Forts

Egypt has pyramids and Kenya its wildlife, but Ghana’s best-known icons – the slave forts and castles along the coast – were places of misery and suffering. Not the easiest features with which to market your country.

Given this tricky selling point, tours of these historic buildings are done extremely well. At Cape Coast castle, the most famous slave fort, the visit starts in the museum. This has artefacts from the slave trade – chains, shackles, whips, that sort of thing – as well as interesting details about all the trading that occurred in the Gold Coast.

Europeans traded in guns and powder; they would leave their goods on a beach and return to their ships. At this point the local traders would leave an amount of gold or ivory on the beach, before heading back into the forest. The Europeans would then either accept the trade, or return again and wait for more gold and ivory to be added. This wordless bargaining continued until both sides were happy and would take away the goods.

Other displays detail the extent of the slave trade. The large maps demonstrate just how many countries were involved, but the role of different African tribes, who captured slaves and sold them (usually captives from inter-tribal wars), is also fully acknowledged. The Ashanti people don’t come out of this too well, although, as a Brit, colonial slave forts are not the best places to start pointing fingers.

It is during the tour of the castle’s rooms that the grim lives of the slaves are spelled out. Our guide described each room in an understated way, without any melodrama or sensation. But much of the tour makes for uneasy listening, with the little details often the most shocking. In the windowless punishment cell, he pointed out the scratches in the stone floor, made by prisoners going mad as they were slowly starved to death for the most trivial of disobediences. In the male slave holding room, he showed us a line about two feet up the wall; this marked the level of human excrement that had built up during its period of use, discovered as archaeologists dug out what they thought was the floor when excavating the cell.

Our guide at the Castle of St George in Elmina, which we visited the following day, had even more stories to tell. He described– four times in fact – how the courtyard by the female cells was built so that the governor, from his living quarters, could choose which women to take to his bed. He then showed us where the women were made to wash before entering, and even the steps they used up to the bedroom. Judging by the detail, this was his favourite bit of the tour.

More sobering was the Dutch church, built directly over the slave cells, from where both groups would have heard the other during services. And perhaps the most unsettling aspect of the tour was the two punishment cells near the main gate. The cell for soldiers, whose usual crime was coming in drunk, had windows for air. The cell next door had no windows; this was for slaves, who were locked in there to suffocate in the intense heat.

We made a quick tour to Fort St Jago in the centre of Elmina – worth the climb uphill for the opportunity to explore a castle without any guides or other tourists – before exploring one of Ghana’s most colourful coastal towns.

We stayed at the Bridge House Hotel, next to the harbour, and were woken at 5am to the sounds of fishermen preparing their nets, one man beating a rhythm on a bucket while the others sang and worked. This, along with a pungent smell of fish, provided our backdrop as we ate breakfast, accompanied with several lizards and geckos that fought for the bits of jam on toast we dropped.

Elmina’s main activities are fishing and harvesting salt from the nearby lagoon. Given its famous castle and prominence in Ghana’s coastal tourist circuit, it’s remarkable how little tourism has affected the village. It feels very different to beach resorts in Thailand or Goa, where towns seem set up solely for tourists; in Elmina, visitors are welcomed, catered for, and then largely ignored as people get on with their lives. And, as a result, Elmina is a much more interesting place to stay.

Veranda Mountain

Veranda Mountain, an inselberg lying east of the Shai Hills, is easy to find but hard to get to. We turned off from the Stone Lodge road and headed along one of the many tracks leading to isolated cattle stations. But as we got closer, we found our route blocked: by scrub along one route, impassable animal tracks along another, and finally by cattle themselves. 

It took several bouts of head scratching and even more U-turns before we found a way through. Michael and Priscilla’s skilful driving took us over a landscape of deep ruts and rocks I would never have considered crossing. Clearly growing up in southern Africa prepares you for these things in way that Wiltshire doesn’t. 

We parked, unloaded the cars and set off for the mountain. My fellow campers had described the walk up as easy going, so I had been liberal in my packing. A bottle of South African wine, a bird-watching book and novel, spare water, jellybeans, some spare food, and even sandals for the evening. It all seemed a good idea back in Accra – nothing like a few treats while out under canvas. But while Veranda Mountain is not high, it certainly is steep. And we had set off in the mid-afternoon heat.

