WEST AFRICAN GRAND TOUR - Journal no. 10

Overland across West Africa – Journal no. 10

12^th April to the 27^th May 2010

 

Senegal, Mali, Burkina Faso and Ghana experience

Well to continue on from the last Journal, after staying in the southern city of Kolda for several days without much to see or do I was pleased to move on. Kolda itself would seem to be the last bastion of the ‘white hunter’. Some very strange and intense types occupied the Hobbe hotel that I was staying in. Everyday they’d depart early morning into the wild lands of Senegal, I guess to shot a trophy or two returning late at night. I hadn’t realized that this part of southern Casamance is so rich in game, clearly it must be.

Early morning of the 12^th April, I walked the short distance with rucksack and all to the Gare Routier to organize a ride by sept+ to Tambacounda, northeast of where we are at the moment, with the usual process of pay and wait until all places are filled.

A point of note, I find it helpful when travelling to places unknown to orientate myself my wandering around, minus bags and valuable items, less of a target to seek out ATM’s, the Gare Routier, etc. Its very hot here at the moment and the last thing that you want to do is lug 20kg around on your back without knowing where everything is.

Sept+ northeast to Tambacounda

We set off at about 10.30 a.m., 2 hours after I’d purchased my ticket, making good time up until the point that car broke down. Busted fan belt, miles from anywhere I hasten to add. We were at my reckoning at about the mid-way point by then. 

Anyway, we managed to limp to a small village nearby, a process of turning the engine on getting up to speed then coasting along for a while with the engine off, restarting the engine and repeating the process. I'm not sure what the village was called, remiss of me, however we were accorded typical hospitality by the local people, common place here, seats provided under a tree, water, yam and then lunch, fish Yassa, which was excellent. 

It allowed me the opportunity to get to know my fellow travellers and the villagers. I provide the village elder 2,000 CFA, a very generous amount, to say thank you for the meal and hospitality, which was much appreciated.

In the meantime our driver must have called a local garage or friend in the nearby town as a ‘boy’, everyone’s called a 'boy' here, arrived by bus with an assortment of fan belts, however, all the wrong size.

A further call, a further wait and a second lot of fan belts appear curiosity of a sept+ travelling our way. Problem solved we say goodbye to the villagers and off we go again.

The last part of the journey was the best section for me more akin to rally cross. Off road, hurtling along at speeds well over 90 kph with a trail of thick red dust in our wake.

A point of note its well over 40 degrees in central Senegal at the moment, so hot you don’t sweat or if you do it evaporates.

We were finally deposited at the Gare Routier in Tambacounda on the Kaolack to Kidira road, the main border road to Mali, at around 2.30 p.m.

The northeast town of Tambacounda, Senegal

Not much I can really say about the town apart from the fact that it's an unsightly place more akin to a rubbish tip. There’s little to do, less to see, no structure or design to the place it seems to have simply evolved. What there is very expensive which may all seem a little damming, however, I always make a point of a wandering around a place before giving it the thumbs up or down. 

There are three Gare Routier's to choose from, more than a little confusing, a train station that appears to be more derelict than a functional working building and most of the carriages standing in the sidings have virtual rusted away to nothing. The strange thing is I thought that it was supposed to be the main line service from Dakar to Bamako and still in service.

Additionally there are two markets, a massive area for repairing articulated lorries of all shapes and sizes, four hotels, half a dozen restaurants and a lot of shops or market stalls and that's it. Geared up for tourism it isn’t, however, the residents seem happy to fleece the tourist or unfortunate traveller that strays into town.

There happened to be a hotel across the road from the Gare Routier, although I can't remember the name, so I thought it would be a good idea to check-in, dump my bags, perhaps have a shower and then book a ticket on the trans-bus to Mali for the morning.

Fortunately I found one guy in the hotel that spoke some English, I asked about the large buses that ran between Kaolack and Bamako, he wasn't able to help, so I booked and paid for over-night room.

I would later discover that he would have to be blind, the overnight bus to the Mali border stops virtually outside the hotel door, ‘bar-stud’!!

After spending most of that afternoon wandering around the town and several calls to Deanne later we managed to ascertain that the buses passes through Tambacounda, stopping virtually in front of the hotel that I was staying at at around 1.00 a.m.

Basically I wasted 15,000 CFA booking a room that I didn't need and of course the guy that spoke English had finished for the evening so no refund.

Bloody irritating, oh and to add insult to injury as I left, bags and all, at about midnight one of the night porters tried to stop me thinking I hadn't paid the bill. No communication what so ever!!

Overnight bus to the Malian border

Anyway, I headed to the bus stop and immediately attracted a whole collection of willing helpers, 'have a seat’, 'no bus tonight what about a private car to the border', 'come with me I know where the buses go from', 'can I organize a taxi to the Gare Routier', 'can I carry your bag' etc., etc. All well meaning perhaps, intended to misdirect perhaps or to con money out of you, more than likely.

They’re a bit like bees round a honey pot and I suspect almost as irritating with their incessant buzz or verbal diatribe. For the novice or uninitiated traveller it’s probably a tried and tested system that brings results, with items quickly lost in the crowd or the dark of the night, so you’ve been warned!

The bus arrived at about 1.00 a.m., although I was beginning to have serious doubts, I guess the ‘drip drip’ effect of the boys saying that there were no buses tonight was beginning to have an impact. After negotiating a ticket price, placing my own luggage in the hold, insuring the outer door was closed and locked I climbed on board and off we set off towards hopefully the Malian border.

We finally arrived at the town of Kidira on the Senegal side of the border, at about 4.30 a.m. We were told to get off the bus and herded into a customs compound only to be relieved of our passport, or ID card, by a customs official, all a little disconcerting.

An hour later, passport thankful returned and stamped, and we're on our way to the Malian border, or so I thought.

