Singer 2
Originally uploaded by borderfilms (Doug).
A member of Ghana's singing and dance troup, Wulomei, performs on the outdoor stage at the 200th anniversary of passing the Abolition of Slavery Act. Elmina, Ghana.
More images on FLICKR!
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Singer 2
Singer 2
Originally uploaded by borderfilms (Doug).
The Chief Arrives
The Chief Arrives
Originally uploaded by borderfilms (Doug).
Nana Kodwo Condua VI - Paramount Chief of Edina Traditional Council is carried to the castle grounds in a vessel called a palanquin. The words on the side of the palanquin translate to "Except God," meaning that the chief is the most powerful presence in the traditional area, with the exception of God.
Hugh Plays
Hugh Plays
Originally uploaded by borderfilms (Doug).
Hugh Masekela blows the crowd away with his amazing horn playing.
Prez!
Prez!
Originally uploaded by borderfilms (Doug).
Ghana President John Kufuor at ceremonies in Elmina, Ghana marking the 200th anniversary of the UK passing the Abolition of Slavery Act.
Prez!
Prez!
Originally uploaded by borderfilms (Doug).
Ghana President John Kufuor at ceremonies in Elmina, Ghana marking the 200th anniversary of the UK passing the Abolition of Slavery Act.
from the "racism" dept.
INTERNATIONAL RACISM DAY
JHR CORRESPONDENTS SITE
Week March 23, 2007
The question came during the morning editorial meeting -- between a big bite of bread and a swig of Tampico fruit juice.
SKYY TV reporter Christian Baidoo asked it, not so coincidentally, on the International Day of the Elimination of Racial Discrimination.
"Since you've arrived in Ghana, have you ever been the victim of racism?"
Me? Racism? A thousand images flashed in my brain, each a part of my broad personal definition.
Rosa Parks refusing to move to the back of the bus.
Nelson Mandela, after all those years in prison, never giving up or backing down.
Martin Luther King and his dream.
Had I ever been the victim of racism? Me, a white man, from Canada, in Ghana?
"Uh, I don't think so," I answered, quickly trying to add something with a little more depth. "Everyone in Ghana has been exceptionally warm and welcoming since I've arrived."
But after considering the question a bit more, I was able to put my finger on two situations where my skin colour -- my race -- do play a role in my everyday life in Ghana.
The first is simply taking a taxi and setting a fair fare. The drill goes like this:
I stand by the side of the road and wait. Taxis in Takoradi are equipped with special radar that senses a potential tourist fare -- I know this because every single taxi that comes within 500 metres will make a beeline for me, honking like an angry goose.
I have long since stopped turning to look; in the remote chance it might be someone I know. Isn't that Steve from Vancouver? Nope.
The taxi will stop, some distance up the road. After an impromptu 50-metre dash, I'll pop my head in the passenger side and say something like "I'm going to Market Circle (Takoradi's central business district). How much?"
Most taxi drivers will ponder this for a moment, quickly trying to determine how gullible the sweaty white man in the Hawaiian shirt is, and then, nine times out of ten, quote a ridiculous fare.
"50,000."
Unknown to the taxi driver, I have a secret weapon: Local knowledge. As a resident of Takoradi, I know that the normal fare is about 15,000 cedis.
So I chuckle and counter with the realistic fare. Take that, hombre!
After a bit of back and forth, which occasionally turns into a serious debate, the taxi driver will fold, or at least drop down to 20,000. If I'm in a rush or if it's late at night, I'll agree. Other times I'll accept only the local fair and if not acceptable to the cabbie, I'll wave him off and repeat the process with the next hack.
Sometimes I'm surprised by a cabbie that quotes the proper fare straight away. After getting over the shock, I generally collect their phone numbers for future reference.
My local friends tell me they often go through the same bargaining process, but generally not with such outrageous starting prices.
The other time I find that my colour is a factor is, well, every day. When I walk to work. When I go shopping. When I buy beer. Even, occasionally, at work.
Obruni - "white man" in the local language. I hear it all the time.
There is a large segment of the population, especially in the Western Region, that feels the need to point out the fact that I am white -- as if I didn't know.
Of course, cultural reference points are important to consider. In my country, it would be very disrespectful to point to a stranger and say "Hey Chinese Man!" or "Hey Black Man!"
Can you imagine? You'd be dragged before a human rights tribunal before you could say "I'm not a racist!"
