Home Forums Hunting & Shooting Hunter's Campfire A thread on hats

Here is a link to a whole bunch of Texas hats atop a whole bunch of Texas cowpunchers.

http://www.cartermuseum.org/collections/smith/collection.php?asn=LC-S59-311&mcat=3&scat=44

Enjoy.

L.W.

Obruni = ? Cracker? Imperialist? Ghostface? C'mon, teach, spread the skoolin' around already.

You should've volunteered to be the guy who beats the drum to the work efforts.

Hookay, fer you and Prairie both, I recall the EXACT dialogue that won me the fishing invite because it was the sort of schtick I used often.

Marketwoman: "Obruni, naah, wo coh heh?" -
Obruni = White man, naah = a drawn out constanant with no exact meaning, sort of like "er" in English, wo coh heh - where are you going? (actually a friendly greeting used in ordinary conversation).

Me: "Schweh! Men'yeh Obruni, me ye au Bibini!" - Schweh! = Another meaningless constonant], the rest = I'm not a White man, I'm an African!"

(peals of laughter from the other side, )

Marketwoman: "Wo bwa!" - You're lying!

Me: "Daabi, am pah!" - No, its true!

Marketwoman: "Wo krum ne heh?" - Where are you from?

Me: "Kumaasi" - Kumasi (capital city of the old Ashanti kingdom)

Marketwoman: Wo din de seng? - What is your name?

Me: Prempeh - Prempeh (the Ashanti royal family name, implying I was a actually a son of the Asantehene, Head Chief of all the Ashantis )

Well, while we're talking Africa I'll throw in another epic, last posted by me on the Africa forum maybe three years back, so maybe it can bear repeating.

Its pretty cool too, even if I do say so myself....

Bompata Sec. School
Box 10
Bompata A/A
Ghana
West Africa
August 31st, 1981

Dear Family,

I got your letter of July 31st. In a way I was glad to hear the package showed up as it means that there was no foul play at this end. Its quite a common thing for pouches to be rejected on grounds of irrelevancy. As I said in a previous letter a good ploy seems to be to throw in a bunch of vegetable seeds and to keep the irrelevant stuff relatively small, maybe a couple of shirts or razor blades.

Actually a diplomatic pouch for a Peace Corps Volunteer has low priority and its common for a pouch to take 2 months to arrive. The chief advantage of a pouch is relative security. I agree that it was pretty outrageous for Peace Corps to take so long.

The big news is that myself and another volunteer took a week long 70 mile hike through the boonies from Agogo to Atebubu. The rest of this letter will be a long and tedious account of the hike. All of the other relevant news will have to wait for the next letter which shouldn�t be too long in coming as I expect to spend much of September here at Bompata and I will be more inclined to sit down for many hours writing. These letters take me a long time to write.

Back in July I was fishing around for things to do and when looking at a map of Ghana the Afram Plains caught my eye. The Afram Plains is one of the most sparsely populated regions of Ghana. In Ghana there is a broad belt of sparse population north of the Ashanti homelands, historically the area was depopulated by slave raids and tribal wars. So when I was visiting Dave W. at Aburi in July I asked him and he said he was interested so on August 3rd he came to Bompata and the next morning we took transport to Agogo with our backpacks.

The first day we went twenty miles to the Afram River. I had done this a few months earlier if you remember with another volunteer, or anyway if you never got that letter I had been as far as the river before. It was much the same as last time. Ten miles along a single lane dirt road leading through a dense forest preserve to the village of Ananakrum. Along the way we encountered a guy with a single shot shotgun, this he found necessary to unsmilingly examine as we approached, not exchanging a greeting as Ghanaians usually do.

Not to make a production out of it, but I do recall I separated from Dave so as not to present a single target. Nothing came of it but the incident stands out in memory because it was so unusual. After Ananakrum there was a sudden change from forest to savannah woodland and we walked 12 miles to the river following a track.

It was a long, hot walk. As I said, much the same as last time but much greener on the savannah at this season with waist or chest high grass. We arrived at the riverside village of Sekeduase (�Sekeduaseh�) at dusk and they recognized me from the last time there. There were some people from the Ewe (�Eweh�) village across the river who straightaway put us in canoes to take us across the Afram River.

You might remember last time we waded across and it was knee deep. This time in the rainy season we had to take canoes. The canoes were crudely made from three pieces of wood, one for the bottom one for each side and they leaked abominably (that means badly). They were about 15 feet long and the guy in the back paddled with an old board while a small girl amidships bailed. It was a pleasant five minute canoe trip down a small tributary and then up the Afram proper.

