No Togo, but I still want to make something out of this weekend. Felix won’t go to francophone Togo on his own, so he is fine traveling to the Volta Region again. A little bit disappointed, we leave the crossing behind and look for a Tro to Ho. The sun is setting now and makes the ride more interesting as it gets darker. Felix and I are sitting in the front again and I enjoy watching the landscape rushing past us. The road is worse here and we bump through a number of possible when suddenly a voice comes from behind. “Driver, you are overspeeding.” The driver pulls up at the roadside and turns around. “What is the meaning of that?” He is angry and tells the passenger to get out of the car. He even gets out himself, opens the sliding door at the side and wants to give the passenger his money back if he leaves his car. Other passengers try to calm the driver down and after a while, he gets back behind the wheel, muttering something in his breath. The critic stays - waiting at the roadside at this hour is not really an option. There is no change in speed, though and it gets more scary when we can’t see the potholes anymore. As soon as they appear in the circle of the headlights, it is too late to avoid them or slow down. We reach Ho nevertheless and here we face the next problem. In our guidebook, there are names of hotels but no addresses. Normally there are no street names anyway but some directions would be helpful. It is the first time to go to Ho for the driver, too, so he can’t help us even though he is very friendly to us. Felix and I just alight at a street corner and stop a taxi. The first hotel we arrive at is already full. They give us directions to a second one and luckily we find a car with helpful passengers who accompany us all the way to the reception. Dorllah guesthouse have a room for us and we decide to stay. I get some food at a stall on the roadside. Rice with a spicy sauce and mayonnaise.
On Saturday, I need exercise. One day in cars was enough so we agree to go for a bit of hiking. At first, we need breakfast what turns out to be more difficult than expected. Ho is a sleepy town. At a time where other cities are already bustling, Ho is still quiet. Very few stalls are occupied, we have problems finding any food. The women selling pineapple and mango are missing. In the end, we are happy with the yam chips and pepper we find at the lorry station. I munch my unusual breakfast as we drive up a steep road, overlooking more and more of the green valleys between the green mountains. I like this region. Our taxi is heading to Amedzofe, a mountain village in the Avatime Hills “that offers breathtaking vistas, a waterfall, forests, cool climate and plenty of hiking opportunities” as my guide book promises. The village itself is small but it has a visitor centre where we meet a young guy. He shows us how to go to Mt Gemi, one of the highest mountains in the area with its 611m. It is only a short walk up to the iron cross and the view is amazing. Mountains covered in green dotted with a few small villages. We can see the Volta in the distance. Heading back along the small path, we meet an old man who welcomes us warmly. He tells us that the cross was put up by Germans and also a number of other buildings in this area. As we approach the village, we hear drumming and singing, but I don’t know where it is coming from exactly. Our next hike’s destination is a waterfall. This time, we take a guide with us, another young man we meet at the visitor centre. He fills us in about the village and its people. About the language they speak, for example. Most of the people here are farmers, planting all kinds of crops. The ground is definitely very fertile. The talking ceases as the path changes from a flat road to a steep track. A rope supports us as we slowly make our way down to the water. It is worth it. The waterfall is rather small and does not carry much water at the moment, but the place is beautiful. A quiet and peaceful hideaway that, according to our guide, was found by a hunter hundreds of years ago. I believe him. This place is not as impressive as the Wli Falls but much more magic. A perfect setting for a fairy-tale without evil characters. We can’t stay forever, though and start climbing up again, having taken the inevitable pictures. Clouds are gathering in the sky now. The guide explains how the weather is unpredictable here. Sun and blue sky one moment, heavy rain the next moment. We hope to get back before the rain starts. I don’t want to imagine a car trying to get down the road when rain is pouring down. There is no car for a very long time, anyway. We wait at the street where we have been told to wait and watch the clouds pass, eating small green and sweet bananas. Other people are waiting, with bags next to them. We hope for a Tro where everybody can fit in, but there is no car at all. A taxi passes but it is full. Another taxi passes but it doesn’t take any passengers, I don’t understand why. Felix and I start walking down the road when finally a Trotro comes. We get in before it enters the village which is good. As soon as the door opens, the waiting people try to squeeze in, leaving their luggage behind. They then direct boys outside to pack it in the back from inside the car. It is difficult to count but we are about twenty people in the car plus the driver. Record for me, I think.
