After the near-trade of my services and womanly charms in Abonu (of which there weren’t enough goats in the village to offer Graeme in exchange for me) I’ve banished Graeme to the kitchen. The guys who live and work at the compound where we’re staying never cease to be amused by his presence over the propane range, a place where few Ghanaian men frequent. I reckon he’ll fetch a fair price among Ghanaian women if and when I ever have the chance to barter him in exchange for an interview. Bah! (plus I’m better at card games, in particular cribbage, than him! -- thanks for that suggestion casabooboo.)
Our first foray into an African village was quite the experience! After a grueling hike in the midday heat we arrived in Obu, a small village with just a few families. We were greeted with gusto and the young women insisted on showing me their secret handshake (which involved snapping, touching your lips and shaking and rubbing your booty into the hip of the other woman.) After much laughter and a few missed hip checks I got into the groove. We were again accosted for money and we fled, vowing to return next time with something besides money for this village.
Obu is akin to our Atlin; an oasis from traffic, people and the hustle of a city. We lounged in hammocks on the beach, stayed in a small bungalow surrounded by mango and orange trees and enjoyed the company of about a dozen small white cats.
We swam in Lake Bosumtwi, a primordial boiling experience, as the lake was created by a meteorite 1.3 million of years ago and its shallowness lends itself to feeling more like a hot bath than a refreshing dunk.
I am sure we will return to Obu and to Lake Bosumtwi. As for the chief who may or may not believe I’m his, perhaps another bottle of raspberry Schnapp’s can seal the deal! T.