The Afram River would be called a creek in the U.S. Its at most 50 or 60 feet wide. It was very quiet gliding through the dense brush at twilight. At the Eve village we got a warm reception enhanced by the fact that they were drunk. They remembered my name (�Mister Mike�) and they thought Dave was Mister Bob as he and Bob P. are both tall and skinny with red hair. It turned out most of the village had gone to visit their home town in the Volta region in the southeast of Ghana. There were only about 10 people, including children.

There were two people who spoke English, a young looking man of about forty and the woman I wrote about last time. Straight off they gave us akpeteshie (gin distilled from palm wine) and started pounding fu-fu. The man brought out a large rodent that had been caught in a wire snare. It was as big as a woodchuck and looked like a cross between a woodchuck and a porcupine. I think it might have been a brush-tailed porcupine. It was freshly dead and still relaxed and flexible. The hair and spines were singed off it was gutted and hacked into random sections before being tossed into the pot.

That night we slept under mosquito netting in a mud hut. We agreed to stay the next day as they were so happy to see us. I could�nt eat anything all day on account of eating that rodent the night before. It was very gamy tasting, something like pungently strong pork rind. The next day my insides were running like water and I still had the taste of the meat in my mouth. Actually I might have eaten something but they put that meat in everything. Dave wasn�t affected at all.

Staying there for a day we were able to watch the comings and goings of the village. It�s a small village of about ten mud huts about 20ft x 10ft with thatched roofs. They had no windows but a gap down each side let in a sort of diffuse light under the eaves. In addition there were two or three larger structures consisting of a thatched roof supported on a number of posts. Cooking and sitting around was done under these shelters. The ground was hard sand that was swept clean every day and we could walk around barefoot (no hookworm or dung). They had a large well-tended flock of chickens and numerous sheep and goats that hang around the cooking fires stealing scraps and vegetable stuff.

These people were Eves. The Eves (�Ewehs�) are the ethnic group that occupy the southeast corner of Ghana and Southern Togo. They are culturally distinct form the Ashantis and speak Ewe rather than Twi. In our hike we were to meet a number of different peoples from many parts of Ghana who had moved in to find land in this sparsely populated region.

During the course of the day it became apparent that the main business of the village was trading in akpeteshie although they also fished the river seasonally. It turned out that in the adjacent bush were many palm wine tappers who distil akpeteshie and bring it in large plastic tubs and jerrycans to this people who people act as middlemen, sending the stuff on to Accra via Agogo.

Several times during the day groups of people arrived headloading large containers of akpeteshie. Commonly they also carried carcasses of small antelope spread flat and crudely smoked, these would fetch a high price in markets of Konongo and Agogo. We stayed in the hut of the English-speaking man. He was pleasant enough to us but it was apparent he was a hard aggressive entrepreneur in his business dealings. He kept a large plastic drum of akpeteshie in his hut and everyone stayed well supplied.

We were planning to leave the following morning but when morning came we had to wait several hours while they made breakfast. It would have been an unthinkable breach of etiquet just to take off. The sun was high before we were planning to leave and they practically begged us to stay another day. Because they were so hospitable and because we were pretty buzzed from liberal goodbye draughts of akpeteshie we agreed.

The next day we were bound and determined to leave so we were careful not to drink too much akpeteshie. We couldn�t just up and leave but rather etiquette or whatever demanded that we allow them to fix us breakfast. They killed a chicken which is pretty much red-carpet treatment around here and the woman prepared a really fine meal of akpele and chicken stew. Akpele (�akpeley�) is an Eve dish made of corn meal and gari (ground dried cassava) cooked to the consistency of grainy mashed potatoes. Like fu-fu it is eaten with the fingers. It was the best local dish I have had in Ghana. This morning we went easy on the akpeteshie and were in a fit condition to travel.

I gave them a kilo bag of sugar I had bought in Lome (sugar is very expensive in Ghana) and I gave the woman a 1,000 C.F.A. note (African francs used in the surrounding francophone countries. 1,000 C.F.A. equals about $3.35). At the bank 1,000 C.F.A. is worth about 9 cedis but on the street she could get about 130 cedis for it. It was about 12 before we were able to leave. At the last moment our host agreed to come along as a guide as he had some deals to make in an outlying village.

That day we only covered about 10 miles. The vegetation was patches of forest interspersed with areas of woodland savannah. The trees on the savannah were smallish or medium sized and were spaced so that most of the time we walked in the sun yet at the same time we could�nt see more than 100 yards in any direction.

We were glad of a guide. The paths we followed were easy to follow but not infrequently forked and branched and we would soon have gotten lost by ourselves. Occasionally we crossed areas acres in size where the well-weathered bedrock came to the surface creating large open areas of bare rock or short grass.

At this season the whole country was very green and lush with thick waist or chest high grass on the savannah. The whole Afram Plains area is pretty flat.

