The BBC's David Amanor is keeping a diary of his travels around Ghana during the Africa Cup of Nations.

In his latest entry, he finds a town where football celebrations have to take place quietly.

Today we're going to see if football can heal old wounds in Bawku, close to the border with Burkina Faso and Togo.

Such a riotous street celebration would not be allowed in Bawku

Since December a curfew has been in place in the town because of violent clashes between the Kusasi and Mamprusi communities. Their enmity goes way back to a chieftaincy and land dispute during the colonial era.

On the way we collect two colleagues from Style FM, Foster Aggor and Gifty Amoshie (known as Baby G behind the mic), who will act as my guide and translator respectively.

At the moment we're waiting outside a makeshift barracks of the Ghana military to speak to officers responsible for enforcing the curfew.

It was dawn-to-dusk - but it has just been extended to 2000 local time - we think because of the Nations Cup.

But the young men in the town say it's not late enough as it prevents them from watching the later scheduled matches in public.

They also complain that the military have told them they must not raise their voices in celebration of goals or victories.

So antipathy to the curfew restriction is definitely one thing the youth from both communities have in common.

Ibrahim, my driver, and I roll into Bolgatanga at midday. Our task, set by producers in London, is to find two knowledgeable football fans to talk about tonight's matches for a programme this afternoon.

The Senegalese fans' drumming is exhilarating - perfect rhythm throughout the match

I head down to the main market, but I get nowhere as I don't speak Frafra and I'm finding it hard to communicate.

Ninety minutes to air and I still haven't found any interviewees, so I decide to head to a nearby radio station, using its red-and-white transmitting pole as my guide.

But it goes out of sight and I'm trying to get directions, when a boy of about 14 offers to take me there.

"Jump on my bike," Stephen Awuni says.

"Are you sure? I'm quite heavy," I reply.

David (r) tries to find people in Tamale market with a ticket

He assures me that not only can he carry me (an 85kg load) but my bag too - loaded down with what seems like 20kg of equipment.

I balance tentatively on the back - it's a bit wobbly at first and he peddles hard to get out of sand and onto tarmac, but in less than five minutes he delivers me to the door of Style FM and as luck would have it, two football pundits are at the station already - so I interview them and send the discussion to London.

To reciprocate, I'm then invited to talk on the Style's sports programme. Victor, the presenter, asks me what brought me here.

"A bicycle," I reply.

I go to wash my hands in the early hours and inadvertently wash my feet.

Ah, the basin hasn't been fixed - but at least there is water, which has proved a problem.

Senegalese football supporters have perfect rhythm

It reminds me about my other quibbles: no mobile signal on either Areeba or Onetouch and no internet connect - for $200 a night at this Tamale hotel I would have expected more.

I wonder if the Tunisian and Senegalese footballers are faring better in their wing.

I finally get to sleep at 0300 after filing my radio pieces to London, only to be woken up three hours later by an urgent knock followed by the question: "Sir, shall I mop your floor?"

When I do get up a little later, I am tired but excited.

Like the city of Tamale, this will be my first ever live experience of an Africa Cup of Nations match.

I head down to the central market to test the atmosphere, but am alarmed to discover most people don't realise that tickets need to be bought in advance, not at the stadium.

After nearly 60 enquiries, I finally meet two people with tickets.

"Alhamdulillah [Praise be to God]," I exclaim to roars of laughter from my impromptu audience.

Lighting up

When I get to the stadium for the 1700 Tunisia versus Senegal kick off, it's just over half full.

The cheap seats are sold out, most probably on the black market for the same price as the seats in the stand, which remain mainly empty.

At half-time, Ibrahim, my driver, and I attend to a bad habit and go outside for a smoke.

When she notices Senegalese midfielder Diomansy Kamara signalling for help she runs off mid-sentence

As we're about to stub them out, a fireman approaches us to say smoking is banned - even outside the stadium.

With his agreement I start recording our exchange, but a flustered colleague rushes over and begs me not to air the interview as a junior fireman, he says, will get into trouble for talking to the media.

I reassure him that I would get into trouble too for disregarding my health.

Inside the stadium is electric. The Senegalese fans' drumming is exhilarating - perfect rhythm throughout the match.

Fifteen minutes before the whistle calls it a 2-2 draw, a mass of red- and black-clad football fans rush in the stadium - singing, dancing and shouting - all discord and joy.

The Angolans have arrived.

Had the place been full, the noise couldn't have been any louder, although I'm sure the decibels drop when South Africa score a late equaliser.

There are lots of famous footballers about, the media pack is in action and minders seem to be getting a little hot under the collar.

David attracts an audience on his travels

I've had a frustrating morning, heading off to Tamale stadium to see how ticket sales are going, only to discover the person I need to interview has turned up at my hotel.

On my return, I wait for the man in the hotel courtyard when I am accosted by a Tunisian football minder - the Tunisian and Senegalese teams in Group D are staying here too.

The minder points his finger in my face and tells me he will call the police if I don't leave.

"Go bring the police," I say, vexed by his aggressive attitude and with the confidence of one with a hotel key in his pocket.

His remonstrations continue, but we eventually make up after he realises I'm not chasing his superstars.

Ibrahim, my driver, and I hit the road after 1100 GMT heading back to Tamale via the tarred road to Bolgatanga.

Driving towards Burkina Faso, we notice that almost 10km of electric steel cables have been cut from the pylons, with wires dangling down.

In the town of Han we discover thieves stole them about a year ago and the cables have yet to be replaced.

"If they hadn't stolen them, people in this rural area would be able to enjoy the Nations Cup," an aid worker laments.

Was it skill or prayers that led the Black Stars to victory? David's last diary

I've heard there is trouble getting match tickets, so a little further on we stop off in Tumu to see if the town's commercial bank has any.

The clerks are amused at my question and bemused by my microphone and suggest I go and ask the bank manager.

"I don't need an appointment?" I ask, surprised at such open and immediate access to bank management.

I walk into the manager's office, where he grants me an interview, saying no that Africa Nations Cup tickets have arrived at this branch.

Admittedly, it is debateable whether in Tumu, 18km from Burkina Faso, demand would be that high.

Hours later after leaving Bolgatanga behind us, a bright moon in the night sky speeds us on our way to Tamale where we arrive late and gratefully join colleagues at the hotel restaurant.

I receive my food first despite ordering after them and theirs fails to arrive.

On the fifth enquiry, the waitress proceeds to retake the order but when she notices Senegalese midfielder Diomansy Kamara signalling for help she runs off mid-sentence.

Like many of the hotel staff, she is star struck, and we have to wait it out for our food and drinks.

Go down to Wa's central market to watch the opening Nations Cup match at the Malik Tire Repairs shop.

Tamale is all set for its first match

As soon as the game starts all activity in the market comes to standstill as traders huddle around the 12-inch and 14-inch screens brought to work to watch the Black Stars' game.

You can feel the tension, as Ghana dominate the first half but fail to score.

As soon as the half time whistle blows, a group of nearby men go off to pray while the rest of the market springs into life - motorbikes roaring and trading banter.

Fifteen minutes later, it is silent again and after Ghana score in the penalty shootout, the Muslim men shout: "The prayers are working; the prayers are working!"

It is eerily quiet when Guinea equalise and about 10 minutes before full-time another group of men nudge me on the wooden bench to tell me they are going to pray.

They arrive back just in time to see Ghana score the winner.

"Was it skill or prayers that led the Black Stars to victory?" I ask them.

"Pray hard, play hard, prayer hard and then you win!" one young man replies to roars of laughter.