What pleases her most is simple: children who once resisted school now want to go, driven by a wish to learn English well enough to talk with the tourists who pass through.
Dress has changed more than almost anything else in her lifetime. Kente cloth — the locally handwoven fabric built from patterns that each carry their own meaning — used to be everyday wear. It's grown too expensive for that now, so people buy ordinary clothes at the market instead and save the Kente for special occasions.
Young couples increasingly live together before marriage these days, though most still wait for the wedding itself; sometimes a pregnancy speeds things along. She's clear-eyed about where that shift actually comes from — not tourism, in her view, but the more modern life carried in by visitors from cities like Accra.
What we know about the countries the tourists come from is through their stories, which is very interesting. They tell us about how people live their lives elsewhere.
Television is still rare here — almost no one owns one, though radios are common — so those stories from travellers remain one of the community's main windows onto the wider world. She remembers when white visitors were enough of a novelty that children would trail them through the streets calling out obruni, the local word for a white person. Some children still do it now and then, but the novelty itself has largely worn off.
Her one request of visitors is modest: a bit more modesty in return — no bare chests, no very short skirts. No one says so directly, out of a wish not to give offence, but the feeling is there all the same.