Our host wore an old gabardine raincoat, this turned out to be common attire. The long sleeves protect the arms from the abrasive grasses crowding the path (at he end of the day my forearms were scratched up and irritated) and the coat provides good protection from the tsetse flies which were abundant in places.

Every couple of miles we would come across small collections of mud huts where palm wine tappers lived. Some of these were Northerners, others were Ewes or Ashantis. These huts were located in patches of forest. The forest usually meant water plus the oil palm which they tapped is a forest tree.

About half-way along on our journey that day we stopped at one such place. They took us to their still which was basically two fifty-five gallon oil drums (one for boiling the other for condensing) plus the tubing which dripped into a large plastic container. We had some palm wine and some akpeteshie but we didn�t worry as we had a guide. Most of the people we encountered spoke English and had been to school. They had moved to the area to tap palms and were probably not planning to stay long.

At one place close to a tiny hamlet called Yaqui we came to a small stream flowing across an open area that had carved a deep rounded hollow in the bedrock. This was a sacred stream of some sort and our host drank from it while speaking greetings to the local deity. As we crossed the stream we had to do a little dance in tribute as we walked along.

We arrived at the place we were to spend the night at about 5 o�clock. This was the place our guide came to do business and we didn�t have a guide to go any further. These people were Northerners. There are numerous tribal or ethnic groups in Ghana. Broadly speaking they can be divided into Northerners and Southerners.

The traditional garb of Southern men is the cloth (like a toga). Southern culture lays heavy emphasis on the funeral as the big social event. The native religion involves fetishes and ju-ju although a great many people, probably the majority are nominally Christian. The women are relatively unsuppressed and are approximately equal to the men in social status though of course limited to certain roles in society.

Southerners are loud, open and talkative and will loudly shout at and greet strangers which can be a mixed blessing. Examples of Southerners are Ashantis, Fantis, Akwapims and Eves among others.

Northern men traditionally wear heavy cotton one piece shirts and like a smock or long nightshirt-like garments of light cotton that reach to the ankles plus loose-fitting trousers. They usually wear a small cylindrical cloth hat. They often have extensive tribal scars on the face. I don�t know about the traditional religions but a great many Northerners are Moslem.

They tend to be reserved and quiet and not inclined to shout at strangers although they are usually very hospitable to White people at least. The women are subservient to the men and some Northern groups at least, traditionally remove the clitoris of the women. Northern Ghana is poorer than the south and a great many Northerners come to the south to take jobs as night watchmen, laborers and nightsoil ([bleep] bucket) collectors.

The village as such consisted of two long huts, each containing about four separate rooms in a row, plus a shelter on poles under which the cooking was done. Like the Ewe village they had numerous goats, sheep and chickens. About 20 people lived there, maybe five men and an equal number of women, the rest being children, every one of different ages.

We met the headman of the place in his corn patch. He was a tall rough-looking man who looked like the bar-keeper in the movie �Jabberwocky� if anyone saw that movie. We followed him to his hut. Our host was soon involved in a long and not altogether pleasant harangue over business and after a while a large sum of money changed hands. Meanwhile we drank akpeteshie while the sun went down. Hanging in front of us was a whole freshly snared duiker still with the wire around its neck.

Then men were rough illiterates who wore ragged western clothing � coat, trousers and a battered cap of some kind. They carried old worn single shot 12 gauge shotguns. They hunted and set snares for game, drank a lot from the still and had farms in the bush. The women were less remarkable and per Northern custom did�nt speak to us but kept quietly in a group with the kids around the cooking fire, eyeing us curiously and talking and giggling in low tones amongst themselves.

They were hospitable enough, they killed a fowl for us, fed us corn and fu-fu (the fu-fu being a regional adaptation I think) and served the inevitable numerous rounds of akpeteshie. The women pounded the fu-fu in the northern fashion, a number of people with pounding sticks stood around a single large wooden pestle and pounded in series. The men were pretty taciturn and reserved, the women and kids don�t count as we did�nt interact with them much during our visit. Two of the men were thin and were forever coughing and spitting, I figure it had to be tuberculosis.

Things warmed up considerably socially when I gave them one of the kilo bags of sugar. They got to talking about hunting. Their shotguns were pretty interesting. They were made in England and had falling block actions based upon the old British Martini-Henry military rifle of the late 19th Century. They said the guns were 30 years old or thereabouts which seemed about right.

They loaded single, crudely cast round ball into the brass shell, an arrangement which can hardly be accurate for any great distance. Apparently much of the hunting is done at night using a brilliant carbide lantern to freeze the game. They brought out a couple of horns, one of the horns may well have been from a bushbuck the other two were from what everyone call a bush cow. Near as I can figure a bush cow is a race of the African buffalo, or if it is not a buffalo it is something very similar. I�ve heard bush cows are smaller than buffalo proper, this may be so judging from the horns.

