I wonder where Oguaa came from. You cannot help but admire the humour and laiser-faire of the Fantis - life to them is one big ball of fun and laughter. Nothing should be taken too seriously.

For that reason, I really enjoyed the relaxed company of my uncles even though they were much, much older than me. When my grand uncle Egya Beenya's death was reported to our family, in the solemnity and seriousness of the meeting, Uncle Ebow asked why the man had chosen to die soon after Xmas when the deceased knew everybody was broke.

In another event, we were in a beer bar when two beautiful ladies walked in and passionately embraced my Uncle Ato. He suddenly shouted "Ah, don't you girls use any deodorant, your armpits smell foul".

When the ladies scuttled out of the bar he explained that he didn't have enough money to buy them drinks. Everything can be a joke to my people.

My first real trip to Cape Coast was to the Afashe festival as an adventurous teenager. This was a pilgrimage for me and I was itching to see the landmarks I had heard so much about. I walked straight from the bus station to the famous London Bridge, the legendary bridge that strides over the Livingstone Pool.

I must have crossed it 3 times before I finally found it. There was nothing London or bridge about this culvert. Disappointing. By this time I was ready to find my grandmother's house at Zion Sands.

I only had to mention Mrs Adabie, the Mfantsipim Matron and four volunteers joyfully led me to house. I found out later that no visitor left my grandma's house unfed. The pathfinders had their fill.

The house was actually at a pointing distance from where I met the hungry Samaritans - at the illusive London Bridge. My grandma's reception was always the best - especially if you like good food.

After the pleasantries I was informed that a few of my uncles were upstairs. Climbing those rickety steps in the ancient mud storey building was more unnerving than going on the Kakum canopy walk. The wooden stairs creaked and squeaked with every step.

Alteration and repairs to this contraption were made of sisal ropes, firewood and empty lard tins. Amazingly, the poor architecture did not take anything away from the Fanti 'civilization'. On the stairway were tastefully framed pictures and paintings - well preserved and hung with perfect precision.

There were pictures of my great-grandfather Dr Pitts who had come from the Colony of Guyana as a surgeon. There were pictures of the young Duke of Edinburgh and his dame Elizabeth; oil paintings of marvelous and divine flowers - ranging from rare orchids to extraordinary thistles; old (brown & white) family pictures that spanned generations.

The trip up the wobbly stairs was like walking through a tunnel of history. In the background was such celestial music flowing down from a room upstairs. Heavenly, was the precarious and mesmerizing walk up my grandmother's stairway.

The stairs led to a living room with hand-crafted furniture, more pictures, vases with real flowers - roses, ferns and gardenias.

Looking up to the ceiling revealed a contrasting and contradicting architecture of sticks, branches and mud. I remember seeing lenient weeds and fauna developing in the corners of the mortar roof.

In spite of the precarious structure, the atmosphere was warm and love-filled. My granny didn't earn much but always had lots to offer.

Family and friends added to the ambience of joy, laughter and warmth. As I sat down, one of my uncle's offered me a glass of wine - with a straight face and a wink that left you no chance to say no.

There were about twenty of us in the living room - whilst I worried about the structure of the building and spent half of the time planning my emergency exit every one else was having fun. After half a glass of wine I melted into the collective mood.

Uncle Ebow and his 16 year old daughter were doing a duet on the shiny piano - an original Steinway piano. Uncle Johnny accompanied them with a beautiful baritone.

That was a scene of the art and beauty of life. Love and warmth for visitors even unexpected ones. Dedication to the study of music - I mean music that can be shared and enjoyed by the whole family without cringing or editing.

Appreciation of art and the simple things in life like flowers. The company of real family.

All those precious intangibles are gone from my grandmother's house. The old house is still standing. The ground floor has been turned into shops.

The last pieces of the Steinway were used as firewood and my nephews upstairs play Konkontibaa loudly on a Sony Ghetto Blaster.