Tro tros

Heading for the Accra Mall , the flashy vanity project of John Kuffour, one of Ghana’s former presidents, Hannah and I decide to travel by tro tro – the cranky old minibuses that serve as Accra’s informal bus network.

The key to hailing a tro tro is to recognise the hand gestures made by the driver’s mate. Hand rotating in a circle means ‘Nkrumah Circle’, a point in the air means ‘Accra’ and the city circle, and three fingers pointing upwards means ‘37’. At first we were bemused, especially as most seemed to fly past. A fellow passenger helped us out, and hailed the next one passing. Apparently you have to shout and step out in front to show you want to get on.

Tro tros are hot, cramped, uncomfortable and invariably decrepit, and the random bits of rusty metal sticking out easily rip clothes (three dresses and counting for Hannah so far), but they are fun. Hawkers come up to the window at traffic lights, selling fried plantain and sachets of water, and the speed at which they dodge traffic beats any fairground ride for thrills. Shaken but happy, we arrived at ‘37’ to change for the service to Accra mall.

The buses only leave when full*, so we enjoyed the buzz of the informal market that surrounds the waiting vehicles. We bought fresh coconuts – deliciously refreshing and another unmissable Ghanaian experience – and took our seats while hawkers offered an amazing array of goods. Worm tablets (complete with graphic pictures), boiled eggs, handkerchiefs, papaya, meat pies, maps of Ghana, plantain, self-help books … you may be bounced about, but you won’t go hungry or thirsty (or get sweaty or wormy) on a tro tro.

* A Cameroonian friend visiting the UK got a shock when his train to Sheffield left on time, despite not being full. "The trains, they all leave when they say they will. Amazing!"

Mount ‘Alaska’

After two steep hills on my first two outings with the Ghana Mountaineers, it was time for something different. Mount Alaska made for a pleasant change; rather than pitch up at the foot of the hill and then get sweaty for three hours, we parked a distance away for a leisurely walk in across the plains.

We headed through a village to a mixture of cheerful waves and confused looks from the villagers – where are these obronis heading so early in the morning? Ghanaians are very sporty – running groups fill the streets early morning, and every scrap of land is used to play football – but hiking doesn’t seem to be on the radar yet. Plus Sunday morning is, of course, time for church for most people.

Outside the village, we crossed a mango farm – complete with a nearly-treading-on-snake incident – and refreshed ourselves under the shade of a baobab tree before continuing across the scrub.

The final climb was simple, and the cool summit breeze was thankfully blowing. This breeze is where the hill got its unofficial name, with Felix complaining on a previous visit that “it’s like Alaska up here”. An overstatement perhaps, but anything other than sticky heat is a welcome treat in Ghana.

The hill is also the perfect spot to admire the Shai Hills, a small group of outcrops that hosts an array of wildlife in its forested slopes. Apparently … there was no sign of life in any direction as we gazed across the grasslands. One thing West Africa lacks when compared to the East is the large game wandering about in huge groups. The scenery looks beautiful, but empty and somehow lonely with nothing grazing below.

We did see some animals, albeit not wild ones, on the way back. Three boys were herding their cattle across the plains. Despite the relatively wet climate and abundance of grass, there are few herders in the plains north of Accra (this might be due to Tsetse flies that thrive in these conditions and limit livestock keeping). Mount Alaska may not be the most challenging climb, but the cows, with their long horns and humped backs, gave the walk an African flavour.

Saturday

Ryan’s Irish Bar in Osu follows the blueprint of expat pubs across the world: a carefully recreated slice of home, in which people can imagine they are back in the country they chose to leave.

It’s a winning formula. When I met Nikki and Sarah at 7am for England v Scotland in the rugby world cup, the bar was already packed with grumpy looking men wearing white or dark blue tops, all clearing up the last of a cooked breakfast. Hungry, I checked the menu … 18 cedis? Eggs cost about 15 pesewas (there ae 100 pesewas to the pound) and Heinz beans 40 pesewas, so either bacon costs more by weight than cocaine or someone is making a tidy profit. I ordered a coffee and toast, a bargain by comparison at 7 cedis.

The game was dull, especially for someone who doesn’t like rugby much, and we were told off for talking by the ‘locals’. And with early kick-offs leading to early final whistles, I found myself in Accra at 9.30am on a Saturday with nothing to do. It doesn’t take long living here to realise that, drinking aside, entertainment in Accra needs seeking out. So I was happy to follow Nikki and Sarah to the Centre for National Culture.