The problem is I haven�t got to a relevant textbook yet. A game warden I met in Birem told me the big game present on the plains are hartebeest, ( a large antelope), bushbuck (about whitetail size), bush cows and elephants. The hunters told me the bush cow is dangerous when shot at, which is also true of the African buffalo. In any event, bringing one down with the guns and bullets they use is no mean trick. No one bothers the elephants, no one has a gun capable of downing one.

That night they offered us a bed covered with a couple of antelope skins under mosquito netting, this was a problem as it was apparently the bed of one of the men with T.B. We weren�t too anxious to sleep anywhere around the huts. Fortunately it was a beautiful night and Dave had the foresight to bring a ground cloth so we begged off and said how as it was so nice out we would sleep out in the clearing.

The worst part of the trip was forever having to worry about catching something. All along the trip we were able to get people to boil our drinking water but when we could�nt we treated it with iodine pills hoping they would work on the amoebic dysentery, schistosomiasis and guinea worm. Schisto you know, guinea worm is a charming parasitic roundworm that gets to be a couple of feet long before burrowing out alive through the skin and emerging. We had to bathe with stream water and were also exposed to schisto that way. Sleeping sickness isn�t widespread in Ghana and we brought along chloroquine for malaria.

The next morning we took our leave amid much akpeteshie after being served chicken and rice. Our Eve host was returning home so we said goodbye and thank you. One of the Northern men showed us the to the next village, Mempecasa, three miles away and told us to head for the town of Birem (�Brim�). Mempecasa is Twi for something like �I don�t like to argue�. Many if not most Ashanti place names mean something.

Mempecasa was a two or three hut hamlet out on the savannah surrounded by a large cassava plot. There were a couple of women there, two kids, and a group of men. The men were sitting around drinking akpeteshie under a tree. It turned out that one of the men under the tree was going to Birem in a few hours so we had nothing to do but take off our backpacks and wait.

So we sat around and drank akpeteshie, they were complaining about the elephants damaging their farms around the village. Two of the men were Krobo palm wine tappers (the Krobos are one of the Southern ethnic groups) who were also waiting for a guide as they had just arrived in the area. The bottle we were drinking out of was interesting, apparently an antique(this was a first, people always use a glass, I had never seen anyone take akpeteshie from the bottle).

One of the men was a crazy man (insane). He was loud obnoxious and unwashed. He kept grinning at us and trying to shake our hand, actually he was a rather friendly guy as crazy men go, in a little while he left us alone and fell asleep.

By now it was clear we couldn�t get anywhere without a guide, the trails we were following were just paths through the bush that often faded out or forked. We ended up wasting about two hours at Mempecasa until the guy started off for the next town about 9 or 10 miles away. I fell asleep too.

The guy who eventually brought us to the next town was also a hunter carrying a shotgun with a little black and white dog at his heels. We traveled in a group in single file with the two Krobos and the woman carrying a load on her head. Whenever we had a guide, which was most of the trip, he set a fast walking pace. This got us where we were going but did�nt give us much time for looking around as we would have liked.

As I said the next town was 9 or 10 miles away. The first half of the trip was across the savannah, occasionally crossing bare rock areas and sometimes sloshing through wet areas. The second half of the trip was though dense forest.

The next town we came to was a large one, I figure about 400 people. The town we were aiming for, Birem, was only about three miles away and kind of a twin city to this one. It was a fairly prosperous looking place with many houses having tin roofs and fitted shutters and doors. The people were almost certainly Ashantis although we didn�t ask.

We sat around for about an hour waiting for the tappers to go to Birem (�Brim�) so they could show us the path. No one shouted at us, not even the children which is highly unusual for Ashantis. A bunch of people, especially children, stood around staring at us. We found out later that we were the first White people to visit in five years or more (no one remembered exactly how long).

When we headed out we found the path to be broad, well travelled and unmistakable so we drifted apart from the others as we walked along. It was a pleasant 3 mile walk through dense forest down a broad well-tended path, a road really, that ran straight and level between the dense undergrowth and immensely tall trees. It was late afternoon and the sun slanted down at an angle. There were groups of turkey-sized hornbills honking and flying around in the treetops.

We arrived at Birem towards dusk, there was a big funeral in progress, a man had died of a snakebite and there was a big drunken crowd wearing red and black cloth. We caused quite a sensation just materializing out of the bush. The first place they brought us to was the house of a prominent man in town. We sat in his courtyard surrounded by a curious press of people. They sat us on small wooden armless chairs with leather seats and backs and decorated with large brass tacks. These chairs are commonly found in Chief�s houses and used to seat visitors.