Essentially the bus is maneuvered into a large gated and walled Malian compound and parked next to other similar vehicles. Once again we’re asked to decant from the bus and instructed to find a convenient space on the ground to sleep until the passport office opens the following morning at 9.00 a.m., or perhaps the said 10.00 a.m., I’m not sure. It was about 5.30 a.m., at that point.

Arriving in Mali

Later on the following morning the customs officials drifted into work between 9.00 a.m. and 10 a.m., I guess depending on their seniority, and proceeded to make a disorganized attempt at checking the contents of each of the four buses that had accumulated in the compound.

Passports would be checked at border control, apparently, not in the compound. An hour and a half later and we're off to border control to collect a visa, if successful, and have our passport stamped.

This would set the agenda all the way to Bamako, I can't tell you how many times we were stopped, absolute madness.

Mile after mile of articulated, flatbed and fixed wheeled lorries line both sides of the road all the way to the border, similarly waiting to be inspected and processed. I've no idea how long they’d been there, clearly sometime as most had set up a makeshift camp. It must be incredible frustrating for the driver's concerned.

It helped to explain why goods in Mali were so expensive, or so I would find out much later. 

Irritating Malian officials!

Two other rather annoying things occurred along the way. Once, whilst I was asleep, one of the four bus drivers forcibly adjusted the seat that I was sitting in with scant regard for myself, into an upright position waking me up in the process just because some border guard sitting behind me and to my right felt that his space had been invaded. I hasten to add that he was along for a free ride, I was the paying customer and there was no apology.

The second time was when the same driver proceeded to pick a fight with the passenger to my right reaching across me in my now restricted space in the process. I responded by forcibly grabbing his arm and threatening him, pushing him away much to his annoyance. Irritating little toad!!! 

I turned round and made some verbal response to the guard to assist, which clearly fell on deaf ears, bloody useless!

Apparently the fellow passenger sitting next to me joined the bus in Dakar and was travelling all the way to Bamako. He’d paid 5,000 CFA for his ticket the other passengers had paid considerable more, somewhere in the region of 22,500 CFA.

Arriving in the Malian capital

We finally arrived in Bamako, Mali at about 1.30 a.m., although that’s were I hoped we were. There’s nothing to denote that it was Bamako, no city road signs, no obvious monuments or outstanding structures to look out for or visible other than the wide Niger River, which co-incidentally we later crossed, and one other thing it was pitch black. Instinct told me that it was a large city and the only one that I was aware of between here and the border was the capital. People on board were waking up and fishing around for luggage and transported goods so logic dictated that we had arrived. 

My next two concerns were if this was the Capital City, where would we be dropped off and would I be able to find accommodation available at this time of night and transport to get me there in the first place.

I managed to sort out a taxi ride to take me to the Hippodrome area which based on my limited information seemed the most likely place to aim for hopefully with available accommodation or an all-night restaurant where I could park off till the morning.

Fortunately the taxi driver pointed me in the direction of the Hotel Tamana and it was open, room sorted, quick street meal and a beer from one of the market stalls and bed by then about 3.00 a.m. Sigh of relief!!!!!

Brief history of Mali

Mali, officially the Republic of Mali, is a landlocked country in Western Africa. It borders Algeria to the north, Niger on the east, Burkina Faso and the Côte d'Ivoire to the south, Guinea on the south-west, with Senegal and Mauritania on the west.

Its size is just over 1,240,000 km² with a population of 14.5 million. Its capital is Bamako.

The country consists of eight regions with its borders to the north deep into the Sahara. The country's southern region, where the majority of inhabitants live, is more fertile with the wide Niger and Senegal rivers flowing through it.

The country's economic structure is based on agriculture, rearing of livestock, salt production and fishing with some natural resources present such as gold and uranium.

About half the population live below the international poverty line of US$1.25 a day.

Present-day Mali was once part of three West African empires that controlled trans-Saharan trade: the Ghana Empire, the Mali Empire, from which Mali is named, and the Songhai Empire.

In the late 19th century, during the Scramble for Africa, France seized control of Mali making it part of French Sudan. French Sudan, then known as the Sudanese Republic, joined with Senegal in 1959, achieving independence in 1960 as the Mali Federation. Shortly thereafter, following Senegal's withdrawal from the federation, the Sudanese Republic declared itself the independent Republic of Mali.

After a long period of one-party rule, a 1991 coup led to the writing of a new constitution and the establishment of Mali as a democratic, multi-party state.

On 22 March, 2012, a group of junior soldiers seized control of the country's presidential palace and declared the government dissolved and its constitution suspended. On 6 April 2012, rebels from the National Movement for the Liberation of Azawad (MNLA) declared the succession of a new state, Azawad, from Mali.

Time well spent in Bamako

Wednesday, I made full use of the afternoon, primarily because I didn't get up until well after midday. 

After a superb breakfast/lunch at 'La Malaise' in the Hippodrome area I found my way to the Musee National where there's an excellent collection of tribal masks, local woven cloth from the Dogon, Bamaman and Seniko regions, with various artifacts and a model of the largest mud made Mosque based on the original found in Djenne. 

In the evening I dined at 'Bla Bla' a well-known club, bar and restaurant that provides good food and music.

Coincidentally the area that I was staying in is the centre for music in Bamako, a bit of a find so some good nights out including one such evening at a nightclub called 'Star night'. 

Organizing a tour of the Dogon Region

I spent three nights in the area, which was very expensive all things considered, perhaps one more night then was necessary, however, I was trying to sort out a trip, first to Mopti, about an 8 hour journey, then a three day trek to the Dogon region and finally a day trip to Djenne to see the mud Mosque. 

Djenne - Mud mosque

The sort of prices that tour operators were offering was just ridiculous. Deanne recommended a friend of her’s Abou, a member of the nomadic Tuareg tribe, he was prepared to organize transport to Mopti for 10,000 CFA and the three day trek to the Dogon for 50,000 CFA, ......... or so he said over the phone. The catch I would have to wait a further day, that's a fourth night, as he had a driver arriving that evening who would need to return the following morning.

