The moment came on a tro tro somewhere between Mamfe and Kwamoso in the late morning of Sunday past. Through the window the tropical banana and cocoa trees sprawled out before me in the Akuapem Hills as the tro tro fought its way noisily up the not so gentle slopes towards the regional capital, Koforidua, where I was meeting some other volunteers to go for a swim. I felt settled into this strange place.

I now know my way around the Hills and am confident to negotiate tro tros and line taxis on my own. I have even picked up a few words of twi -"me da se", which means 'thanks' (pronounced 'may da say') being one of the more important. One other thing I have noticed is that I have not felt this stress-free in a long time. The clock does not govern people's lives in West Africa as it does people at home. In most situations you are completely powerless in any case so you soon forget about worrying.

Work has been tough, but very rewarding, and we sometimes have time in the afternoons to visit other schools or the orphanage at Kwamoso. Yesterday and today we were mixing and plastering and my trowel skills are improving exponentially. I am really enjoying the building, more than I ever did in Oxford Street, Sydney or Long Island, New York, or even Mayobridge back in the summer of '99. However, while Ghanaians are a very happy people despite their basic living conditions, there is still a serious underlying poverty that will take an age to relieve. My attitude is that I can work as hard as I can while I am here on the schools we are building to make a very small difference as well as spending money in the villages (and not just at Mama's) and mixing with the locals to give them a flavour of where we all come from. God love them, I hear you say.

One intimidating sight which I have now become used to is that of people walking round with machetes. Every school child has their own machete. They help cut the grass at the school in the morning and use them to cut open coconuts etc. I am definitely going to bring one home.

I am sure all of you have seen the attack on the Togo international football team which is dominating the news here. Togo were due to play Ghana in the group stages of the African Cup of Nations but have now withdrawn. It seems all in Angola is not well. Ghana's neighbouring countries are in a state of political upheaval, and we have been warned against visiting Togo or the Ivory Coast. I might head North to Burkina Faso in March however, to see whether that GCSE Geography case study back in 1997 was actually accurate.

I went to church on Saturday morning in Abiriw with Hannah, my host family's daughter and with Agnes, one of the Ghanaian girls who lives near to us and who helps out in the local school. There were also with us two other volunteers with whom I live and we all adorned our Sunday best as a mark of respect for the occasion, taking our lead, of course, from the wonderfully colourful and dressy outfits of the locals. The church was the Seventh Day Adventist church, not a denomination with which I am greatly familiar! The service began at 9am and finished at 1pm. I would like to see Canon Kearney try to top that in Mary Queen of Peace in Clonallon.

Before the service began, we were greeted by a welcoming handshake from some of the older churchgoers. At the end of the service, they invited the obrunis to come up in front of the congregation and their elders gave us a special blessing. The highlight of course was the music and singing, and despite the attendance being small, there were three separate choirs and many hymns in which the entire congregation was expected to join in. The service itself was delivered in twi, but there were some parts which were translated into English (I suspect due to our presence more than anything else).

I understand from having asked around that there is a Catholic chapel in Akropong and I intend to go this Sunday to compare it to church at home. Never before have I Iooked forward so much to going to mass.

Before I left for Africa, I was presented by the Doochary Committee with a special t-shirt for my trip. For those of you who know the members of Doochary and the unique way in which this Committee operates, you can only but imagine the style and content of this garment. Let's just say there are a few naked pictures in there, some of men on the toilet, falling out of bed, and of course, the obligatory quote from that greatest of poets, Gary Barlow. Anyway, one of the other volunteers, Dutch, no less, asked me about the t-shirt. "What is Doochary?" Now, I have trouble at the best of time explaining the festival but on this occasion my mind just could not find a place to begin. Thanks guys for that moment of awkwardness. Me da se.

On Saturday night we went to the Mamfe festival, where nine scantily clad local girls strutted a stage in the middle of Mamfe village in search of my vote. I duly obliged and then headed to Mama's to discuss with the other volunteers whether the Miss Mamfe competition would hold a torch to the Mary from Dungloe or even the Maiden of the Mournes. The results of our discussion were inconclusive, other than to agree that 'Star' beer should be sold in each of our home countries (and at the same price as in Ghana).
And now we come to the toilets. Having been now in a number of villages in the Akuapem Hills, I have come to realise that the 'hole' that we have in our host family's home is actually a blessing. Generally speaking, Ghanaians don't use toilets. They go on the side of the road or in bushes. You can imagine the levels of hygiene, especially in the centre of villages or in bigger towns!

The one absolutely crucial piece of equipment I have is my head lamp, because after 7 o'clock in the evening it is pitch black and with no lights in the 'hole' outhouse, it can be a tricky operation. I discovered a few maggots crawling around the 'hole' when I 'visited' yesterday - but of course, with no choice, one has no choice, if you undertand. No running water means also that instead of washing my hands I use the anti-bacterial hand gel all the time. And while bucket showers are great, I do not think I have been totally clean since I arrived in Africa, especially taking into consideration the work on the building project and the amount of sweat for which I am responsible. Every time one of you turns on a tap or has a hot shower, take a moment to be thankful.

I think today was the hottest of all. After my cold bucket shower I sweat my body weight again in the shade. The nights are lovely here, if you can put up with the malaria bearing mosquitoes. My host mother actually commented how cold it was in the evening, and there was me finally able to breathe. I don't think she could handle the winds sweeping up to Dallan Avenue from Carlingford Lough.

We have some new volunteers coming this week so I am looking forward to seeing their shell-shocked faces which will be similar to the one which I wore on the first day I arrived.