"Are you crossing?"

Wherever you go in Ghana you will be asked ‘how are you?’ and ‘where are you going?’ or just ‘where to?’ The first is very polite and automatically leads to ‘I am fine. How are you?’ and then ‘I am also fine’. As to the second question, there appears to be a constant fascination in the destination of obrunis. The answer, whether it be ‘to the market/ to Accra/over there’, usually just leads to approval and rarely a supplemental question. In lorry parks the question is asked by tro mates and usually becomes ‘Where are you going, white man?’ (This leads to regular discussions between volunteers on the subject of when it is appropriate to draw attention to the ethnic origin of the other interlocutor in the opening statement of a conversation.)

For a couple of days last week the question I was asked most often became ‘Are you crossing?’ I was travelling across the Afram Plains. Despite its relatively central location within Ghana it is one of the most remote districts. During the 2008 elections there was big delay in voting here because the necessary materials did not arrive on time. The construction of the Akosombo Dam in the early 1960s dammed the Volta River. Between 1962 and 1966, the level of water behind the dam gradually rose eventually creating Lake Volta, the biggest manmade lake in the world. 80,000 people from 700 villages, 1 % of Ghana’s total population at the time, were moved to 52 resettlement communities. One consequence was that the Eastern Region’s northernmost district, the Afram Plains, lost its land connection with rest of the region. The Bradt guide book on Ghana describes an interesting journey between the Volta Region and the Ashanti Region via the Afram Plains using two ferries across the lake. I decided I would make this journey.

On Thursday morning I took a tro to Nkawkaw on the Accra-Kumasi road and at the base of the escarpment that forms the Kwahu Plateau. The plateau provides the south-west border to Lake Volta and rises to nearly 800 metres above sea level. The tro made good time and I was soon in a shared taxi zigzagging the steep road to Mpaeso on the top of the plateau. Mpaeso was pleasant and noticeably cooler than Nkawkaw, but there was little to keep me there. I picked another shared taxi to the next town, Kwahu Tafo. I was soon the only the passenger and the driver was keen that I charter him to Adawsu the southern ferry terminus. He couldn’t make his mind up what to charge me, but eventually decided on 20 Ghana cedis. I declined this offer and got out in Kwahu Tafo. He drove on as I fastened up my rucksack. Almost as soon as turned the corner I was approached by a taxi driver asking if I was going to Adawsu. He needed one more passenger to fill his car. The fare was 2 Ghana cedis. I agreed. It was not until we were nearly there that I realised it was the same taxi I had just left. In my defence I had only seen the driver in profile on the first journey and most of the taxis in these parts are Opel Astras.

Adawsu is little more than a collection of mud and thatch houses a short distance from the shore line with a few stalls selling food to waiting truck drivers. I ate egg and bread on a bench and talked to a group of drivers. Christopher said that the ferry off the Afram Plains to Kpando was broken and not running at the moment. I pondered turning back but decided I would continue and get a second opinion in Donkorkrom, the district capital. The ferry arrived and disgorged its cargo of vastly overloaded tros and trucks. There was even a Metrobus on board. There was a pause while the north bound vehicles were marshalled to make most efficient use of the available space. I was relieved to see that these vehicles were more modestly loaded. Christopher found a tro that would take me on to Donkorkrom. The crossing was short. As a reminder of the lake’s origin the ferry passed tree tops sticking out of the water. Most trees were left untouched when the lake was created and they have been a navigational hazard ever since.

At Ekye I joined the big Mercedes tro. It was probably the slowest tro I had ever used. It trundled sedately along the untarred but mercifully rut free road to Donkorkrom. I had expected the Afram Plains to rather barren, but they were just as lushly green as the rest of the Eastern Region, if rather less developed and more sparsely populated. I reached Donkorkrom at around 4 pm. I sat near a man from Kumasi who had come for a quick meeting at the hospital there. He had hoped to return to Kumasi that day but had rather underestimated the duration of the journey. I didn’t see him again but he would have been lucky to catch the last ferry back. I couldn’t find the Bradt recommended accommodation and somebody was in the only room at the Oasis, a smart new bar and restaurant opposite the Assembly building. I found a more than adequate room at the well signposted Genesis Guesthouse, in a quiet area just off the main road. I returned to the Oasis with my Daily Graphic and had a couple of Stars and jollof rice with fish at a shaded table as the sun rapidly sank. A brief power cut was a distinct improvement, depriving the handful of customers of the loud music and the satellite TV.