In Ghana, it's par for the course. Everyone says it: kids, teenagers, adults. Everyone. And not just in the local language. I hear "Hey White Man!" almost as often. In most cases it's simply a greeting and rarely is it negative.
With the children, I just laugh. Sometimes I'll look around in terror, as if some monster is about to swallow me whole. The kids laugh. I laugh and I carry on.
Usually when adults say it, it doesn't bother me -- unless I'm tired, on my way home, and have already heard it a million times.
Outwardly I smile, sometimes responding obibini (Black man!). But inside I think, "yes, yes, I know."
I am definitely part of a tiny minority, and while there aren't a lot of white people in Takoradi, a rainbow of faces fill local television screens every night. It makes me wonder why the calls of obruni haven't faded with time.
Turning back to Christian, I shrugged. It was all I could come up with and I wouldn't categorize either situation as especially racist, certainly not by my definition.
I have never been told to sit at the back of the bus. I have never been refused entry to a restaurant or club. I have never been threatened with physical harm because of my colour or my beliefs.
I was never the victim of racism in Canada. But now, living as a minority with strangers commenting daily on my skin colour, I have become a little more aware of what it must feel like.
JHR CORRESPONDENTS SITE
Week March 23, 2007
The question came during the morning editorial meeting -- between a big bite of bread and a swig of Tampico fruit juice.
SKYY TV reporter Christian Baidoo asked it, not so coincidentally, on the International Day of the Elimination of Racial Discrimination.
"Since you've arrived in Ghana, have you ever been the victim of racism?"
Me? Racism? A thousand images flashed in my brain, each a part of my broad personal definition.
Rosa Parks refusing to move to the back of the bus.
Nelson Mandela, after all those years in prison, never giving up or backing down.
Martin Luther King and his dream.
Had I ever been the victim of racism? Me, a white man, from Canada, in Ghana?
"Uh, I don't think so," I answered, quickly trying to add something with a little more depth. "Everyone in Ghana has been exceptionally warm and welcoming since I've arrived."
But after considering the question a bit more, I was able to put my finger on two situations where my skin colour -- my race -- do play a role in my everyday life in Ghana.
The first is simply taking a taxi and setting a fair fare. The drill goes like this:
I stand by the side of the road and wait. Taxis in Takoradi are equipped with special radar that senses a potential tourist fare -- I know this because every single taxi that comes within 500 metres will make a beeline for me, honking like an angry goose.
I have long since stopped turning to look; in the remote chance it might be someone I know. Isn't that Steve from Vancouver? Nope.
The taxi will stop, some distance up the road. After an impromptu 50-metre dash, I'll pop my head in the passenger side and say something like "I'm going to Market Circle (Takoradi's central business district). How much?"
Most taxi drivers will ponder this for a moment, quickly trying to determine how gullible the sweaty white man in the Hawaiian shirt is, and then, nine times out of ten, quote a ridiculous fare.
"50,000."
Unknown to the taxi driver, I have a secret weapon: Local knowledge. As a resident of Takoradi, I know that the normal fare is about 15,000 cedis.
So I chuckle and counter with the realistic fare. Take that, hombre!
After a bit of back and forth, which occasionally turns into a serious debate, the taxi driver will fold, or at least drop down to 20,000. If I'm in a rush or if it's late at night, I'll agree. Other times I'll accept only the local fair and if not acceptable to the cabbie, I'll wave him off and repeat the process with the next hack.
Sometimes I'm surprised by a cabbie that quotes the proper fare straight away. After getting over the shock, I generally collect their phone numbers for future reference.
My local friends tell me they often go through the same bargaining process, but generally not with such outrageous starting prices.
The other time I find that my colour is a factor is, well, every day. When I walk to work. When I go shopping. When I buy beer. Even, occasionally, at work.
Obruni - "white man" in the local language. I hear it all the time.
There is a large segment of the population, especially in the Western Region, that feels the need to point out the fact that I am white -- as if I didn't know.
Of course, cultural reference points are important to consider. In my country, it would be very disrespectful to point to a stranger and say "Hey Chinese Man!" or "Hey Black Man!"
Can you imagine? You'd be dragged before a human rights tribunal before you could say "I'm not a racist!"
In Ghana, it's par for the course. Everyone says it: kids, teenagers, adults. Everyone. And not just in the local language. I hear "Hey White Man!" almost as often. In most cases it's simply a greeting and rarely is it negative.
With the children, I just laugh. Sometimes I'll look around in terror, as if some monster is about to swallow me whole. The kids laugh. I laugh and I carry on.
