T junction where the Accra road meets the main Ho high street – known as “Civic” – a huge, ancient articulated truck had somehow managed to overturn, spilling its load of hardboard and blocking traffic in all directions. Quite a spectacle!

Another lorry had arrived and a gang of young workers, sweating profusely in the midday sun, were transferring the spoilt load to the new vehicle. They were keen to pose and asked me to take photos – showing off and joking. After a few snaps I walked around to the other side of the overturned lorry as the others walked on, needless to say fascinated by the huge lifeless wheels, poking in the air.

I was just focusing when two policemen shouted – stop – come here – are you a journalist – do you have permission to take photographs – you should have asked us – sit down – you are under arrest – we are taking you to the police station. I am bemused, a little overwhelmed by the quick fire orders – all a bit surreal but sit down and keep a smile on my face – plead innocence. I explain that the workers had asked me to take photos – it is not against the law to take photos etc –my inner voice telling me to stay calm, but it cuts no ice.

The smaller of the two coppers, bloodshot eyes, mean looking in camouflage fatigues – really not very pleasant at all – keeps drilling me. He seems determined to take me to the station, muttering that he should confiscate my camera. It is all getting a little weird now and it begins to dawn on me that maybe they are serious and at the very least this is going to involve some cash. By now the others have tweaked what’s going on and Kiran arrives and begins to plead my case. How can you arrest my husband – I will be alone – she begins to build a bridge with the younger, junior officer.

Then Nelleke notices his name badge – he is called Evanz – an unusual name, which he claims to be Dutch. Ah ha, we are Dutch too, handshakes and greetings – a new conversation begins. His first name in Grunski – that really does seem to be beyond the realms of probability – Evanz Grunski. No matter – the ice is broken now. While Alex, the older, mean cop grimaces and makes angry grunt like noises, Grunski loosens up – soon we are all the best of friends – or at least Kiran, Theo and Nelleke are all getting on famously with Grunski.

We have won. Now it is a matter of time – I will go free – no dash. We exchange ewe greetings. I am to be let off this time. I am even invited by Grunski to take pictures – I decline. Finally after more endless handshakes, Grunski tells me about a visit to Scotland. A similar experience – being asked by locals what he is up to. I remind him though that he wears a uniform. We smile – one final handshake and a high five. I escape and catch up with the others, hoping that we do not come across Alex again somewhere down the road and wondering if I am dreaming. Grunski Evanz indeed!