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After leaving Ouagadougou at around 09.00 on Monday morning, it only took a couple of hours to reach the border with Ghana. The frontier is between the towns of Po, on the Burkina Faso side and Bolgatanga on the Ghanaian side. Immigration formalities at the Burkina checkpoint were very relaxed. Of course I was being chased around by moneychangers wanting to relieve me of my last CFA's in exchange for a bundle of Ghanaian cedis. I didn't have that much cash left on me so I didn't worry too much about the exchange rate; I was just happy to get rid of the remaining cash, as it would now be useless for the rest of my journey.
As always, when crossing a border on a bus with fifty or so other passengers, it took time for everyone to go through immigration. I seemed to be spending a lot of time just wandering around the bus watching the activity across the border. Eventually there was a roar from the buses engine followed by a cloud of smoke; we were ready to leave for Ghana. The journey didn't last long and we were soon at the Ghanaian checkpoint. The Ghanaian officials ran the border post like a military camp. We were almost marched off the bus to the immigration office where a large stocky man in military uniform sat behind an old wooden desk. It was chaos as we all squeezed into the office. The official shouted and barked orders to us as though he was a sergeant major and we were his new recruits. Passports were being thrown across the desk; if anyone had completed their immigration papers incorrectly they very soon had their passport thrown back at them. He continued to shout out names and throw passports around the desk until eventually I heard my name badly pronounced. I picked up my passport and found that it had been stamped. I was in Ghana.
At the door I was directed to another building, the heath checkpoint, to have my yellow fever certificate inspected. Outside this building, and generally wandering around, were a large crowd of moneychangers. They were far more aggressive than their Burkina counterparts. Still, I did not have a clue as to what the exchange rate was for the Ghanaian cedi. I soon wished I had made some enquiries before embarking on this trip. I sat down and changed a twenty-pound sterling note and in return received a huge bundle of notes totalling a staggering 120,000 cedi. I only needed enough money to see me through for the next day or so as I still hadn't decided where I was going today. My bus ticket was good for travel all the way to Kumasi, towards the south of the country; I originally planned to travel as far as Bolgatanga but Tamale, in the centre of the country began to seem more practicable. Before I could even stuff my new found wealth into a money belt, pockets, backpack etc. another moneychanger thrust a bundle of notes in my hand, another 120,000 cedi. What's this I thought, my mind becoming suspicious. The moneychanger said that some larger notes would be useful, all for twenty-pound sterling. I gave the man a twenty note and quickly left after attracting far too much attention to myself, every moneychanger on the border was making a beeline towards me.
I walked back to our bus to find that the customs officials had unloaded every ones luggage and thrown it into another building. We had to go and collect our bags, have them inspected, or in other words one of the officials looked in the top, and then leave them back by the bus to be reloaded. I had made it through all these formalities fairly quickly and so I went to sit down outside a nearby café for a cold drink. It was the middle of the day and the sun beat down relentlessly. I sat under a tree with a cold soft drink. A group of local people sat next to me speaking English; at last I could understand what people were saying after spending the last three weeks travelling through French speaking West Africa. We chatted for a while and they bought me another drink as we waited for our bus to depart.
The whole border crossing, from arriving at the first Burkina checkpoint to finally boarding the bus at the Ghanaian side took just over two hours. As the bus continued its journey south from the border I began reading my guidebook to decide where I would be going today. As I read, the countryside rolled by the window. We were still in the savannah grasslands, which stretched out as far as the eye could see across the plains. Every now and then the bus would slow as we passed through a small village; in the distance huge plumes of smoke rose from grass fires. As we reached Bolgatanga I decided I would travel as far as Tamale today and spend the night there. I could then sit down with a beer in the evening and work out what I would do with my two weeks in Ghana.
We had a break at the bus station in Bolgatanga while the bus went to be refuelled; we were ordered not leave the station as no one would come looking for us when we were ready to depart. I sat on a wooden bench in the waiting area where a television was caged to the wall. Cartoons were showing this afternoon, Scooby Doo had just started. I sat intently watching the adventures of the gang with a few local children. Nobody else seemed that interested in the television; I guess most Africans don't share the same love of the adventures of Scooby, Shaggy and the gang as I do. It was a welcome break, a little reminder of home, before the bus arrived just as the villain was unmasked by those pesky kids and the end credits played. Perfect timing.
A few hours later, after snoozing on the bus as we continued to hurtle south, we arrived in Tamale as the sun began to set. The sun just seemed to hang effortlessly above the horizon as I walked from the bus station through the centre of town to find a hotel for the night. It seemed a perfect time to break my journey south in this town after spending a long, hot day travelling from Ouagadougou. Tamale is no cultural centre, but is the regional capital in the north with a population of 250,000; to me though, the town looked a lot smaller. You could best describe the town as a transport hub; anyone travelling to the north of the country would pass through this town. The area around the bus station was frenetic with activity, the market was just along the road and everyone seemed to be on a mission to try and get somewhere. This was my first experience of Ghana and the people. I was immediately surprised at how I managed to walk unnoticed along the street. I expected to be hassled by taxi drivers and the usual touts as soon as I walked out of the bus station, but to my amazement no-one took any notice of me as I strolled up the road with my backpack slung on my back.
These were my first impressions of Ghanaians, I don't count the people I met at the border, they always seem to be a race to themselves preying on unsuspecting travellers crossing into an unfamiliar country. Everyone went about their business and I almost felt invisible walking through the town. I smiled to myself and thought that I'm going to enjoy my stay in this country. I walked to the Tohazie hotel near to the east of the town centre. A Dutch family I had met in Bobo-Dioulasso had recommended the place to me and said that they had stayed there in a bungalow for about US$4 a night, compared to their advertised rates starting at US$10 a night. The hotel was situated along a quiet tree-lined street, just past a roundabout by the police station; the trees looked like eucalyptus. Dusk didn't last long and by the time I reached the hotel the streets had become fairly dark. The hotel was more like a holiday camp; chalets and bungalows were dotted around the large compound. I collapsed into a large leather sofa at reception, sweat pouring from me after my hike from the bus station; it was then that I wished I had taken a taxi.