They followed the traditional Ashanti etiquet when receiving visitors. First they served us liquor. They brought out a new bottle of Schnapps (no small thing out there in the boonies as it turned out) and a speaker for the head man served us from a single glass one at a time. After we had drunk the speaker in flowery speech, asked us why we were there. he then interpreted out replies to the head man.

In this case the speaker was necessary as the head man didn�t speak English. Our host was a rather careworn-looking smallish man (about my height) who was probably pushing fifty. He struck me as being good humored and quietly competent. After that we were brought to the Chief�s house. The chief�s house wasn�t as fine as the other man�s house. His courtyard was dirt floored rather than concrete and wasn�t completely enclosed,

By this time it was dark so I couldn�t see the Chief very well. He was a heavy middle-aged man. About this time it started to rain so everyone crowed under the eaves of the buildings surrounding the yard.

The formalities this time were adhered to with akpeteshie. When we were asked our reasons for being there the Chief didn�t believe us, he speculated on whether we were emissaries come to stir up trouble between the local Kokombas and Nunumbas. I think I mentioned the recent fighting and killing between the Kokombas and Nunumbas in my last letter. They are two Northern tribes.

Fortunately I had my Peace Corps ID which smoothed things out a bit, especially as the Speaker was a man form Mampong who had come for the funeral. Mampong is a large town near to Kumasi which has had volunteers in the past. Still we were taken aback, this was the first time I have had to produce my I.D.

After that we walked back to the first man�s house. On the way I got to talking to a young man who taught at the town elementary school. It turned out the real head of the town was the first guy. He had installed his brother as Chief to take care of all the traditional ceremonial foppery while he quietly went about the business of running the place. Further the brother was drunk after the funeral celebrations and he wasn�t as influential as his brother anyway, something of a figurehead. I was not to worry about the Chief as he was drunk, and he would do what his brother said anyway.

That night we slept in the head man�s house. The Chief sent over a dish of Oto. Oto is plantain boiled and mashed with a fork to the consistency of coarse, lumpy grated cheese mixed with palm oil and various spices. It was served with some kind of sea fish, probably from a can. It was very good, a close second to the akpele and chicken we had at the Ewe village.

We decided to stay the next day at their invitation. We wanted to show them that we were who we said we were and we were curious about such a large town (700 people) so far out in the boonies. Plus it would be like denying the people a big event just leaving the next day. The last Obruni in town was an Italian five years or so before. He had told them that he was going to start a big agricultural project. He had them set aside a large area of land and then left, they haven�t heard from him since.

Like the other place it was a fairly prosperous-looking place with one or two houses having plaster and paint over the mud blocks. The elementary school teacher acted as our guide around the town. They had a tiny three room elementary school. There was no secondary school in the area and most children in the town never got past elementary school for this reason.

There was a small church in town, a hut really. The Minister walked in from the next town 15 miles away about once every two weeks. Worship of the local god was also popular, there was a well-kept round hut on the outskirts of town. One part of town was the Seventh Day Adventists neighborhood, or maybe they were Jehovah�s Witnesses, I forget which. There was no post office in town, no police and clinic or organized modern medicine.

The town had the feel of a well-run and harmonious place. It was clean with well maintained large pit latrines outside of town. Using these was something of an experience, you squatted precariously on two narrow wooden planks poised without handhold above the crawling mire ten feet below, you develop all kinds of skill in the Peace Corps.

The main rooms of our host�s compound were well furnished but the furnishings were old and carefully preserved. In common with most houses of prominent men in villages the appearance of material prosperity was carefully maintained. The cabinets were crowded with boxes and containers of various commodities such as talcum powder, soap, toothpaste, sugar and milk. Most of the boxes were years old and empty.

He had an old record player, and a selection of scratched old records. He had a newer portable tape deck but not many tapes. While we were there they played his music on one or the other, using up hard to get batteries. We slept on the floor of the living room. Our host had a big metal four poster bed but he didn�t want us to sleep on it as lately it had become infested with bed bugs.

As I said he was a good humoured, quietly competent man, not what I would tend to expect of an Ashanti big man. In the morning there was a steady stream of townspeople who came to consult with him on various issues. He had three wives and I think twenty-one children which probably accounted for his careworn appearance.

During the day we went to visit a friend of the teachers who was an avid hunter. He had a bunch of hartebeest skins and gave us some bush cow meat. Eating what was probably buffalo meat might sound pretty exotic, a number of times on our trip we were given some sort of game. Almost all of the meat though was old and smoked into oblivion and was usually some meager grizzly scraps that people would never buy in the States. The bush cow meat was no exception, it could have been anything.