And it's covered in dense scrub. We had discussed what kit to bring during a pre-trip drink at Roby’s Dutch pub, but not got around to deciding who would bring what. So while three of us lugged up potatoes for the campfire, no one had brought a machete to cut through the thorny branches. Slowly we picked our way, trying to find the path of least resistance. 

I can’t have been the only one wondering if it was worth the effort as we staggered to a steep rocky step near the summit, covered with treacherous dried grass. My thoughts took an unsavoury turn, contemplating whether to share the wine weighing down my rucksack or hide it in my tent until everyone was asleep. Michael’s moral dilemma must have been harder still, as he lugged up a backbreaking cool bag packed with meat for the fire.

But all negativity soon slipped away as we reached the mountain's eponymous 'veranda'. There can be few better camping spots in Ghana; a platform of flat rocks with ample room for tents, fires and sleeping bags, set off by spectacular views across to Lake Volta and the nearby hills. 

We set up camp and got the fire burning as a storm rolled in from the north. It passed between us the lake, providing a spectacular backdrop as we started grilling the assorted goods: Boerwurst, tilapia, spuds and veg, barbecued ribs, and plenty of marshmallows for the younger campers. At least the packs would be lighter on the way down.

I woke early the next morning and headed to a small clearing on the summit, just behind our campsite. The scrubby slopes below were already busy, with several White-throated Bee-eaters flitting about almost close enough to touch, and many other calls came from the scrub below, including the high-pitched call of the Black Kites high overhead. The grunt of a lone baboon also drifted over, but I couldn’t spot him. As the sun rose, Andrew’s binoculars helped us to spot Grey Hornbills, Senegal Long-tailed Parakeets and a pair of Red-headed Lovebirds. 

Further below, the residents of the cattle stations started on the long walk to church in brightly coloured dresses and shirts. The cattle made their way to the watering hole for a drink, before being herded out to the tinder-dry plains to search for nourishment. It was a vivid picture of rural Ghanaian life, and our mountainside perch was the perfect place from which to enjoy it.

Makola

Mounds of luminous trotters, pinker than a pig has ever been. Huge sheets of sea sponge being chopped into strips. Barbequed rats, piles of beans and spices, mops, live crabs, kente fabrics, washing machines, cheap plastic toys, chillies … the crowded lanes of Makola market contain everything and anything you might need, plus plenty you never will. Forget Accra Mall; this is where the city comes to shop.

The smells are less varied; the vast mounds of cooked fish win that battle fins down. They are smoked to within an inch of becoming charcoal, then stacked up and sold to flavour soups and stews. Their pungency fills the covered food section of the market.

Makola market sprawls over what roughly counts as the city centre, covering a huge area. Traders spill from its concrete hub into mazes of wooden sheds and even into the road in places, where irritable taxi drivers weave past women selling washing powder from huge metal bowls balanced on their heads. It’s as much a cash and carry, as most people are here to buy in bulk, taking advantage of the cheap prices to sell goods on at a profit elsewhere in Accra.

Ruth, Sarah and I wandered around the stalls, trying to avoid treading on the gangs of small children chasing each other beneath their mothers’ stalls (almost all sellers are women). The girls bought onions and spices, while I tried to take photos. Not so easy; people are reluctant even to have their stalls snapped, and I was often shooed away.

Pausing for a drink in the market café, I asked the man who shared our table why this was. “It is their place of work, not a tourist attractions. Would you like us to photograph you at work?” came the reply. It’s a fair point; people are too busy working to mess about with obronis trying to photograph their tomatoes because they like the shade of red.

The fabric quarter was quiet compared to the food market, and we browsed the stalls at a leisurely pace. Sarah, a kente addict, bought cloth to be made into dresses and I brought some trouser material that I was sure Hannah would veto later (she did). Satisfied with both our purchases and for surviving the chaos, we hailed taxis and sped away from Makola, our driver nearly colliding with a stack of watermelons piled up in the road as we went.

Butre

Early on Saturday morning, Sarah knocked at on door of our bungalow at Fanta’s Folly. Her justification for the disturbance was short and to the point: “They’ve got a turtle!”

During the night, villagers from Butre had found an Olive Ridley turtle on the beach and brought it to the lodge. As part of a turtle conservation scheme on Butre beach, the owners of Fanta’s Folly and two other lodges pay local people 30 cedis for any turtles they find, as an incentive not to eat them.