In the afternoon, we stroll through Ho. I saw a place where we could maybe find something to eat when we came back with the Tro, but it takes a while until we find it. Ho has long, wide streets with pavements and it is a surprisingly clean town, but it is not very exciting. There are people around and now more stalls are open and women are selling fruit, but it is not very busy. A map would help but of course we don’t have any. Wandering through the streets in circles for while, we find the spot again and indeed they serve food here. Rice and chicken. At least it is a nice place to sit down. Music is coming from a neighbouring Senior High School. Some kids are interested in us. They have a different name for us than Obroni but I don’t understand it. Due to our wandering we even find our way back to the hotel on our own without taxis. Ho is friendly enough. A good place to stay to explore the surroundings.
Sunday morning, we are heading down from the mountains to Akosombo at Lake Volta. At the lorry station we are directed to a Trotro, but it can take only one more person. No over-packing here, it seems. We have to take the next one and I see us waiting there for ages until the car is full, but the driver sets off without waiting for anybody else. Apparently, there can only be one Tro for one place at the station so we start picking up passengers from the roadside. It is stop and go, but at least we are on the road. Atimpoku is the town at the junction at the big suspension bridge across the Volta River. We alight here and look for a place for the night first thing just to be sure. This region is popular and we don’t want to repeat Friday night. At Aylos Bay, one of the more expensive places to stay, we can do a tour on the river to the dam. The dam holds back the water of Lake Volta, thus creating the world’s largest artificial lake. Its gigantic turbines produce electricity that is then sent to all regions in Ghana, Togo, Côte d’Ivoire and Burkina Faso. The big steel constructions and high-voltage lines cut through the beautiful landscape but don’t disturb me much. The sound of the motor that pushes our small wooden boat along the river is more annoying and it takes a while for me to push it to the back of my mind. On the riverside, some fishermen see to their nets and children play in the water. Some are washing clothes or themselves. From one village, we can hear trumpets playing. The river is wide and has smaller branches that our guide steers the boat through. I lost my sense of orientation as we round a bend and suddenly see the huge hydro-electric dam in front of us. It is an enormous construction. Above our heads I notice one line that is bigger than the others and ask our guide about it. If I understand him correctly, people use it to cross the river. That is crazy. The only other way apart from boats is the big suspension bridge our guide takes us to now. I crossed it in Trotros before but from down below it looks even bigger.
It is only midday when we come back to Aylos Bay so I decide rather than doing nothing, we can go for a tour of the dam. A Trotro brings us to Akosombo but there a taxi driver tells us the visitor centre is closed. We should go with him. I don’t believe him so we go looking for the visitor centre and find it open. People are already waiting for a tour to the dam. Unfortunately, we don’t have a private car to go with but we are lucky enough to be taken by one of the other tourists. He turns out to be a guy from Indonesia who is doing some research for an agricultural project. We have to endure some formalities, but that is no problem for us unlike for an apparently American guy. He has to go back to check his car’s number and is pretty upset. “I am not going out there. It is fucking hot!” Oh dear, you are in Africa and it is not hotter than usual. Finally, we set off and pass the security post in our big air-conditioned cars. When we arrive on top of the dam, I can’t believe my eyes. Out of one car, two women, their husbands and one boy alight. They are European, probably something Scandinavian. The men are fat and they don’t wear shirts. Bear bellies on top of small hips, arms sticking out a bit, camera dangling from the red neck. I don’t mind if muscular young Ghanaians work topless, but these people are tourists and their bodies are not nice to look at. It is more than embarrassing. The tour itself is short and not too interesting. We learn about when the dam was build and how the electricity is produced and distributed. The view is impressive, though. On the one side is the wide river between the green mountains and I can see where we sat in the boat earlier that day, looking up at the dam. On the other side is Lake Volta, stretching far between more green mountains. Opposite of where we are standing, on the far side of the dam, on the top of one mountain is a building. This is where all the important persons reside