My negotiating for a night's accommodation was not going well. They would not drop their rates below about US$10. I persevered but it got me nowhere. Admitting defeat and beginning to curse the Dutchman, I ordered a bottle of water in preparation for my walk back into town to find alternative accommodation. I picked up my bag to walk out saying I had been given wrong information about the place when suddenly they found a chalet for US$2 a night. With a sigh of relief I was led through the compound to a dilapidated building that would be my home for the night.
My guidebook described the hotel as recently privatised. I imagine this meant that it used to be run as a state enterprise; it had the feel of a communist run holiday camp you might find on the shores of the Black Sea. There was an air of neglect to the place, as though the staff knew that whatever happened they would always have a job, so they did not have to try hard. Saying that the staff were very helpful and polite. They definitely seemed to outnumber the guests, which again gave the place that communist holiday camp feel. There was no running water in my chalet; instead a large barrel of water and a bucket. I made myself at home, 'showered', did some laundry and then chucked the bucket of dirty water into the basin, only to find that the waste was not plumbed in and I soaked my feet instead. Well, I thought to myself, that's African plumbing for you.
I decided to eat at a restaurant in the town centre. The Giddipass restaurant had been recommended to me by another traveller and also had a good mention in the guidebook. I found myself to be the only diner and sat back to enjoy my stir-fried beef in black-bean sauce and a large bottle of cold beer. The menu was very international, largely due to the Chinese chef working in the kitchen. The bar on the roof of the restaurant had a bit more life to it; I guess most places in the world are a bit quiet on a Monday night.
That evening I came up with a plan for my trip through the country to Accra, to catch my return flight home in just under two weeks time. It was a tough decision whether to go to Mole national park in the north, or to continue south to Kumasi and spend time on the coast. I read in my guidebook about a resort at the mouth of the river Volta on a sandbar that was only accessible by boat. This sounded like the ideal place to relax and unwind at the end of my six-week trip through West Africa, before flying back home. The beach, sand, sea and palm trees won. Just the thought of this place began to bring back memories of deserted tropical beaches in South East Asia, in particular the Perhentian Islands off the east coast of peninsular Malaysia.
Before returning to the hotel I walked back to the bus station and booked a seat on the following mornings STC bus to Kumasi. Strolling through town that evening kids tagged along with me, not the annoying kind wanting pens, money etc, they just wanted to practice their English and find out what I was doing all these miles from home in their town. I fell asleep that night easily, happy that I had arrived in such a friendly, easygoing country.
It was your usual African rush hour at the bus station the next morning, people, luggage, taxis and busses everywhere. Amidst all this chaos I arrived in a battered old taxi, I really didn't fancy the walk from the hotel; even at this early hour of the morning you could feel the temperature rise and the humidity begin to suck you dry. Once back on the road in the safe hands of STC (State Transport Company) and their reassuring corporate logo, 'We'll get you there alive', the journey continued much the same as yesterday. The endless plains dotted with baobab trees seemed to stretch forever. Today though my journey would end in the lush, green tropical forests of southern Ghana. After spending weeks travelling across the grasslands and savannah of West Africa I was looking forward to this welcome change in scenery. I expected the change from grassland to forest to be gradual. I gazed out of the window of the bus and suddenly the landscape began to change; it changed very quickly and within the space of about 15km we were travelling through the tropical forest belt. The weather changed too and clouds appeared in the sky; these were the first clouds I had seen since I started my journey in The Gambia over four weeks ago.
As we approached the centre of Kumasi through the suburbs I had the feeling of arriving in a large busy city. We were constantly stuck in traffic jams as we slowly made our way downtown. We kept stopping to let passengers off; at one stop the driver opened the luggage compartment and a suitcase promptly fell out and straight into an open sewer. I was so glad it wasn't my bag but still felt upset for the poor passenger whose luggage was now covered in black, stinking, slime as the driver fished it out of the sewer. By the time we arrived at the bus station in the centre of town there were not that many passengers left aboard. Of those still on the bus there was one other white traveller, an older man from Norway by the name of Kjell. We were both planning to stay at the same guesthouse, the legendary Presbyterian Guesthouse, and so walked together the short distance to Mission Road. The guesthouse is in a quite part of town, an old two storey colonial building with wide balconies set in large grounds dotted with palm trees. There was only one double room left so Kjell and I decided to share the room and cut the cost of a night's accommodation to about US$1.50 each.
By the middle of the afternoon I had made myself at home and sat in a chair on the large wooden balcony, which stretched around the whole building, and looked out across the city. Kumasi has a population of about one million and is built over rolling hills, the suburbs sprawling out to the green hills that surround the city. The heart of the city is the huge Kejetia market covering 10 hectares with approximately 10,000 traders. From the hills above it looks like a huge shantytown, a sea of rusting corrugated iron roofs; it is said to be the largest market in West Africa. Kumasi is the ancient capital of the Ashanti kingdom and is today the centre of Ashanti culture and still home of the Ashanti king, the Asantehene.
During the afternoon I walked around the old town. My main task was to cash some travellers cheques at Barclays Bank. The money I had changed at the border was lasting well; I was finding that travelling in this country was very cheap, especially when compared to the costs I encountered in neighbouring CFA countries. I was only spending about half I was in Burkina Faso and Mali. Imagine my surprise then, when at the bank I found the exchange rate was 10,000 cedi to 1-pound sterling and not 6,000 that I had been charged by the moneychangers at the border. That explained the eagerness of the moneychangers to relieve me of my hard currency. I put the border incident down to experience and will hope to learn from it in future (find out the exchange rate before you arrive in the country). I was not disheartened though and left the bank with an even larger pile of banknotes stuffed in every money belt/pocket I had available.
There was an internet cafe above the Shell petrol station further down the road. The room was beautifully air-conditioned and I spent a couple of hours there catching up on my email and news from home while an army of ants marched relentlessly up my desk, past the keyboard and on up the wall.
