It can take some time to get a residency permit from the Ghanaian authorities. This can mean that for a number of months after arrival, volunteers are without their passports. Usually this is not a problem, as our identity cards are an adequate substitute. However, volunteers in the north really need their passports so that they can visit Ouagadougou, the capital of neighbouring Burkina Faso. From Bolgatanga, regional capital of the Upper East, it is about 16 hours by bus to Accra but only 3½ to Ouagadougou. It is not just the amazing name that attracts volunteers. For those missing cheese and wine and apparently that is most volunteers, Ouaga is a much more attractive prospect for shopping than Accra. While Ghana was a British colony, Burkina Faso was French so reluctantly I have to admit that the food in the restaurants and cafes is better.
Just before Easter, Dan and I discovered that some of our friends in the north would be spending the holiday in Ouaga and we decided to join them. On Maundy Thursday I took a tro into Accra and met Dan at the OA bus station near Circle. The (purple) bus north managed to leave 3 hours late, experience bad traffic leaving Accra (there is rarely any other kind); a snarl up in Nsawam; some kind of mechanical problem just north of Kintampo which was rectified with a fire extinguisher and some sticky tape and which incidentally nearly resulted in a fight between two passengers at the coach stop in Tamale; and still reach Bolgatanga early, at just before 5:45 the following morning. After a pretty successful bus trip, it was then ironic that the taxi to Katie’s house broke down and we had to push start it. We welcomed the brief rest before heading to the border at Paga to meet the rest of the group. In no man’s land between the two countries, and proving the point about the popularity of Ouaga, we met some other VSO volunteers coming the other way. They promised they had left some cheese and wine for us. The Burkinabe border officials were in no hurry to grant us permission to enter their country and we had to delay the bus. We gave the other passengers water sachets as a goodwill gesture. There was something hanging from the undercarriage of the bus which on the bumpier stretches scrapped excruciatingly across the road. The driver made no attempt to slow down for, or to avoid the potholes. The final approach to Ouaga was on a mud track alongside a beautiful new road junction. It was late afternoon by the time we arrived. The driver’s final gesture was to clip a post on the corner of Place de Nation.
Burkina Faso is landlocked and one of the poorest countries on the planet. Ouagadougou is therefore something of a surprise. It is true that poverty is visible everywhere. You will be hassled more to buy souvenirs than in Accra. The taxis are in a very poor condition. Not one I used had a door handle. You needed wires and a special knack to get in and out. Away from the centre the condition of the roads and other infrastructure dramatically deteriorated. But overall the place was far more impressive than Accra. The city is laid out on a grid with wide boulevards, some public art, and some small parks. The street sellers sold French bread and strawberries and for some unfathomable reason very up to date copies of international magazines like ‘Time’ and ‘Newsweek’. It was a pleasant surprise to find the drains covered and not to run the risk of falling down a hole every time you crossed the street.
The traffic is very different to that in Accra as well. There is less of it for a start. There are almost no tro tros and far fewer taxis (usually green Mercedes). Instead the place is awash with bicycles, mopeds, motor scooters and motorbikes. The site of Burkinabe ladies in their colourful traditional full length dress on a motorbike will stay with me a long time.
We also noticed that far more French was spoken by residents than English is spoken in Accra. This may be because Burkina Faso does not have one dominant local language, unlike Twi in Ghana.
For us the main attraction was the restaurants. We started at a tapas bar, that evening we found burgers and cocktails, the following morning it was French pastries and baguettes and then an open air Italian restaurant with authentic pasta and pizza. On Easter Sunday we started at a cafe near the American embassy with more baguettes and pastries, a range of coffees and presses and smoothies and finished at a beautifully restaurant decorated with local art but serving French cuisine. I had steak flambéed in rum with sautéed potatoes. It was here that we met the Australian zinc miners to whom we must offer our thanks for their kind hospitality.
The weekend was not entirely about food, but it was the highlight. We visited an incredible set of artisans’ workshops aimed at the tourist market. It was far bigger than anything we had seen in Ghana. There were beautiful cloths, carvings, jewellery, ceramic goods and so on. My favourites were the figures made from junk including, spark plugs and motorcycle petrol tanks. We also spent time in the 32 metre swimming pool of the huge Hotel Libya Sofitel, in the spookily quiet Ouaga 2000 district.
On Easter Sunday morning I walked up to the cathedral. The grounds were packed with bikes and people had to sit outside as the interior was full. I arrived just as the congregation began to sing the Hallelujah Chorus.