Don’t let the name fool you; this is a market, where unsuspecting tourists are led to be ripped off. Inside the covered part of the market is a maze of narrow alleys, where animated stall owners pursue a hard-selling approach that is uncommon in Ghana. They even block you off in the alleys to deflect you into their stall, like a game of gift-shop pinball. It doesn’t work; the most common response is to quicken your pace, eyes down, and head for the nearest exit you can find.

We escaped to the open area at the back, where the stall owners are happy for you to wander about at your own pace. The dusty wooden sheds contained vivid paintings of village life, carvings of African animals long since hunted out of Ghana, and a collection of wooden penises that was second to none.

The reason for our visit was to collect a West African drum Nikki had ordered, and the young men who made the drums offered us a lesson in how to play them. We tried to mimic their quick hands and rhythms while outside their colleagues carved away on new drums. I desperately wanted to buy one, but they are made with goat skin. A vegetarian dilemma; could they make one from a goat who had lived a happy life and died of natural causes?

Post-lesson, Hannah joined us and Abraham, the drum teacher, offered to take us to the Rising Phoenix for lunch. And so the day descended into a boozing session by the sea. Star beers were sunk, pool was played, we met the Rastas smoking on the plastic-strewn beach, and in the evening we were treated to something we could never have planned – a beauty contest.

The Ghanaian Dale Winton introduced the three contestants competing for the title of Miss Accra, and led them through a series of acts which all seemed to revolve around bum-wiggling. I was too drunk to see who won, but it rounded off a varied take on a quiet Saturday in Accra.

Getting connected

“Life is simple until you enter the Vodaphone shop.”

So said an exasperated customer I overheard on a recent visit to the Accra branch of the mobile company. I was soon nodding in agreement. The Ghanaian approach to customer service takes a bit of getting used to. Not unhelpful, not rude, just … indifferent, as I found out while attempting what I had thought would be a simple transaction.

“I’d like to buy a SIM card, please”.
“OK.”
“Can I get one here?”
“My colleague will get you one.”

(Colleague tootles off around the corner while my sales assistant checks Facebook silently. SIM card arrives. I put it in my phone and go through the instructions.)

“Does it have credit on already?”
“No.”
“How do I get credit?”
“You have to buy top-up vouchers.”
“Do you sell them?”
“Yes.”
(Long pause.)
“Can I buy one?”
“My colleague will get you one.”

Getting our broadband installed at the flat was even more trying. For four weeks the Vodaphone staff and I went through a well-rehearsed routine.

At 10.00 am each day, I called the Vodpahone office and ask when my broadband will be installed. The sales assistant said they would call me back, then hung up.

12.00 pm. I ring again after no one has called me back and ask to speak with the manager. The manager tells me someone will be round that afternoon.

15.00 pm. I ring again to find out why no one has come round. The manager tells me they are very busy and will come round first thing tomorrow. We both know that a) she’s lying, b) there’s bugger all I can do about it, and c) I will have to call again tomorrow.

None of my attempts to speed things up worked. Being nice was met with indifference. Being angry, the same. My threats to take my business elsewhere also backfired, as the sales assistant switched to being extremely helpful, offering to cancel my contract over the phone until I had to humbly back down and confess I wasn’t going to switch providers. I think this counts as a lesson in the local culture.

Mount Iogaga

I had spotted Mount Iogaga from the summit of Krobo two weeks before. It’s one of the more distinctive hills in the plains north of Accra, steep-sided with a pointed peak. Thick forest covers the northern slopes, contrasting with the fields carved out on the southern flanks. Having admired it from afar, I was pleased a chance to explore came around so soon.

On route to Iogaga is a large agricultural project, led by Chinese investors. A clearly well-used dirt track led to a collection of buildings, where we parked up and headed along a rutted track to the hill. Heavy rain over the preceding week had turned the red earth into a thick gloopy mud; I was relieved my walking boots and sticks had arrived earlier that week. (Or rather, had finally reached me; they had been stuck in Ghanaian customs for six weeks for no apparent reason.)

Another steep climb kicks off this route. No calf-sparing zigzags in Ghana, just a direct line to the top. The shade of the forest helped keep us cool for the first half hour, but soon we were back among the tall grass. Kevin slashed away at the front again, and I secretly wondered if he purposely chose overgrown routes to give him and excuse to get the machete out.