The good news, however, he knew of an Auberge with dormitories that would provide much cheaper accommodation, called the 'Sleeping Camel', so I organized the accommodation and agreed to wait.

Auberge ‘The Sleeping Camel’

In actual fact the 'Sleeping Camel' was a bit of a find, quiet, English speaking owner's, clean, cheap with a bar and restaurant. Its run by three English people, Bill, Claire and Don from Somerset, and one guy an Australian, Matt, all apparently past drivers, apart from Claire, for 'Overland Excursions'. 

'Sleeping Camel' - dormitory

Overland Excursions lorry

There were several guests staying at the time for rest and recuperation, part of an overland drive, only 6 weeks in, round Africa culminating in Turkey. The trip should take 43 weeks all told round most of the principle countries in northern Africa, not bad for £3,500 to £5,000.

There was Mark and a young couple all English, a Japanese guy, Matt (the guide and driver), Kay and Kate both Australian, Kate's husband an American and their daughter, four Afrikaans (I met previously at the Malian border) and two other guys.

It proved a great opportunity to catch up with fellow travellers, a) for guidance on my future plans, b) to hear about their individual experiences thus far and c) what motivated each of them to embark on the trip in the first place.

Several had been made redundant, one lady had taken a 13-month sabbatical, and another had done a similar trip 20 years previous all, however, had a common desire for adventure and change of life style. The ages ranged from early 20's to mid 50's, so a broad spectrum.

Plans abandoned, heading to the border instead

Anyway moving on, Abou arrived as scheduled, however, the price had changed considerably to wait for it…….. 20,000 CFA for the Mopti trip and 250,000 CFA for what essential was a three-day camping trek, so little outlay to him, you can imagine my response!!

The decision had been made; the 5-day Mali visa would expire the following day so I needed to renew it or head to the Burkina Faso border. I was also running out of time, as I needed to be in Accra on the 28^th April to meet my daughter who would be flying to Ghana to join me for a two-week vacation. Reluctantly I abandon my plans to visit the Dogon region altogether.

Heading to Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso

Up at 3.45 a.m. the following morning, packed, showered and taxi to the Gare Routier for 6.00 a.m. Booked a seat on the African Explorer which left Bamako a little after 8.00 a.m., the start of another marathon journey.

For those interested the route took us though Segou, Koutiala and to the border crossing with Burkina Faso at Faramana. An interesting process that took about an hour, submitting and approving my visa, with my lack of French a source of great amusement to the border guards. Then its onto Bobo-Djoulas and finally to Ouagadougou arriving about 4.30 a.m., driven once more into a gated and walled compound, the bus station.

Brief history of Burkina Faso

Burkina Faso, also known by its short-form name Burkina, is a landlocked country in West Africa. It’s surrounded by six countries: Mali to the north, Niger to the east, Benin to the southeast, Togo and Ghana to the south, and Côte d'Ivoire to the southwest. The country's capital is Ouagadougou.

Its size is 274,200 square kilometres with an estimated population of more than 15,757,000. 

Formerly called the Republic of Upper Volta, it was renamed on 4 August 1984, by President Thomas Sankara, to mean "the land of upright people" in Mòoré and Dioula, the major native languages of the country.  Figuratively, "Burkina" may be translated, "men of integrity", from the Mòoré language, and "Faso" means "fatherland" in Dioula. The inhabitants of Burkina Faso are known as Burkinabè

Hunter-gatherers populated Burkina Faso between 14,000 and 5000 BC by in the country's North West region. Farm settlements appeared between 3600 and 2600 BC.

What is now central Burkina Faso was principally composed of Mossi kingdoms and would become a French protectorate in 1896. After gaining independence from France in 1960, the country underwent many governmental changes until arriving at its current form, a semi-presidential republic. The president is Blaise Compaoré.

It is a member of the African Union, Community of Sahel-Saharan States, La Francophonie, Organisation of Islamic Cooperation and Economic Community of West African States.

Ouagadougou film festival

You know I never heard the name Ouagadougou until I mentioned it to my daughter who indicated that there is a world-renowned film festival that takes place here every year.

The Pan-African Film and Television Festival of Ouagadougou, Festival panafricain du cinema et de la television de Ouagadougou or FESPACO, is the largest African film festival, held biennially in Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso. The festival is the biggest regular cultural event on the African continent and it mostly focuses on the African film and African filmmakers.

FESPACO starts two weeks after the last Saturday of February with the opening night in the Stade du 4-Août, which is the national stadium. It is hugely successful.

A slightly more obscure reference, I was reading a book recently by Robert Ludlum author of the Bourne Supremacy series, and he mentioned the city within the text.  A pointless bit of trivia you might be interested in.

Welcome to Burkina Faso

Ouagadougou also lived up to its reputation as being a place of picket pockets, within an hour of arriving in the city I had my wallet stolen!

Thinking back, I suspect that it occurred when I was bundled into a taxi with my large rucksack and day sack, which seemed a bit odd as the car was already overcrowded.

So there we are two guys and I on the back seat with my day-sack and heavy travel rucksack across theirs and my lap, with a lady passenger in the front passenger seat and the driver.

Off we go. Five minutes later the taxi stops and the driver declares, ‘I’m no longer going your way’, and ‘could I get out, there would be no charge of course’. Sucker!!!!

The only consolation is that they didn't get away with much, my wallet with 14,000 CFA and a £20 note.

I wandered for about a mile or so, heading in the direction of what looked like civilization or a central built-up area trying to find accommodation, oblivious that anything was missing at the time.

Finally I arrived at a rather shabby overpriced hotel, the best option, and settled for a room on the 4^th floor, at which point I discovered that I was minus my wallet.

Wandering round the city quickly dispels the suggestion that Burkina is the third poorest country in Africa. 

The skyline’s dotted with modern apartment blocks and commercial buildings with the principle government area adorned with grand colonial offices and gardens. Admittedly once you move to the outskirts everything deteriorates as only Africa can. In some respects it appears further forward than Bamako, Mali.

