Despite Ghana's democratic credentials, as the locals like to call it, a particularly virulent strain of homophobia runs through Ghanaian society. This is revealed in the absurd newspaper story below and in yesterday's parliamentary interrogation of a female activist who has been proposed for the job of minister for Gender, Children and Social Protection. Parliament has to approve the appointment and jumped at the chance to drive her into a corner with a line of questioning that was steeped in self-righteous hypocrisy. The minister-to-be, Nana Oye Lithur, a stout woman with a disarming girlish smile, is accused of promoting gay rights because she will not publicly condemn homosexuality; in Ghana, homosexuality is generally agreed to be repugnant and notcondemning it simply unacceptable. ...

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Last week in Mali, an excited crowd of journalists packed into rented 4x4's to see what was happening at the frontline, hoping for signs of war and scenes of combat, craving the adrenaline rush of being the first to enter an inhospitable danger zone. What they found instead was bored Malian soldiers smoking cigarettes in the shade of a tree or washing their feet before prayer as taut French troops made it clear the rebel-held towns were sealed off from nosy reporters. Some colleagues sat down to Twitter about likely military strategies and the prospect of a protracted guerrilla war that would take months if not years to win; others berated the French for being 'typically French', code for lacking joviality and displaying an ostensible indifference to the urgent needs of the press corps. ...

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"A couple of years ago there was an incident when a subordinate refused to obey the order of an officer. The officer was beside himself with anger, shouting, threatening to kill the guy, but the guy said: 'I don't have to listen to you, I paid 300,000 CFA to get myself into the army!'. That's how it is: once somebody accepts your envelope, you don't owe him respect anymore. Corruption eroded the army at every level. Sure, each year parliament approved the defense budget. The money was there -- on paper. In my department for example, we were allocated five million CFA ($10,000) per year. But we received 300,000 CFA ($600). The rest was taken by my bosses in Bamako. In 20 years, the government never bought new military vehicles or new weapons. Our rifles were more than 20 years old. We had ...

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As a journalist I know better than most people that TV news reflects only a small part of the full picture, and often a distorted one at that. Still, boarding a plane to Bamako this week, I was apprehensive about what I was going to find. The Islamists in northern Mali carried out an effective intimidation campaign, forcing residents to attend the stoning to death of an unmarried couple and the public amputations of hands and feet of four smalltime thieves in order to make it clear they mean business with their talk of Sharia law. These cruel spectacles were well-publicized in the west. Add kidnappings of tourists, and grainy images of shoddily clad, heavily armed men riding the back of a pick-up truck with faces covered in black cloth, and Mali seems no Mali no longer, but a sad African ...

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Here's to the start of a new year that began almost alcohol-free at a gay housewarming party in Amsterdam and promises change on different levels, hopefully for the good. My first new year's resolution is to always remain patient with clumsy Ghanaian waiters and bossy parking guards who, as soon as I've turned off the engine, appear suddenly and demand I park my car elsewhere. I'm also determined to respect the peculiar brand of Ghanaian pride, and to not scoff at exaggerated pronouncements I'm expected to take at face value. Take my losses. Focus on the good things in life. Look to the future.

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This is one of the most depressing aspects of Accra: billboards and posters that promise redemption from clean-shaven pastors smiling benignly at the downtrodden flocks. All-night prayer events are held in the suburbs almost weekly, and white Americans seem just as intent on drawing the maximum possible amount of money from little lost souls as the multitude of Ghanaian and Nigerian pastors crowding the country's evangelical churches. In my first weeks in Ghana, I thought it could be interesting to attend one of these meetings, but I quickly realized I would find it simply too disturbing.

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Street traders selling scarves, key rings, vuvuzela's and other paraphernalia emblazoned with the faces of political leaders say business is booming ahead of presidential elections next week. Eleven people were killed when two vehicles collided with a truck in the Brong Ahafo region. The truck driver fled the scene of the accident but has turned himself in to assist with the investigation. Vegetables sold at markets in Accra, the capital, were found to contain chemical residues up to 5,000 times the permitted level, with the lowest recorded level exceeding 500 times the tolerable amount, according to a survey carried out in 2008 and handed to government yesterday. Farmers are probably using banned pesticides and mixing different chemicals 'for maximum effect', the report said. A ...

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When I researched a story about the sudden, and as yet unexplained, influx of thousands of illegal Chinese in Ghana's gold regions, I was invited to visit a long-established gold mine in the west of the country. We went by helicopter, a bumpy but exciting ride that left me with sweaty palms and the odd sense of accomplishment that comes with doing something one has never done before. I'd been on bulky military helicopters carrying passengers facing each other inward, but never in an elegant white dragonfly with large windows, and this was a VIP ride in the company of mining officials and the ambassador of a large African country.

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Dark clouds gathered in the eastern town of Ho last week, threatening to unleash a thunderstorm on a ruling party rally. A tempestuous wind blew them onward, and the rain came later, but when it arrived the hills were plunged in darkness and we had to drive back to the city using the tail lights of the cars in front of us as our guide. Worst-case scenario's played themselves out before my mind's eye, as they often do when I'm strapped into the front passenger seat, but we did not have a collision with an oncoming truck, ofcourse, and my companions put the soothing old-fashioned songs of Don Williams in the cd player, a country music singer I hadn't heard since I was 10.

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In the jumble of identical roadside shops and wind-blown gas stations that constitute a typical Accra suburb, it wasn't easy to find the turn-off. But when we finally spotted Beach Road, the directions were clear. "Turn left at the Christ Embassy, which is so huge you can't miss it, and continue on the unpaved road until you see the blue roof of the Lighthouse Chapel."

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