Since crossing the border yesterday lunchtime, one thing that I could not help but notice, was that it was election time. On my journey to Ghana I had been listening to regular news bulletins from the BBC on my short-wave radio and was aware of the political situation in the country. So far the campaigning had passed off peacefully, bar some sporadic violence in the north of the country. It was a very different story in neighbouring Cote d'Ivorie where election campaigning had become marred by violence, arrests of opposition supporters and intimidation. Several massacres had been reported across the country, including Abidjan; in response the government had imposed a curfew and troops patrolled the streets. Ghana's election campaigning seemed a world away from their neighbours. There was very little violence reported; the majority of rallies passed off peacefully. The press and media were free to report on both the ruling parties campaign, the National Democratic Congress (NDC) and that of the opposition parties, the main opposition party being the National Patriotic Party (NPP) lead by John Kufuor.
This election would also be historic as the incumbent president, Jerry Rawlings would not be standing for re-election. Jerry Rawlings first hit the political scene in 1979 when he led a group of military officers in a coup. He sacked the civilian government, which was accused of corruption and embezzlement and stayed in power for three months until fresh elections were held. Hilla Limann won the vote for president and Jerry Rawlings handed over power.
At the end of 1981 the economy was out of control and Jerry Rawlings again staged a military coup; this time he stayed in power. He made the transition from military coup leader to civilian president when he won presidential elections in 1996, which were seen by the outside world as free and fare. Under the new constitution, the president is only allowed two terms in office. This would be an end of an era, 19 years of rule by Jerry Rawlings, the longest serving leader in Ghana. Standing in his place as the NDC candidate for president was the current vice-president John Atta Mills. The presidential election would become a two-horse race between John Atta Mills and John Kufuor and the parliamentary election between their respective parties, the NDC and NPP.
You could not escape the election campaign; all over town posters displayed the faces of the respective candidates along with their party symbol. The main debate over the election, which everyone was talking about on the streets and in the media, was whether to allow voting without ID cards and to allow thumbprints only on the ballot papers. After much debate the electoral commission finally decided to allow the thumbprint on the ballot paper, which seemed to be the decision most welcome by the majority of the population. Polling day was set for 7 December.
There is plenty to do and see in and around Kumasi. Kjell and I set off to do the tourist trail around the city on our first full day. Just about a kilometre from our guesthouse was the old Kumasi fort on Stewart Avenue, which now housed the military museum. The British built the present day fort in 1896 who razed the original structure in 1873 after the fourth Ashanti war. At the gatehouse we hired the services of a guide who took us around the museum explaining the exhibits in great detail, together with the history of the Ashanti kingdom, Ghana and the various wars fought in the past. He was definitely worth his fee of only about a dollar. There were many exhibits in the museum and I found it far more interesting than expected. There was a large collection of old weapons captured during the first and second world wars; also a hall of photos depicting past colonial rulers, the Ashanti royal family and other famous statesmen and visitors to Ghana. The tour lasted almost an hour and finished off at the isolation cells. Our guide asked us to step inside and then closed the door behind us; not a single crack of daylight could be seen from inside the tiny cell, which was not much bigger than a couple of metres square. To add to the effect the walls were also painted black. Prisoners who were held in here were almost blinded when they were at last released, if they did not die in captivity. It's not the kind of place I would have wanted to spend much time.
At the end of the tour we gave our guide a generous tip for giving us such an in-depth and informative tour before hiring a taxi to take us across town to the Manhyia Palace Museum to the north of the Kejetia market. Until 1974 this was the royal palace for the Ashanti Kings, today it is a museum and the King has moved to a new, larger and grander palace next door. The British built the Manhyia Palace in 1925 for the return of King Prempeh I who had been in exile in the Seychelles for the previous twenty-five years. Of course, the palace being built by the British, looked far more like a home-counties mansion than an African palace; it was the least the British could do, after all they blew up the original palace.
We walked through the main gate to the palace. The gardens looked busy, people milling around everywhere; chairs and tables had been set up in the far corner of the garden. We paid for an entrance ticket in the museum shop and were led by a guide to a room to watch the induction video show, before being shown into the palace. The palace was like a time warp, the décor and furniture a reminder of 1950's interior design. I really had the feeling of wandering around somebody's home. One of the prize exhibits in the museum is the television set in the front room - the first television set in Ghana. Our guide, again, was very good and informative, although you could tell that he had done this tour thousands of times before. At a desk, our guide would announce that this is where the King worked; at a dining table, this is the chair the King sat in to dine; this is the Kings gramophone and record collection.
As we walked past the windows we looked out across the gardens at the growing crowd on the lawn and the various dignitaries now arriving. We asked our guide what was going on. He told us that the King was holding an audience with the British High Commissioner at lunchtime on the lawn. We asked if we could meet the King as well or if we could attend the audience but our guide said that only invited guests could attend. We preserved for some time to try and get out onto the lawn to meet the King, hoping that our guide might be able to arrange something with the growing number of security men surrounding the palace. Our efforts were in vain but while we were in an upstairs bedroom, with a grandstand view over the lawns, the King appeared with his entourage. Our guide pointed out the King, wearing his traditional robes made of kente cloth, as he walked across the lawn, shaded from the hot sun by a black parasol carried by a servant. The guests all stood as the King approached and took his position at the middle of the long table; meanwhile Kjell videoed the whole royal procession as it passed below us, at first to the annoyance of our guide who was more eager to finish the tour.
After the excitement of seeing the King we continued looking around the upstairs rooms of the former palace. In one room were waxwork models of the King and his mother. What caught my eye in that room were two large, beautifully decorated urns either side of the fireplace. Pope John Paul had presented them to the King, a photo of the Pope on his visit to Ghana was stuck to the wall behind. Unfortunately one of the urns had met a nasty accident, someone must have knocked it over or dropped it. The many pieces it had broken into had been rather crudely glued back together. It now looked very sad sitting next to its immaculate twin; I could not help but to feel sorry for whomever had accidentally knocked it over. The last room we visited was lined with various gifts that had been presented to the royal family by visiting heads of state and other domestic visitors to the palace. I had often wondered what happened to all those gifts presented during official visits; now here they were gathering dust in a museum.
That concluded our tour and we left, walking along the drive to the gates, passing the British High Commissioner's range-rover, complete with a miniature union jack flying from the bonnet. The day seemed complete after seeing the King, it would have been great if we could have met him officially, but it wasn't to be. We walked back down the road towards the Kejetia market. The market fills a valley between the hill, where the royal palace sits and the old town opposite.. The railway runs into this valley and the station is at the bottom of the old town hill. The tracks loop around from the station into the market forming a boundary, before eventually being swallowed into the mass of stalls stretching across the valley.
