Ants

Spillage

A new direction for the Ghana Mountaineers: northwest from Accra rather than northeast, along the rutted, quarter-built Accra–Kumasi road. Kevin had spotted two inviting-looking hills near Nsawam. The only problem was finding them.

The early-morning mist that hung low across the road was atmospheric but didn’t help with route finding. It was so dense that we missed Nsawam; a policeman guarding an overturned truck pointed us in the right direction. One U-turn later, we pulled up at a quarry cut into the foot of the larger of our two new hills.

Yasao

The mist was clearing as we gained height quickly. A cheerful family, pottering about their farm on route, told us the names of the hills: Yasao (the bigger one, 425m) and Mamidi (240m). Their path to their fields provided an easy route up, and the singing from village church services far below provided the usual Sunday-morning soundtrack. Even though it was a new hill, it felt very familiar.

Stephen and Nathan take a breather

The only thing missing was a summit view. The top was a building site, with a new farm building in the early stages of construction. Any views were blocked by trees – good for the environment, bad for photos. So after a brief pause we headed back down. But a quick up-and-down felt too abrupt for a proper walk, so we headed across and take on the second peak, Mamidi.

A wide variety of crops grew in the valley farms: tomatoes, yams, maize, plantains, papayas, even onions, which are usually imported to Ghana. After weaving through the fields, we reached the foot of the hill. It looked benign; much smaller than Yasao, with clear grassy slopes up. I estimated an hour up and down. I was wrong.

The tall grass disguised sections of steep, loose rocks, which made the climb up tricky. It took a while to reach an exposed outcrop just below the summit, where we paused for breakfast. The reward was the view that had been missing earlier, and two more hills behind Yasao were noted for our next trip out this way.

Mamidi

Continuing over the summit, the grass reached above head-height, so we followed our noses down the opposite side of the hill, trusting to luck and a basic sense of direction. A very thin path weaved through the grass – formed by a farmer? a grasscutter? – and headed in roughly the right direction. We followed into a gully that would surely lead us back to the start.

Tomatoes

It did – but not easily. The low-lying branches and rattan stalks made progress tricky, and every branch was swarming with ants. Not vicious biters, but their numbers meant they soon got everywhere – in hair, up shorts, down T-shirts. A five-metre, near-vertical rock face proved the final obstacle. As the ants nipped away at secret places, we headed down one by one, using a combination of sliding, root grabbing and swear words from several different languages.

Once safely down, it was one final push back through the farms to the cars. We passed two more farmers on the way. On our early morning walks, we often attract surprised looks from local people: what are they doing, hiking in this heat for fun? This time, the farmers looked even more bemused than usual. As we reached the car I looked round at the group – hot, grubby, sweaty and still brushing off ants – and concluded that, maybe this once, they had a point. But it was still fantastic fun.

Mist over Nsawam

Move

Our new flat is in East Legon, in northeast Accra. It’s the first, and probably last, time I will live in a city’s trendiest quarter.

You can tell it’s trendy because the taxi drivers ask Hannah and me for double the normal city fares – even on top of their standard obroni tax. We can usually haggle them down, but one or two have got very irate when they felt they hadn’t ripped us off sufficiently. Another refused to take us for less than 10 cedis (for what should be a 3-cedi journey), arguing, “I will then have to turn round to come back”. True, perhaps, but failing to grasp one of the key aspects of taxi driving.

Dzorwulu, our old quarter, was a suburb for wealthy Ghanaians, but East Legon is a suburb aimed at young middle-class Ghanaians and expats, who are spilling out here now the smartest districts, Airport Residential and Cantonments, are full. Flashy new restaurants line Lagos Avenue and Freetown Avenue, with many more being built. New houses and flats are also going up, their grey concrete skeletons springing up on every spare bit of land.

The lesser-spotted air-conditioning repair man

Our own flat is new. It’s bright, shiny, and suitably trendy for East Legon, with white leather sofas and a flat-screen TV. But pick away at the mahogany-finish, stuck-on surface and the cracks quickly appear. The list of faults is too long and dull to list, but is epitomised by the front door. Strong, sturdy and shiny … but put on back to front. So the lock is on the outside, and you have to put your shoulder to it to close it properly. A new one is being shipped from China (everything is imported from China). The other problems will be fixed tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow.

The back of our flat overlooks one of Accra’s few rivers. It’s not quite a Ghanaian equivalent of Wind in the Willows; you are more likely to see a chicken pecking about in the sludgy trickle than a water rat in a rowing boat. Unfortunately, like most waterways in the city, it’s used as a rubbish dump. And as there is nowhere else to dump it, where else should it go? Our security guards set fire to the pile when it gets too high.

