This time last year I really didn’t know what to expect. I arrived in Ghana expecting Christmas, my birthday and other such occasions to trigger the bouts of loneliness that sometimes accompany living here.

I certainly expected that to be the case last year, although I had amazing friend in my community I was still missing a connection with home. I was pleasantly surprised to have the arrival of two new volunteers from Canada and my friends Levi and Sam both independently coming to Ghana from Benin all coincide with my B-Day. My Canadian and Ghanaian friends (in equal portion) joined me in borrowing the drum kit at a local bar and drumming and dancing our way into the early hours of the morning. What was expected to be the loneliest birthday yet, turned into the best of my life so far.

So when my birthday rolled around this year my expectations were raised. I knew it couldn’t quite match last year, Tamale just doesn’t breed the same kind of spontaneous craziness, but with a girlfriend a great group of friends and my wonderful Ghanaian family I knew we were in for something good.

Anyone who knows me will tell you how much I hate to plan social occasions, I was still holding back on doing any sort of organising the night before. Saturday was supposed to be a work day for me, but by 10am I found myself trying to get the whole thing in order. After spending the day buying minerals (pop), all the ingredients for dinner and a not so quick side excursion to try and save my brother’s love life (or lack thereof) we were ready for the big show. Getting everything you need for a party isn’t difficult here, but it is certainly more involved than running to the corner store back home.

The highlight of my day was negotiating with my brother in order for him to let me buy locally grown rice. The influx of heavily subsidised US and Asian rice into a country perfectly able (and wanting to) grow its own rice pains me to no end. I detest the ‘I love USA rice’ propaganda and the slick marketing to promote foreign rice as something magically superior. I don’t do the cooking in my house and it’s really difficult to find dishes made of locally grown rice out on the street – I had been unintentionally supporting this evil enterprise of imported rice for a long time and this was finally my chance to make a stand. Of course my brother thought otherwise – ‘don’t you see the rocks and dirt’, he says. Of course I did, but it didn’t matter. I had a battle to fight; regardless of the teeth breaking rock content in the local rice (it’s really not so bad).

I was lucky enough to have my wife Huziema, who happens to be the best cook I know, offer to do the cooking. I used to make the mistake of calling her my sister until my brothers finally corrected me – for the Dagombas your brother’s wife is not your sister, she is your wife. My western sensibilities had me wondering what exactly this means, but when it comes down to it Huziema is my sister in law in the same way she would be back in Canada.

So we had the food, we had music and beverages – all was left is the people. Hosting a party here, can be an interesting experience for a westerner. We are all used to people being fashionably late for a party, but in Ghana fashionably late is the norm – it’s what most people call Africa time. I learnt my lesson last Christmas when my friends in Accra (who knew you need to be fashionably late for a party) didn’t even start to show up until almost 3 hours after I had asked them to come. This year I was ready – luckily the promise of food (the first come first serve concept is very much alive here) and the fact most of my Ghanaian guests live within a shouting distance of my house helped. I have a feeling the folks in Tamale don’t know about being fashionably late either.

Luckily my ex-pat friends came nice and early – helping build the critical mass to get the party started. One minute it was just me, my family and my five Salaminga (white) friends and the next the room was packed with 30 very happy and excited Ghanaians. There are definitely benefits to being the only Salaminga in the neighbourhood.

The party started as expected, with everyone sitting and watching American music videos from the 80’s and early 90’s. Old school Madonna, Whitney Houston and Elton John kept everyone content until the real party began. I still can’t explain it but Ghanaians love pop music and especially pop music from the 80’s and 90’s. I will never forget being interrogated for hours on end by my 23 year old friend Kwaku-Poku after admitting I don’t like Celine Dion.

Half way through dinner I got Lukeman to put on some Ghanaian music and before I could count to 10 our house was transformed into an impromptu dance club. Give any group of Ghanaians a beat to dance to and you have an instant party. I look around the room and smile thinking how much I love this country, this town and these people.

A birthday cake only slowed the party down long enough for a very jubilant happy birthday song. Luckily for me most of the Ghanaians were too interested in dancing to take any interest in the cake.

My Ghanaian friends drag the ex-pats out to the floor. As much as I want to dance I sit back and smile, I love the fact there is no separation, and no perceived difference between the people here. It doesn’t matter that I grew up half way around the world, It doesn’t matter that all the ex-pats are Christian (at least by heritage) and my Ghanaian friends are Muslim; the money in my bank account, my education, the colour of my skin, my nationality – none of it matters – as my friends in Ghana say WE ARE ONE.

At some point the party dies a quiet death, I head with a few people to town, but for me the night is already complete. I fall asleep stick basking in the love of my friends and family, lonely is one thing I am definitely not.