As we hurried down to the beach, Sarah explained they were keeping the creature for us to see. And there she was, turned on to her back to prevent her from escaping. I felt a pang of guilt, partly that they had kept her in that position just so I could see her, and partly because I was glad they had done so. Once flipped upright, she waddled awkwardly down the sand and as soon as she reached the water she swam gracefully away, disappearing from view with the first wave.

Unfortunately the people who found her had brought her to the lodge before she had laid her eggs. It would be easy to criticise this fledgling conservation scheme; eagerness to get a reward prevents several turtles from nesting, and nests are dug up and relocated to the lodge (to stop people collecting the eggs).

But the alternative would be worse, as turtles and their eggs are considered a good meal in Ghana. Over time, local people are learning how to treat the animals and perhaps one day the eggs can also be left. The success of the similar scheme at Akwidaa shows that progress happens quickly when well managed. The Olive Ridley we saw will probably return in a couple of days to nest, and hopefully next time she won’t be spotted.

The turtle proved to be the main activity on the first day at Fanta’s Folly, a resort near Asemkow that is fully geared to relaxation. No music, no traffic, no healthy activities, just the sound of the waves and delicious French-Nigerian food prepared by the owners. A flock of black-rumped waxbills pecking for seeds was about as crazy as the morning got as we made the most of our new hammock.

But on Sunday afternoon the sound of singing in Fante drifted over from along the beach. The villagers of Butre were helping to bring in the catch from the nets set out early that morning. Once hauled in, the myriad species flapped their last breaths in the bulging net – barracuda, snapper, lobster, skate, dory and jellyfish were among the ones I recognised. Enough for a live action version of ‘Finding Nemo’, or at least a tasty chowder.

As the men carried the nets back to Butre, the women shared out the catch. Agnes, a lady living in Butre explained that she and many others had moved to the coast from the Volta region, as the livelihood from fishing better than from farming. Clearly the incomers have settled well; she spoke Fante and the whole community seemed involved in the activity, with everyone getting their reward.

As the fish were being shared out, Robert bought five barracudas for 26 cedi – the price of two in Accra – and other tourists also went away with the freshest fish they are likely to ever buy. Children sat with buckets, squabbling for the tiniest specimens that were discarded into the sand (they were used for games rather than for eating), while vultures, crows and hawks watched from a safe distance, ready to clean up once the humans had left. A brief burst of activity in one of Ghana’s sleepiest resorts.

Akwidaa

The Green Turtle Lodge on Akwidaa beach have read the ecotourism manual and ticked all the boxes. Sustainable buildings? Check – recycled materials, local designs, even compost toilets. Sustainable energy? Check – all solar-powered. Locally sourced food? Check. Local employment? Check. Conservation? Well, the name tells you everything.

They have even managed to keep the journey authentically rustic. The lodge lies several miles along what is a strong contender for the ‘worst road in Ghana’ title. Rutted doesn’t come close; at times our taxi was picking its way over medium-sized boulders scattered over a 45^o slope. This would act as a barrier to many businesses, but the Green Turtle’s reputation ensures that the guests – mostly backpackers and volunteers – flock here year-round.

Hannah and I made the journey from Accra via Takoradi to enjoy a pre-Christmas break. Upon arrival, we saw why people loved it – a palm tree-lined beach stretching for miles in either direction, with the lodges hidden back in the trees as well as a bar made from an old ship. Four days was not going to be long enough.

The lodge runs one of the growing number of turtle conservation projects along the coast, and we booked to go on a turtle hike on the first evening. Along with several other visitors, all young enough to remind me it was 10 years since my volunteering days in Kefalonia, we set off along the sand. Five species of turtle nest in Ghana – green, loggerhead, olive ridley, leatherback and hawksbill – but they were all hiding that night. The walk was still enjoyable though, with phosphorescence sparkling in the waves under the bright full moon.

Life at the Green Turtle ambles by easily in a lazy haze of books, swims and delicious meals – a selection of different dishes are made each day. But by the third morning, we needed something active and booked a canoe trip along the river behind Akwidaa village.

Fufu, the Green Turtle’s dog, led us to the village where we met Ben, a local student who leads boat trips to save money so he can finish school. I was surprised when he started towing out a rotten old canoe that I’d assumed had been dumped there. This turned into to mild alarm when he fetched a small bowl. “To bail out the water”, he cheerfully explained.

The first stretch of river passed me by, as I made doubly sure that I could remove the water faster than it entered, whilst not removing the tiny hermit crab that was wandering around the boat to avoid the scoops.