We took a bearing for the railway station before descending into the market. It could be easy to get lost along the many alleyways criss-crossing the market. Once in the market you couldn't see far, with crowds of people trying to walk down every alley and traders hanging their wares between the stalls, it was like walking through a tunnel. How the local people find their way around this place was beyond me. We stumbled across the butcher's section, we could smell it before we could see it. I couldn't stay long, the smell of the neat lying out in the hot sun was enough to almost make me gag. Kjell suggested we explore further into the butchers market to see if there was any weird and wonderful protein for sale. I made my excuses and ran to escape from the toxic smell, soon followed by Kjell. I think it was only luck that we eventually materialised at the opposite side of the market, roughly where we intended.
The railway line led us back to the old town. The old town was my favourite part of Kumasi. For the first time on this trip I felt I was in a real African city, or how I imagined an African city to look like. There were narrow streets and main roads lined with both old and new buildings which complemented each other, many in a colonial style with balconies and verandas and red tiled roofs. Everywhere in the city there was life; it was not like some other places that sometimes seemed sterile and nondescript. Being built on hilly ground gave different views across the city as you walked around.
The power and water supply in Ghana is not the worlds most reliable and Kumasi was no exception. Whenever we returned to the guesthouse we would always guess whether we had either no electricity or no water until one evening when we returned and found we had neither. The staff were always very good and kept a large barrel of water filled outside the bathroom by running up and down the stairs and across the grounds to a well filling the barrel two buckets at a time. Most evenings I went to Baboo's Café in the old town for dinner and a cold bottle of beer. The place was very popular with both locals and other travellers and had a varied and tasty menu; I never left hungry or disappointed.
There are many places around Kumasi worth visiting and all possible as day trips using local transport. Four villages to the northeast of Kumasi are famous for their craftwork, in particular Bonwire, which is famous for weaving kente cloth. The villages had become very popular with tourists, which I had heard, had changed the character of the places somewhat. I could not confirm this, as I did not visit any of these villages. Instead I wanted to see some of the natural attractions in the area and with Kjell went to visit the Bobiri Forest Reserve about 35km from Kumasi. The reserve is a small patch of virgin forest that had escaped the attention of the loggers. From the road it was a 3km walk to the reserve. We hadn't been walking that far when a passing vehicle offered us a ride along the dirt track to the forest. We were dropped outside the guesthouse in the reserve where there was also a small visitors centre. There were no maps or guides to the reserve and we were free to wander along the many trails that led through the forest. The local people used these trails to go about the forest to collect palm wine from the palm trees dotted about the forest. We spent a couple of hours following a trail deep into the forest. The humidity was very high under the large green canopy above us; it was nice though to escape the hectic activity of Kumasi and to be in such peaceful surroundings.
Another day we went to Lake Bosumtwi, a crater lake 38km southeast of Kumasi. It is one of the few lakes that it is safe to swim in. Bilharzia is widespread across Africa and is found in rivers and lakes. It is a minute worm that enters your body through your skin. The worms attach themselves to your intestines or bladder and there they remain. Often you will not feel any symptoms for months or even years. By then it is too late and irreversible damage has been done to your internal organs. It's a disease well worth avoiding, which also means avoiding swimming in lakes and rivers. The chance to be able to swim in a cool, refreshing, bilharzia free lake in this hot and humid climate was one I wasn't going to pass.
The lake is surrounded by jagged hills rising to 400m and covered in lush green forests. The road winds its way down through the hills to a small town on the lakeshore. We walked from the taxi park to the shore and on the way were accosted by some locals demanding payment from us for 'tourist tax'. There ensued a long discussion, I wouldn't call it an argument, as I was trying to keep my cool and see if the locals had a logical explanation for their 'tourist tax'. It really was the last thing I wanted to do, haggle with locals over payment for arriving in their small town. I had come here to relax and enjoy the peaceful surroundings. In the end we asked to see one of the elders of the town. He was a nice man and explained the situation to us. The upshot of it all was that they needed money to build facilities for tourists on the lakeshore but the central government wouldn't help them. Finally after over twenty minutes of negotiating we paid their 'tourist tax' of 10,000 cedi, about US$1.50, and asked for a written receipt from the town elder.
If I was accounting for this trip I would of filed that payment under conned. After we had parted with our cash we left the town. We didn't end up spending our money in the local shops or restaurants so in some way I feel their tax was a bit of an own goal. We didn't feel welcome in the town and the whole incident just made us want to leave as soon as possible. We walked along the track anticlockwise that followed the lakeshore. The track follows the whole 30km circumference of the lake passing through some 30 villages on the way. We walked for a few kilometres until we arrived in a small village where we stopped at the village shop to buy a drink. The heat from the sun was intense and the humidity was sucking me dry with every step we took.
Just past the village we found a quiet spot by the shore. It was a beautiful location, a backdrop of forest, and the smooth, crystal clear lake stretching out before us all surrounded by green hills. There we spent the afternoon lying in the grass in the shade of a tree relaxing and swimming in the lake to cool off. Even in the shade it was hot but the lake was the perfect tonic to the heat. The lake is also sacred to the Ashanti people. They believe that when they die their souls come to the lake to say goodbye to their god Twi. Dugout canoes are taboo on the lake, as they believe they alienate the lake spirit; instead fisherman use carefully carved planks, which they kneel on, and paddle with their palms. While we sat on a log on the beach a fisherman came past on one of these solid canoes on his way back to his village from a fishing trip. Time slipped by until we checked a watch and saw that it was getting late into the afternoon. We hiked back to town to find transport to Kumasi. We had booked tickets on the overnight train tonight from Kumasi to Takoradi that was due to depart from Kumasi at 20.30 this evening.