The river does, though, provide a green and leafy view, with trees lining either side. As I approach middle age, I can justify keeping a bird watching book by my desk, which overlooks the river. And my new binoculars help to determine whether that flash of red and yellow is a Barbary shrike or a Shoprite carrier bag blowing in the wind.

Year two

Friends who have spent time living overseas say that the second year in a different country is easier. Your new home city is no longer a mystery; the weather and seasonal changes don’t catch you off guard; you have an existing circle of new friends and generally know what to expect.

And so it proved. Stepping off the plane at Kotoka International Airport, the tropical air smelt instantly familiar: warm and damp, with a faint tinge of burning plastic. Porters in bright yellow jackets sat stood about on the runway, smiling broadly and doing nothing.

In the terminal, every wall was plastered with adverts for phone networks, each with their own distinctive colours and boasting that their coverage is the cheapest, the best value, Ghana’s most popular, the most reliable – an instant reminder that in this country, the mobile is king.

At the immigration desks, the queues shuffled forward at a torturous pace, the young men behind the glass screens in absolutely no hurry as they mulled over each bit of paperwork. By contrast, it took less than five minutes back in Ghana to be asked for our first ‘dash’, or bribe; the lady organising the lines asked us if we wanted to join the now-empty delegates line, “for some small compensation”. We declined; it was a little too soon to resign ourselves to the fact that almost every task requires a backhander.

We passed the sign politely advising visiting “paedophiles and sexual deviants” to “take their business somewhere else”. A surprisingly quick trip through customs – the officials were too busy negotiating the ‘extra duty’ on other people’s goods to bother with us – and into the chaos of the arrivals hall.

A generic Ghana photo

Taxi drivers swarm around new arrivals, preying on their bewilderment to get overinflated fares. Prior knowledge proved useful this time; ignore all calls, hold on to your bags, and keep walking to the official taxi rank outside. (The one time we did get hooked by one of the hawkers, his engine caught fire less than three minutes from the airport). One ridiculous price later – there’s only so much you can haggle, despite experience – and we arrived at our newly built flat in East Legon.

None of the jobs that needed doing had been completed in the preceding six weeks. The door still stuck, the washing machine was still unconnected, the toilet seat broken. Eric, the caretaker, assured us they would all be done. “Soon, soon, I am just waiting on a few things.”

Akwaaba. Welcome back to Ghana.

One down...

One year into our Ghana adventure. And despite the power cuts, water shortages, traffic, open sewers, angry landlady, idiots at Vodaphone (etc.), it has been fantastic fun. Ghana is not Africa’s most spectacular country, but it is green, hilly, friendly, safe, developing fast and will prove a happy home for another year.

So on to next year. An election coming up, thrown into uncertainty with the recent death of Prof. Atta Mills. A move for us to East Legon, Accra’s up-and-coming trendy district (or so we are told). A planned trip to Ivory Coast, and hopefully a Burkina Faso–Benin–Togo road trip, logistics permitting. More walks with the Mountaineers and more nights out with our friends. And hopefully no more fufu.

Here are some highlights of our first year.

Elmina harbour

Elmina

This small town is not as famous as its neighbour, Cape Coast, but the fort was more interesting, and wandering around was more enjoyable. Small and colourfully formed.

Beer

In true expat style, many nights ended with a bottle of one of Ghana’s fine beers. Gulder is my favourite, followed by Star, and Club is drinkable too. All best served cold and three (large) bottles is the minimum.

The Volta region

Green, hilly and lots of walks. Need I say more?

Kakum National Park

Ghana’s premier attraction, at least in the south, and fully deserving of the accolade. We stayed overnight in the treehouse and were rewarded with the sight of watching monkeys feed from the canopy walkway.

+233 jazz club

+233

This is our favourite live music venue in Accra. It markets itself as ‘the place to hear Ghanaian jazz’, so it was a surprise to hear ‘Careless Whisper’ as the opening song on our first visit. But it’s a lively place, with musicians of all types from across West Africa. If you want to see a Burkinabe beat out a rhythm using a pair of spoons and some empty tins, this is the place.

Red red at Labadi beach

Food

Not Ghanaian food, obviously; nothing there for vegetarians to enjoy. But Accra has many good places to eat, a bright spot in a city without bundles of cultural highlights. Our favourites include the Tandoor for Indian, Bella Roma for Italian, and La Bouquet or Commodore for Lebanese. (I would write about Accra’s eateries, but this blog does it better.)

Marvels

This minigolf club was around the corner from our flat in Dzorwulu, and was our ‘local’ for the past year. I spent many hours watching football, using their wireless when mine had (once again) failed, and enjoying the waffles with ice cream. Mentioning that I’m a golf club member is also handy in certain expat circles.

