7 am Monday morning, we approach the ferry. Nobody is there yet except for a few men who seem to work on the boat, so we just enter. One of them gives us tickets and we sit down on a bench. The morning sun is beautiful on the water. Next to the big ferry, a number of colorful small boats are rolling in the water. People are queuing to get on board. We have been advised not to take one of these boats. In the flat water, a man is washing his motorbike. Another man on the beach is cleaning a Trotro. Two women are fetching water in big bowls that they carry on their heads and drink from the water directly. The ferry is getting full now as well. More and more passengers settle down on the benches and trucks drive onto the ferry’s loading space. Between the trucks, I make out a man and a young woman. The man is dressed normally and playing around with his mobile phone. The woman is only wearing a dirty rag. He holds her around her wrist. When they are in the way of the maneuvering cars, he pushes and pulls her with him very roughly. Nobody else pays attention to them. We came way too early. Better than too late, I soothe myself. Finally, hours later, the bell that made us expecting our departure so often, rings one last time and we set off. The ferry moves slowly. The crossing takes much longer than the planned 45 minutes. A woman spreads out a cloth on the floor and makes herself comfortable to sleep. Some passengers switch sides to move out of the now blazing sun. A man makes his round across the boat, extolling the tinctures and creams he offers for sale. Many actually buy his products. At least it smells not too bad. Drinks are also offered as well as snacks like the usual boiled eggs with this red sauce. I have never tried one of those.
The young guy from the evening before told us to be fast to catch a car when we disembark. We are still far away from the opposite bank when the first passengers get ready to alight. The ferry puts in, we flow with the crowd and then follow the shouts of ‘Tamale’ to a Tro where we are able to win seats. We soon find out that the car is actually not going to Tamale, but only to Salaga, the next town. From there, we have to catch another Tro to the Northern capital. The road is not too bad and as usual, I watch the scenery rushing past us. It is less dry than in February, some trees have green leaves. The sky looks endlessly high. I love it. Now and then, we pass villages with round mud huts and thatched roofs. I think somebody is traveling with us on the roof, because now and then, I hear movement up there. Suddenly, the car stops. We all get out. Something is wrong with the wheel. While some men work on it, the passengers wait in the shade under trees on the roadside and take the opportunity to stretch their legs. It is the first time for me, that the car I am traveling with breaks down. There is a termites’ nest under the trees. Along the road, man comes on his bicycle. He walks to the termites’ nest and takes some branches that were stuck in the entrance. He shakes them above a basket and dirt and termites fall into it. When it is full, he ties the basket to the back of his bicycle and cycles away. A woman turns to us. ‘It is for the fowl. They feed them with it.’ Thanks for the explanation. After about half an hour, the wheel is fixed. We are lucky. It could have ended worse. Another three hours and then we arrive in Tamale. Alighting, a frail woman offers us to carry our bags on her head. Luckily, we don’t need to carry them anywhere at all. I call Unclo Robert to pick me up with a motorbike and he also helps Anna and Natalie to catch a taxi. They will continue their journey to Mole, but my journey ends here.