The train is not the fastest mode of transport around Ghana. The network is fairly small, the tracks forming a triangle linking Accra, Kumasi and Takoradi in the south of the country. The journey we were undertaking tonight would only take about three hours by bus; the train though took eight hours travelling overnight to reach the same destination. We had booked ourselves a first-class, two berth sleeping compartment for the fare of 15,000 cedi, about US$2. All of the rolling stock is second-hand, most of it from Germany. We took a taxi to the station; even after the sun had set it was too hot and humid to walk any distance with our entire luggage. Our train was waiting at the station with the usual frenetic activity you would expect to find, passengers, luggage and vendors everywhere. A guard showed us to our compartment in the first-class carriage towards the rear of the train. We didn't have to wait long before the train departed exactly on time at 20.30 and began its slow journey south, twisting and rattling its way through the lush forests.
As we crept slowly out of Kumasi a guard came past with a crate of cold beer for sale. This was just perfect; I sat there with the warm evening breeze blowing through the window, sweat still dripping off me as though I was in a sauna and a large bottle of cold Star beer in my hand. Travelling doesn't get any better than this. I sat back and appreciated the moment with an uncontrollable grin on my face; it was one of those travel moments that end up ingrained on your memory. I have always had a fondness for travelling by train whenever I can. It is far more relaxing than going by road, you have more space, and you can go for a walk to stretch your legs or just sit back like now with a drink, while the country passes by your window. The guard told us to close the window before we go to sleep, as it had been known for people to climb through the windows during the night while the train had stopped. The compartment had a ceiling fan to re-circulate the air; I finally fell asleep as the train lurched dangerously down the track and the fan buzzed in my ears like a really pissed off mosquito.
I slept better than I thought I would do, especially considering the rough track we were travelling down causing the train to bounce and lurch in every direction possible. As the sun rose and the light began to stream into our compartment I was surprised that we hadn't derailed overnight. Looking out the window all I could see were trees and every now and then a track where occasionally there would be some people standing waiting for the train to pass. I didn't feel too well this morning; my digestive system felt like it had taken a good beating overnight; I quickly retired to the toilet. I felt feverish too and popped some paracetomol to try and control my temperature. This is not how I wanted the trip to end after what had been an enjoyable train ride. I could only blame my sudden bout of illness on my swim in the lake yesterday; maybe I had swallowed some water while diving in the lake. My last meal was at Baboo's cafe and I didn't think for one moment that I could of picked up a bug there over dinner.
Finally after what seemed like a trip of thousands of miles, in reality it was only a few hundred, the train pulled in at the terminus at Takoradi. Our final destination for this trip would be Cape Coast, about 75km east along the coast. The way I was feeling I wasn't in the mood for walking across town and finding a bus to take us along the coast I felt too feverish and the weather too hot for any sort of physical activity. Instead Kjell and I agreed to take a private taxi from the station. We didn't have to bargain hard before we got the fare reduced to an acceptable 55,000 cedi, just over US$8, which worked out at US$4 each. I now had the whole backseat of the taxi to myself to stretch out on and relax for the hour and a half drive along the coast.
At home I live by the sea, so it was a welcome sight after the thousands of miles I had travelled from Banjul in The Gambia, to once again see and smell the ocean. It is the one thing I find I miss when travelling through landlocked countries. The road meandered along the coast, at first just giving us glimpses of the vast blue ocean, before running parallel with the beach, the waves crashing beside us. It was almost like returning home, back to a familiar environment. Something though was wrong; the palm trees were dying. All along the coast great swathes of palm trees had died, due to a virus infection; their frondless trunks stood as monuments like headstones in a graveyard marking where once was a tree. This gave the coastal stretch an eerie feel; it wasn't the green, tropical coastline I expected with beaches flanked by palm trees. Yes there were still palm trees around, but the vast majority in places were dead.
We drove into Cape Coast along the Elmina Road, which runs parallel to the beach and past the Fosu lagoon. All along the beach fishermen were busy at work around their boats that had been beached under the palm trees, out of the glare of the hot sun. Nets had been strung up between the trees and were being repaired while others unloaded the morning's catch. Our taxi driver dropped us outside the Sammo guesthouse on the Jukwa road, a place that had been recommended by both my guidebook and other travellers I had met. I was glad to be at the end of this journey, which had started some fifteen hours ago, and to be able to lie down on a bed and rest while my immune system went to work destroying this stomach bug I had picked up yesterday. Kjell went off to explore the town while I rested for the afternoon.
Cape Coast has a population of just over 100,000. It used to be the British colonial capital until it was moved to Accra in 1876. The Cape Coast Fort dominates the town overlooking the sea and used to be the British administrative headquarters. Forts and castles are dotted all along the Ghanaian coast. The Swedes, Germans, French, Danes, British and Portuguese who all tried to gain power of the Gold Coast to exploit the commercial potential of the area built them. By the turn of the 18th century there were 37 forts along the coast, some of which changed hands many times over the years.
By late afternoon I felt a lot better compared to when I woke up that morning on the train from Kumasi. My appetite had returned so I walked down Jukwa road towards the town centre to buy something to eat and drink from the many street vendors along the road. When Kjell returned he was surprised by my recovery, almost as surprised as I was.
We walked back into town to the castle to see if we could catch the last tour of the day, this would leave us the whole day tomorrow free to take a trip out to Kakum national park. As we guessed the castle gates were closed when we arrived, we had left it too late. Instead I walked down onto the beach and around town while Kjell went off to find a moneychanger. There had been a political rally in town that afternoon; most of the supporters were making their way home, some very drunk. With all these people about on the streets I began to feel uneasy; there seemed to be an atmosphere of purpose and confrontation. I unfortunately was followed by a couple of drunk, young men, which confirmed my fears. They began to demand money from me; they were thirsty, I should buy them a drink. Where ever I went they followed, pestering me in an increasingly menacing way. I let them walk a few steps in front of me; when a taxi came past I discreetly flagged it down and before they realised what was happening I was in the taxi and off down the street. After all they were drunk and their reactions were not the swiftest. I took the taxi back to the guesthouse and went to the bar on the roof for a drink.
By the evening I was hungry enough to go and venture out to a restaurant. There is not a wide choice of restaurants to choose from in town; our hotel manager recommended the Solace Spot on the way out of town north along the Jukwa road. It was more of a bar than a restaurant and looked like a popular place for the young wealthy locals to meet and drink. It was an outdoor bar, the surroundings were relaxing, good music and cold beer and a reasonable selection on the menu.
