Day 11 - I’ve cried and I’ve laughed until my stomach hurt
This morning was hospital day.
So, scrubs on, we climbed into our taxi and began yet another bumpy journey through Ghana. I genuinely don’t think road safety is a thing here. Actually, I’m not entirely convinced roads are a thing here 
. Our taxi’s windscreen had a crack so enormous that it looked approximately one pothole away from joining us inside the car. But apparently this is just normal life now.
. Our taxi’s windscreen had a crack so enormous that it looked approximately one pothole away from joining us inside the car. But apparently this is just normal life now.Our driver charged us 150 cedis for the return journey, dropped us at the hospital and agreed to come back for us at 12.
Walking into the hospital was probably one of the biggest reality checks I’ve had since arriving. We started with a tour. The hospital itself is really small. There was an A&E department, pharmacy, outpatient department, maternity area, theatres and a paediatric ward which had just eight beds. And, naturally, there were goats, chickens and dogs casually wandering around the hospital grounds. A sentence I never imagined I’d write.
But strangely, after nearly two weeks here, even that doesn’t feel particularly unusual anymore. Animals seem to just exist alongside everyone in Busua. They’re in the streets, on the beach, around people’s homes and apparently… at the hospital too.
What hit me almost immediately, though, was the difference in resources. Not necessarily the care or the people providing it but the resources available to them and how they have to make everything go a long way.
We watched a woman arrive at maternity who was unwell and needed blood taken. One of the things that really stayed with me was watching the staff improvise with the equipment they had available. Tubing left from IV fluid sets was cut down and repurposed as a tourniquet for taking blood.
Part of me looked at it through my UK eyes and immediately thought about infection-control procedures and all the protocols we’re used to at home. But another part of me thought: how incredibly resourceful. When you don’t have endless supplies available, you find ways of making things work. That became a theme throughout the entire hospital.
The humidity and heat have taken their toll on the building and equipment. Many of the metal beds, trolleys and cabinets were visibly rusted. The wards were incredibly hot, and patients bring their own bedding into hospital with them.
And yet people were still being cared for. Staff were still working. Babies were still being delivered. People were still getting better. It made me realise how much we take for granted at home without ever really noticing it.
The maternity ward
The maternity ward was probably the part that fascinated and terrified me the most.
Labouring women remain together in the ward while labour progresses and just seem to be left to get on with it. Once they’re ready to deliver, they’re moved into the delivery room.
And I’m telling you now, the birthing bed looked like something between a dentist’s chair and a medieval torture device.
Leg supports up. On your back. Baby coming. That appeared to be the set-up.
There certainly wasn’t the selection of birthing pools, mood lighting and Spotify playlists we’re accustomed to seeing discussed at home. Pain-relief options also appeared much more limited than those we’re familiar with in UK maternity care.
It was one of those moments where you look around and think about just how different women’s experiences of childbirth can be depending purely upon where in the world they happen to give birth.
Interestingly, the theatre area surprised me. Despite how basic some areas of the hospital appeared, the theatre environment smelled incredibly clean and sterile. It was another reminder not to mistake limited resources for a lack of care or professionalism.
Because honestly, watching the staff work made me think the opposite. Although one of the biggest differences I noticed was that care here felt much more task-focused; staff came in, did what was medically needed and moved on, with far less of the reassurance, conversation and emotional support that we tend to associate with patient care in the UK
But They do an incredible amount with what they have.
Tiny humans 
And then came my favourite part. The babies. I got to hold some of the newborns and honestly… my heart melted. Tiny, beautiful little humans, completely oblivious to this mad woman from England standing there absolutely besotted with them.
There seemed to be far less of the extensive postnatal environment that we’re accustomed to seeing at home. Mum and baby stay together, observations and medical care take place, and when they’re medically ready they go home. It felt incredibly simple.
But standing there holding this tiny baby also made the differences we’d seen throughout the morning suddenly feel much more emotional. Because regardless of where you’re born, you’re starting exactly the same way, tiny, completely dependent and needing somebody to keep you safe. The resources surrounding that beginning can just look very different.
Something I definitely wasn’t prepared to watch…
We also witnessed a newborn baby being circumcised.
Male circumcision is extremely common in Ghana and is often performed during the neonatal period. It has longstanding cultural and religious roots here, although practices and timing vary between communities and families. Knowing that intellectually and actually standing there watching it happen are two very different things. I’ll admit, I found it difficult.
Hearing such a tiny baby cry activated every maternal instinct in my body and there was definitely a part of me thinking, someone give me that baby immediately. But it was also another moment on this trip where I’ve had to remind myself that I’m experiencing another culture through the lens of my own. Something feeling unfamiliar or uncomfortable to me doesn’t automatically make it wrong. Sometimes it’s simply different. And I think that’s been one of the most important lessons Ghana has given me.