Time to move on again

There didn't appear to be a lot to do in Ouagadougou and like Mali the country is just so vast and such a ‘deal’ getting round it just didn’t seem practically or worthwhile extending my stay. Additionally, the initial Burkina hospitality shown to me was a factor and finally there appeared to be a Spanish netball and a Ghanaian football team staying at the hotel, in permanent party mode. The noise night and day was completely unacceptable and the management seemed incapable or disinterested in regaining control.

Monday I decide I would move on to Tamale, Ghana. The rest of that day was spent on foot or by taxi, with a very helpful driver Ossoman, trying to find a bus that would take me initially to Togo or as a second option to Ghana. 

My ticket purchased at the Gare Routier for a Monday with departure at 9.00 a.m., with a company called 'S.O Frimpong Transport Ltd.'. Ossoman had agreed to pick me up the following morning and deliver me to the bus station.  

Mali, Burkina and Ghana countryside

The route taken through Mali, Burkina and Ghana, probably about 2500 kilometers all told, provides one with the impression of a vastness devoid of habitation. It’s hot, arid although not desert, unforgiving, strewn with scrubby trees and the large Baobab tree, denude of foliage at present. Closer to Bamako the terrain rises noticeable.  The city sprawls either side of the banks of the wide Niger River backed by a range of hills to the North.

The river itself originates in the mountainous region of Guinea, passes through Mali, Niger and Nigeria flowing finally into the sea around Port Harcourt.

Leaving Bamako and heading out to Koutiala you come across neat little adobe style houses mixed with the familiar circular huts connected to and surround by high walls, all made of mud. Farming seems to be the main stay here with the terrain flat and scattered with trees.

Burkina Faso is very similar, it's almost as if one country drifts into another with only very subtle differences. As you head south to the town of Daga and the border with Ghana, however, the land turns to a lush green.

Crossing the Ghanaian border marked by a wide arch straddling the road announcing 'Welcome to Ghana' adorned with the single black star representing freedom, it becomes even more apparent. 

The land climbs and falls incessantly, off to the left in the distance is the mountainous country of Togo.

Border crossing at Tamale

Passing through Ghanaian border control was at first a little daunting. As the sole foreign traveller, often the case, I was escorted into a huge office to meet with the Controller of Immigration or Commissioner. I was conscious of a large man, although it could have been a woman on first inspection as he had breasts that most women would have killed for, sitting behind an oversized and ornate mahogany desk. I was cordially invited to sit down and fill out a travel form by Mr. Peter Defie, as I would later find out.

He then, much to my surprise, proceeded to highlight places that I should visit and that he would be pleased to conduct me round the area with his driver. Unfortunately I declined as I was heading onto Tamale.

How about that for a welcome!

Arriving in the busy centre of Tamale at about 4.30 p.m., the first priority was to find an ATM then accommodation for the night. I finally settled on a dreary looking hostel set at the back of a Teachers Training Centre, not immediately obvious from the road and I think my third choice, primarily because all of the other hotels, etc. were full, a convention apparently. It was only £7 per night so I couldn't complain really.

People along the way

To digress slightly I was sitting here writing my journal thinking of all the interesting people that I’ve bumped into along the route, sometimes in the strangest of circumstances.

An American gold-mining engineer making the Gambia to Ghana bus journey, via Senegal, Mali and Burkina, over two days along with a German guy that I whiled away the time with at the Bamako Gare Routier, waiting for our bus to leave. All of the interesting travellers staying at the 'Sleeping Camel', regaling our adventures past and present travelling round Africa over a beer or two. The lovely young stumpy overweight American girl Claire, slightly out of place, from Colorado travelling on the bus from Bamako to Ouagadougou, disavowed by her family, because she’d chosen to marry her Togo boyfriend. The four Spanish girls that I met at the Ouagadougou Gare Routier travelling after carrying out volunteer work in Mali.

Patrick and Bi Bata, a waiter and waitress that worked at the 'Le Coq Bleu', a restaurant in Ouagadougou who were very interested in my travels.

Moving on, but on the same theme, I met a Mr. Adani who was staying at the same hostel in Tamale. We got to know each other very well over diner. It appears that he is part of the Royal family and chief of one of the northern tribes, and as such a revered figure.

The chief’s owns historically Ghanaian land and development, whether individual or governmental, has to be approved by them and compensation paid.

He was essentially visiting the nearby village of Yandi on an official basis. Anyway he told me about his three children, aged 31, 29 and 26, and how they had all gone to university and secured good jobs. The upshot is that he has invited me to stay with his family in Accra, which was rather nice.

Guided tour round Tamale

The same evening I met the waitress Lydia, nicknamed by Mr. Adani as 'Obolou'. Translated it means  'fat women', and her brother Godfrey. Godfrey volunteered to take me round Tamale on his motorbike the following morning.

Godfrey, my guide for the day

Godfrey's friend and hair salon

Tuesday, Godfrey and I visited the rather imposing football stadium, built and paid for apparently by the Chinese government. The hospital that was to be visited that day by the Prime minster of Ghana, a local hand weaver, the craft market and lunch, culminating in a dip in a hotel pool, great day and a good way to see the city. Thanks Godfrey.

History of Ghana

Ghana is a country located in West Africa, bordered by Côte d'Ivoire (Ivory Coast) to the west, Burkina Faso to the north, Togo to the east, and the Gulf of Guinea to the south.

The word Ghana means "Warrior King" and is derived from the ancient Ghana Empire.

Ghana was inhabited in pre-colonial times by a number of ancient predominantly Akan kingdoms, including the inland Ashanti Empire, the Akwamu, the Akyem, the Bonoman, the Denkyira, and the Fante among others. Non-Akan states created by the Ga also existed, as did states by the Dagomba. Prior to contact with Europeans trade between the Akan and various African states flourished due to Akan's gold wealth. Trade with European states began after contact with the Portuguese in the 15th century, and the British established the Gold Coast Crown colony in 1874 over parts but not all of the country.

