M. J. Poynter
Greetings from Ghana is a comical tale set in the city of Accra in 2002. Inspired by real life events this autobiographical novel is an action packed adventure of endless mishaps and mayhem. The story begins in the English countryside from where M. J. Poynter takes the reader on a rip-roaring journey into Ghana and through the bustling streets of Accra. Set in a tropical paradise under the blazing heat of the African sun, the author travels around the affluent suburbs, along the highways and into the city’s red-light districts. Here he meets an array of colourful characters who add to the story’s sense of mystery and intrigue. The author’s use of vivid description captures the vibrancy of African life and depicts the trials and tribulations which many of its people face. Told through a series of amusing anecdotes, Greetings from Ghana is an inventive tale which brings the city of Accra to life!
M. J. Poynter is an English writer who grew up in South Africa during the years of apartheid. Having returned to the UK in the early 1990’s he spent several years studying at university and teaching at a college of further education. In 2002 he moved to Ghana in order to take up a teaching position at a small university college in Accra. During his stay the author traveled around the city meeting various people who would ultimately inspire him to write this novel.
Regina had decided to spend the weekend with me at the Guest House! We woke up on Saturday morning and decided to spend the rest of the day at the beach. Despite having lived in a coastal city for over a month I had never actually ventured down towards the sea front. So later on that morning we caught a taxi from the side of the road and drove out towards the La Bade Beach Resort. The taxi driver took us along the old Burma Camp road which was shaded on either side with tall trees and a lush undergrowth of shrub land. The road slowly winded its way passed the outskirts of East Cantonments and down towards the Trade Fair Centre. I sat back looking at the rays of bright sunshine as they flickered through the tops of the trees like sparkling threads of silver and gold. As we approached the bottom of Burma Camp I could see the Hotel La Palm Royal straight up in the distance. The taxi driver turned onto the La Bade beach road, drove past the front of the hotel, and then headed out towards the resort. We drove along for a couple of minutes when suddenly the taxi pulled over to the side of the road and stopped on an open piece of derelict ground.
“Why are we stopping here?” I enquired.
“This is the place for the beach,” replied Regina.
“But this is just an open piece of disused ground covered in rubbish,” I protested, “we want to go to the beach resort!”
“Yes…this is the place,” replied Regina, pointing out of the window.
I reluctantly got out of the car, paid the taxi driver and then slowly followed Regina towards a group of dilapidated buildings situated just beyond a make-shift car park. As we approached the car park I could see a large man dressed in brightly coloured shorts and a T-shirt arguing with a ragged looking man. The ragged man was holding a stick with a dirty piece of red cloth tired to one end; he was frantically waving the stick at the large man and shouting at the top of his voice. The large man dressed in brightly cloroured clothes strategically placed his sun glasses on top of his head and began shouting back. Just then another ragged looking man appeared holding a stick with a tatty piece of cloth at one end and began yelling at the top of his voice. Suddenly a fierce argument broke out and the three men were now screaming at each other!
“What on earth is going on?” I enquired.
“Don’t mind them,” replied Regina.
“Why are they yelling at each other?”
“They just want to get money.”
“Who wants to get money?”
“Those two ruffian boys,” replied Regina with disdain.
“Oh…the two ragged looki