The next day was Sunday, a day that we thought would be quiet; it wasn't. I woke at six in the morning to the sound of vehicles and people coming down the road into the town centre for another political rally. You could tell it was a political rally from the loudspeakers on the cars blaring out the party message, which also woke up most of the hotel. At 08.30 Kjell and I walked down to the fort; we wanted to do the tour as early as possible to give us time to visit Kakum national park later in the day. We came to the bottom of Jukwa road and turned left onto Market Street. As we came round a corner we suddenly saw a huge colourful and noisy crowd coming towards us; everyone was chanting and waving political banners and flags; we had accidentally stumbled into the political rally. We carried on walking along Market Street towards the town centre as best we could in single file, squeezing past the hordes of demonstrators coming in the opposite direction. We had gone past maybe about half the rally when, out of nowhere, a fight started between what looked like some onlookers and some of the demonstrators. In no time at all the situation deteriorated into full-scale violence; people in the crowd ran in all directions, while others joined in with the mayhem. We discreetly disappeared up a side street; after we reached a safe distance I looked back to see a scene of utter chaos. By now rocks were being thrown and young men were ripping up anything along the road to use as a weapon; we carried on walking. The rest of the town was peaceful, as I would of expected on a Sunday; a few streets away you would of been totally unaware that a riot had broken out.
We walked around the trouble and back down to the coast and the fort. We paid our entrance fee and were promptly taken on a tour. The fort was also used for trading slaves. The dungeons below the central courtyard could hold 1,500 slaves waiting to be shipped off to the new world. Our guide took us down the ramp from the courtyard to the dungeons a few metres below the surface. Even today they were not pleasant places to visit, especially with the knowledge of what happened here in the past. The dungeons with their bare stone walls, smelt stale, the dank atmosphere heavy. You could not even imagine what the conditions would have been like down here with each dungeon holding 400 slaves with little or no sanitation or fresh air. A tunnel had been built running under the courtyard leading to a gate that opened onto the beach. The residents of the fort and their guests, often business men buying slaves, didn't want to see the trade in human cargo parading past them across the courtyard to be loaded onto ships. This tunnel conveniently kept the physical trade out of sight. Slavery was finally abolished in 1870 and since then the dungeons have been empty.
The museum at the fort is well worth the visit and was included in our tour. This gave a detailed history of the British occupation and the horrors of the slave trade. The weather though was beginning to beat me; I have never been in such hot and humid weather before I reached the coast of Ghana. Even in the museum I could not stop sweating and found myself constantly standing under one of the ceiling fans while I read the history and descriptions of the exhibits on display.
When we finished the tour we negotiated with a taxi driver outside the main gates to take us to Kakum National Park, 33km north from the coast. It would be possible to take a minibus along the main road and be dropped by the gates, but hiring a private taxi, especially when there were two of us travelling, still worked out cheap in comparison to neighbouring countries we had travelled through. In the end our driver said he would wait for us at the national park and bring us back when we had finished. Sunday must be a quiet day for taxis, as he did not charge us for the hours he waited while we hiked around the forest.
The park is an ecotourism project protecting about 357 sq km of both rainforest and semi deciduous forest; most of the park has been selectively logged at some point over the years leaving only about 14 sq km of virgin rainforest. The highlight of the park is the ropewalk way that has been constructed in the trees. The walkway leads off from a steep embankment out into the trees some 30m above the ground. In all it is about 350m long leading in a semicircle between eight huge trees that serve as viewing platforms. At the park headquarters we hired a guide to take us on a hike into the forest. I was disappointed that you could not hike into the forest by yourself, even though the trails had been clearly marked. We did not buy a ticket for the canopy walkway; the price - the white man price that is - was prohibitive when compared to the local economy. Instead we climbed the hill from the headquarters and into the forest for a two-hour guided walk. As soon as we were in the cover of the trees our guide asked us why we did not buy a ticket for the canopy walk way. We explained that is was too expensive and not really worth it. Our guide began to haggle with us asking us how much we would pay. In the end we said we would only pay a quarter of the fee asked at the headquarters. He then brought out two passes from his pocket took our money and lead us to the walkway.
The walk way was a unique experience, looking at the forest from the canopy. It is the only such walk way like this in Africa; there are only four in the world. We didn't spend long on it, our guide was mindful of another group on the way and wanted to get going as soon as possible. Once we were back on firm ground he ushered us off into the forest along the ebony trail. This is where his vast knowledge of the forest became apparent. He knew every tree we passed and told us exactly what it is used for, either construction or medicine (and occasionally both). As we walked into the dense forest, sweat now pouring from me, he would stop and point out a tree and tell us how the local people used it to make medicine and how this knowledge had been taken to be used in western drugs. Even under the shade of the giant trees you could not escape the heat; even the backs of my fingers began to sweat. We didn't see any wildlife, which is supposed to inhabit the forest, only insects and butterflies.
The best time to see wildlife would be at dawn or dusk and not during the heat of the afternoon; unfortunately the park isn't open at these times. The hike didn't last as long as I wanted; I really wanted to get out amongst the wilderness but in the end had to be satisfied with the circular tour along the ebony trail. To our surprise our taxi driver was still waiting for us in the car park on our return and took us back to our guesthouse in Cape Coast.
We made an early start to catch a bus east along the coast. I was headed for Accra, where I planned to spend a night before continuing my trip along the coast to the deserted beach resort at the mouth of the River Volta I had read about in my guidebook. Kjell meanwhile was headed for Kokrobite, a beach resort just before you reach Accra. He wanted to spend a few days there at a drumming school before leaving the country and going to Lome in Togo to catch a return flight home. A couple of hours drive from Cape Coast we reached the turn off for Kokrobite and we parted company as Kjell clambered out of the overcrowded minibus to hitch the rest of the way to the coast. Not long after I arrived in Accra and was dropped off somewhere on one of the main highways in the western suburbs. I didn't really have a clue where in the city I was, the suburbs sprawl for miles and I could have been anywhere. Amidst the chaotic traffic I found a taxi and asked to go to the Asylum Down district of the city. This district is just northeast of downtown and has a few good cheap hotels to choose from; it is also quieter than staying in one of the downtown hotels. As we drove I studied my map intently and soon worked out I was travelling north along the ring road; the traffic was very heavy and soon ground to a standstill as we approached Nkrumah circle, the main intersection in the city.
