Week 4+5 Ghana

Our Landrover arrived in the busy lorry park (yet another new name for a bus station) in Ho. Even before the vehicle stopped we were spotted by touts trying to fill other vehicles, who ran alongside calling out the names of numerous destinations. One grabbed my arm through the open side of the Landrover and it felt like he was attempting to haul me out. Where are you going? You want Accra? You going to Kumasi? These overenthusiastic people have a tendency to take hold of your bag and drag you off to their minibus, and it required a firm response to persuade them that we had arrived to stay and did not intend to venture any further that day.

   

We located the nearest exit and trekked up the main road to the Freedom Hotel. Although this place was little more than a standard business hotel, there was something in its cleanliness and comfort (and swimming pool) that made us almost delirious with delight. It had been a long while since we had last slept in such a modern-looking room. I spent an hour washing our clothes in the shower, and then we sampled the fare on offer at the restaurant before collapsing into bed where Louise insisted on watching reruns of CSI.

Ho is the town where my brother was born whilst my parents worked in Mawuli School. So I spent the next morning taking photographs of the town to show them, and we also visited Mawuli and introduced ourselves to the headteacher. And in the afternoon we made the most of the pool at the Freedom Hotel.

   

The next morning we headed up to Amedzofe, the highest altitude village in Ghana. We took a sept-place Peugeot from Ho, but it struggled with the steep rough mountain road. Our progress slowed eventually to walking pace as we bumped up the road, and then smoke poured through the dashboard as the engine cut out completely. All the passengers climbed out in a hurry and took refuge from the raging sun amongst thick roadside scrub. The driver put rocks behind the wheels and started fiddling with the engine. It was soon clear the car really was dead and not just sleeping. A pair of girls gave up waiting and began walking up the hill. As I contemplated whether to follow their example we caught the sound of an approaching vehicle climbing towards us. It was a modern white transit minibus which by some miracle was empty. We piled in and were taken to the next village, so Amedzofe was now only a few miles distant. I walked round the village, found a car, negotiated a price with the driver, and we completed the remaining distance in a third vehicle.

A series of US Peace Corps Volunteers have helped this village set up a tourist co-operative where fixed fees are payable to view the various sights, and accommodation can be arranged. We stayed in a simple guest house above the village (so were probably the highest people in Ghana for a few hours). This is beautiful area with stunning views over wooded valleys and hill ranges. We walked to the top of Mount Gemi, whose peak looks down on the village. And we descended to Amedzofe Falls, down a narrow cliff path along which the tourism co-operative have installed a helpful safety rope to cling to on the steeper sections. We bought some provisions at the market and sat in a local bar at dusk, sipping beer and watching the sun drop behind distant mountains.

     

     

Our next journey was back to Ho and then on to Atimpoku. We had overestimated our enthusiasm for the mountain village and as a result were leaving a day early, on a Saturday, and locating transport proved difficult. At the end of the morning a van arrived, delivering a mattress and some sacks to someone in the village square. After agreeing a fee with the driver we had a ride to Ho back down the very steep road and, with some measure of relief, in a modern smart vehicle with decent brakes. In Ho we had another chance to get lost in the crazy busy lorry park, but we found a minibus to Accra and set off almost immediately. We had to pay the fare all the way to Accra even though we dropped half-way there in Atimpoku. The road here crosses the Volta River on an impressive-looking structure in the design of the Sydney Harbour Bridge, but perhaps a little smaller.

 

     

We found a room near the bridge and then hired a taxi to take us to Akosombo where we visited the dam (124m high and 368m wide) that holds back the largest man-made lake in the world, Lake Volta. The lake is 400km long and was created by flooding 7% of Ghana’s land surface. The hydroelectric generators should be able to produce sufficient power for most of Ghana, Benin and Togo, but the operating contract specifies that two-thirds of the electricity generated belongs to Valco. This is the US engineering company who built the dam, who smelt aluminium for export a little further down the river. The profits from this venture go to the US company, and villages along the lakeside still have no electricity. Displaced villagers still protest that they have not been adequately compensated for their losses. And in recent years there has been discussion about whether valuable hardwood timber can be recovered from under the waters.

