My kingdom for a ludlow*

I've had a few pieces of furniture made by the remarkable cane weavers across the road. The furniture is unique, custom-made and very African. People have asked for photos so here are a couple.

The first is my matching bookcases that are almost-but-just-not-quite square (in fact, one's a parallelogram and the other has a wicked Pisa-like lean away from the wall).

The second is my new couch, which has two, possibly three legs the same length. It's a slimmed down version of my bed - I love sleeping at altitude after months on the floor! And embracing all the tiny little ants running over me in the morning.

(* I'm reliably told that a ludlow is that wodge of folded paper that you put under a table leg to stop it wobbling. Really.)

Hello Mr Friday Twin

I get called 'Aunty' a lot here (which I like a whole lot more than Madam). Kind people have told me this is an informal Ghanaian term of respect to someone older. Hmph.

There is a naming system in Akan language that is a more complex version of Bali's Wayan-Made-Nyoman-Ketut. Traditionally, a person's first name comes from the day (of the week) they were born while their surname is often that of a respected family member or close friend.

So Kwadwo is a boy born on Monday and Adwoa is a Monday girl. Kwabena and Abena are Tuesday's children; Kwaku/Koku and Akua are born on Wednesday; Yaw/Ekow and Yaa are Thursdays; Kofi and Afia are Fridays; Kwame and Amma are Saturdays and Akwasi/Kwasi and Akosua round out the week.

Then, there might also be names that are based on order of birth in a family - Piesie for the first born, Manu/Maanu for the second, Mensa/Mansa for the third and so on.

There are also informal names that might be given if there is something out of the ordinary about the birth. Ata/Ataa means twin, Afuom means 'in the field'(!) and Nyamekye means 'gift from God' and is given to a child born after a mother may have given up hope of pregnancy.

So a name can mean a lot here. Take Ghana's favourite son Kofi Atta Annan - not only born on a Friday, but also a twin. And I will now answer to Yaa Maanu. And Princess.

Dear taxi drivers of Accra...

Some important tips for the health of our ongoing relationship:

1. If I need a lift, I will let you know.

2. Or put another way, If I don't wave you down, it means I don't need a lift.

3. Not even if you beep continuously from 200m behind me to 200m in front of me.

4. If I ignore you, it's probably because 50 of your mates have already beeped at me that morning and I'm contemplating taxicide.

5. The twisty hand gesture, the offended why-are-you-depriving-me look and especially that hissing noise won't change my mind.

Seriously guys, the beeping is driving me nuts.

Yours, with a nervous tic,

They did

I was recently invited to a wedding, which was a lovely honour, and great fun.

It was held in a very new church - ie still under construction, but the bunting took your eyes away from the ladders and pipes.

The pasteur wore a gardening hat, the best girl (and the best boy's waistcoat) wore bright orange and interestingly the choir wore gowns and mortar boards.

The congregation wore every other colour and definitely their dancing shoes. The bride and groom wore huge grins.

Is this why they have mirrors in elevators?

I'm not even sure what to say about this. Caboolture High French lessons did not equip me for Senegalese hotels with a penchant for dermatological correctness.

French lessons are a priority this year - most of my work is in Francophone countries and I'm tired of not being able to ask questions. And even when I know the right words, my pronunciation lets me down.

Recently I was asked for my order by a waiter in a restaurant in Dakar. I ordered soup and told him I wasn't particularly hungry ("je n'ai pas beaucoup de faim"). What came out was "I'm not much of a woman" (faim, femme - tomayto, tomato).

After a startled moment, he asked if I'd like wine. I'm still not sure if this was to drown my sorrows or rekindle my appetite.

Recycling at its beautiful best

Happy 2013 and happy almost-year-of-the-snake! It's been a while since my last post (thanks to David, Mike and Paul for pointing this out - you guys are so bossy), so I'll kick off the new year with something very close to my heart.

At the end of last year I visited a wonderful bead 'production plant' - hard to describe because it was a lovely outdoor affair along a dusty dirt road, with a riot of bottles, kilns and paints combining to make the most amazing beads.

Most Ghana beads are actually made from old bottles, windows and broken beads that have been ground up and re-fired in home-made pottery moulds with a cassava tree 'wick' for a hole.

Once the beads are cool, they're rolled by hand to perfect the shape and then polished in these shallow stone dishes with sand and water.

Needless to say, I'm doing what I can for the Ghanaian bead economy.