As Dan and I to be at a meeting in Accra on Wednesday morning, we decided our best option was to get a single bus all the way back to Accra. This was theoretically a twenty hour ordeal. We bought tickets on Sunday afternoon and arrived at the Gare Routiere early the following morning. Dan had barely slept. The journey was without incident but for a long stretch north of Kumasi we watched a big electrical storm. We were in Accra at around 2:30 on Tuesday morning. The two 1,000 km journeys had lasted nearly as long as the weekend itself and although by this stage we didn’t know where we were or what we were doing we agreed it had all been well worth it.
Just before Easter, Dan and I discovered that some of our friends in the north would be spending the holiday in Ouaga and we decided to join them. On Maundy Thursday I took a tro into Accra and met Dan at the OA bus station near Circle. The (purple) bus north managed to leave 3 hours late, experience bad traffic leaving Accra (there is rarely any other kind); a snarl up in Nsawam; some kind of mechanical problem just north of Kintampo which was rectified with a fire extinguisher and some sticky tape and which incidentally nearly resulted in a fight between two passengers at the coach stop in Tamale; and still reach Bolgatanga early, at just before 5:45 the following morning. After a pretty successful bus trip, it was then ironic that the taxi to Katie’s house broke down and we had to push start it. We welcomed the brief rest before heading to the border at Paga to meet the rest of the group. In no man’s land between the two countries, and proving the point about the popularity of Ouaga, we met some other VSO volunteers coming the other way. They promised they had left some cheese and wine for us. The Burkinabe border officials were in no hurry to grant us permission to enter their country and we had to delay the bus. We gave the other passengers water sachets as a goodwill gesture. There was something hanging from the undercarriage of the bus which on the bumpier stretches scrapped excruciatingly across the road. The driver made no attempt to slow down for, or to avoid the potholes. The final approach to Ouaga was on a mud track alongside a beautiful new road junction. It was late afternoon by the time we arrived. The driver’s final gesture was to clip a post on the corner of Place de Nation.
Burkina Faso is landlocked and one of the poorest countries on the planet. Ouagadougou is therefore something of a surprise. It is true that poverty is visible everywhere. You will be hassled more to buy souvenirs than in Accra. The taxis are in a very poor condition. Not one I used had a door handle. You needed wires and a special knack to get in and out. Away from the centre the condition of the roads and other infrastructure dramatically deteriorated. But overall the place was far more impressive than Accra. The city is laid out on a grid with wide boulevards, some public art, and some small parks. The street sellers sold French bread and strawberries and for some unfathomable reason very up to date copies of international magazines like ‘Time’ and ‘Newsweek’. It was a pleasant surprise to find the drains covered and not to run the risk of falling down a hole every time you crossed the street.
The traffic is very different to that in Accra as well. There is less of it for a start. There are almost no tro tros and far fewer taxis (usually green Mercedes). Instead the place is awash with bicycles, mopeds, motor scooters and motorbikes. The site of Burkinabe ladies in their colourful traditional full length dress on a motorbike will stay with me a long time.
We also noticed that far more French was spoken by residents than English is spoken in Accra. This may be because Burkina Faso does not have one dominant local language, unlike Twi in Ghana.
For us the main attraction was the restaurants. We started at a tapas bar, that evening we found burgers and cocktails, the following morning it was French pastries and baguettes and then an open air Italian restaurant with authentic pasta and pizza. On Easter Sunday we started at a cafe near the American embassy with more baguettes and pastries, a range of coffees and presses and smoothies and finished at a beautifully restaurant decorated with local art but serving French cuisine. I had steak flambéed in rum with sautéed potatoes. It was here that we met the Australian zinc miners to whom we must offer our thanks for their kind hospitality.
The weekend was not entirely about food, but it was the highlight. We visited an incredible set of artisans’ workshops aimed at the tourist market. It was far bigger than anything we had seen in Ghana. There were beautiful cloths, carvings, jewellery, ceramic goods and so on. My favourites were the figures made from junk including, spark plugs and motorcycle petrol tanks. We also spent time in the 32 metre swimming pool of the huge Hotel Libya Sofitel, in the spookily quiet Ouaga 2000 district.
On Easter Sunday morning I walked up to the cathedral. The grounds were packed with bikes and people had to sit outside as the interior was full. I arrived just as the congregation began to sing the Hallelujah Chorus.
As Dan and I to be at a meeting in Accra on Wednesday morning, we decided our best option was to get a single bus all the way back to Accra. This was theoretically a twenty hour ordeal. We bought tickets on Sunday afternoon and arrived at the Gare Routiere early the following morning. Dan had barely slept. The journey was without incident but for a long stretch north of Kumasi we watched a big electrical storm. We were in Accra at around 2:30 on Tuesday morning. The two 1,000 km journeys had lasted nearly as long as the weekend itself and although by this stage we didn’t know where we were or what we were doing we agreed it had all been well worth it.
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