Next morning we were travelling again. At dawn we stood at the roadside just beyond the bridge and within just a few minutes a minibus picked us up, headed to Accra. There we intended to change quickly to a vehicle for Cape Coast but we were not in luck. The van was there, virtually empty, and it took all morning to fill up. We had breakfast, read books and looked around the market. With greater courage we could have gone to an internet café or we even considered attending a service at a nearby church, but there was always the possibility of losing our place, so we chickened out and stayed there at the garage.

 

   

For all our remaining time we would now be travelling along Ghana’s Atlantic coast and we decided that we should become proper tourists. We put behind us the days of rugged independent travel in the West African interior and began to seek a little comfort during the closing days of our holiday. In Cape Coast we stayed at the Oasis guest house, situated on a beautiful beach. Louise loved it. I hated it, and after one night we moved to the considerably more tatty Sammo Guest House in town. To her credit, Louise did not complain once about this bizarre and unnecessary move, but she did pay me back one evening by dragging me to the far side of the lagoon to dine at a vegetarian restaurant that wasn’t there. On the one morning that we did wake at Oasis we were able to watch fisherman working from the beach. The net is secured on land at one end. The boat travels in a broad arc and returns to the beach further down. And fishermen, chanting and singing as they work in unison, pull on both ends of the net to trap fish within it. Most boats are paddled with oars, and we saw one capsize in the rough swell as it attempted to make land. And in the sea further out we saw sailing boats with sails made of rice sacks sown together, creating a cheerful patchwork of coloured squares.

 

   

We took a day-trip from Cape Coast to Kakum National Park. This park has dense rainforest and is a refuge for a number of endangered species including forest elephants. We didn’t see any. On the way our minibus unwisely overtook a car on a blind bend, which turned out to be carrying six armed police officers. They flagged us down and poured out of the car, pointing rifles in our general direction. Our driver became surprisingly argumentative as they demanded to see his driving license, insurance documents, vehicle tax certificate, dog license, young person’s railcard and 25m swimming badge. I expect a small amount of money changed hands because suddenly everyone became friends again and we were permitted to continue our journey.

 

     

Many visitors head to Kakum for just one thing, a 350m rope and cable canopy walkway suspended 30m above the forest floor from tree to tree in a series of suspended sections. The walkway was very bouncy. The view was full of lots of trees, but no forest elephants. The park also has a visitor centre with an informative exhibition. We also took a guided walk through the forest and saw lots of trees, but again no forest elephants. We had hoped to sleep here in the park up a tree or in a tent but found that we would be restricted to a crummy camping area with no access to the park itself. The whole point of sleeping there was to engage in some early morning wildlife viewing and as this was not possible we returned to our box-like room in Cape Coast that same afternoon.

 

     

On the way we dropped in at Hans Cottage Botel for a meal. This place was built as a restaurant with accommodation and features a striking wooden pavilion over a large crocodile pool. The entrance is flanked by two concrete crocodiles. We walked inside and saw more artificial crocs lounging on the grassy banks of the pool. Horsey and I both decided that we would like a photograph taken with one of these realistic-looking creatures. I pushed through the gate and walked towards one mighty beast which lay on the bank with its mouth wide open. I considered perhaps climbing on its back for the picture. As I approached I heard a squeal from Louise. ‘It’s real,’ she yelled. ‘It just moved’. And indeed it was alive. Louise probably saved my life.

 

     

     

We also visited Cape Coast Castle. There are 37 forts along this stretch of coast built by the British, Dutch and Portuguese. They were built as trading posts for gold, ivory and spices, and later dungeons were added for holding slaves awaiting shipment across the Atlantic.

The southern regions of Ghana and Togo are dominated by the Christian religion, whereas the countries closer to the Sahara such as Mali, Burkina Faso, and our home country of The Gambia are all largely Muslim. As we motored westwards along the coastal highway we saw signs for evangelical churches with striking names. The Grace and Victory Centre. The Winners Chapel. Seedlings of Hope. The Divine Builder’s Church. However, we are not free from silly names in the UK either; in Sheffield I lived nearby the church of Our Lady of the Miraculous Medal, whatever that means. It seemed that schools were also named in an attempt to outdo each other. We saw the Oxford Brains Academy. The Baobab Academy. Radiant Way School. New Life International Academy. And my favourite, a Montessori school called the Academy for the Peculiar Child.