Not sure of what lay ahead I left the guesthouse just after 6:30 am the following morning. In the town centre there were a few tros but strangely nobody was boarding any of them. It was explained to me that nothing would happen until the first transport arrived from the Adawso ferry. The tros would then set out to the various communities across the plain. I found a shared taxi to Agordeke. The driver insisted in putting two passengers in the front next to him and four behind. This caused a lot of grumbling and when he took a very leisurely approach to refuelling and chatting to the filling station staff, there were some very dark mutterings from my fellow sardines. We set off. The reddish brown dust from the road gradually infiltrated the taxi and liberally coated those of us near the windows. By now Wilfred had attached himself to me. After about an hour we reached Agordeke. Wilfred took me to his brother’s house and we wiped the worst of the dust of with a towel. Later in the day though, I still seemed to be sweating brown liquid. We were still about a mile from the lake but Wilfred decided he wanted to visit almost every house on the way. Strangely and fortunately, everybody he wanted to greet was out.

At the water’s edge lay the ferry, The Fourth Republic. Gently rusting, occasionally creaking and slowly dissolving into the lake it was clearly a very long time since it had made the journey to Kpando. Its main purpose now seemed to provide covered seating to protect waiting passengers from sun and rain. As we arrived on the beach the long wooden passenger boat that now plies the route was just mooring along side The Fourth Republic. It was not yet 8 am. The crew abandoned the boat and found shady spots to rest in. A couple of cars and heavily loaded tros arrived. A white couple arrived but quickly returned the way they had come. Maybe they did not fancy 20 kilometres plus in the narrow wooden boat. After 10 am attention was turned to loading the boat with cargo and passengers. I reckon there were about sixty of us on board plus a fair amount of luggage. We were near casting off when another tro arrived. A huge argument erupted. The new arrivals wanted to board the boat and started unpacking their tro with this in mind. They pointed to small gaps on the benches where they could be shoehorned in. The passengers on the boat were divided. Some agreed that there were indeed gaps, but others were vehemently opposed to this not wanting to (further) compromise their safety. I sat quietly, reasoning that this would be the only time I would ever use this boat and the chances of it sinking on that one trip must be infinitesimally slim. The crew, wisely, did not seem to get involved in the shouting and continued their preparation to leave. At stem and stern were men with long bamboo poles. We were gently pushed away from the side of The Fourth Republic preventing the new arrivals from boarding. Once it became apparent that the boat was going to leave without them the decibels rose. Even when the outboard motor had started, drowning out the shore based protests, the debate continued on the boat for a good ten minutes and it was occasionally revived over the course of the journey.

The trip lasted about an hour and we passed more trees and several islands or former hills. We moored in a sheltered cove at Torkor. Wilfred found a taxi to take us to Kpando. Once there we parted before he could start dragging me around all his Kpando acquaintances. I had a Pepsi and bought oranges and an avocado. I was first to board the Kpando-Kpong tro - both towns sharing silent ‘K’ names. At Kpong I changed tros and was back in Koforidua before sunset.

Larabanga

There is, of course, a flip side to Mole. A short distance from the park’s main gate is the village of Larabanga. The creation of the game reserve and later the national park meant that many people had to be relocated. Compensation may have been provided, but it may not have gone to those who deserved or needed it. While it is illegal to kill the animals in the park, this does not stop the animals causing a nuisance when they come to the village. There are four villagers currently in prison because of incidents involving the killing of animals. Sentences can be in excess of five years.