Usually when adults say it, it doesn't bother me -- unless I'm tired, on my way home, and have already heard it a million times.
Outwardly I smile, sometimes responding obibini (Black man!). But inside I think, "yes, yes, I know."
I am definitely part of a tiny minority, and while there aren't a lot of white people in Takoradi, a rainbow of faces fill local television screens every night. It makes me wonder why the calls of obruni haven't faded with time.
Turning back to Christian, I shrugged. It was all I could come up with and I wouldn't categorize either situation as especially racist, certainly not by my definition.
I have never been told to sit at the back of the bus. I have never been refused entry to a restaurant or club. I have never been threatened with physical harm because of my colour or my beliefs.
I was never the victim of racism in Canada. But now, living as a minority with strangers commenting daily on my skin colour, I have become a little more aware of what it must feel like.
from the "interNOT NOT" dept.
I am alive, but have been offline for 8 days. The reason: it's broken at work and I've not had time to drag my arse into an internet cafe.
However, I have been busy... images from the 200th Anniversary passing of the Slavery Act and some babble.
In fact, I can cut and paste some babble here... this also appears on the JHR site.
More soon!
Cheers!
However, I have been busy... images from the 200th Anniversary passing of the Slavery Act and some babble.
In fact, I can cut and paste some babble here... this also appears on the JHR site.
More soon!
Cheers!
Sunday, March 18, 2007
from the "Sunday Bloody Sunday" dept.
Takoradi. Sunday.
Once again I find myself at work, fighting with the interNot in my battle to download the entire Sunday New York Times for offline reading.
At nearly 90 minutes, I think there is finally light at the end of the tunnel. I hope to get out of here soon... I'm dreaming of passing the rest of the afternoon with a book on my roof. And the electroTimes ce soir.
At the same time I've been listening to an endless loop of Cher's "Do you believe in Life after Love" song-from-hell. It's the signature sports song on SKYY FM and it's blasting out of the studio down the hall.
The song is used between sports stories and to cover long breaks. I'm not sure what the alternative would be. Perhaps dead air? I will investigate this next week.
Speaking of next week: another busy one.
I hope to visit Cape Coast with one of the SKYY reporters for events marking the 200th anniversary of Britain passing the Abolition of the Slave Trade Act (March 25, 1807).
Work continues on the Flame project. And I must prepare a workshop on using the internet for research (when it works!).
And before I go, a quote I copied from John Gushue's excellent blog Dot Dot Dot:
"Nothing makes you more tolerant of a neighbour's noisy party than being there."
- Franklin P. Jones
Cheers!
Once again I find myself at work, fighting with the interNot in my battle to download the entire Sunday New York Times for offline reading.
At nearly 90 minutes, I think there is finally light at the end of the tunnel. I hope to get out of here soon... I'm dreaming of passing the rest of the afternoon with a book on my roof. And the electroTimes ce soir.
At the same time I've been listening to an endless loop of Cher's "Do you believe in Life after Love" song-from-hell. It's the signature sports song on SKYY FM and it's blasting out of the studio down the hall.
The song is used between sports stories and to cover long breaks. I'm not sure what the alternative would be. Perhaps dead air? I will investigate this next week.
Speaking of next week: another busy one.
I hope to visit Cape Coast with one of the SKYY reporters for events marking the 200th anniversary of Britain passing the Abolition of the Slave Trade Act (March 25, 1807).
Work continues on the Flame project. And I must prepare a workshop on using the internet for research (when it works!).
And before I go, a quote I copied from John Gushue's excellent blog Dot Dot Dot:
"Nothing makes you more tolerant of a neighbour's noisy party than being there."
- Franklin P. Jones
Cheers!
Saturday, March 17, 2007
from the "doug @ 60" dept.
Saturday, March 17th
Takoradi
It was another long week here, but the weekend has finally arrived. Work is busy with various projects both new and old. And I remain healthy and happy although the lack of internet access continues to be a burden.
The latest: I can access wirelessly from at work, but many sites -- including my bank and other secure sites -- won't function on my laptop. I have no idea why.
Other than that, I am now looking forward to a weekend off, likely with a cold pint in my hand. I had hoped to go to Accra for St. Patrick's Day, but decided I was too knackered to hit the road again.
Instead I will don a green shirt and attempt to find some like-minded folks interested in hoisting a pint in celebration.
That's the latest... and for your reading pleasure I have my weekly contribution to the JHR website.
Slainte!!
