I almost wish I travelled up to Kumasi today. Ghana beat Cote d'Ivoire 4-2 to get the third place prize.
I'm sure the party in Kumasi will be worth attending. But I thought for the sense of stability I'd stay in the capital.
I am pleased to have been with the people watching the match rather than with loads of journalists in the press tribunes.
It was more of a laugh. During half time, I asked Foster to take me to the post office so I could send off the batch of cards that I've written. We couldn't find a letter box. A woman there said the free standing receptacle was where I could drop the letters off.
It could be picked up by anyone. So I thought I'd leave it till Monday.
The hotel staff are having a cocktail for all the RFI staff. Mighty kind of them. They'll be in good spirits after the victory.
As the adverts have been singing all tournament, Go Ghana Go.
Wish the cheesy musician would do the same.
Saturday, 9 February 2008
The Third Place Play Off
Ghana will play Cote D'Ivoire in a few hours. Three weeks ago when I was but a boy in Accra, this was widely thought to be the final.
Nothing is inevitable in football and so in the semi finals, Cameroon beat Ghana and Egypt thrashed Cote D'Ivoire.
I thought that the Ivorians would win the title. But they didn't take their chances. At any level you've got to stick the ball in the back of the net.
I wonder how the lads are getting on back in Paris. Given that they were losing quite drastically with me there, it's been as soothing as it is upsetting to find out via the emails that they're getting pasted in my absence.
I don't think we'll be pushing for third place in the division this season.
It's going to be interesting to see if I'll be a better player after all this football.
Like I said nothing is inevitable in football.
Nothing is inevitable in football and so in the semi finals, Cameroon beat Ghana and Egypt thrashed Cote D'Ivoire.
I thought that the Ivorians would win the title. But they didn't take their chances. At any level you've got to stick the ball in the back of the net.
I wonder how the lads are getting on back in Paris. Given that they were losing quite drastically with me there, it's been as soothing as it is upsetting to find out via the emails that they're getting pasted in my absence.
I don't think we'll be pushing for third place in the division this season.
It's going to be interesting to see if I'll be a better player after all this football.
Like I said nothing is inevitable in football.
The Bus Station
The STC bus station in Accra merely confirmed all my prejudices about road journeys.
It was chaotic. I didn't spend that long there but I'm sure if I had I would only found structural disorder beneath.
I want to go to Cape Coast on Monday. The 7am coach is full so the only one left is 4pm.
As the voyage will take around three hours. I'll be in Cape Coast at 7pm. Just in time for my evening meal. On Tuesday I'll be able to get up have a look around and then head into Elmina for Tuesday night.
This is the plan. But what good is that sometimes. I can't buy my return ticket for Accra next Saturday yet. I have to do that nearer the time and then of course it might be booked out.
This is starting to remind me of Paris. Strange that Ghana was once a British colony.
It was chaotic. I didn't spend that long there but I'm sure if I had I would only found structural disorder beneath.
I want to go to Cape Coast on Monday. The 7am coach is full so the only one left is 4pm.
As the voyage will take around three hours. I'll be in Cape Coast at 7pm. Just in time for my evening meal. On Tuesday I'll be able to get up have a look around and then head into Elmina for Tuesday night.
This is the plan. But what good is that sometimes. I can't buy my return ticket for Accra next Saturday yet. I have to do that nearer the time and then of course it might be booked out.
This is starting to remind me of Paris. Strange that Ghana was once a British colony.
Wednesday, 6 February 2008
The Paranoia
The Africa Cup of Nations sponsors MTN were at the training ground on Tuesday to dish out 50,000 dollars to the Ghana team for getting to the semi finals.
Rather charmingly I asked if it was going to go to a charity of their choice. No said a man from MTN, it's for the team.
As I noticed he was up there on the podium handing out a large cardboard cheque, I thought he might have something to do with the company.
So since I trained as a news reporter, I asked for his name, which he gave to me. He also told me what he did. He was the chief financial officer.
I asked him another question. He said he couldn't answer it so I took his card and said I'd call for more details. As I turned to see if there was an actual footballer to talk to, a woman came up to me and asked me where I was from.
Now since the microphone has RFI on it. I worried that she might think I was being facetious if I said the BBC. So I looked down the microphone, held it up slightly and said: "RFI. Radio France International's English service."