And here are the names of some shops. We saw the Prince of Peace Chop Bar. The ‘It is Written’ Sewing Centre. Mother Theresa Car Paints. God’s Time is Best Car Batteries. Other shops and taxis often displayed a bible verse in the window, sometimes written out in full, but more usually just the reference – you had to go home and look it up if you wanted to know what this particular barber or vehicle exhaust supplier was telling you. Psalms 23 and 91 were recurring favourites. And one taxi, perhaps appropriately, had written in the rear window Oh God Help Me.

In Gambia too it was common for vehicles to be adorned with phrases like Praise Allah, Allah is One, Alhamdou Lilahi (for those of you who understand Arabic). Not all these painted statements were of a religious nature. Some taxis bore slogans such as Manchester United, No Justice for the Poor, and a very common one was No Heart Feeling; yes, that is the way it was spelt, and I often pondered the multiple possible meanings of this apparently misquoted phrase.

       

After Cape Coast we travelled further West to a place called Axim, perhaps 50km short of the border with Côte d’Ivoire. Having found our way to an exclusive resort in a secluded bay we discovered that the only room they had available was well out of our price range. However, it was already late afternoon, we had no transport and there was little alternative accommodation, if any, in the local area. So we spent our entire emergency fund on one night in a palace followed by a second night in a cheaper (but still overpriced) room. And we kept the promise we had made to ourselves to slow down, relax, enjoy the beach, and behave more like tourists and less like impoverished volunteers. Nonetheless we still snuck out to the local fishing village of Axim for supplies of water and snacks, and I had my hair cut there too.

       

The next town we visited was Elmina. The cheap Nyansapow Hotel (which went some way towards making up for our overspend in Axim) came with the bonus of free bedbugs and mosquitoes, which kept us both awake much of the night. We visited St George’s Castle, another slave fort and the oldest European building in sub-Saharan Africa. The Ghanaian general and presidential elections were just days away and we witnessed regular parades and demonstrations in support of one candidate or another. With the outcome too close to call there was mounting concern for the possibility of intimidation and possibly violence. Hoards of supporters marched around town dressed in the colours of their particular party, often led by a band of musicians of debatable skill but unquestionable enthusiasm. Another march that passed as we watched from our hotel balcony consisted of representatives of local churches appealing and praying for a peaceful election. In the end a second ballot was required for a run-off between the ruling party and the opposition, and after a very close race power shifted to the opposition party. To Ghana’s credit and to the relief of many, both election days passed without the kind of problems which have marred polls in may other African countries in recent years.

Our final stop was in Anomabu Beach Resort. This was the sole time in our whole trip that we spent four consecutive nights in one location. This place was comfortable, clean and restful. We strolled along wide sandy beaches, watched kingfishers and bee-eaters, and swam in the warm ocean. We ate fresh fish in the restaurant and drank pina coladas on the terrace in the evening as our closing days in West Africa slipped gently by. Having lived for two years within reach of the West-African coast, it felt so normal to be able to paddle or swim whenever we wanted to. It was sad to realise that it would not last; in just days from now the sea would be more distant, and much colder. We walked one morning around the headland to a patch of rocks revealed by the descending tide. Louise plucked a snail from one rock and moved it to another. Then she felt sorry for the snail and returned it to its original position amongst its friends. It made me think of our situation and how we were about to be picked up from one continent and placed on another, leaving almost no trace other than the impression we leave in people’s hearts.

On the day of our departure we walked to the main road and picked up a minibus (vehicle number fifty-eight) to Accra. Once there we crossed the city by taxi (vehicle number fifty-nine) to spend the afternoon at the unfeasibly posh La Palm Royal Beach Hotel. We swam in their beautiful pool until it was pointed out to us that as non-residents we should have paid a (ridiculously high) fee for doing so. So we retreated to our sun-loungers to enjoy samosas, chips and cold drinks. Then we sadly and silently watched the final sunset of our African adventure, knowing that by the time the sun rose we would be in Europe and everything would be different. This sunset marked the end of two years of our lives. Two difficult years. Two amazing years. Tomorrow would bring a whole different set of circumstances and not long after that we would face a brand new year, and with it a new place, a new life, another adjustment, another fresh start. Another set of hellos to add to too many recent goodbyes.

We showered and changed ready for the midnight flight. We had just enough time (but barely sufficient Cedis) for one last cocktail. And then we sneaked aboard the hotel’s private shuttle (vehicle number sixty) to Accra’s Kotoka International Airport where we found vehicle number sixty-one, a Ghana International Airlines Boeing 757.