The Gold Coast achieved independence from the United Kingdom in 1957, becoming the First sub-Saharan African nation to do so from European Colonialism. The name Ghana was chosen for the new nation to reflect the ancient Empire of Ghana, which once extended throughout much of West Africa.

Ghana is a member of the South Atlantic Peace and Cooperation Zone, the United Nations, the Commonwealth of Nations, the African Union, the Economic Community of West African States, and an associate member of La Francophonie. Ghana is one of the largest cocoa producers in the world, and is also home to Lake Volta, the largest artificial lake in the world by surface area.

Bus to Kumasi

Wednesday I caught the S.T.C., bus to Kumasi, which proved a performance, as they weren't going to Kumasi that afternoon only Accra. According to the map though the bus would have to pass right through Kumasi to get to Accra. Unlike the UK there’s only one road in and out of anywhere.

Later the manager would confirm what I already knew, the bus stopped at the Kumasi S.T.C., garage for 50 minutes, just a two-minute walk from my guesthouse. 

Kumasi

 The upshot I had to buy a ticket to Accra (22,500 Cedes) as opposed to a Kumasi ticket (12,000 Cedes) and get off at Kumasi.

Where am I finally dropped when we arrive, the other side of town a 5,000 Cede taxi ride to the Guesthouse, marvelous.

Anyway I found a room at the ‘Guest line Hostel’, again a rather shabby place with most things broken and the food and drink over priced. The hostel is run and owned by an Indian guy Mike and his wife, I'm not sure of her name.

A point of note, the, 'Lonely Planet 2006 edition', is not particularly helpful with many errors and some misinformation.

Exploring the city of Kumasi

The following day I walked to the huge Kejetia market, supposedly the biggest in West Africa. About 2 kilometers square, its more akin to a shanty town humming with life, dark, slightly sinister and easy to get lost in the tightly packed covered alleys that crisscross the sloping site. Lined with makeshift stalls selling every conceivable fish, meat, produce and groceries, a huge array of eateries and an array of goods to numerous and varied to mention. The smells wafting through the tightly packed spaces are pleasant or nauseating in the oppressive air-less heat of the morning.

Most of the taxis or Tro-Tro, a type of bus, originate from the market and serve the surrounding area in particular, the village of Eijsu and the 'Nana Yaa Asantewaa Museum', my intended destination that day. Apparently the museum is 'built in the form of a traditional palace with a fascinating display of artifacts from the life of Yaa Asantewaa the queen mother and chief of Eijsu', quotation from the Lonely Planet guide, and then onto the Bobiri Forest Reserve.    

The ancient Bobiri Reserve

Taxi sorted and we’re off to Eijsu, the only problem the palace had been burnt to the ground 4 years previous. 

Nana Yaa Asantewaa Museum

Taxi and driver for the day

Bobiri forest tour with Emmanuel

We headed to the Bobiri forest instead enjoying a great and informative trek, courtesy of Emmanuel our guide and warden.

The Bobiri forest is varied and ancient with some trees 300 years old or more. There are the usual hard wood trees like mahogany, where the bark is used to make paracetamol, ebony and the like. However there are so many other varieties, for example, Kwatafompaboa-Nini, the leaves serve as purgative, Kyerete-Koto, the wood used for plywood with the leaves as a roofing material. Okuo, used in furniture production with the bark for treating tooth ache, Olacaceoe, grows straight so used for telegraph poles, Rubber trees, Magyadua, where the fiber is used to make cloth. A vine that envelopes a tree and feeds off it, another type of passive vine incredible strong that raps itself round a tree, Ofram, used for making furniture, Kyenkyen, for making plywood with bark used to make cloth. Denya, used for building bridges, as it’s so strong with the bark used for treating rheumatism, Onyina, used for plywood with the Kapok from the fruit used for pillows, Wawa and several variety of bamboo. The list was endless.

Just think all of the area would have been thickly vegetated in a similar way several centuries ago.

Trip to Bosumtwi Lake

Friday I decided to visit the Bosumtwi Lake, 38 kilometers southeast of Kumasi, so after some confusing information I finally found the right bus station to collect a Tro-Tro to Kuntanase.

 A Tro-Tro is simply a small van with seats and a sliding side door, a bit like a bus expect it will stop anywhere on an established route and pick you up or drop you off.

Everywhere you go at the moment there appear to road works, oh so typically. The one obvious difference to the UK is that there’s little organization to the flow of traffic here, anything goes and often does. Essentially the road at present is a track with construction vehicles crossing the busy flow of traffic, six or seven lanes converging to a narrow road able to accommodate one, everyone fighting for their space and broken down trucks, etc. compounding the problem. 

We arrived in Kuntanase, a small simple town; unexpectedly 16 kilometers shy of the lake unsure how to complete the remaining journey to the lakeside village of Abonu.

Whilst wandering round aimlessly in the direction of Abonu a Ford transit mini-bus pulled up along side full of fairly vocal and high-spirited children and adults. A voice shouted from within, 'where are you going', 'Abonu', I replied, 'do you want a lift'.

They’d pulled alongside a shop essentially to buy tow bags of water, its contains thirty individually wrapped smaller sachets with about 250ml of filtered water in each, common place in Africa, which I volunteered to pay for.

The next thing I'm on an already over crowded bus, squeezed onto the dashboard with my back hard-up against the wind screen, singing along with one school children and teachers heading to the lake.

I have to say I had a fabulous time with the Yonso School for girls and boys swimming in the lake teaching some of the children and adults how to swim.

Tribal dance and song

I found out over a beer with George the Head Master and William, the math's teacher, that it was an end of term day out for some of the students, aged between 13 and 19. Most of the children rarely visit the lake so this was somewhat of a special treat for them. They certainly made the most of it.