I have now been in Ghana for two months. I know this because my 60-day permit to remain in the country has expired. I was alerted to the fact when checking my passport the other day. Right beside the yearlong and multiple-entry visa that I paid $150 for is a stamp that I received at the airport in Accra. It granted me 60 days to stay in Ghana and not work.
Funny, considering I am here for eight months to, essentially, work.
I am now in the process of getting my permit extended. Originally I was going to go for a six-month extension at a cost of 600,000 Cedis (about $80). But then I learned that if I left the country between now and the end of the extended period, the clock would be reset to 60 days again. As there is a good chance that I will leave Ghana to visit one of its neighbours within the next several months, I decided that a 60-day extension was a better idea. And at 200,000 Cedis, it's cheaper too.
In reality, two months isn't a lot of time. But it represents about 25 per cent of my time in Ghana. Two months is also a good point to look back and reflect on the adventure so far. And what better way to do that than with a bunch of lists?
Things I'm glad I brought from Canada:
SHORTWAVE RADIO: With the exception of malaria medication and my bank cards, I would say a shortwave radio is the most useful thing I packed. As a media junkie without regular access to the internet here, the BBC has become my saviour.
Their World Service programming, especially the African service, is a life and brain saver. The signal is always strong and I can generally tune in at any time of day.
In contrast, I find Radio Canada International a huge disappointment. Its content is aimed not at ex-pats, but towards an international audience eager to find out more about my beloved homeland.
In Ghana, I can pick up RCI nightly at 6 p.m. The four-hour broadcast features one hour in English, one hour in French, an hour in Arabic, and then another hour in French.
The English portion begins with a painfully short newscast written in a breezy educational style: "Edmonton, a city in the Canadian province of Alberta..." Ugh.
PETZL HEADLAMP: A severe energy crunch in Ghana means that rotating power cuts are an everyday fact of life. Where I live, the power is switched off every five days. The blackouts begin shortly after 6 p.m. and continue for about 12 hours. This is called load-shedding and is meant to reduce demand on Ghana's overtaxed hydro infrastructure.
When the lights go out, I slide on my trusty Petzl headlamp, powered by nuclear batteries that never seem to die. I may look like a coal miner, but I'm able to wander around the house without walking into walls. I can also read in a wonderfully quiet environment.
LAPTOP COMPUTER: When there is power, I often use my laptop as a stereo, a DVD player or for a challenging game of solitaire. When there isn't power, I often use my laptop as a stereo, a DVD player or for a challenging game of solitaire until the battery dies (about 17 minutes).
THINGS I REGRET LEAVING BEHIND:
Only one thing here: books.
Fifty pounds sounds like a lot, right? It is, if you're carrying bowling balls up Kilimanjaro. But if you're talking about the stuff you might want for an eight-month visit to Africa, it's nothing.
I found the challenge of staying under my air carrier's laughable 50-pound limit, well, laughable. In my first attempt at packing last January, I purchased a fish scale and hung it from the basement ceiling. It took the strength of ten men to lift my bag up to the hook and, when I let go, I swear the scale screamed in agony just before it blew apart.
Having come so close to death by flying spring, I realized that I would have to leave many things behind. So much for the anvil, the cast iron stove, and, saddest of all, a few dozen books.
But now, two months later, it is the books I regret leaving behind. Luckily, I've found some decent used bookshops in Accra and Cape Coast, and the hunt continues for one in Takoradi.
I WISH I HAD MORE:
HAND SANITIZER. Not for some Howard Hughes inspired irrational fear of germs, but the fact that soap is rarely available in washrooms and one often eats with one's hands.
GOOD COFFEE. I thought I'd be tripping over an incredible selection of African coffees: Kenyan, Ethiopian, Ugandan, Tanzanian. Nope. Most shops stock little more than Nescafe, which barely meets the standard definition of coffee. I've found small packs of imported espresso blends, but they're expensive and the grind is too fine for my French press.
In retrospect, I would have gladly left all my socks and underwear behind for a couple of kilos of Continental Blend from Vancouver's Continental Coffee.
THINGS I DON'T MISS:
Carrying a lot of keys.
Getting bills in the mail. In fact, I don't even get mail.
Rain.
Winter.
CNN's lame attempts to fill their schedule with meaningless entertainment "news."
THINGS I DO MISS:
Family and friends.
The Globe and Mail.
The New York Times.
Dependable internet access.
Keith Olbermann.
Drinking tap water from the tap without boiling, adding drops or saying prayers.
