Kwahu Ridge

Its Sunday night again and I’m back on campus, back at home from a great weekend.  It amazes me how fast time moves especially here in Ghana.  With every passing day I feel like the clock is wound tighter and tighter until the hour hand becomes a minute and the minute a second.  Right now my body is tired and soar from a rough and dusty trip home, but I feel content with the passing of another fulfilling weekend.  Blake and I traveled about three hours north of Accra to a mountainous region known as Kwahu Plateau.  Neither of us had serious expectations for the trip beyond getting out of the campus bubble for a while.  We heard the landscape was beautiful and there were plenty of opportunities for hiking around, which sounded perfect to me.  There is something refreshing about getting into the mountains I’m not sure exactly what it is, but I like it and need it at times.  Something about relief in the topography of the landscape allowing me to gaze into the distance and really see my surroundings.  No matter where you are the mountain air is fresher, which is most definitely welcome after spending any time in the choked and congested cityscape of Accra.  In reality the Kwahu plateau only stand about 750 meters above sea level, but relative to the whole of Ghana that’s pretty high. 

We took a long and curving taxi ride up following switchback after switchback until we level off on the plateau top.  The plan was to stay the first night in Tafu and check out the area from there.  Apparently we came at the peak of the funeral season and all of the lodging in town was completely occupied.  An older man took us to ask the chief if he could provide any housing for us, but unfortunately he was away, so we hopped back in a taxi and drove to decent sized township called Obo. 

The community rests in the center of a circular ridgeline with large (unoccupied) mansions on the mountainsides.  Dropping down into the bowl there was a sharp contrast between the rusted red corrugated steal roofs of the old colonial buildings and the lush deep green mountains surrounding the town.  We drove through the center of town and up the opposite ridge to a quasi resort that was mentioned in our guidebook.  I want to pause to say a few words about the infamous guidebook.  Guidebooks can be tremendously helpful and terrible restricting at the same time.  You really need to be careful when following the advice of a self-proclaimed guide who is willing to write down for you everything you need to know.  I think if you follow the recommendations too closely they have the potential of limiting what you see of any particular place and how you experience it as well.  It’s important to be prepared, but if you form expectations based on some else’s experiences your time won’t be original and unique.  Fortunate for us the resort place was way too expensive and so we walked back into the town proper and followed a sign to the central hotel.  It dusk by the time we found the hotel, which was nothing more than a large gray exposed concrete building that looked as if remodeling had begun some time ago and very minimal progress had been made.  Inside the place was bare, but clean and we were offered a room with a single bed for about 5 dollars a night.  We tossed our bags in the room and walked out to the sleepy streets of Obo to find some chop.  Blake wasn’t hungry so I settled for a fried egg sandwich.  The entire town was watching the Ghana Brazil soccer match we walked around stopping at various spots and provision stores to join everyone else in watching the game.  When Ghana won the small quiet town exploded for an instant with kids and adults rushing onto the streets yelling and singing and dancing like mad.  I stood there in the street watching and smiling and thinking about the pride of Ghana and how great this simple expression of unity is. 

The next morning we strolled around town again looking for something to eat and then set off to find a bush path that we could hike for a while.  We walked to the next town, which was quite a bit smaller, but still made up of slightly decaying old colonial buildings a few extravagant vacation homes.  At the far end of the town the paved road ended and a well used dirt path continued into the forest.  We passed by a good amount of people apparently on there way to a funeral from some remote village some few kilometers away.  Being Ghanaian, everyone asked us what we were doing and where we were going.  It was slightly odd to respond, just taking a walk, but I guess that’s what we were doing.  The forest was thick and lush here and we could see only a small distance into it.  There was virtually no wildlife beyond some crazy spiders and butterflies and other various insects.  It’s not surprising though, in the southern portion of Ghana most of the wildlife has been eradicated.  Farther along the path there were occasional glimpses of the massive sandstone cliffs that make up the edge of the plateau and are quite impressive.  We followed a side path down to what we thought was a waterfall or river, but turned out to be a small stream.  Banana trees were planted along the stream banks and they made for a welcome refuge.  We sat underneath their massive leaves and relaxed for a while before returning to Obo.

That night Blake went back to the room and I went out of the hotel to make a phone call home.  As I was walking onto the street I passed by a group of people about my age sitting around a table eating dinner.  They called for me to come over and join them.  Not wanting to be rude I walked over and they made room for me to sit down.  They told me to wash my hands and dig into the Banku and Okro stew.  Ghanaians find it so hilarious and shocking when white boys like myself enjoy their traditional dishes.  The food was good and we sat and chatted and got to know each other.  Most of the group were just visiting for the weekend and would be attending the funeral, the deceased was 110 years old by the way, and then returning to Accra.  The crazy mother of one of the guys came out to say hello and talk to me since we had met the day before on my initial arrival to Obo.  Her name is Matilda and she is quiet eccentric.  In fact the first time Blake and I met her we thought she was pretty tossed.  She insisted on only speaking Twi to me even though I’m sure she spoke decent English as well.  The interaction was hilarious and everyone was laughing as I did my best to understand what she was saying and respond with my very limited repitoire of Twi phrases.  The guys were going out to drink and party so I was left with Matilda and her crazy neighbor.  Don’t ask me how, but she saw that I had a dead black and blue toenail and she insisted on getting some unlabeled cream and rubbing it all over my foot.  Her large neighbor friend came over to see what was going on, grabbed my foot and started yanking on my toe wiggling it back and forth and laughing at me when I was obviously in some kind of discomfort.  Two other girls started laughing at me and I thought this lady was going to for sure pull my toe right out of the socket.  Matilda gave me the cream and told me to put it on everyday and my toe would be better in no time.  I’m still confused as to what exactly they thought was wrong with my foot.  That’s traditional medicine for you I guess.  

Sunday morning we woke up to a misty and drizzling morning a welcome change of climate from the scorching dry heat of the Harmattan.  We sucked down some pourage and took a taxi down to the banks of lake Volta to have a look around.  Dropping down from the plateau the lake comes into view as this expansive shimmering sheet of water that doesn’t quite belong where it is.  The lake really doesn’t have much of a basin making it seem that much more artificial.  We crossed via boat taxi at a narrow section of the lake and stepped onto Afram plains to try and find of place to swim.  The town was impoverished and sun was scorching hot, we didn’t feel welcome so about as quickly as we came, we left.  Back to Adowoso back to Accra.