Some attempts have been made to tap into the tourist dollars and cedis being spent up the road in Mole. There are a couple of guest houses and the village has its own attraction – its mosque, which is probably the oldest building standing in Ghana. Without written records there is no real way of telling just how old it is particularly as its mud and straw structure needs regular maintenance. I visited it with local guide A.D. He showed me the exterior and the interior of a building with a similar structure, to give the impression of what I would see inside if I were Muslim. The mosque itself is in the West Sudanese style and was looking very striking after its most recent repair and repaint job against a back drop of blue skies. Its small size, compared to the larger mosques in Burkina Faso, gives it a more intimate feel and reminds me of the modest Saxon churches in north-east England. A.D. said that the doorways were purposely made small to force those entering into bowing as they did so.

I was making mental comparisons between the conditions in Larabanga and those in the Eastern Region cocoa communities. Without the rich soils and vegetation and the abundant if unpredictable rainfall there are few potential sources of income here. There was evidence of charcoal making and I was shown the mill used to process maize and cassava. I was also taken to see a couple of the women involved in turning nuts into shea butter. Public transport is almost non-existent here and even the tourist office has almost entirely collapsed. A.D. believed that education was the key to improving livelihoods. He is studying at the polytechnic in Tamale, about four hours away. There are plans to build an Islamic school. The only school is Christian and the population is entirely Muslim.

The Bradt guide to Ghana devotes a few paragraphs to the experiences of visitors to Larabanga. Several were frustrated by the hassle they got from people asking for money and insisting on acting as guides. This behaviour is frustrating but you understand why the locals try it. I was fortunate and was not pestered at all. Maybe things have changed and there is an understanding that this kind of conduct will discourage visitors. Alternatively, there was a big wedding in town and it was Friday, the Muslim holy day. These may have provided a lucky distraction for me.

Mole

This is a guess, but I don’t there are many game reserves where you can get two nights bed and breakfast, two evening meals, a few beers, park fees and a two hour guided walk across the park for about $50. Mole (mo-lay) National Park, Ghana’s most important reserve is never going to compete with Kenya or South Africa as a destination for seeing wildlife. The journey to Mole is an invigorating experience. A couple of hours spent in a Metrobus rattling along a ridged, sun dried mud track (worse in the rainy season) is not to everybody’s taste. The Mole Motel is nearly fifty years old and in a need of major overhaul, but it is well staffed, has a pool, good food and great views of two waterholes. The range of wildlife you are likely to see is small but we saw elephants at close quarters and later watched them bathe in the waterhole. We saw green monkeys, bush buck, kop and baboons. Warthogs kept turning up all over the motel.

The new minister responsible for tourism has said that she is looking for ways to increase the numbers of tourists coming to Ghana. There have been plans to upgrade Mole Motel for some time and even talk of flying in tourists. With a sensitive upgrade and improved road connection more people could be attracted and most would be happy to pay a lot more than $50 for the experience.

No Sweat!

Tuesday was a first. As I may have mentioned it gets quite warm here, regularly in the mid thirties and very humid. Consequently I sweat almost constantly. My clothes are rarely dry and I can sometimes almost wring my shirt out when I get home.

On Tuesday I has a meeting in Accra. I was collected from the house in the ministry pick up, driven to the CARE International office in Osu. I spent the day in an air conditioned office and was then driven back to the house. For the first time in Ghana, I didn't break a sweat all day.

Posuban Shrines

On Thursday I returned to the coast of Central Region for a couple of days visiting a few more of the ruined European forts. I reached Mankessim on the Accra – Cape Coast road just before noon. Mankessim seems like little more than a busy transport junction today, but it was the first capital of the Fante people and it is home to the most impressive posuban shrine in Ghana. Posubans were constructed by military companies called asafo, who were responsible for defending their towns. The posubans, unique to the central coastal area of Ghana, were originally used for storage of arms and company regalia and are now of mainly ceremonial use. They are generally highly and bizarrely decorated.

The Mankessim Posuban is tucked away on a quiet road a few hundred metres from the town centre. Three storeys high and adorned with a range of exotic figures and creatures, the posuban serves as a memorial to the founding fathers of Mankessim, a tribute to the gods and a series of symbolic pieces of advice. Don’t judge by outward appearance, be prepared, listen to well meaning people and do not take them for granted and so on.