Sushi. (Oh, how I miss salmon sashimi at Osaka Sushi in Deep Cove, BC)
Quality wines. Especially a thick Australian Shiraz.
Quality rum.
Mail.
Rain.
Winter.
I SHOULD HAVE BROUGHT:
Belizean hot sauce and a back-up of my music library. Sadly, I lost more than 3,000 songs when my iPod synced iNcorrectly and eRased everything.
I SHOULDN'T HAVE BROUGHT:
My Tilley hat. Yes, I own one. I bought it back in 1993, for my first trip to Europe. I have brought it on most trips since, yet I have never worn it. Why? Because it makes me look like a goof. And even though I know I'll never use it, I still secretly pack it away -- just in case.
THE HARDEST THING ABOUT LIVING IN GHANA:
Trying to sleep during a power cut. Without a fan to circulate the hot and moist air, sleeping is all but impossible. Even if I were able to drift off, I am too fearful of drowning in a pool of my own sweat to stay asleep for very long. It's not the way I want to go.
THE BEST THINGS ABOUT LIVING IN GHANA:
The people, the people and the people.
-30-
Takoradi
It was another long week here, but the weekend has finally arrived. Work is busy with various projects both new and old. And I remain healthy and happy although the lack of internet access continues to be a burden.
The latest: I can access wirelessly from at work, but many sites -- including my bank and other secure sites -- won't function on my laptop. I have no idea why.
Other than that, I am now looking forward to a weekend off, likely with a cold pint in my hand. I had hoped to go to Accra for St. Patrick's Day, but decided I was too knackered to hit the road again.
Instead I will don a green shirt and attempt to find some like-minded folks interested in hoisting a pint in celebration.
That's the latest... and for your reading pleasure I have my weekly contribution to the JHR website.
Slainte!!
I have now been in Ghana for two months. I know this because my 60-day permit to remain in the country has expired. I was alerted to the fact when checking my passport the other day. Right beside the yearlong and multiple-entry visa that I paid $150 for is a stamp that I received at the airport in Accra. It granted me 60 days to stay in Ghana and not work.
Funny, considering I am here for eight months to, essentially, work.
I am now in the process of getting my permit extended. Originally I was going to go for a six-month extension at a cost of 600,000 Cedis (about $80). But then I learned that if I left the country between now and the end of the extended period, the clock would be reset to 60 days again. As there is a good chance that I will leave Ghana to visit one of its neighbours within the next several months, I decided that a 60-day extension was a better idea. And at 200,000 Cedis, it's cheaper too.
In reality, two months isn't a lot of time. But it represents about 25 per cent of my time in Ghana. Two months is also a good point to look back and reflect on the adventure so far. And what better way to do that than with a bunch of lists?
Things I'm glad I brought from Canada:
SHORTWAVE RADIO: With the exception of malaria medication and my bank cards, I would say a shortwave radio is the most useful thing I packed. As a media junkie without regular access to the internet here, the BBC has become my saviour.
Their World Service programming, especially the African service, is a life and brain saver. The signal is always strong and I can generally tune in at any time of day.
In contrast, I find Radio Canada International a huge disappointment. Its content is aimed not at ex-pats, but towards an international audience eager to find out more about my beloved homeland.
In Ghana, I can pick up RCI nightly at 6 p.m. The four-hour broadcast features one hour in English, one hour in French, an hour in Arabic, and then another hour in French.
The English portion begins with a painfully short newscast written in a breezy educational style: "Edmonton, a city in the Canadian province of Alberta..." Ugh.
PETZL HEADLAMP: A severe energy crunch in Ghana means that rotating power cuts are an everyday fact of life. Where I live, the power is switched off every five days. The blackouts begin shortly after 6 p.m. and continue for about 12 hours. This is called load-shedding and is meant to reduce demand on Ghana's overtaxed hydro infrastructure.
When the lights go out, I slide on my trusty Petzl headlamp, powered by nuclear batteries that never seem to die. I may look like a coal miner, but I'm able to wander around the house without walking into walls. I can also read in a wonderfully quiet environment.
LAPTOP COMPUTER: When there is power, I often use my laptop as a stereo, a DVD player or for a challenging game of solitaire. When there isn't power, I often use my laptop as a stereo, a DVD player or for a challenging game of solitaire until the battery dies (about 17 minutes).
THINGS I REGRET LEAVING BEHIND:
Only one thing here: books.
