On My Way To Keta

For me, any invitation to attend a funeral outside of Darkunam-Accra is a chance to engage myself in domestic tourism activities, so when it happened that l had to travel to Keta for a funeral ceremony, I said to myself, ?afah? to wit l?m glad and quickly l started researching for what will be interesting to experience in Keta so that l can take advantage of my visit to get myself acquainted with what is tourist about Keta and its environs. I don?t intend to list what l got but l must say that the Keta Sea Defense Wall, the Keta lagoon and the elaborate Anglo cemeteries as well as ?Akpeteshie were prominent on my rather uncharacteristically short agenda.

I left home as early as 5am hoping to catch the first bus to Keta so as not to miss the burial of a man I?m sure l never met but whose children l grew up with at Nsukwo in Koftown. In fact l shared some of my best moments during childhood with these guys. The Benz bus with registration number GR 9295 K took off smoothly, and then suddenly a young man emerged in the front row, stretched his slim body while twisting his nothing-to-write-home-about moustache, then l asked myself ?whether he was going to sell, herbal medication or one of the gospels according to something.

The young man who spoke kind of Togolose dialect in ewe did both of what l thought.. He started with a prayer that as usual ended in Jesus name and then sold a herbal medical concoction specifically for headache but have the potency to cure nearly all ailments. I?m sure he forgot about bird flu. The journey was smooth and the towns as well as the junctions were fast coming away until we got to Matsekope junction a place few kilometers to Ada junction when suddenly the front tyre at the driver side of the bus blasted, it was all screams and shouts of Jesus! And God knows what other names were invoked as the bus was dancing on the road just like Ablade Kumah would do with a football on a good day in a Hearts of Oak match. The driver managed to direct the bus to a stop at the shoulder of the road for the deflated tyre to be replaced. Within a short time we were on the road again but within a few kilometers, the replacement tyre too blasted and this time the bus was traveling really fast so it was very dangerous moments for all on the bus and there was a re-enactment of the first drama and JESUS featured prominently again. And the driver did it again, he managed to control the bus to the shoulder of the road, here we had to change bus to continue.

In the second bus, well another Benz, l realized that l was sitting beside a pastor, what a relieve it was for me. This time the driver was quiet elderly, about 55 years, who knows, probably more. He was always singing to himself and l guess he was doing that to keep awake. In no time we were at Sogakope, where a young policeman signaled the driver to stop and he pulled up suddenly. The policeman peeped into the vehicle and asked the driver ?where is your seat belt? Ha ha ha, this vehicle was built before l was born and at that time there was no seat belts. ? Okay carry on? instructed the policeman. Then we continued and again it was smooth with driver whistling to himself until a quarrel developed somewhere in the middle seat. There was wild exchange of unprintable words between a man and a woman. This woman who sat beside the man was dosing and in the process leaning on the man, thus making life in the bus uncomfortable for the man. What was more, the woman was discharging saliva as well so our friend got bored woke the woman and ordered her to sit up and clean her mouth and she became wild. The quarrel became so wild that the driver threatened to stop the bus, that he did and it took us 25 minutes to calm these two angry adults. We the other passengers even threatened to evict them from the bus just like it happens at the mentor house. We managed to get somebody to swap seat with the man and so we continued the journey.

When life became normal again, l had the chance now to observe what along the road. I noticed that there were a lot of NGO activities in the villages and towns, and their activities ranged from HIV / AIDS to sustainable farming practices. I also saw elaborate cemeteries mostly with cement sculptures on graves; they were a delight to see but l was wondering whether the dead themselves would have wished to invest so much money into such fancy buildings of a graves.

I was wondering who started this graveyard decorating enterprise it started raining suddenly and it was pouring heavily even more than what was coming from the woman?s mouth, you remember her?

When we were entering Keta itself, the rain was so heavily pouring that l had to stay put at the funeral home until it was time return to Accra. But l learnt something else. Very interestingly Ewes call the Cemetary ? benigla? or something that sounds like that. I was told it is burying grounds that has been corrupted for may be 400 years be become as Ewe noun. Next time a funeral comes your way; it is tourism that has knocked on your door. You have the Chance to learn the details of other people?s culture and many more things.

By Richard Kwame DEBRAH (Tourism Analyst)

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