Bosumtwi Lake

On arriving in the village we met up with another mini-bus from the same school. As a mark of respect to the spirits of the lake the children gathered to perform a tribal dance and song in front of the village elders. The teacher's were negotiating a fee in the meantime to swim in the lake; I guess the converse is true, as a mark of disrespect or opportunism.

Bosumtwi is a crater lake formed by a meteorite 30 kilometers in circumference and approximately 86 metres deep, ringed by lush green hills with some twenty villages scattered around the perimeter. It’s one of the few fresh water West African lakes free of Bilharzia.

The legends say that in 1648 an Ashanti hunter named Akora Bompe from the city of Asaman was chasing an injured antelope through the rainforest. Suddenly, the animal disappeared in a small pond. It was as if this body of water wanted to save the animal's life. The hunter never got the antelope, though he settled close to the water and started catching fish. This place he named “Bosomtwe”, meaning “antelope god”. This story suggests that at that time the lake level was very low. The large dead trees standing offshore in the lake also evidence this, for they are over 300 years old.

The following centuries saw several wars about the lake as both the Ashanti and the Akim clashed, each claiming the area. The Ashanti prevailed.

Each village in the lake area has its own shrine or fetish grove. With the arrival of Christianity, some of people gave up former beliefs, though many continue to seek traditional help in bad times or against diseases.

The Abrodwum Stone is held to be the spiritual centre of the lake. Here, when there is such poor fishing it is considered a bad omen; the lake people sacrifice a cow. This act is celebrated in the presence of his majesty, the Ashanti king, the Asantehene himself. In the ceremony, the cow's innards are given to the stone and the rest is thrown into the lake. The crowd rushes into the water with cutlasses and axes to take their share of the meat. This is an event very much worth seeing. However, as such an omen depends on various factors, it is hardly predictable.

There is a traditional taboo against touching the water with iron and modern boats are not considered appropriate. The Padua, a wooden plank requiring considerable skill to maneuver, is the legitimate method.

There are current environmental concerns, including overfishing and inadequate farming methods. The growing population increased demand for fish. Excessive fishing led to steadily decreasing catches, forcing increased reliance on agriculture. As more and more of the hills are converted into farmland, exposing the surface to the heavy rainfalls, soil erosion becomes an ever-greater problem. In addition there is the changing lake level. Many villages have been submerged several times forcing the people to move up the slopes or outside the basin. That is the origin of such double names as Pipie No.1 and Pipie No.2.

Schistosoma

Also known as bilharzia, is a disease caused by parasitic worms called schistosoma. They belong to the family of flat worms known as trematodes or flukes. There are several different species e.g. S. mansoni, S. haematobium, and S. japonicum. It’s though that about 200 million people worldwide are infected.

The infection occurs when the skin comes into contact with contaminated fresh water to which contains a certain type of snail that carry to the schistosomes.

Schistosoma eggs contaminate fresh water when people who are infected urinate or defecate in the water. The eggs then hatch, and if the snails are present in the water, the parasites invade the snails and grow and develop inside them. The parasites eventually leave the snails and enter the water where they can survive for up to 48 hours.

Schistosoma parasites can penetrate the skin of persons who are wading, swimming, bathing, or washing in contaminated water. Within several weeks, worms grow inside the blood vessels of the body and produce eggs. Some of these eggs travel to the bladder or intestines and are passed into the urine or stools.

Symptoms: Within days after becoming infected, a rash or itchy skin may develop. Fever, chills, cough, and muscle aches can begin within 1-2 months of infection. Most people have no symptoms at this early phase of infection.

Eggs travel to the liver or pass into the intestine or bladder. Rarely, eggs are found in the brain or spinal cord and can cause seizures, paralysis, or spinal cord inflammation. For people who are repeatedly infected for many years, the parasite can damage the liver, intestines, lungs, and bladder.

Ashanti Souls bid farewell to their God

The lake is sacred to the Ashanti people who believe their souls come here after death to bid farewell to their god. One interesting taboo is any form of dugout canoe is believed to alienate the lake spirits so fisherman head out on specially carved wooden planks instead.

The people of Kumasi come here on mass at the weekend as an escape from the hustle and bustle of city life.

Twist in the tail

Changing the subject, why is that whenever something really good happens something else has to mar the occasion?

Whilst swimming in the lake I had all of my money stolen, some 680,000 cedes about £58 from my padlocked rucksack. Everything else camera, watch, passport, credit card, mobile phone, etc., were thankfully left untouched, I guess easily traceable items. 

Bear in mind that I'm 38 kilometers from Kumasi with no means of buying food, water or returning to the city without money and there are no ATM’s here!

At one point I called D in Senegal, although I’m not sure what she could have done.

George and William, somewhat annoyed and embarrassed that this should happen whilst in their company offered to take me back to Eijsu where I could get a Tro-Tro, William kindly provided me with 5,000 Cedes to buy the ticket, back to the Kejetia market a short walk from the hostel. The good in mankind always out ways the bad!

Many people that I’ve told the story to pointed the finger at the some of the school children and I’m afraid I would have to agree, which is a shame.  

Manhyia Palace Museum

Saturday I decided to spend time in Kumasi visiting both the Armed Forces Museum and Manhyia Palace.

The Armed Forces Museum - a fort built by the British in 1873, after the original Ashanti fort was completely destroyed by the British army in the fourth Ashanti war in 1820.

In 1900 the fort, as it is now, was besieged until relieved in the six Ashanti war, when Kumasi was completely raised to the ground as a reprisal.

There is an extraordinary collection of booty collected by the Ghanaian army from the war with Togo at the time under German rule during WWI, against the Italians during WWII in Eritrea and Ethiopia and from the Japanese in Burma.

The Manhyia Palace - built by the British, is situated to the South of the city and the residences of the Ashanti king, Prempeh I, when he was bought out of exile from the Seychelles in 1925. 

It continued to be the Royal palace until 1974 when it was donated to the people by the then King as a museum.

I'm sitting here at the moment, Monday evening, composing my journal and it's raining quite heavily, you'll be pleased to hear. 