Perspective, I walked out of the hospital feeling really emotional. It wasn’t because I thought the care was poor. If anything, I felt enormous respect for the people working there. It was seeing how much they achieve with comparatively little.
At home we complain when an NHS waiting room is too hot, when we’re waiting several hours, when the hospital food isn’t great or when something isn’t quite how we’d like it. And that’s not to say those frustrations aren’t valid. But then you stand inside a small hospital in Ghana and watch healthcare professionals adapt, reuse, improvise and continue caring for people without many of the things we would consider basic or essential.
Ghana does have a National Health Insurance Scheme, but healthcare isn’t universally free at the point of use in the way we’re accustomed to with the NHS. For people already living with very little, the financial side of becoming unwell can therefore add another layer of worry.
That stayed with me. Because illness doesn’t check your bank balance before it arrives. Neither does pregnancy. Neither does an accident. And the difference between the healthcare available to people shouldn’t come down to the country they happened to be born in.
Today wasn’t about looking at Ghana and thinking “look what they don’t have.”
It actually left me thinking: Look at what they manage to do with what they have. The staff weren’t standing around feeling sorry for themselves because their equipment wasn’t shiny and new. They were caring for people. Mothers were giving birth. Babies were being held. Children were being treated. Life was carrying on. And I think that’s what made this morning so powerful.
It was uncomfortable at times. Fascinating at others. It challenged some of my own assumptions and made me incredibly grateful for things at home that I’ve probably never even stopped to appreciate. Another completely different side of Ghana. And another experience I know will stay with me long after I’ve left. 
Back to Busua
After quite an emotional morning at the hospital, we headed back towards Busua and did what we apparently do best…
Went shopping. Again. At this point I genuinely don’t know how I’m getting everything home.
Obviously I bought more clothes and, most importantly, I found the cutest frigging dungarees, which I cannot WAIT to showcase over the next couple of days. Ghana is doing absolutely nothing for my bank balance, but wonders for my wardrobe.
We then went to visit the local bead lady, who has basically become a little Busua celebrity amongst the volunteers.
She works from this tiny little shack at the top of the street and will happily sit threading beads for hours. They’re ridiculously cheap compared with what we’d pay at home, yet they’re all handmade and absolutely beautiful.
There’s something really lovely about buying things directly from the person who has actually sat and made them. No big shop, no factory, no fancy packaging just somebody sitting in a tiny shack, creating something beautiful with her hands.
And everybody knows her. It’s another one of those little pieces of Busua that I’m going to miss.
Beach afternoons 
Then it was back to what is rapidly becoming my favourite place the beach.
Of course, the kids appeared. I genuinely don’t know how they know where we are at all times, but they do.
Half of the team decided to brave a surfing lesson, which provided excellent entertainment for those of us safely positioned on dry land. I really wanted to have a go, but I wasn’t feeling my best that afternoon, so I decided against it. Watching everyone else repeatedly attempt to stand on a surfboard was almost as enjoyable anyway. The photos were absolutely brilliant and everyone had such a good time.
Honestly… heaven.
Jumping the waves
There was also one of those completely unplanned moments on the beach that somehow ends up becoming one of your favourites.
We ended up in the sea jumping the waves with some of the local children, getting absolutely soaked, messing around and laughing every time another huge wave came towards us. The kids absolutely love the water and their excitement is completely infectious there is no standing politely at the edge of the sea here! Even Iffy who has additional needs and previously been unsure of the sea joined us and her infectious laugh as the waves hit her feet soon had us all emotional.
We managed to capture some gorgeous photos too, but more than anything it was just another really simple moment of playing together.
No resources. No planned activity. No language barriers. Just us, the kids, the sea and a lot of laughter. Those are definitely becoming some of my favourite memories from Ghana.
And then, naturally, there was Anas.
His mum handed him over to me, which at this point is becoming dangerous because every time she does, I become slightly more convinced that I’m taking him back to England. He’s four months old and honestly the most gorgeous little baby boy. I took him down to the water and we had a little paddle together, dipping his tiny feet into the sea.
He’s four months old and honestly the most gorgeous little baby boy. I took him down to the water and we had a little paddle together, dipping his tiny feet into the sea.
It was such a simple little moment, but one I’ll remember.
I’m already talking about coming back to Ghana in March, and I’ve worked out that by then he’ll be nearly one. I can’t even think about that. There are certain children here who have just found their way into my heart without even trying, and he’s definitely one of them. me and mum have traded numbers so I can FaceTime when home.
me and mum have traded numbers so I can FaceTime when home.And because apparently a normal afternoon on the beach is never quite enough here, we spotted some of the local guys collecting wood and chopping huge sticks for a bonfire with an equally huge machete. Naturally, Anna’s immediate response was, “I want a go.”