when they have meetings. It can only be reached by crossing the dam or by helicopter. Typically far away from the people and life, in an extraordinary setting. I feel distanced to real life even driving in this big air-conditioned car. I thought the cars are from the office which organises the dam tours, but in fact they are all private cars. The driver is also a private driver. At first our new friend agrees to drop us at the station in Akosombo but then he wants us to join him for a late lunch. He once was a volunteer himself, he explains. His driver checks with the tour guide for a “special place” and just after a few minutes we alight at the Volta Hotel, probably the most expensive option in the area. Some small tables are on the verandah, looking across Lake Volta and I think this is a nice place. A waiter asks where we want to sit and in my mind I say outside but our friend prefers the cool interior and we are directed around a corner. The tables are covered with white table cloths and chinese lamps are hanging from the ceiling. Well, I didn’t expect that when I woke up this morning. We have a very relaxed conversation, though. Even the driver, eating Jollof rice and chicken, is involved and nods when we talk about educational problems and street security. I tell them about our adventure with the overspeeding Tro and the driver laughs. He knows exactly how the driver reacted. Felix and I refuse with thanks to take a dessert and our friend has to set off as well. As we get into the car, it starts to rain heavily, but we can persuade them to drop us at the station nevertheless. They insist to drop us directly under a roof, though. We realise that we don’t even know our patron’s name. The rain does not last long so Felix and I take a stroll through Akosombo, making our way up a hill. There is not much to see, the view was better on the dam, so we soon head back to our Hotel. As it is still early, we decide to sit down at Aylos Bay for a while and enjoy the scenic river. It is cooler after the rain now and cloudy. It looks as if it is about to rain again and indeed it does. At once, it is dark, the rain is pouring down and the wind blows the chairs away. With the other guests, we hide under the roof at the bar. The power is off, too. There is nothing we can do. We just sit there, watch the rain and the wind and wait.
Next morning we set off early, because I have to go to the Immigration office in Accra. Luckily, we meet a young man in our first Tro who is also going to Accra and with his help we change to the right car at Kpong. At first we are told that the Tros don’t go to Accra directly because of the traffic. Looking for alternatives on the roadside, however, we suddenly hear someone shouting and follow the young man hurrying into a newly arrived Trotro. We are not the only ones and lucky to get a seat. After a few minutes drive, however, our helpful friend has to ask the driver to turn. He gave him luggage to put in the back of the car but it is not there. The other passengers shout at him for not having checked before they left. I would like to take our friend’s side but they are pretty angry so it is better to just let them fight until they are tired of it. The driver takes it easy, turns, gets the luggage and continues the journey. Again after some minutes, the next fight starts. The driver wants the passenger next to us to pay, but that guy insists he already did and wants his change instead. I remember him paying but again don’t say anything as this guy now is even more enraged. He keeps on shouting even when the other passengers start the usual “It’s ok. It’s ok.” - “I am not stealin’. I am not a thief.” He asks one of the other passengers to check and count his money to see that the amount he gave the driver is missing. You could be surprised he is so infuriated but I can imagine it is the fear to be seen as thief. Some time ago I heard that thieves are usually beaten to death by mobs. A volunteer saw a group chasing a thief just at the next big junction from where I stay and Kwamina confirmed the story. Shortly before Accra the car stops and the driver starts pottering about the front seats. I didn’t even notice the car had a problem but it seems that it is something that has to be taken care of immediately. In the end we arrive in Accra and are even dropped directly at the immigration office. I expected to wait but I didn’t expect to wait even outside the gates. Apparently they are having some ceremony and don’t let any visitors in. I don’t have a choice and wait. I won’t leave now, come back another day and then again to pick my passport up after two weeks. I am annoyed at the people who pretend to go to the front to watch the marching and thus skip the queue. However, at some point of time we are all let in and it takes only one and a half hours until I have filled in all forms correctly and received my receipt. Time to go back to Cape.