Bus ride to Accra

The countryside from Kumasi to Accra is beautiful. A lush green envelops the undulating terrain with larger hills and mountains beyond, invariable marking the border. The road isn't that bad for most of the way either although, as is typically across Ghana at the moment, large sections are being improved.

At one point we entered a small town on the way to Nkawkaw and for just a second or two it felt like entering a European ski resort with painted, shuttered windowed houses with wide balconies all set against a back drop of high mountains. As things come into focus the people for example, the bustle of the market oh so typically African and the tropical plants and trees that line the road the image is quickly dispelled.

Mobile phone companies pay to paint the houses

Roadside from Kumasi to Accra are stalls selling fermented Palm wine, Palm oil, beautiful local earthenware pottery, all sorts of fruit and deep carved wooden bowls, stacked 6 high.

We made good time arriving in Accra at about 12.30 p.m., lunch and a taxi ride to Coco beach, 17 kilometers to the east of Accra, to stay with a relative of my friend Deanne's, Sol.

Stay in Coco Beach, Accra

Sol is an interesting guy he is the founding member of 'Osibisa' one of the most famous West African bands. A multi-talented musician, a percussionist, and composer, he's 71 years old, although looks considerable younger, and is still playing music today.   

Sol

Coco Beach with Accra beyond

Monday Sol, Florence, his housekeeper, and I visited Accra, the family house that D has inherited in art along with the family business, traders in gold and silver, in James Town one of the older suburbs of Accra. 

Sol, his brothers and the family business - James Town

We enjoyed a local meal of fish, salsa and Kenkey, a sort of fermented corn bread, at a friends home, Sam. 

Travelling round the capital city

Accra is a sprawling city lining the Atlantic coast and linking the colonial past with a developing city of the future, however, like everything else in this country it would appear disjointed. I guess the African way!  

There are some beautiful buildings such as the National Theatre, Independence Square with its wide Roman style arch, the football stadium and various distinctive governmental buildings.  

There’s a sense of wealth and investment in Ghana, more apparent here than any other country that I have travelled to thus far.

Then you stumble on the huge number of buildings demolished, partly or completely creating a vast wasteland. Partially constructed buildings and roads abandon years previously, for whatever reason, the roads often a major artery linking the harbour to the city center or airport. 

Old Town Accra

The old part or market area of Accra is full of tightly packed buildings, invariable over crowded and in a poor state of repair with open sewers or drains often blocked or damaged.

Coco beach would appear to be idyllic, however, its skin deep, what you don't see is the accumulation of human waste and rubbish that covers the beach and fills the sea. The main sewers in times of heavy rain drag everything with the surging waters and deposits it at the lowest point, the sea. 

Ramada Hotel - Coco Beach

There are some expensive hotels like the Ramada that front on to the beach, that makes a token gesture to clear the area directly in front of its beachfront position. Thankful there’s a large pool if you want a swim!

Moving on Sol and I spent Tuesday and Wednesday exploring the city further.

My daughter returns to Ghana

Katherine arrived at Ghana airport Wednesday evening as scheduled, great to see her. We spent the night at Sol's, he kindly provide her a room, moving on the following day by Tro-Tro to Kokrobite. Central Coast or to the west of Accra, to an old haunt of Katherine's, 'Big Milly's Backyard', www.bigmilly.com, for those interested.

Katherine spent some time a few years ago working at a 40,000 strong refugee camp down the coast in Ghana, people that had fortunately escaped the wrath of war both in the countries of Liberia and Sierra Leone.

Big Milly’s backyard was the elected retreat from the insanity, heartbreak, intensity and death still apparent within the supposed safe haven.

Time-out at 'Big Milly's Backyard'

To quote, 'the place is something of an institution to West African over landers and volunteers who all consider it home from home'.

The accommodation comprises huts, some traditional for 1, 2 and up to 12 persons, camping, bring your own or they can provide, a loft, a covered area with mattresses and lockers provided, outside showers, two buckets, a bar, restaurant, a stage for weekend entertainment, a raised covered viewing gallery, various market stalls and a sandy beach. Perfect!!!! 

Kat, John and Mike

 

Oddly enough Wendy who owns the place comes coincidentally from Poole, Dorset, small world.

The good news is that the beach and water are reasonably clean and the weather has thus far been fine.

Kat and I had a really enjoyable ten days at Big Milly's hardly straying far from the compound and met some wonderful people. Julia 26 from Germany studying a Business Masters degree and her friend Joe 20 studying philosophy at Manchester University, both volunteers, Guy from the UK who works for Vodafone, John from Chicago who works for Eco bank, amused that he is constantly chaperoned by his employers who prefer that he goes everywhere accompanied, and Michael 22 from Canada a long-term traveller.

John's an unusual guy for an American well travelled and adventurous, his admission not mine. He regaled us with a tale after diner one evening about how he was caught up in the Tsunami in Thailand on the 26th December 2004.

Apparently he was walking along the beach the morning, or was it the afternoon, in question in shorts and baseball cap and not much else, when he met a similar bedecked American with a baby. At that point, so the story goes, the seawater receded at incredible speed with the boats in the bay falling; I repeat falling, like a stone onto the now exposed seabed.  Suddenly there were cries of, ''Run''. The only high ground was a 40-foot high limestone rock face used by the nearby hotel for rock climbing just the other side of a mangrove swamp. Both Americans and baby managed with some difficulty to scramble up the cliff face just in time, with the water falling about 8 feet short of the top.

John sustained severe injuries to both feet and hands in the process ending up in a wheel chair for several months as a consequence.

John also mentioned that he was on the Madrid railway station the day that a terrorist bomb exploded. Not a guy to be around for to long! 

We've enjoyed an evening of traditional drums and dancing along with a Reggae night on Saturday.

'Big Milly's' continues to be a haven for interesting travellers. A Belgium couple turned up the other day; brother and sister, Audrey and Jonah and we spent a lot of time with them.  

