Winneba

On Thursday afternoon I found myself heading for Winneba, with a rucksack almost half full of plantains and assorted citrus fruit. I spent most of the week in West Akim district with Jill, visiting tiny remote cocoa growing communities with the local Ministry of Agriculture officers. These communities are very poor but they very generously put gifts in the back of the pick up for us as we left each village. We ended up with coconuts, branches of plantain and between 50 and 100 pieces of fruit. Jill and I carried as much as we could but without our own transport it was hard. On Thursday afternoon she returned to Koforidua and I travelled on to Winneba on the coast just over an hour away.
I had booked a couple of nights at Lagoon Lodge on the University College campus with the aim of visiting the forts in neighbouring Apam and Senya Baraku. The Cape Coast to Accra road takes a route several miles inland from the coast at this point so travelling between settlements involves taking transport up to the ‘junction’ on the main road and then back down to the next place. On Friday morning I walked along the beach into Winneba, found an egg and bread lady who provided breakfast at a fraction of the hotel price, took a shared taxi to Winneba Junction and another to Apam. Apam has an attractive bay and is dominated by Fort Leydsaamsheid (Dutch 1697 – 1782, British 1782 – 1785, Dutch 1785 – 1868, British 1868 – 1957, Ghanaian 1957 – present) and the spire of the Methodist Church which dwarves all surrounding structures. Like the cocoa communities, Ghana’s fishing villages are also very poor. Over the two days I was asked for money almost constantly. I was only asked one question more and that was my name by almost every child who saw me. I would tell them on the way to the beach and on the way back they would shout ‘Richard, bye bye’ at me. On the beach in Apam, I chatted briefly to a family who were swimming in the bay. They had just arrived for a family funeral from inland Brong-Ahafo Region. They were taking advantage of the water before the ceremony began. I returned to Winneba and walked on the beach as the sun dropped, diverting to the lagoon to watch the wading birds.
On Saturday morning I checked out of Lagoon Lodge. It had been a good choice, with spotless, well furnished rooms, good food and attentive staff. I took a tro to the junction, a second tro east to Awutu Beraku junction and then a taxi to Senya Baraku. The Fort of Good Hope (Dutch 1704 – 1868, then British and now a guest house) was easy to find and provided good views of the bay. The fishing boats were just arriving with their catches. There was a lot of activity as they were hauled out of the sea, the women collected and sorted the fish and children milled around either playing or helping out. I was shown around the small fort by Eben (apparently a common name in the area, probably influenced by the significant number of Ebenezer Chapels). The cramped cell used to hold up to 100 male slaves had no access to light and a hole in the ceiling through which food would be occasionally dropped. As Eben was pointing out the features, it was hard to ignore the fact that the space is now a storeroom filled with crates of Coca Cola and Guinness.
It was the end of the morning by now and I decided I would go to the neighbouring village of Fete for lunch before returning to Koforidua. The taxi driver put me in the front seat with another passenger and probably overcharged me. It turned out that my new intimate co-traveller came from Betom, the district of Koforidua where I live. In Fete, I walked the short distance to Tills No. 1 Hotel and grudgingly paid the 5 GHC to get on to the premises. I enjoyed a couple of sole in butter sauce with chips and a Club beer, while looking out over manicured lawns to shaded beach tables to the Gulf of Guinea. The contrast between this place and Senya Baraku three or four miles away was immense. As I mentioned the fishing villages are poor. I don’t think it would be exaggerating to say that the ruinous buildings, the steaming cauldrons, rubbish and half naked (or more) children would not be out of place in a Breughel painting. This is not a criticism of Ghana. Sadly, such contrasts are far more widespread and not unique to Ghana.