Camping at VerandaMountain

A starry night, a full moon, potatoes in the fire, and bird watching in the morning. To be repeated.

The coast

A weekend at the coast is one of the best things about living in Accra. From Bojo Beach on the edge of Accra, to Fete, Butre, Akwidaa and Beyin, every place we have visited has had its unique charms. And there are many more places to explore next year. Hannah’s favourite: Fanta’s Folly for the food. My favourite: Green Turtle Lodge. Because it’s named after a turtle.

Sunset at Mole

Ghana Mountaineers

A breath of fresh air in Ghana, literally and metaphorically. A lively, friendly bunch who love walking up a hill and sinking a beer afterwards. Not sure about the obsession with 5am starts, though.

Mole National Park

It took a while to get there, but it was worth it. Seeing wild elephants from a few metres away was my highlight of our first year in Ghana.

Trees

We walked from here

We took a taxi from Beyin to Ankasa National Park, a large area of virgin evergreen rainforest right on the border with Ivory Coast. Tourism has yet to really take off here – certainly not on the scale on Kakum – and the road to the park took all our taxi driver’s skill, and at times good fortune to negotiate. He scratched his head continually as we skidded through the wheel-high mud, and went through the full reportoire of Ghanaian 'eh's, 'oh's and 'ah's. 

Ankasa

Ankasa is a biodiversity hotspot, particularly for its plant diversity. During our two-hour hike, Kofi, our guide pointed out different trees: Bako, a slow-growing species that feeds lots of animals; Kontan, the ‘arrogant tree’ whose vast buttresses take up lots of space. He also identified birdcalls as we walked along quietly: a yellow-billed turaco, pied hornbills and several others.

Me

The wildlife that lives in Ankasa, which includes forest elephants, is rarely seen. The park warns tourists of this at the gate, suggesting they use their ears, nose and hands to experience the forest. This, combined with its distance from Ghana’s major towns, means tourism is unlikely to expand any time soon.

And maybe that’s a good thing. The forest is well protected legally, and its biodiversity attracts plenty of international funding. The local communities all appreciate the forest’s role in supplying their water, so there is little encroachment or poaching. And as we drove away – the only visitors to have gone that week – the terrible road was reassuring. Another barrier that leave Ankasa and its inhabitants in peace and quiet.

Millipede

Stilts

Beyin

There’s something exciting about a border. Beyin, a scruffy village just a few miles from Ivory Coast, is similar to most of Ghana’s coastal settlements. But as we travelled to the country’s southwest corner, it felt more adventurous and exciting than our previous trips to the beach.

The tro-tro from Takoradi had taken four hours, along a red dirt road covered intermittently with sections of crumbling tarmac roads. Large signs promised new roads and more once the oil infrastructure starts to develop in the region. How many of these promises are realised remains to be seen, but for now the journey was typical of Ghana – cramped, bumpy and long.

Beyin beach resort

And so with dusty faces and dry throats, we arrived at Beyin Beach Resort. Friendly owners, comfortable wooden chalets, a pied kingfisher squeaking away … another entry on the list of Ghana’s fine eco-lodges. The cool weather of the rainy season meant the resort’s narrow beach was empty, but we hadn’t come to lounge about on the sand. Near to Beyin is Nzulezo, a village built on stilts and one of Ghana’s most popular and heavily promoted tourist attractions.

Swamp forest

Nzulezo lies a few kilometres from Beyin, out in the Amansuri wetland. The villagers are not fisherfolk, but farmers. Many of the villagers travel up to 8km a day by canoe to reach their farms on the northern side of the lake.  So why do they live in a wetland? The most popular theory of many that abound (no one seems to know for sure) is that their tribe was chased south during a war in the Ashanti region and, rather than keep fleeing, they opted for the perfect hiding place – the middle of the wetland.

Our guide met us at the departure point, near the flooded village football pitch. He gave me a paddle to help propel our dugout canoe along a channel that was recently dug out to connect Nzulezo with Beyin. Previously, people travelling to the market and children going to school – secondary pupils in Nzulezo travel to Beyin each day by canoe – had to walk some of the distance in the dry season, adding considerable time to their journey. The channel was built using the revenue from tourism – one of the many benefits the villagers have seen from their daily stream of visitors.

Mending fishing traps

 The canoe journey was wonderfully serene. We passed through tall reeds and small patches of overgrown swamp forest, before the channel opened out into the vast Amansuri Lake. Small birds flitted above the reeds, while others hid on the water, giving themselves away only by their occasional calls.