She asked: "What did you ask him?"
"His name."
"What did he say?"
"His name."
She said that he wasn't supposed to speak. "There's protocol."
I wondered if she might be related to the policeman in the Kumasi mixed zone.
"Yes but if you're the protocol, you weren't there when I spoke to him."
I took her card but frankly I don't think I'll be interacting with MTN.
I will be in touch with UNICEF however. I went to the Street Academy with two UNICEF young reporters, Stephen and Edith, who went to the academy to encourage the children to attend school.
These Street Academy kids come from homes where the parents aren't altogether chuffed about their offspring going to school. Some as old as 15 have not had any formal education.
One boy, Joseph, told how he hadn't been allowed to go because it caused too much trouble.
The school was housed in a building overlooking shacks near the National Arts Centre.
It was ragged. The football pitch was dirt and sand and the children played barefooted or one had a sock for his right foot.
The side of the pitch was effectively an ersatz rubbish dump which unfolded towards the beach.
While the boys practiced their football, the girls sang songs.
Joseph wanted to be an engineer when he grew up.
Who was his favourite footballer?
"Frank Lampard"
"Frank Lampard? You support Chelsea?"
"Yes," said Joseph.
"That's my team too."
I didn't really think it was the moment to talk about my disillusionment with the whole Chelsea concept.
From worlds apart, we were communing. I've never known anything like his suffering. Though they split up I had really supportive parents.
I phoned my mum on Tuesday night before the trip out to the Street Academy.
She laughed when I told her the pineapple was so sweet that I didn't want to share it.
"Don't be so mean, Paul."
"But the pineappele's sweet."
It's so good I only eat it in my hotel room now.
Rather charmingly I asked if it was going to go to a charity of their choice. No said a man from MTN, it's for the team.
As I noticed he was up there on the podium handing out a large cardboard cheque, I thought he might have something to do with the company.
So since I trained as a news reporter, I asked for his name, which he gave to me. He also told me what he did. He was the chief financial officer.
I asked him another question. He said he couldn't answer it so I took his card and said I'd call for more details. As I turned to see if there was an actual footballer to talk to, a woman came up to me and asked me where I was from.
Now since the microphone has RFI on it. I worried that she might think I was being facetious if I said the BBC. So I looked down the microphone, held it up slightly and said: "RFI. Radio France International's English service."
She asked: "What did you ask him?"
"His name."
"What did he say?"
"His name."
She said that he wasn't supposed to speak. "There's protocol."
I wondered if she might be related to the policeman in the Kumasi mixed zone.
"Yes but if you're the protocol, you weren't there when I spoke to him."
I took her card but frankly I don't think I'll be interacting with MTN.
I will be in touch with UNICEF however. I went to the Street Academy with two UNICEF young reporters, Stephen and Edith, who went to the academy to encourage the children to attend school.
These Street Academy kids come from homes where the parents aren't altogether chuffed about their offspring going to school. Some as old as 15 have not had any formal education.
One boy, Joseph, told how he hadn't been allowed to go because it caused too much trouble.
The school was housed in a building overlooking shacks near the National Arts Centre.
It was ragged. The football pitch was dirt and sand and the children played barefooted or one had a sock for his right foot.
The side of the pitch was effectively an ersatz rubbish dump which unfolded towards the beach.
While the boys practiced their football, the girls sang songs.
Joseph wanted to be an engineer when he grew up.
Who was his favourite footballer?
"Frank Lampard"
"Frank Lampard? You support Chelsea?"
"Yes," said Joseph.
"That's my team too."
I didn't really think it was the moment to talk about my disillusionment with the whole Chelsea concept.
From worlds apart, we were communing. I've never known anything like his suffering. Though they split up I had really supportive parents.
I phoned my mum on Tuesday night before the trip out to the Street Academy.
She laughed when I told her the pineapple was so sweet that I didn't want to share it.
"Don't be so mean, Paul."
"But the pineappele's sweet."
It's so good I only eat it in my hotel room now.
Tuesday, 5 February 2008
The Quarter Final Part II
Checking in for the 8.15am flight from Kumasi to Accra reminded me of going to the doctor in Paris.
Check in time was listed as 6.30-7.30. So I was there at 6.40. The City Link check-in operative didn't arrive until 7am.