That evening however at the head man�s house we were served with what I think was duiker meat. A duiker is a small forest antelope that stands about knee high and is caught in snares. It was fresh and they gave us the best cuts. One family had a docile pet monkey. Monkeys are common on the plains and a problem for farmers though we didn�t see any. They are considered very good to eat.

We went to visit the Chief again, His house was furnished much like his brothers plus he had a small television which he could watch when he had batteries. He made us give him our addresses so he could check up on us if necessary. He seemed to me to be in a pretty frustrating position. He was accorded all the ceremonial trappings and official functions of a leader but without any real power. We gave him some tins of tuna fish and Dave gave him some bars of soap he had.

That evening we sat in the courtyard pretty much to satisfy the curiousity of the children of the head man. The vast majority of his children were girls between the ages of 5 and 15. Which brings to mind the thought that some poor devils in Africa have ten or fifteen little sisters. At any rate we were surrounded by a giggling horde who closely watched our every move.

One was a five year old female African version of Rodney Alan Whipple. She was imitating our facial expressions so I showed her the Obruni gesture of raising the eyebrows, crossing the eyes and sticking out the tongue while putting my thumbs in my ears and waggling my fingers. This she imitated pretty well in a five year old way which everyone thought was really funny. They were fascinated by our Obruni hair and once in a while I would mess mine up so that it stuck out crazily in all directions. My hair has gotten fairly long and this was also a big hit.

On the whole they were a surprisingly attractive bunch who were going to be really pretty when they grew up. Should I be in the area some 5 or 6 years hence I shall have to stop by.

The teacher who interpreted for us was about 21 years old and was sharp. He spoke English very well though he had grown up in town and never got past lower education levels. He lamented the fact that he had never gotten the chance to go to university but he seemed pretty content. It turned out he was due to inherit from his uncle plus he would get first pick from his daughters.

We gave him our last bag of sugar intending that he should give it to his uncle, our host. However he sent the sugar to his house apparently without telling his uncle so we had to scrape around for a can of tuna and Dave�s last two bars of soap which was all we had left for gifts.

While we were in town we refused numerous offers of akpeteshie as we were growing tired of looking at everything through a fog. Twice a week a tractor towing a trailer came to town along a track winding across the savannah from the nearest big town which I believe was about thirty miles away. Birem was located at the edge of the large forest area and the savannah.

We were able to get away fairly early the next morning after breakfast. We were escorted out of town by the head man and a mob of children who stood and noisily waved to us as we disappeared behind a bend. Before we left we met the hunter friend of the teacher who in an offhand manner announced that one of his children had died during the night. No one reacted appreciably tot her news. Near as I can figure it must have been a new born baby which died.

According to custom after it is born a baby and its mother are kept in seclusion for a period of time . At the end of that time the baby is publically presented and given a ceremony called the outdooring. If a baby should die before the outdooring custom forbids outward expressions of grief and the child doesn�t even get a formal funeral. If a couple should lose a few such babies in succession the next baby is given a series of rather extensive facial scars which is supposed to make the child ugly in the eyes of Death. In addition the baby is given an unattractive name such as vulture or slave, all of which is intended to discourage Death from taking that baby also. One of the language instructors during training last year bore those facial marks,

They gave us a guide so this day we moved at a rapid pace, the town we were aiming for, Adonso, was about twelve miles away across the savannah. We didn�t hit any more large parches of forest, by now we were getting far enough north so that wooded savannah predominated. Like before we were walking through chest-high grass in the sun although the trees limited how far you could see, a pretty curious combination. Fortunately that day was overcast otherwise it would have been quite uncomfortable.

The savannah was sparsely but fairly evenly populated, and quite often we came across small isolated farms or villages. These people were displaced Northerners of various types. We met Kokombas, Dagombas and I think Nunumbas and another tribe whose name I forget. To me they were all pretty similar. They were poor, even wretched, with tiny thatched roof mud huts and, extensive facial marks, and using various Northern innovations as round corncribs made from woven grass mats and little round chicken coops which largely resemble Dutch ovens.

Most of them were dressed in nondescript rags as they were dressed in their work clothes. Without exception they were friendly and hospitable and different ones gave us roast corn and groundnuts (peanuts). The crops in this area were different with a heavy emphasis laid on yams, beans, groundnuts and corn. At Bompata the main food crops are cocoyam, plantains and cassava and to a lesser extent yams and corn.

Once a female bushbuck ran across the path ahead of us and our guide, who was carrying a shotgun, ran out to the side trying to get a shot but he didn�t see it again. That was the only large wild animal we saw. I looked a lot like a whitetail.