So off we went. Within minutes she was on the beach, machete in hand, being shown how to chop the wood while the rest of us watched on. Just another completely normal Ghana moment one minute you’re drinking an iced coffee and jumping waves with the kids, the next your mate’s wielding a machete helping build a bonfire.
Ghana glam
After spending pretty much the whole afternoon on the beach, we headed back to get changed for the evening. Everyone decided it was time to bring out the Ghanaian outfits.
Four of us got dressed up in our beautiful locally made clothes and went back down to the beach, where we managed to get the most gorgeous photo together.
Trying to get the photo was a different story! we headed down to the beach with every intention of getting a lovely, wholesome group photo. Obviously, the children had other ideas. At some point Reuben acquired my phone because apparently my phone belongs to the entire village now and rather than taking the photos we’d intended, he decided this was the perfect opportunity for his own personal selfie shoot.
Meanwhile, as we finally attempted to get the nice photo we’d come for, Alfred appeared in the background with an absolutely elite photobomb. And honestly, I think that sums up taking photographs here perfectly.
You might start with an idea of the photo you want, but within approximately thirty seconds a child has your phone, another one is taking 74 selfies and somebody else has appeared in the background.
And somehow… those photos always end up being better than the planned ones anyway.
I absolutely love wearing the clothes here. They’re so colourful and beautiful, and knowing that they’ve been made locally makes them even more special.
We looked wholesome. We looked cultured. We looked respectable. This did not last. And then things escalated… We proceeded to get absolutely legless. There is really no more sophisticated way of putting it. The drinks were flowing and then somebody introduced the Darlings again. Dangerous. Very dangerous.
We proceeded to get absolutely legless. There is really no more sophisticated way of putting it. The drinks were flowing and then somebody introduced the Darlings again. Dangerous. Very dangerous.We ended up at the pool bar, playing pool with some of the locals, drinking and laughing until our 10pm curfew arrived and we were summoned back to the accommodation like a group of naughty teenagers. Now, a sensible group of volunteers would probably have taken this as their cue to go to bed. We are apparently not a sensible group of volunteers.
Before heading back, though, we got to see something genuinely incredible. Opposite where we’re staying, a house is being built completely from scratch. We’ve watched the lads working on it and the physical strength involved is unbelievable. They’re carrying these enormous, heavy blocks one balanced on their head and another in their hand up three flights of stairs. No crane. No lift. Just people physically carrying the materials up and building this place brick by brick. We’d been fascinated by it, so we asked if we could have a look inside.
They showed us around the building and it was incredible to actually stand inside and see what they’re creating largely through manual labour. Again, Ghana has this funny way of stopping you in your tracks. One minute you’re drunk in a Ghanaian outfit heading back from a pool bar, and the next you’re standing inside a half-built house thinking about the sheer physical work that’s gone into constructing it. Naturally Mackenzie took it upon herself to surf the planks which we quickly AI into a surfing picture.
Then…Back to the chaos.
Curfew might have removed us from the bar, but apparently nobody told us that curfew also meant go to sleep. So everyone piled into one of the rooms and the party continued until about 2 or 3am. There was questionable singing. Some surprisingly committed dancing. More alcohol.
Photographs that probably should never see the light of day. Although I am just leaving this one of Mackenzie here which we naturally edited into full Burberry! You can bring the chav out of England but can’t take chav out of the girl 
The night consisted of the sort of uncontrollable laughter where you genuinely can’t remember what you were even laughing about anymore. It was brilliant. And yes, absolutely everyone paid for it the following morning. Very. Very. Very. Hungover and trying to teach!
But lying there the next day feeling slightly sorry for ourselves, I don’t think any of us would have changed it. Because when I think about this day, it’s actually mad how much was packed into it.
I started the morning walking around a small Ghanaian hospital, holding newborn babies and feeling emotional about the huge differences in healthcare and resources across the world. I spent the afternoon barefoot on a beautiful beach, drinking iced coffee, cuddling Anas and watching my friends attempt to surf. I watched the lads building a house brick by brick with their bare hands. And I finished the night dressed in Ghanaian clothes, dancing, singing horrendously and laughing until my stomach hurt with people who were strangers to me not very long ago.
That’s Ghana. It can humble you and break your heart in one moment, then have you laughing harder than you have in months in the next. And I think that’s what I’m falling in love with most. Not just the place. Not just the children. But the people, the friendships, the completely unexpected moments and the reminder that sometimes the very best memories are the ones you could never have planned.
Another day here that I don’t think I’ll ever forget.
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