I checked into the Lemon Lodge hotel, next door to the Burkina Faso embassy on 2nd Mango Tree Avenue. This was a quiet tree lined avenue a few blocks away from the noise and traffic on the northern ring road. On a corner was a small soft drinks stall that made a pleasant spot to sit in the shade while drinking an ice cold drink. The hotel was clean and the staff friendly, I would only be in the city for one night and spent the afternoon doing boring things like visiting the bank and checking my email. My last weekend I would spend in the city before flying back home; I would explore the place in more detail then.
Early the following morning I took a taxi to the Tema station from where minibuses to Ada departed from. I think the taxi dropped me off at the wrong station, as I had to walk miles to find someone leaving for Ada. By the time I did I was exhausted and the cheery mood I woke up in had gone. I was looking forward to today; I was off to a quiet beach resort to relax under a palm tree away from the complications of modern living. Now I sat in a cramped minibus on an uncomfortable seat soaked in sweat under the baking sun. Ada is a small town 110km east of Accra at the mouth of the river Volta. The small resort I was heading for was described in my guidebook as the finest (and cheapest) in the area. Only accessible by canoe the simple reed huts and small bar sit on a sand bar between the ocean and the estuary. Maybe I should have paid more attention to the next paragraph in my book that read; in 1998 the resort was badly damaged during a freak storm but by now should be up and running again. When I arrived in town, which seemed deserted I asked directions for the tourist information office. From here I should be able to make arrangements for a boat to take me out to the resort.
That is when I received the bad news that yes, the resort was badly damaged a couple of years ago in a freak storm and no it was never rebuilt. Instead the owners had bought some land along the coast and rebuilt the resort there. I took a taxi the short distance to the new resort straddling the track that served as the main road along the coast. To say I felt disappointed would be an under statement; since crossing the border into Ghana I had been looking forward to unwinding at this resort after my long trip across West Africa which began in Banjul in The Gambia. The new resort was excellent and I could not fault it; it was just in the wrong location, along the coastal strip with the other resorts and a road running right through it. I wanted to get away from civilisation and the old resort, out on a sand bar only accessible by boat, really had appealed to me. I booked into a reed hut and planned to make myself at home for a few days and to make the most of the place now that I had come so far.
There were about twenty huts in the compound with a restaurant and bar too. I settled in and sat outside my hut to see who else was staying here. The place was deserted that afternoon, I guessed that everyone had either gone to the beach or taken a boat along the river. I crossed the road and walked to the beach; it too was deserted, just a few fisherman in the distance hauling their boats onto the beach. The wind blew strongly off the ocean forming giant waves that crashed onto the white sand. The waves and the currents made it too dangerous to swim, which added to my day's disappointments. I walked the beach instead, passing by a few palm trees on the way; most of the land was just covered in shrub and grass and wasn't the lush green tropical beach I expected. Next door to the resort was a building site with a half built house, a similar story along the coastal road which was littered with half completed buildings.
In the evening I found the only other two guests staying at the resort; I joined them for a beer. While we sat there the staff busied themselves setting out dozens of chairs and tables across the compound. My spirits lifted in the anticipation of a lively evening ahead. It didn't last long though when Boris, one of the other guests who had been staying there the last few days, told me that every evening they set out all the tables and every evening no-one else turned up. A couple of days ago he had been the only guest and had had the bar to himself. Boris was from Brussels in Belgium; he was the curator of African arts at the national museum and was out in Ghana on a business trip. The other guest was Carlos from Barcelona in Spain; he was travelling around Ghana on a three-week holiday. We spent the evening sitting out in the warm evening air, drinking beer with the sound of the surf crashing onto the beach in the distance.
The hours past by and turned into days and we were either asleep, drinking beer or strolling along the beach. The resort began to take on its own charm and we all fell into a routine of doing nothing while the staff carried on their endless routine of putting out tables and chairs each night and then stand around just serving the three of us beer before packing away all the unused chairs at the end of the night. The owner and staff were extremely friendly; it was more like staying at someone's home than a beach resort. Most of the day the owner would sit in his chair next to the bar watching life go by. In the evenings he would join us while we drunk our beer for a chat to make sure we were enjoying ourselves. After arriving in Ada and finding the resort I was heading for had been washed away, this new resort really began to make up for my first days disappointment. I found myself spending most of the day relaxing, doing nothing, which was the whole reason why I had come here in the first place.
On my third evening, we were once again sitting around a table drinking beer; the bar had run out of our preferred brand so we made do with whatever beer was left. The tables and chairs had again been set out as the sunset and remained unused for the evening. It was about nine o'clock that night when a taxi pulled up at the gates. We joked that it could be a group of travellers arriving to check in when three girls with backpacks walked through the gates and up to the reception hut. At last we had some other people to talk to instead of spending the evening telling the same old jokes and stupid stories; every evening though we still managed to make ourselves laugh but I think the beer played a major part in that. The girls checked in and disappeared into a hut; we waited for them to reappear and put some spare chairs around our table to accommodate them. When they finally emerged from their hut, they walked straight past our table, without even acknowledging us, and sat at a table on the opposite side of the compound. Boris was not having any of this and got up, grabbed his beers and said he was going to introduce himself; we grabbed our beer bottles and followed Boris, pulling up a chair each at their table.
The three girls were from England and had been teaching English at a school in Accra. They were volunteer workers and had finished their assignment and were now taking a few weeks off to explore the surrounding area; their next stop would be Lome in Togo. Some of the staff from the bar joined us too and at last we were having a lively evening. This stretch of the coast is one of the main breeding grounds for turtles; someone asked one of the staff whether it would be possible to see any of the turtles hauling themselves up onto the beach to lay their eggs, as this time of year was turtle season. One of the barmen offered to take us along the beach on a turtle hunt. We finished off our beer, grabbed our cameras and torches from our huts and set off walking west along the beach. The moon was almost full and hung in the sky in front of us lighting the way. We walked for a long time but all we found were the trails left by the turtles in the sand; it seemed that we were too late until we found a trail leading up the beach and no return trail back to the ocean; we had found a turtle. At the top of the beach a turtle was busy excavating a large hole to deposit her eggs. We sat and watched while the turtle worked; it was some time before she finished her work and hauled herself back down the beach and off into the ocean. We walked back along the beach to the resort feeling content that we had found a turtle. It was 02.00 in the morning by the time we returned. After having a cold refreshing beer we turned in for the night in our reed huts, the hypnotic sound of the surf crashing on the beach in the distance sending me off to sleep.