I've had 9am appointments at the doctor's and she's not arrived until 9.25. An appointment slated for 10.40 means you won't get seen till nearer 11.30. Time is reappraised in her surgery. Maybe she's worked in Ghana. I'll have to ask her.
Egypt beat Angola 2-1 on Monday night in Kumasi to go through to the semis. The rowdy supporters were there again. And some seemed to get into the mixed zone. A short, stout man with a winning smile beneath a fez came in with his oud.
He got in via the players' side. Perhaps he's a mascot. Whatever. He twanged his thang and imbued the mixed zone with a hint of eastern promise. Oh hang on that's straight from a 70's advert for Fry's Turkish Delight.
Never mind. It's a phrase from my childhood so it's from a formative period and can be appropriated.
The mixed zone did sound authentic though. Interviews with Egyptians to the plangent strains of an oud. Rock the Casbah as Joe Strummer once sang. How very bazaar, I say. Officious policemen repeated their ludicrous trick of rushing players through a place where they're allowed to stop and chat.
The organisation is a farce. You can't overlook it.
My interaction with Kumasi is over. I was going to return on Saturday for the third place play-off. But I'll stay in the capital.
Thursday's semi between Egypt and Cote D'Ivoire in Kumasi will be good - a rerun of the final two years ago which Egypt won on penalties. The latest clash is too tough to call. Actually I'm not even going to bother to predict.
The cracker in Accra (my turn of phrase) is the Ghana v Cameroon showdown.
I have absolutely no idea which way that one will go either.
Maybe I can't concentrate.
I've started my second pineapple.
Check in time was listed as 6.30-7.30. So I was there at 6.40. The City Link check-in operative didn't arrive until 7am.
I've had 9am appointments at the doctor's and she's not arrived until 9.25. An appointment slated for 10.40 means you won't get seen till nearer 11.30. Time is reappraised in her surgery. Maybe she's worked in Ghana. I'll have to ask her.
Egypt beat Angola 2-1 on Monday night in Kumasi to go through to the semis. The rowdy supporters were there again. And some seemed to get into the mixed zone. A short, stout man with a winning smile beneath a fez came in with his oud.
He got in via the players' side. Perhaps he's a mascot. Whatever. He twanged his thang and imbued the mixed zone with a hint of eastern promise. Oh hang on that's straight from a 70's advert for Fry's Turkish Delight.
Never mind. It's a phrase from my childhood so it's from a formative period and can be appropriated.
The mixed zone did sound authentic though. Interviews with Egyptians to the plangent strains of an oud. Rock the Casbah as Joe Strummer once sang. How very bazaar, I say. Officious policemen repeated their ludicrous trick of rushing players through a place where they're allowed to stop and chat.
The organisation is a farce. You can't overlook it.
My interaction with Kumasi is over. I was going to return on Saturday for the third place play-off. But I'll stay in the capital.
Thursday's semi between Egypt and Cote D'Ivoire in Kumasi will be good - a rerun of the final two years ago which Egypt won on penalties. The latest clash is too tough to call. Actually I'm not even going to bother to predict.
The cracker in Accra (my turn of phrase) is the Ghana v Cameroon showdown.
I have absolutely no idea which way that one will go either.
Maybe I can't concentrate.
I've started my second pineapple.
Sunday, 3 February 2008
The Quarter Final
Precisely one week to go before the final. And it's down to the last eight. Here in Accra, Ghana took on Nigeria.
In the prelude to the clash I did some work for Monday's programmes. And I pondered the state of my stomach. It's not alcohol because I'm drinking nothing but water. Maybe that's the problem. The ailments go by lunchtime. But I do eat with anxiety.
Maybe I should try a knife and fork.
I confidently predicted earlier on the 5pm broadcast that Nigeria would win on penalties.
After 25 minutes my analysis of the match for the 6pm programme was that if Ghana failed to capitalise on their sustained pressure, then they could be hit.
Five minutes after I went off the air. Ghana were 1-0 down. My I felt smug.
After they equalised I thought it was heading for penalties. I thought I should have called a bookmaker with these sorts of powers.
But then the Ghana captain John Mensah was sent off for a professional foul and the hosts were down to 10 men.
Suddenly they were the underdogs and that was a weight off their shoulders. Nigeria didn't go for the kill (obviously waiting for the penalty shoot-out).
