Yes I still have to finish posting the Ghana Chronicles and I'm sorry for the lag since #7. Hopefully it will be done before we go back to Ghana next month. Ah, Paris in July - will Lance ever win a stage? I predict no - he will loose the final ITT by fractions of a second to an unexpected contendor. I like standing on the darkside with predictions. He'll still carry the yellow to Paris, so keep your shorts on. McEwen will win the final sprint on the Champs by climbing onto O'Grady's handlebars and dancing an elfin jig. The climbers jersey is supposed to be called 'jersey with red beans', which I like much better than 'polka dot jersey'. Lots of interesting spew about bikes on the triple wide web; These folks are in LA. And of course there's a Rogue Mechanic. Jonathan Maus has an interesting take on the bike industry from the inside. Some folks are just stuck on the fix, others eat a lot of donuts. Kevin Kelly has a new take on films. Tortoises conect you to other bikebloggers. In NorCal they make art from garbage.
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Ghana Chronicles: Pt.7
Recap. At last report, our intrepid team had spent just 48 hours in the villages of the Songorniya area when the call came telling us the bike shipment from Boston had finally cleared customs. Packing camera gear, toothbrushes and a change of underwear, we blasted back to Accra for this important filming rendezvous. Here's links to the previous posts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6.
Dusk til dawn. Back in Accra on the dawn of our filming the unloading of the shipment at George and Sammy’s shop on Abeka Road. First, to get out of the villages, there was a chaotic scramble in a busted up taxi out of Sege. We had to switch vehicles on the outskirts of the city once we realized our driver had never been there. Telling him to pull over resulted in a near-death driving sequence, which I will not bore you with here; suffice to say we lived, switched cabs and got to our quarters for the evening. The game is afoot and we’re glad to be players. It’s not an adventure- it’s a job. Morning comes with choking soot, having slept the wee hours; it now rises with the increase in activity on the streets. It is 5am and a low-lying haze of dust coats our vision. Steven Segal lives here. No shit; he’s putting out a reggae album and visiting some NGO that also does some sort of bike workshop. Interesting, to read the paper and see such a story. It’s just like LA- celeb's in the news.
6am. Back in Boston, it took two days with a rotating crew of two dozen people to load the shipping container. In Accra it takes half that many people all at once just over two hours to unload, sort and stack the shipment. No shit. The real interesting part started after that, when the sales went down, but first was the emptying of the truck. More than half the shipment is sold to local bike shop owners, mechanics and smaller distributors. They have been the predominant team unloading the container. These guys showed up after the container doors were cracked open at around 6am. Some showed up on bikes, with backpacks worn backwards and riding tricked out stingray-style rigs. Others wheeled up on three-speeds, or ‘racers’ and some were on the beloved Phoenix. They ranged in age from 18 to 38. Sammy was in the truck, pulling out bikes and parts with a helper. The two loyal shop-workers made sure that the bikes Sammy marked for workshops went inside the store. The buyers briskly separated the other rigs into piles. Moro made sure everything was in its place, made a separate pile of wheels others of fenders, tires and baskets. These would be sold off later.
A big plus to the whole morning, in addition to this great opportunity to film that Sammy had orchestrated, was meeting David Peckham. David is VBP – he came here to Ghana with a bag of bike tools to sell in the market in 95 after a few years working in Gabon. There in the bustle of the bike sellers’ area he met Sam, then George, introduced them to each other, and launched VBP. David rides all over Ghana on whatever MTB he’s plucked from the last shipment he was in country for. A spry, wiry man in his late forties, or maybe early fifties, David knows Africa. He knows it well enough to not run his NGO in the typical Western manner- that is, to tell the locals how to do business. Like David Branigan back in Songorniya, Peckham is a facilitator. He works with George and Sammy to make the program work, but when it comes to dividing up the bicycles between workshop and sales, he leaves the business to the pros. At one point while we’re all filming and watching and photographing the orchestrated chaos of The Unloading, David sidles up to me while I monitor a time-lapse shot. “Know why those guys all came with backpacks?” I shrug blankly. “Wallets’ ain’t big enough.” I ponder the exchange rate, a quick estimated pricing of the used bikes all around me and the large sheaf of paper in my own pocket. No shit. In two hours the inside of the truck is finger-lickin' clean, the driver paid off and sent on his way. Then the bidding and haggling period sets in. Soon large bricks of money are deftly passing hands from buyers to Sammy, while Moro stands near by with a horn that he toots periodically, mainly for amusement. The real negotiations go down inside the shop with George. We see one exchange getting a little hot and respectfully cool the cameras until it’s settled. Waddaya think this is, reality TV? By noon it’s pretty much over. By two we’re in another taxi bound for Songorniya. By four we’ve got a flat tire. By five we’re back at Branigan’s, giggling with Wilisto.
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