Eventually it was time to travel back to Accra. It turned out that Carlos and I were booked on the same flight back to Europe on Sunday evening, so we travelled together stopping for a night at another beach resort just outside the city. The day we left Ada was Election Day. The country seemed quiet, the roads empty; everyone was queuing up outside the polling stations. In every town and village we passed through there were long lines of people patiently waiting for their turn to vote. On the eve of the Election Day president Jerry Rawlings made an address to the nation. The main focus of his speech was the democratic process and how the eyes of the world were watching Ghana. These elections should be an example to the rest of Africa on how to run a peaceful, honest and fair election. He started his speech as follows:
'My fellow countrymen and women, exactly four years ago, on 6th December 1996, I spoke to you on the eve of election day. Then as now, I spoke not out of partisan interest but as the president of the Republic of Ghana who has concern for the well-being of all our people, no matter our political affiliations...' His speech when on to say how the democratic process in Ghana had matured and how any new government needed integrity to run the country. This integrity would be gained through honest and fair polls and respect for the people's wishes through the democratic process. He finished his address by saying, 'My beloved countrymen and women, my brothers and sisters, as I stand before you this evening, I remain very keenly aware of the significance of this momentous opportunity to consolidate our democratic aspirations in the full view of the rest of the world which has grown sceptical about the ability of Africa, especially black Africa, to chart a viable and persisting democratic process for generations to come. I therefore take this opportunity to assure you all that wherever the future takes me after 7 January 2001, I will always cherish the hope that Ghana remains the jewel that it has become.'
A day after leaving Ada I was back in Accra. The Lemon Lodge hotel was full so I checked into the Asylum Down Hotel instead and had a single room for US$1.50 a night. They were both budget hotels but I think I preferred the Asylum to the Lemon. Accra is a large sprawling city with a population of 1.7 million. The city is on the coast, which helps ease, the pollution from the choked main roads. There's not a great deal to see in the city, it is more a place to meet the people, who like in the rest of Ghana were friendly and open. The commercial heart of the city is the Makola market. I walked past it many times, there was always a tide of people coming and going; I never had the energy to wander around it, the heat, humidity and crowds would probably have finished me off within an hour. Down near the coast on 28th February Street is the arts centre and art market. This is where I spent my time shopping, purchasing a small collection of Ashanti woodcarvings. Arts and crafts from all over the country were for sale here including woodcarvings from the various tribes, masks, brass work, cloth and beads etc.
I checked my email later that day and found a message from Teresa, one of the American girls I had met in Mali a few weeks ago, saying that both Tara and herself were in Accra and staying at another hotel north of the downtown area. We met up later that day and over the weekend we hung out together, meeting up for breakfast, lunch, dinner or a few beers in the evening. Teresa's boyfriend lived in the city, had a car and knew quite a few people around town. Some friends of his family ran a stall in the fetish market in Ussher Town, a suburb just north of James Town and the two forts on the coast that have taken their names from these two districts.
Tara had been invited to meet them and as she was a professional photographer, to take photos of the stall; I joined her seeing my opportunity to also take some photos of a fetish stall, which is generally taboo. In most towns and cities there is a section in the market for fetish stalls or a separate market altogether like this one in Ussher Town. The stalls sell the various things needed by traditional believers to perform their religious ceremonies as well as ingredients used by traditional healers; these include mainly animal parts. This stall had for sale, of what I could recognise, birds, cats, elephant skin, baby crocodiles and all types of various dried animal skins. It didn't smell too fresh, the dead animals and parts had all been dried out in the sun. There were a lot of other things for sale, most I didn't recognise. There was no problem taking photos of their stall. When we asked why it was okay to take photos when at every other fetish market it was strictly forbidden, the owners told us that they don't believe in any of these traditional beliefs. They were business people and were just in the market to make a profit; they were also devout Christians, which suddenly explained it all.
For the remaining days I spent in Ghana after the election on Thursday 7th, which did pass off peacefully, everyone was glued to a radio listening to the results as they were declared. Every bar, restaurant, hotel, shop and taxi had a radio on, the results droning out. After a day it began to become apparent that the opposition NPP was winning in both the presidential and parliamentary votes. John Kufuor the opposition candidate won 48% of the vote while the ruling NDC candidate, the current vice-president, John Atta Mills gained 45%. This was not enough for John Kufuor to win outright and the country went to the polls again a couple of weeks later for a run-off between the two candidates.
Finally Sunday evening approached. I had spent my last day, once I had recovered from my hangover on Saturday night, on the beach. On our last evening, Saturday, we drove south out of the city to a large bar and restaurant on the beach. There was a local band playing, the place was very busy. We had a table on the terrace overlooking the rocky beach, the waves breaking below us; it was a perfect way to spend the last night of this trip. On Sunday morning I felt a little worse for wear, I was dehydrated from both too many beers and the relentless hot weather, day and night. When Carlos arrived in a taxi at the Asylum Down Hotel that evening, I really didn't want to get in, but unfortunately this trip was over. I wish it could of continued and even as we drove through the suburbs of Accra to the airport I began to mentally plan my return trip to Africa.
A trip around East Africa; now that sounds interesting. With that thought I flew home determined to start saving as much money as I could over the next year to return and further explore this most fascinating of continents. While back home the result of the presidential run-off poll was announced. John Kufuor, the NPP opposition leader won and took up his new role as president of the Republic of Ghana on 7th January 2001. Jerry Rawlings' last wishes as president had come true. The people had spoken and the leaders had listened; a peaceful transition of power took place under the eyes of the international community who could only praise Ghana as an example to the rest of Africa on how to run free and fair elections.
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