We arrived at Adonso about three o�clock somewhat sore and weary. It was a tiny Ashanti village. We were surprised at how small it was on account of it was marked prominently on the maps. We were kind of let down because we had been hoping to grab transport to Atebubu from there. By now we were getting kind of tired of the bush. We had seen what he plains were like and were fed up of being afraid of the water and afraid to bathe.

At Adonso we rested up about an hour. It turned out the last White person in town was an American three years ago who may have been Peace Corps. Among other things he was conducting a wildlife survey on the remoter plains to the east. The people were very friendly and wanted us to stay the night. It would have been good to do this as it would have been a big treat for them to have Obrunis in town but we heard we could get transport at the next town so we pushed on.

The next town, Ayinwafe (�Einwifi�) was about as big as Birem. It was three miles from Adonso across flat savannah. We arrived at dusk and got a boy to bring us to the Chief�s house. There we were given the usual warm reception and served the inevitable akpeteshie. There was however an old lady there who was hacking and coughing and spitting. So we had to be afraid of T.B., afraid of the water, afraid to bathe, and when a young man offered to find us some girls we refused in part because in Africa you have to be afraid of various interesting forms of V.D.

They sensed our unease and I think interpreted it as disdain for their living conditions. In addition there was one of the most obnoxious kinds of Ghanaians there. A loud, aggressive drunk man who is an expert on Obrunis who thinks he knows exactly what you are like and who gives replies to other people on your behalf. He also wanted our address on account of how we were rich and would be able to help him acquire various material possessions.

That night the usual crowd of curious children gathered around which wasn�t so bad. We could speak a little Twi and they could speak a little English. One of them was a 14 year old girl who unlike the others was fluent in English. Her father had sent her to school in Atebubu. It was very apparent what an advantage it was to go to one of the better schools in a big town.

It turned out that there was a tractor from Atebubu (Ateybubu) due the next day but it wouldn�t arrive until late in the afternoon and it would�nt go back to Atebubu until the morning after. We decided to push on the next day to a town six miles away called Seneso. At Seneso we were told was a big agricultural project with a constant stream of tractors going to and from Atebubu. We certainly didn�t want to hang around another day.

We left early the next morning without eating. I thought the people seemed pretty offended that we should just take off that way but it couldn�t be helped. We were still about 25 miles from Atebubu and we really wanted to get there that day. If we stayed while they prepared a meal it would be ten o�clock or so before we could get away. Rural Ghanaians have no conception of hurrying and we would have had to sit around waiting hours while they pounded fu-fu and prepared soup. We didn�t have anything left to give as gifts.

One of the men asked me for a pair of socks so I gave him a pair of my socks. I think also they might have been offended because we refused their pillows the night before, even though we were sleeping on mats on concrete. The reason was we didn�t know if we were getting the one of the old lady�s pillows. I don�t worry abut head lice, everyone has them. They haven�t been a major problem for me because I shampoo my hair every other day.

The six mile walk to Seneso was pretty wet. For long distances we were sloshing ankle deep through water flowing across the track. The terrain was more undulating and there were some large open treeless areas so that we could see longer distances. We were both feeling worn out which was surprising as we really hadn�t been pushing that hard. Africa is a very hostile place. This thought came to mind one time when Dave stepped off into the bush to relieve himself. I sat down to rest at the side of the track and I got painfully stung by an ant. It seems like the whole place is trying to kill you, if not for the continuously applied medical technology I would very possibly be dead by now.

The river before Seneso was knee deep and we waded it easily. Seneso itself was a tiny hamlet overshadowed by the large agricultural project. There were a bunch of sawn timber buildings, some corrugated metal construction and a modern looking bungalow on stilts complete with numerous air conditioners, the project had its own generator. There were a bunch of tractors sitting around including a couple of big new East German four-wheel drive tractors. From the surrounding field it didn�t look s if the project was operating very efficiently and many of the tractors were broken.

Today was market day in Atebubu and most of the workers had gone in for the day. There was a group of about five sitting around who gave us a warm reception and water and roast corn. They told us that later in the rains during September, the river became much deeper and flooded the surrounding savannah.

About two hours later we got a ride in a tractor towing a trailer for the three hour ride to Atebubu. We arrived in Atebubu in late afternoon. I�m growing tired of writing so I will only give a brief description of the place. It is a smallish town with a paved road running through it. It has running water but no electricity. It is a regional capital and it has many governmental offices there. Also there is a big U.S.A.I.D. office center. There�s a bunch of agricultural projects surrounding the town so that there were some large rectangular machine cultivated fields , you don�t see many like that in Ghana. The countryside is flat, open and at that season, very green and fertile looking.