Ghana won 2-1 without the drama of penalties. They're into the semis and will be up against either Egypt or Angola.
I'm heading off to see that match in Kumasi on Monday. I'm going to take a plane this time. It's only 45 minutes.
But I haven't seen the plane. And I haven't seen this particular episode of The Saint which is running on the TV at the moment.
Roger Moore has got a cool convertible in Italy and there are couple of thugs on his trail who obviously want him out of the way.
What I like in The Saint are the backdrops. And the British actors putting on Latin accents.
What I really liked was Simon Templar's Volvo PT1800. When I was thinking of buying a car I almost bought one. I went for the Peugeot 304s cabrio instead.
It was the cheaper option. Flying to Kumasi tomorrow is not the cheaper option. But it is the logical one.
I better not get started on Star Trek.
In the prelude to the clash I did some work for Monday's programmes. And I pondered the state of my stomach. It's not alcohol because I'm drinking nothing but water. Maybe that's the problem. The ailments go by lunchtime. But I do eat with anxiety.
Maybe I should try a knife and fork.
I confidently predicted earlier on the 5pm broadcast that Nigeria would win on penalties.
After 25 minutes my analysis of the match for the 6pm programme was that if Ghana failed to capitalise on their sustained pressure, then they could be hit.
Five minutes after I went off the air. Ghana were 1-0 down. My I felt smug.
After they equalised I thought it was heading for penalties. I thought I should have called a bookmaker with these sorts of powers.
But then the Ghana captain John Mensah was sent off for a professional foul and the hosts were down to 10 men.
Suddenly they were the underdogs and that was a weight off their shoulders. Nigeria didn't go for the kill (obviously waiting for the penalty shoot-out).
Ghana won 2-1 without the drama of penalties. They're into the semis and will be up against either Egypt or Angola.
I'm heading off to see that match in Kumasi on Monday. I'm going to take a plane this time. It's only 45 minutes.
But I haven't seen the plane. And I haven't seen this particular episode of The Saint which is running on the TV at the moment.
Roger Moore has got a cool convertible in Italy and there are couple of thugs on his trail who obviously want him out of the way.
What I like in The Saint are the backdrops. And the British actors putting on Latin accents.
What I really liked was Simon Templar's Volvo PT1800. When I was thinking of buying a car I almost bought one. I went for the Peugeot 304s cabrio instead.
It was the cheaper option. Flying to Kumasi tomorrow is not the cheaper option. But it is the logical one.
I better not get started on Star Trek.
Saturday, 2 February 2008
The Pineapple Part II
Must say that the Pineapple Part II sounds like a spoof gangster film. But the fruit still continues to make a welcome addition to meals.
It has been one of those days when the rest day for the footballers has meant the same for me.
For some reason I don't feel that wonderful in the morning. I don't know why. Maybe it is the air conditioning in the hotel rooms. Maybe it's the anti-malaria tablets. Whatever it is I am not 100 per cent of a morning. This is not usually the case with me.
Staying around the hotel today therefore suited my disposition. I had a rendez-vous wth a man from the Ghana Tourist Board who wanted to drop off some brochures for me.
I phoned and told him not to come over. Moreso since I was on something of a roll preparing for Sunday's quarter final between Ghana and Nigeria here in Accra.
It is going to be a long day because the second quarter final starts at 8.30pm in Sekondi.
I'll watch that one on TV while having my supper.
I can't think what I'll have for dessert.
I'translated into
It has been one of those days when the rest day for the footballers has meant the same for me.
For some reason I don't feel that wonderful in the morning. I don't know why. Maybe it is the air conditioning in the hotel rooms. Maybe it's the anti-malaria tablets. Whatever it is I am not 100 per cent of a morning. This is not usually the case with me.
Staying around the hotel today therefore suited my disposition. I had a rendez-vous wth a man from the Ghana Tourist Board who wanted to drop off some brochures for me.
I phoned and told him not to come over. Moreso since I was on something of a roll preparing for Sunday's quarter final between Ghana and Nigeria here in Accra.
It is going to be a long day because the second quarter final starts at 8.30pm in Sekondi.
I'll watch that one on TV while having my supper.
I can't think what I'll have for dessert.
I'translated into
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