Ghana is one of the few places where I’ve been totally happy to walk up to complete strangers, chat to them, learn their names – and ask for a photo. That’s if they don’t get there first, of course – many Ghanaians, upon seeing me with a camera, demanded that I “snap” them, and their friends, and their children.
I met Thomas in a dusty field, parched by the harmattan. There was a bar a few metres away called Small Small – a Ghanaian expression that I particularly liked, and one that was useful to learn very quickly if planning to enjoy any of the potent local spirits – which would otherwise be poured out in stupor-inducing quantities.
Walking away from the bar, past the looming baobabs, I came across Thomas’s grill, and he offered me a meat kebab. I don’t know what the meat was, or the x-rated sausage still cooking on the grill, or even who he was cooking for – but maybe some hungry workers from the fields would arrive soon, with an ice cold Club or Star to wash down their snack with. Mystery meat stalls are such an intrinsic part of travelling that it only seemed right to ask for a photograph of Thomas, and he was happy to oblige.