Fifty pounds sounds like a lot, right? It is, if you're carrying bowling balls up Kilimanjaro. But if you're talking about the stuff you might want for an eight-month visit to Africa, it's nothing.
I found the challenge of staying under my air carrier's laughable 50-pound limit, well, laughable. In my first attempt at packing last January, I purchased a fish scale and hung it from the basement ceiling. It took the strength of ten men to lift my bag up to the hook and, when I let go, I swear the scale screamed in agony just before it blew apart.
Having come so close to death by flying spring, I realized that I would have to leave many things behind. So much for the anvil, the cast iron stove, and, saddest of all, a few dozen books.
But now, two months later, it is the books I regret leaving behind. Luckily, I've found some decent used bookshops in Accra and Cape Coast, and the hunt continues for one in Takoradi.
I WISH I HAD MORE:
HAND SANITIZER. Not for some Howard Hughes inspired irrational fear of germs, but the fact that soap is rarely available in washrooms and one often eats with one's hands.
GOOD COFFEE. I thought I'd be tripping over an incredible selection of African coffees: Kenyan, Ethiopian, Ugandan, Tanzanian. Nope. Most shops stock little more than Nescafe, which barely meets the standard definition of coffee. I've found small packs of imported espresso blends, but they're expensive and the grind is too fine for my French press.
In retrospect, I would have gladly left all my socks and underwear behind for a couple of kilos of Continental Blend from Vancouver's Continental Coffee.
THINGS I DON'T MISS:
Carrying a lot of keys.
Getting bills in the mail. In fact, I don't even get mail.
Rain.
Winter.
CNN's lame attempts to fill their schedule with meaningless entertainment "news."
THINGS I DO MISS:
Family and friends.
The Globe and Mail.
The New York Times.
Dependable internet access.
Keith Olbermann.
Drinking tap water from the tap without boiling, adding drops or saying prayers.
Sushi. (Oh, how I miss salmon sashimi at Osaka Sushi in Deep Cove, BC)
Quality wines. Especially a thick Australian Shiraz.
Quality rum.
Mail.
Rain.
Winter.
I SHOULD HAVE BROUGHT:
Belizean hot sauce and a back-up of my music library. Sadly, I lost more than 3,000 songs when my iPod synced iNcorrectly and eRased everything.
I SHOULDN'T HAVE BROUGHT:
My Tilley hat. Yes, I own one. I bought it back in 1993, for my first trip to Europe. I have brought it on most trips since, yet I have never worn it. Why? Because it makes me look like a goof. And even though I know I'll never use it, I still secretly pack it away -- just in case.
THE HARDEST THING ABOUT LIVING IN GHANA:
Trying to sleep during a power cut. Without a fan to circulate the hot and moist air, sleeping is all but impossible. Even if I were able to drift off, I am too fearful of drowning in a pool of my own sweat to stay asleep for very long. It's not the way I want to go.
THE BEST THINGS ABOUT LIVING IN GHANA:
The people, the people and the people.
-30-
Thursday, March 15, 2007
from the "more current events" dept.
From JoyFM Online:
The nationwide load shedding exercise that was suspended during the jubilee celebrations resumes today.
Meanwhile, the Volta River Authority (VRA) is exploring ways to reduce the country’s dependency on the Akosombo hydro-electric dam in the short term.
The move has become necessary because of the declining water level in the Akosombo dam with potentially dire consequences. The current water level is 238 feet and there are fears that it could drop further to the extreme 235 feet before the rains start.
Measures being considered by the VRA include a reduction in the amount of power supplied to all consumers, including major industries and domestic users.
One of the major consumers of power, VALCO, has also cut back on its energy use by some 35 megawatts within the past week having initially reduced consumption at the beginning of the energy crisis.
The VRA’s Public Relations Officer, Mr John Tsoba, told newsmen that average lake levels has been declining since the dam was constructed in 1965 but this year’s level is threatening. He said the level of the dam has never been that slow since the draught of 1983.
“Infact if I do not tell you that nobody is worried here then I am lying. Everybody is worried,” he lamented.
To take the pressure off the dam and avoid totally running down the lake, the VRA is drawing electricity from Kpong and running the thermal plant at Aboadze at full tilt.
But it comes at a cost. The VRA is spending more than 30 million dollars a month on fuel import. It forms part of the VRA’s plan to move from total dependence on hydro-power to other alternatives.
Although crude oil and natural gas are more expensive for the thermal plant, the VRA hopes that is the main alternative because they are always available.
[JoyFM]
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