Approaching the summit, we passed through a small bamboo forest before reaching the top. Another wearing walk was again rewarded with spectacular views – the payoff of hiking in Ghana’s crazy heat is quickly realised when you reach these breezy summits. Lunch was a leisurely affair, brightened by the many butterflies that joined us.

After descending through fields of yams and maize, we reached the cars once more and headed for the Aylo's Bay Leisure Spot on the Volta River. The post-walk beer is a ritual for the Ghana Mountaineers, and few places are more scenic than this tranquil spot. We cooled off slowly – Mike even stripping off for a quick dip in the water – before reluctantly making our way back to Accra.

Mount Krobo

Five am is an early hour to get up for a walk. I was still bleary eyed as I wandered over to the small group standing outside Accra’s El Wak stadium; with an assortment of poles and rucksacks, they could only be the Ghana Mountaineers. Introductions were made and we set off for Mount Krobo, on the road from Accra to Akasombo.

Krobo is a granite inselberg that bursts out of the surrounding plains. It is sacred to the local Krobo people, having served as a hideout from Ashanti slave raiders in the 1700s and also from the British in1892. In typically ruthless style, the British forced them down by cutting of the water supply (the mountain is almost dry) and killed them when they came down. A cheerful story to kick off my walking in Ghana, I thought.

We parked at the foot of the mountain, from where a path led steeply up the through the rocks and tall grass of the northern slopes. After 15 minutes of steady going, we arrived at an outcrop. Kevin, the organiser of the club, said there were often baboons there. Not today, but the views across to lower Lake Volta more than compensated, the morning sun turning the overnight cloud into a haze.

Shortly afterwards we passed the site where the Krobo people had hidden all those years ago. Evidence of their stay can still be seen underneath a small rock overhang, including rock paintings, and smooth stones where people had ground flour.

Another push and we reached the summit at 07.30. Felix got the breakfast barbeque going and a small group of us went to explore a nearby outcrop. More fantastic views across the green Ghanaian plains that lie north of Accra, and I was particularly appreciative as this was the first time I had seen anything outside of the city.

Two bright orange sunbirds danced around in the branches beneath us as we climbed carefully down from our precarious viewpoint, and we returned to freshly cooked sausages (or the meat eaters did at least). We also went to check on the mango tree planted a year previously by a now-departed group member; it was still there, fighting its way through the thick grass.

The route down proved a little trickier. The mountain is not grazed regularly, and as it was the end of the rainy season, the grass was over 10 feet high. Despite Kevin’s enthusiastic machete-hacking, we took one or two wrong turns. The grass also proved something of a heat trap, blocking out the morning breeze; the reason for the early start became clear – it would be far worse in the midday sun.

Eventually we dropped out of the grassy maze into a small clearing with a collection of half-completed buildings. These are the remnants of a Peace Corps-led tourism enterprise that failed to take off. A man from Krobo village walked up and tried to charge us for walking on the mountain, but gave no explanation of who he was or why we should pay. Nice try. We declined and walked off to the strains of Twi cursing and headed off back towards the vehicles and, soon after, a thirst-quenching Star beer.

New home

After eight days of hotel life, we finally moved into our new flat. A last-minute change of plan meant we moved to the residential suburb of Dzorwulu (pronounced ‘jo-WU-lu’) rather than West Legon. Nearer the city and school, but still an unknown quantity.

The house and flat, hidden behind black iron gates, were dark as the school bus driver let us in. He sped off quickly, and we were alone in what would be our home for the next two years. The flat was big and looked nice, but felt strange and empty. Outside, it was very quiet, the streets deserted. The TV didn’t work. We didn’t have our radio. The silence was becoming increasingly oppressive as we sat together on the sofa, both feeling a bit lost and a long way from home.

Five minutes later came a knock at the door. Joanna, our new landlady, marched in and sat herself down. A big smile and she started chattering away and asking us about how we liked the flat. We were both relieved to have a visitor, and the conversation followed in a typically Ghanaian way, where our questions were half-answered each time.

“Is there a shop nearby?”
“I’ll take you shopping tomorrow, to the supermarket.”
“Ah, is it near here?”
“It’s much cheaper than the Mall, nearly three times the price there!”
“How does the washing machine work?”
“Charity, our housegirl will do your washing, no problem.”
“But just in case she is busy…”
“She can clean the flat too, just call her.”

Conversations take a bit longer, and you are never quite sure if you have found out what you needed to, but on our first night we were grateful for a talkative guest in our strange new surroundings.