The Peace Corps in Atebubu, Mike P., wasn�t there when we arrived but we slept at his place and he showed up the next day. The people of Atebubu are a mixture of Brongs, Ashantis, and various northern types. The Brongs are the most northern of the southern ethnic groups. Palm wine is hard to get and expensive in town. Pitou was the big local drink.

Pitou is made from one of the northern cereal grains, I forget which one, and it tastes like you are drinking beer half way through the fermentation process. I stayed in Atebubu three days before returning to Bompata. The little kids in Atebubu saw enough Obrunis that they knew to shout things at us. I�m going to leave off now.

Yours,
Mike



Ah, the good ol'days


Birdwatcher

Great stuff, Mister Scientist.

BTW, here's a thought for you, and some of the other teachers here. Not my idea but I got to sort of experience the wonder of it. In 7th grade my brother had a teacher who gave the class a homework assignment that required that each student write at least a page and a half of words describing everything going on in their lives at the present time. There was no right or wrong, but that you were to be totally honest. Suggestions were made to describe their recreational pursuits, friends, family, love interests, dreams, fears, whatever.

The day the assignment was due the teacher then did something no one expected. He passed out a stamped envelope to each student, and had them write their name and address on it. He then told the students to put their assignment in the envelope, and to seal it. He then collected them, and announced that in 10 years he'd send out the letters.

Amazingly, my brother one day, while meeting at the folks' place for a meal, grabbed the mail and to his initial confusion, followed by shock, saw that the teacher had done exactly as he'd promised a decade prior. The words were fascinating, and a literal shot of time, told to a young man by a boy ten years younger-- *himself*, of course-- in his own words...It really was bizarre, a time capsule of sorts, as the things he wrote about were that of a boy speaking, being unread for years, until the letter came...

I always thought that was awesome of that teacher.

Steve you need to diversify!

Nice! You're in for it now, though. The hat police will be along shortly to judge you for your sin!

I only scrolled through the first page of posts, so I hope that my joy isn't premature, but I am ecstatic to see hats recognized for what they are, which isn't caps. Thanks!

Hey Leanwolf, I opened your link and was really suprised to see it was about Erwin E Smith. He came to Arizona in 1909 and took a bunch of pictures on the OR ranch. They were included in a book called Life on the Texas Range. My grandfather Fred Bennett Was the wagon boss for the Boquillas or sometimes called the San Pedro division of the OR.
What is really neat is your link shows a lot of photos that aren't in my book. Cool the way you can link the photos to the ranch.

Thanks, Fred

4th of July Stetson




Combination Walleye fishin/Juneberry pickin/ future riverboat gamblin hat.

;-{>8

Awesome shot.

Left field stupid joke/play on words that just bubbled into my noodle: what's the name the greatest of all the fish jazz musicians in the world?


















































Salmonella Fitzgerald, naturally.

Hey, no bottle throwing in the back!

This one goes with the .375

here's an old straw stetson, use it for sneakin' up on the babies....spotted veal with no bullet trauma:



still go with a ball cap for redneck riverside garden/fireworks parties:



this old dirty silver I got from Daddy;



Gracie prefers straw, although she does the bandana thing fairly often, too:



but I've killled some critters in a ball cap, when the opportunity presented itself:



given a choice, I'll take a cowboy hat most times.

Fifteen yard penalty to you and kamo gari for unfair use of good lookin wimmin models.

She's wearin a hat???



Just kiddin, just kiddin.

There are lucky hats...








..but I prefer the felts

Great shot, Doc. That D'Artagnon meets the Most Interesting Man in the World look suits you.

lol! I just read Birdy's Africa logs again. Guy was getting back to nature/roughing it indeed. But lessons, both life and survival based were learned there in those years. Perfect illustration below: standing around a shady place where food and beverages are a'flowing, with a empty plate in hand and wearing a listless, lost, hunger-filled, haggard look. He knew damned well that one of the gang was going to take pity and offer him sumptin' eventually...

Missed this before. Llamas! Badarsed! lol Way cool.

Here are a few pics with hats.

I think that hat actually belongs to Mrs. Tide, but he saw me tramp outside with my straw on, and decided he had to have one.


I have always been a terrible shot with a slingshot. He smoked me that day.


I was assigned to our Training Academy for a couple of years. This was opening day for a new class of Cadets. I just noticed the caption on the yellow picture frame over my shoulder. As tired as I get of this job sometimes, I am proud to be a Trooper.


Wouldn't be fair if I failed to post a pic of Mrs. Tide in the hat she wore till close of business yesterday. Today, August 1, 2012, is her first day of retirement. I am proud of her for the way she worked the job. Many of her gender want to work in the log woods, but can't handle their end of the saw, so to speak. She did. Congratulations, babe.