IN 1985, I was not looking forward to visiting Ghana, where Unilever had a plantation
called Benso Oil Palm Plantations.
It was because the managing director was Bill Morrison, who used to work with me as plantations manager in Pamol Sabah. I felt we did not get along well there. A Scotsman with a thick beard, he had come from another company, and he was planting at Sungei Mai Estate in Pahang some years before I began planting.
I had found him useful of course, but it did put me on edge to see him work longer than I did each day, as I saw his office lit up in the Sabah night, and he would be working on figures which I knew he was good at.
His knowledge of planting matters was superb, that I had no choice but to recommend him to take over when I moved to my next appointment.
Now he was the managing director in Benso, and when I arrived in Accra from London it was a reunion of some kind, but I was still keen to keep my distance and see how he was getting on.
It was a change to have a pleasant arrival at customs and immigration. It lifted my spirit after a long flight.
Bill too had changed. He was more mellow, and he answered my questions with more patience than when he and I were in Sabah. In the big Peugeot car, he said he had drawn the programme, including a tour of the plantations, and then a meeting with the staff. He also had a couple of days for us to visit other places of interest, which suited me well.
As the car passed along the coast up to Takoradi, I saw a long building and knew at once from what I read that it was a slave castle, and I was interested to see that.
“That is Cape Coast castle,” Bill said. “We will visit that before you leave.”
Ghana is a country with nice people but it has had some hard times – European traders had taken many of its people as slaves in the past. It has gold, and the area was once called the Gold Coast. But I did not see many plantations along the way.
“The government owns a few,” Bill said. “But the chiefs are wary about foreigners asking for land. We are here because Unilever has a long history of its presence in trading through the United Africa Company, which is quite profitable. But the government would allow dividends to be sent back only if we put in part of the profit to build plantations.”
When we passed the village of Benso and entered the estate, Bill said that there was still time for us to see his football teams in a competition.
I had left the luggage in the bungalow and met Elma again. Bill’s wife was about 10 years younger than him, with a bright and cheerful personality compared to Bill, who took me to the football field.
He knew from the Sabah days that I encouraged football games. It was something to keep the workers from feeling bored after working hours. But here he had assembled two teams of energetic young ladies who played with gusto while spectators pressed along the lines to egg them on. The time passed quickly and I do not remember what the score was.
It was also the next day when I met a lady of a different kind. Our management meeting was interrupted by a crowd walking up to the office, led by a young lady in white robes, and with an old woman beside her.
I remember seeing the quiet young lady who was the daughter of the chief of the area, but now her eyes were fierce, and we made way when she marched into the office. She spoke in a deep voice. The old woman was translating for her.
Francis Edmond, the Ghanaian plantation manager, explained.
“I forgot to mention that today is Pacification Day. Every year the spirit of this place comes down to visit. She is four hundred years old. She is in the body of this young girl and speaks in an ancient language. The old lady translates it in Twi that I can understand.”
“What did she say?” Bill asked.
“She is not pleased. If she does not get what she wants, she can create a dry spell, cause fires, and our crops will fall. She wants the day each year to be a public holiday for all. She wants more gin to be poured on the ground as libation. And she wants two drums of palm oil for her to give away.”
While I stood back, Bill stepped up to ask Francis. “Did she really mean two drums of palm oil? Try to negotiate to two bottles. But she must see we have more crops next year. And no holidays.”
As usual, Bill was careful with money.
She looked at Bill, did not say a word, and then walked off, leading her retinue to her house that the company had built by the river. It was the only day in the year when the people had permission to catch the fish there, to cook and celebrate her day.
As Bill and I sat on a fallen tree, she stood over Bill and said.
“I am interested in marrying you. Don’t say no for I can turn you into a bird.”
Bill was a brave man. “I can’t marry a spirit. I also value the physical side of marriage.”
Francis translated.
She looked closer at Bill. “I changed my mind. You are too hairy. I will not marry you. I will marry this man with you.”
She glared at me. I was speechless, but Bill rescued me.
“You cannot do that either. He has a wife, and I know she is very fierce.”
Bill continued to smile when it was explained to her. And then I saw she lost interest, turned around and collapsed in the empty house. When the woman got her back on her feet, she was once again the shy daughter of the chief.
For the rest of the visit, I worked well with Bill. He had saved me.
How could I have any quarrel with him?
The writer has extensive experience in the management of
oil palm plantations.
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