Once satisfied, I relaxed and started to enjoy the mangrove forests. Ben’s keen eyes picked out cormorants, hornbills, kingfishers, toucans, and even two salamanders that slipped silently into the water. It was easy to imagine that there were plenty more species out there, hidden from view by the thick foliage.

As we entered a narrow side channel, we spotted hundreds of the red and black crabs that live in the mangroves. “Delicious”, remarked Ben, briefly forgetting his role as a wildlife guide. Still, it looked like there were plenty to go around.

We passed fishing villages on the way back, the residents waving as they cast out their nets from the bank. Ben dropped us back at Akwidaa and we walked back along the beach to the Green Turtle Lodge, content in the knowledge that all we had left to do for two days was sleep, eat and drink.

Bojo

One downside of living in Accra is the lack of open space: few parks or gardens for pottering, and the seafront is either built up or used as a rubbish dump. In contrast, one of the best things about the city is that a short drive from the centre, you can be on a tropical beach.

Labadi is the most popular city beach but this is essentially a sandy nightclub, more geared to drinking and dancing than a lazy day. A much better option is Bojo Beach on the western edge of Accra.

This thin strip of sand sits across an estuary and boats ferry visitors across the water. It looks shallow enough for wading across, but the people who live nearby use boats; it’s always good to follow the local example.

There is a 6 cedi entrance fee to this private beach but it’s a fair price to pay if they manage to keep it unspoilt. The beach was near-deserted, remarkable even for a Sunday morning when most people are at church: a city of 3 million people, and less than 30 of them were at the beach.

Small wooden shelters were dotted along the sand and a waiter quickly found us “the best one”, carried our bags across, then came back to take our drinks order. Good service by Ghanaian standards.

And so began a typical beach day: order beer; drink beer; order food; explain that ‘veggie’ means no fish, not even in the sauce; read book; head for a swim; realise after two minutes that Ghana’s sea is a fickle beast that will quickly toss you about like an unloved toy; rush out; restart cycle with the next bottle of beer.

As the sun set, we piled back on to the passenger boat across to where our taxi driver was waiting. The boat was busier than when we had arrived, the beach filling up during the day, but it had not lost its peaceful charm. In a country with an increasingly well-marked tourist trail, Bojo still counts as a hidden gem.

Kpala Island

The Island of Hope Christian Academy is on Kpala Island, a small patch of land that stayed above water when Lake Volta was flooded in 1965. Ghana International School (GIS) has a partnership with the school, providing support to the teachers as well as funds and resources, and GIS staff visit each year. Always up for a free trip, I gladly tagged along.

The bus journey began in typical Ghanaian style. A prayer for our journey, then a long delay while we picked some people up at the mall, followed by breakfast and singing on the bus. The drive out to the Volta region is my favourite in Ghana (so far) so I happily sat back and watched the now-familiar villages fly past.

The real hubbub began at Kpandu, one of the main ports on the Volta’s eastern shore. The market was in full swing as we unloaded the bus with the provisions brought for the school. I climbed onto the bus roof under the pretence of helping, but actually to get a better view of the chaos below. Particularly eye-catching were the four cows neatly arranged in the back of a van, looking like to solution to a mid puzzle. On a nearby rooftop, vultures watched the action below, waiting for some fish or meat to be dropped.

Boat loaded, we were soon sailing across the calm waters of Lake Volta. We passed tiny inhabited islands on the way, little more than a few rocks; pre-1965 these were the region’s high points, now they stood out as the last refuges in the water. The fishers who lived there waved as we went past; the constant traffic across the lake means they are unlikely to feel too isolated.

The school children greeted us at Kpala Island and solemnly carried the boxes to shore on their heads. We were then given a guided tour of the school. The basic nature of the classrooms was a stark contrast to the modernity of GIS.

The teachers showing us round then led us to the school's pride and joy: a roundabout in the playground. This is not just something to keep the kids amused; it is the school’s generator, powering their new ITC centre as well as houses in the village. Just two hours of use a day is enough to power the school, and the children need little encouragement to hop on. It's an ingenious example of clean energy and hopefully will be replicated across Ghana.

After a singing and dancing presentation from the school, we ate lunch – tilapia of course, fresh from the lake that morning – before returning across the lake to Kpandu. Rarely has helping out on a school trip been so enjoyable.