Exploring the ‘Gold Coast’

Katherine returned to the UK on the 10^th May after an overnight stop in Accra. I on the other hand packed my bags yet again and headed West 223km along the coast to explore the area around Takoradi with the intention of spending a couple of nights at a place the 'Green Turtle Lodge', 'www.greenturtlelodge.com'.  

To quote the web site text ‘Green Turtle Lodge is a traditionally styled guesthouse situated on a stunning, palm-lined beach in the lush and tropical Western Region of Ghana. Opened in 2004, Green Turtle is a travellers’ haven, where memories are made, friendships are founded and where many people end up staying longer than planned’.

It's situated close to Dixcove or Busua beach, Eco friendly, run by an English guy, Tom, from London, fairly remote, quiet and on the beach.

I'll let the pictures tell the story, suffice to say that it's an idyllic place well worth a visit. I was travelling at the time with Ghanaian lady Kate. 

St. George' Castle and Fort St. Jago, Elmina

Thursday, we headed back towards Accra to a fishing town called Elmina, staying at Nyansapow Hotel. 

Images of Elmina

Primarily to visit the Portuguese built, renamed when the British acquired it, St. George' Castle and Fort St. Jago, built by the Dutch and again taken over by the British. 

Images of Elmina

The Castle guards the entrance to the harbour and, as it was originally, dates back to 1482 the oldest European building outside of Europe. St, Jago sits on a hill offering a view of the surrounding area

Friday about midday we moved on again to Cape Coast to explore the town and one or two of the three Castles/Forts there, staying at the Sammo Guest House, close to the beach and Fort Victoria. 

Images of the Cape Coast

We managed to tour Cape Coast Castle, another structure built by the Portuguese initially to defend their trade interests and then for slavery, and Fort William (unable to get inside the latter). The British as part of the Empire buildings days seized all three Castles/Forts.

Leaving Kate behind in Accra it was time to move north to Atimpoku, the Volta Lake and Ho Hoe, close to the Togo border.

North to Atimpoku and the Adome Bridge

Saturday I moved on again this time heading 120km North of Accra to Atimpoku to see the Italian built Adome suspension bridge, constructed in the mid 1950's. 

Oddly enough the bridge is very similar in design to the one that fell apart in the USA. I think engineers discovered that a structure has a resonant or sympathetic frequency and when attained either by a repeated battering by a high wind, cars passing over continuously or soldiers, for example, marching across the bridge in step it can set it off.

What rubbish I hear you say! Mind you it might explain why there is restriction as to the number of vehicles that can pass across the bridge at any one time and for a period of 3 hours the bridge is closed.

Volta the largest lake in West Africa

Sunday morning I headed to the beautiful mountainous town of Akosombo for breakfast at the plush Volta Hotel, mainly because it has the best view of the Akosombo dam and the 402km long Volta Lake beyond.

The dam, constructed by an American company called Valco, employed some 84,000 people to build it, along with the ancillary buildings and the complete town of Akosombo, which up until that point didn't exist.

Finished in 1966 the Volta Lake effectively covers about 850,000 hectares of prime woodland. Useful information for devotees of Trivial Pursuit, I hear you say!

Breakfast over, taxi, then three Tro-Tro's to Ho-Hoe, 75km North of Atimpoku and close to the Togo border.

The countryside as you move further and further into the mountains is beautiful, comparatively unspoilt, with the climate much milder, not the intense heat so typical of Africa even a place I think I could live especially with the potential for walking. We shall see.

Ho Hoe close to the Togo border

Finally I arrived in Ho Hoe and found lodgings at the Hotel Geduld run by a nice lady called Hilda, who apparently spent several years living in Germany, not quite sure why I told you that. 

The main reason for my visit to see the Wji, pronounced Vlee, or Agumasta waterfalls 21km outside of town. How do I know, I walked all the way back!! 

I have to say that the waterfalls are spectacular and in a beautiful setting, however, it isn't worth the 8 Cedes (£4) plus extra to take pictures. There we go.

Back to Accra and an abortive attempt to fly home

Back to Accra tomorrow with the intention of flying back to the UK, my mothers unwell, on the 18^th May, or so I thought.

I’d booked and paid for a return flight from Accra about when Katherine arrived in late April, or so I thought. For some reason, unbeknown to me, the Internet booking company has a policy of re-confirming the flight by telephone or e-mail. Every time they do that they attempt to take the amount for the ticket off the credit card incurring and admin charges, despite not being able to get hold of me. Poor Internet and mobile phone signal I guess. When I try to print the ticket off I discover on returning to ‘Internet Civilization’ that the booking had been cancelled and I need to pay cash. Given the daily withdrawal limits it wasn’t going to be possible within a 24hour period.

I booked a couple more nights at the airport hotel that I was already staying in and proceeded to trawl round all of the flight operators to try and find a company that would take a credit card payment, ‘Air Italia’ was the only one. They had a flight via Rome to Italy on the 28^th May.

That evening I dined at the hotel’s restaurant and who should be sitting on the table next to mine the American Gold mining engineer that I’d last seen at the Bamako Gare Routier. His daughter and son-in-law had just flown in for a short visit. Anyway he’d completed the arduous journey on schedule and had been in Accra on business for some weeks. I recounted my travels and we parted at some point late evening.

Back to ‘Big Milly’s’ for the last time

The flight booked and paid for I made my way down the coast for a 2^nd stay at, ‘Big Milly’s Backyard’. It seemed like the best place to hang out for 8 to 9 days before returning home.

I continued to make new acquaintances and bump into old friends that had returned for another visit.  In particular, Morocco an American actor, producer and teacher of acting along with his partner and fellow actress Diandra staying in the hut next to me. Three lovely Canadian nurses over here on holiday and as short-term volunteers.

27^th May, I made my way back to Accra for an overnight stay with an early flight the following morning to the UK.

End of the trip for now……..more I’m sure to follow.