Ghana

We feared that our experience at the Ghanaian embassy in Lome (rude, manipulative, incompetent and ignorant) would be replicated when we entered the country and unfortunately this proved to be the case. After all the difficult places we had travelled through we had thought that this tourist friendly country (40,000 Brits holiday in Ghana each year) might be a breeze so it was disappointing to be confronted with both an over staffed and under trained immigration and customs service. The immigration boss was dressed like a dancing girl and very nonchalantly asked Jackie if she could have her bag. No! The customs officer was insistent that we wait because he wanted to check if we could take a right hand drive vehicle into the country. He tried to scare us but we opened the back and made a cup of tea to show that we were in no hurry. I barely had time to stir in my sugar before everything was suddenly all right and we could go.

Once we had hit the first town and met some normal people we began to relax and enjoy the pleasure of a non-Francophone (and non-Francophile) country. And a welcome break from the potholes and bad road systems of the last few countries. We motored down from the fantastic Akosombo Dam on the Volta river lake to the capital, Accra. The city has everything you need including a Shoprite Mall (with South African supermarket, outdoor/hardware shop and clothes shop). But our first job was a car job and after much searching for his signless yard, we found Ian Webster, well known 4x4 mechanic and bar owner. There we met a few ex-pats including Neil who invited us out to shiny new bar nearby where they held a quiz night. Just like being home only this time we won by a country mile (prizes of money off our bar bill and a tequila round). Neil is a director of a charity involved in small but important projects in the villages not far from Accra. Quite amazing that such rural poverty exists no close to the shining towers and chrome bars of the city. And back at the mechanic yard, Ian resolving the long term issues with our cooling system (expensive new viscous coupling for our radiator fan but no more split hoses, cracked radiator, hideous bush mechanic welding jobs) and invited us up to his house in the hills above the city where he pottered about, cooking us the most fantastic pizza whilst we played pool and lounged about.

It was Easter weekend in Accra and after the family day on Saturday, Sunday was the day for church services and community do's. And quite a sight it was, there is Sunday best and then there is Sunday best and Ghana's finest paraded in immaculate white cotton and silks with head gear to match. We came back into the city to stock up again from Shoprite and found one particularly regal looking family walking around the supermarket (the rest of the shops were shut) with matching Togas of thick white cotton with gold trim. After the thick Accra Sunday traffic we eventually made it out onto Ghana’s great coastal highway, a beautiful and well-maintained bit of tar typical of the southern part of the country. This slick modernity includes a highly developed tourist Infrastructure (there are many hotels and restaurants and bars and things to do) that brings with it some cynicism from the locals.

Our first encounter with this was on the outskirts of the city at Kokrabite, where we found a small hostel hemmed in by a large fishing village/trading town. The staff were cool but the German manager were a little strange. When we arrived, he advised us not to take anything valuable onto the beach and not to walk on the beach at night. At nightfall he invited himself along with us and another tourist to a drink in another hostel further down the road and when we went to leave, he said it was quicker to walk along the beach and it would be safe with the four of us. But we walked barely a 100m down the beach before he got very twitchy and then out of the darkness came two young men, closing in on us in a pincer movement. The hostel manager was on the floor in couple of seconds with the two assailants punching him, kicking him and pulling at his pockets. The other tourist and myself tried to protect the chap but the situation was too bizarre. Why where they so keen on him? They never tried to get anywhere near us. We thought It must be personal but instead of walking away we decided to wade back in. I got bruised hand from hitting one of them in his steel ribs and then a smack in the neck whilst trying to dodge a fist. Jackie had a longish conversation with one of them about hitting girls and didn’t get out of the way when he punched at her ribs. In the end a third guy ran down the beach and threw sand in my face and then they went, the manager’s £20 mobile phone with them. All that because he wouldn’t give up his cheap phone! So stupid after all this time in Africa - we know not to go on city beaches after dark. The manager could give us no explanation and just ranted about the villagers and Africans generally, even mentioning a gun that he had in his room. Umm.. that’s not a situation that’s going to get better in a hurry.

Easter Monday was party day and all along the coast where signs for beach events and endless semi-official parking spots but we hit the Gold coast tourist trail of old slave castles and coconut palm beaches. Very strange to walk off those perfect beaches and into beautiful old forts to hear about the slave prisons and cargo ships. Slavery till exists in some parts of Africa but nothing has ripped its heart out more than the Atlantic slave trade of the 17th, 18th and 19th centuries.

We stayed at one beautiful palm fringed resort after another (cheap rates for those with their own roof top tent), playing in the surf and eating Fufu with pepper soup, Red Red (whole plantains fried in palm oil, beans in chilli tomato and palm oil and fish steaks - more fantastic than it sounds) until we hit the Green Turtle Lodge, a white-beached haven with a good relationship with the local village. As well as some very young backpackers, the lodge was over run with overlanders and we met Germans, South Africans, Swiss and two Catalan boys (Quim and Ricard) a few months into an epic Barcelona to Cape Town journey (there is no doubt about it, we are now back on the overland trail and after seeing no one for weeks we now meet other roof tent owners on almost a daily basis). At Green Turtle we drank and talked under the bar’s bamboo roof until the weather finally burst, the heavens opened and we where treated to a tropical downpour and sheet lightning over the ocean.

And then it was goodbye to the seaside for a while (until Mauritania) as we stop going south and west and finally and permanently start travelling northwards. First stop was Kumasi, capital of the Asante, a proud bunch who gave us a run for our money back in colonial times. Ghana’s second city, Kumasi has been described as one big market and we walked through it on three enjoyable occasions, buying everything from food and toiletries to clothes to textiles. Fantastic place. As we prepared to leave town a couple from Brighton, Jules and Sophie arrived from the north. We decided to stay another night for a bit of a catch up. We swapped plenty of info and felt very prepared for journey north to Wa and Burkina Faso

Photos
Ian and Jackie
Gold Coast
A repaired Connie enjoying the beach
Elmina Castle
Jules and Sophie