JUST A JOG IN THE PARK---WELL, NO PARKS

What IS it like to jog in Kumasi??
Well, the weather is always fine. We do not have a thermometer, but listening to some weather forecasts on the T.V. we gather that it may drop to 22-23 degreees Celsius overnight. Those of you who jog will know that runners have a special mind that makes up excuses for why one must not jog today. Ghana takes away all the excuses for rain, sleet, hail, snow, mud, wind, cold etc. and every morning is ‘fine’.
At my age my legs talk to me. They say “Oh no! not again, don’t your remember you are supposed to REST! We just did this run yesterday!! We are old parts and we might break”. My heart on the other hand is more concise and says “exercise or die”. And so I live in a constant state of cognitive dissidence, knowing I must and wishing I didn’t have to.
So when I leave the house about 6AM it is just turning light enough to see where to put the feet. Down the walkway I turn left and head up the hill. Immediately the legs begin a new protest because the hill is pretty steep, but the mind says it is a short way to the top and an excellent warm up when done slowly. It is Saturday today and fewer people about than most weekdays. I turn left on Kwadaso Road and head toward Agrec Junction.
I make it a habit to greet everyone that I meet. Although English is the official language of Ghana, most of the population converses in their native tongue, which in our area is Twi. I have met young people who don’t speak Twi and older folks who don’t speak English, so I use both official and unofficial languages, greeting most of the older folks with “ma chin” and younger folks with ‘good morning’. And then ‘eta zen ‘ and ‘how are you’ follow.
The responses fall into 3 main categories. The first is the shy or sullen response, and it is hard to tell which is which, but many very young persons are just shy to speak to “o bruni” the white man and so they quietly say “ay ye”—I am fine. Very few in this category are actually mute, but even some of those may be of old English tradition and we have not been ‘properly introduced’.
The second group is the typical responsive happy Ghanaian reply with a broad grin and a cheerful “Good morning, how are you?”, to which I may usually reply “ni me y’adoum meh hoy ya”—by the grace of God I am fine! When I ask, I will usually get the same grace of God answer. I get 4 replies to my question: ay ye—I am fine, ay yo which seems a bit better, bo koar—better still and the religious reply by the grace of God.
The third group I call the slave group, which is mostly older folks who appear to have an attitude of subservience and reply ‘good morning, Sir’ or simply comment on the weather and reply ‘fine morning!’, accompanied by a small bowing action or head nodding. Replying to THEM in their native tongue usually gets broad smiles and a welcoming attitude, frequently with Akwaaba—you are welcome.
Plodding up the pavement to the junction, I turn left and go down the hill towards Wamase, and have twice caught other runners on this long downhill stretch. Trudging up the hill, having crossed the bridge, I turn left onto the dirt road leading over to Apres. There is a bore hole (well) here on the corner and I always greet the group that are hand-pumping the water and as they get accustomed to me some will even greet me. Initial contact is almost never made by the Ghanains.
To prove my point, I raise my head to see a man walking toward me and looking right into my face but says nothing. I hold his gaze for a few steps and just as he passes I say good morning and he replies to my back as we have passed. All along this residential route, children will call out to me “o bruni” or ‘eta zen’ and want to be greeted and waved to.
I keep my eyes peeled through here because this is where the scruffy dog bit me last year. I haven’t seen him this year even once. Perhaps his bad behaviour led to his demise. Another dirt coloured cur is lying on the roadside and watches me watching him. As I pass he doesn’t move his head, only following with his eyes, and appearing to give me the “evil eye”. I feel guilty and don’t know why. Perhaps he knows that just ahead two of his friends fall in behind me and begin to follow my steps. I turn around to face them just as a bellow from their master causes them to stop in their tracks and allow me to continue.
I have reached the main crossroad into Apres, and last year would have turned left and gone up to the Samaritan Villa, but this year I turn around and begin to retrace my steps because the hill out of Apres is way too dusty with early morning tro-tros and taxi traffic. I can get the same distance by cutting down a cross-country trail and through ‘frog hollow’ across the creek on a one-board bridge and up past where we used to live toward the Opoku Ware school. Every morning I greet Helena at her roadside stand and each day she asks after my wife. Frequently I see old friends along this route, and I slow and chat briefly without stopping. Having taken over 4000 steps now I look like the old man that I am, plodding up to the pavement on Victory Drive.
Turning left I start down towards the El Shaddai school and for the second time I see Jennifer, the daughter of one of my neighbours last year, and she and her family go to Pastor Turkson’s church! She has been teaching Eunice, Pastor’s daughter, with whom we live. This time I stop to chat and learn that she has stopped teaching and has applied for nursing school. She thought she would get straight in, but must wait a year, and so looks for work at this time.
About 6000 steps I turn up the long hill that goes past my house. The steepest part is right outside my door and my heart rate climbs to 90% as I pass our walkway and head for the crest. My calfs begin to bellow complaining that they have done this section already and that I am definitely overdoing it and with CAD I shouldn’t push my heart so hard and I am over the top into my cool down phase. When you are as slow as I am, the African sun has now had time to begin to raise the temperature. Cool down is not so easy and I have taken over 8000 steps by the time my heart rate has dropped below 100 and I call it a day.