I found jollof rice at the tro station and took a shared taxi on to Saltpond. The custodian wanted ten cedis to see the posuban there and although he quickly dropped to five, it was still too much and I moved on down the coast to Anomabu, home to a number of posubans and Fort William, one of the most complete remaining forts. I checked into the Hotel Mariesabelle and found I was sharing it with a contingent of students from the Department of Architecture and Planning at the Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology in Kumasi. They were down to do a couple of days’ work at Fort William.

Friday was Independence Day (Ghana’s 52nd birthday) and I started with a short ride to Cape Coast to see the regional parade and march past. The salute was taken by Ms Ama Benyiwa Doe, the new NDC regional minister. When the parade was over I browsed for a while in the Black Star Bookshop. A TV in the corner was showing the president’s address at the main celebration in Accra. I had lunch overlooking the sea at the Castle Restaurant and then bumped into VSO volunteers Eddie, Behi and Paulo at a nearby coffee shop. While they had lunch, I took a taxi back up the coast to see Fort Nassau in Moree. The first Dutch fort in Ghana (1612) and built with Dutch bricks, what little is left has now been taken over by fish ovens and easily excited children. The views along the coast paid off the walk.

On Saturday the custodian at Fort William showed me a couple of the posubans in Anomabu, including one shaped like a large scale model of a European style war ship. I then walked east along the coast road to Fort Amsterdam at Abanze. Despite the name, this was actually the first British fort built on the coast (1631). It is now a substantial ruin with a prominent location. I picked a tro back to Mankessim. When the onward tro to Swedru lost power completely and gently glided to a halt, the driver carried out temporary repairs using the unwound metal ring from the ignition key. This turned out to be very temporary indeed as we stopped again a few metres on, but fortunately near enough to a roadside mechanic’s stall.

Trials and Tribulations

Monday morning should have been straight forward. Charge up my electricity smart card and spend an hour or so on the internet. It started by a visit to my landlord’s brother’s house across the compound to insert the smart card in my meter before charging. This done, I walked the mile to the main electricity office. There was a short queue to pay. The lady at the window took the card and money but told me the card had not been inserted in the meter so it could not be charged. I walked home. The landlord’s brother confirmed that the card had been inserted and that it sounded like it had developed a fault, as his had. I took the card back to the office. Fortunately I was dealt with promptly and was soon in the back of a 4WD heading back to the house with an engineer. We made a couple of stops on the way and, fortunately (again) we passed the landlord’s brother on the way. He gave me the key to his house so we could get at the meter. At the house, the engineer confirmed the faulty card. Unfortunately the car was not returning to the office so I made my third trip to the office. When I arrived the power was off and the computer was unable to validate a replacement card for me. By the time I had bought a newspaper and a huge bo froot (doughnut equivalent) the power had returned. One of the clerks tried to charge me 2 cedis for a replacement card. I objected and he capitulated. I left with my new card and headed for the internet cafe. The new card had to be inserted into my meter before it could be charged up. It was now three hours after I had begun the process, I must have walked five miles and I was no nearer charging my card than I had been when I started.

This was of course all hugely frustrating, but could have been a lot worse, particularly if I had not been able to get the key to my landlord’s brother’s house so easily. Daily life in Ghana, particularly involving customer service, presents many such annoyances but I have to be careful that I remain objective about them. Are they caused by Ghanaians or is something else responsible? In this case it was a faulty (probably very cheap) card. The service I received from the Electricity Company of Ghana was actually very prompt and efficient. The only negative aspect was the cheeky attempt to charge me for the new card. I accept that I might have been getting the VIP white man service but it doesn’t happen very often and it makes a change from being overcharged. Customer service generally is poor, even by comparison with other African countries but there are signs of improvement. For every bartender whose attention you can never attract, even though she has nothing else to do, there is a DVD seller who will go through his entire stock looking for the disc you want.