The school

Eventually we reached Nzulezo and, after tying up the canoe, climbed on to the wooden platforms and buildings that all rest on poles driven into the lake. And it immediately became clear that we weren’t really welcome. As our guide took us along the main central platform, all the adults of Nzulezo – whether eating, working or sitting with friends – ignored us. This was an unusual experience; everywhere else in Ghana, people will smile, wave and say hello to strangers especially white people, even when busy with daily tasks. But in Nzulezo, only the children were friendly, shouting, laughing and posing for photos.

Tourism must cause conflicting emotions in Nzulezo. It has brought considerable benefits; as well as construction of the channel, income from tourism has paid for two school classrooms and funds the salaries of the village’s three primary school teachers.

Nzulezo high street

And yet it is clear that the villagers are tired of the daily intrusion, an endless line of people traipsing through their village, photographing, staring, pointing. The tours are run sensitively – several signs instruct visitors to ask permission before photographing people – but there is no indication of whether everyone in Nzulezo has a say in how tourism is run, or if everyone benefits.

Fishing traps

After an awkward visit to the school – our schoolteacher guide stared over our shoulder, giving one-word answers to our few questions – we headed back to Beyin. The wetland was even captivating in the late afternoon. Villagers checked their woven fish traps, while children on their way back from school by canoe waved as they passed us. Women returning from market glided past, their jerry cans empty, meaning they had sold all the home brewed gin. Despite the daily disturbance from tourists, the people of Nzulezo should at least take comfort from the fact they have one of the world’s most scenic daily commutes.

Amansuri wetland

Baboons

A baboon

The Shai Hills Resort Hotel is just 500m from its namesake nature reserve and less than 70km from Accra. It is the ideal place for a weekend getaway, within easy reach for weary city dwellers looking to escape the capital. On the Saturday night of a bank holiday weekend, I rang ahead to book a room for Hannah, her friend Ariane and me. It proved to be an unnecessary precaution.

Even our taxi driver looked confused as we entered the deserted hotel grounds. Having reluctantly driven us all the way from Aburi – an hour away, in the breezy Akuapem Hills – he must have thought we were heading somewhere exciting, not this gloomy, run-down place. He pointed us towards the reception and quickly sped away.

Inside, a large woman was slumped behind the desk, her head resting on arms folded on the counter – a not atypical pose for Ghanaian staff. Our arrival failed to stir her, and she only looked up when I asked about our room.

“We don’t have any rooms for three people.”

“I rang earlier and reserved one.”

“We don’t have one.”

“Can you put a mattress in a room for two, please?”

Rising with the body language of a surly teenager, she showed us to a room, before returning to her desk, her silence daring us to disturb her again. Clearly one group of guests a night was one more than she liked.

The bar staff after their snooze

I headed off to find the bar, hoping a chilled beer might salvage what was shaping up to be an underwhelming evening. But the courtyard was empty, the flimsy plastic chairs stacked away against the tables. A dim light buzzing with flies indicated where the bar was, and I wandered over. In the only chair in use lay the waiter, snoring loudly while a cat dozed underneath him. I gave up and retired to the room to eat the mangoes we had bought earlier.

It’s hard to understand how a hotel with over 50 rooms and several staff (we found others eventually, hidden away and doing nothing), stays in business when so quiet. It’s a missed opportunity, as the Shai Hills are pleasant and most people in Accra need little encouragement to get away. A coat of paint and an injection of enthusiasm could quickly turn it into an appealing retreat. As it is, it is among the most unwelcoming hotels in Ghana.

***

Two baboons

After a peaceful night – one upside of staying in an empty hotel – we set off along the busy Accra–Akosombo road to the main gate of the Shai Hills Reserve. The gate area is often overrun by a large troop of baboons, and we saw them scampering along the road as we walked. Several sat around the gate as we entered, chewing on grass and acting like they were ignoring us, while actually keeping a careful eye on where we went.

We entered the small office, which had information about the various hikes and game drives on offer. While Hannah and Ariane selected, I went to a stall across the road to buy water and bananas. This time, the baboons took a much keener interest as I walked through the gate, having spotted the bananas in the small plastic bag. As we sat and ate, the younger ones came near, hoping for the chance to steal one. Stephen, our guide, shooed them away and we set off on our hike.

A monkey

The Shai Hills is a little underwhelming as a game reserve – few visitors see much other than the baboons and kob antelope – but it’s a lush, green landscape and we enjoyed our hike to a small outcrop near the reserve’s northern edge. Cloud kept off the worst of the midday heat and we scrambled up the steep rocks for a view of the surrounding plains and the hills I had climbed with the Ghana Mountaineers.

The Shai Hills

Descending from the rocks, our guide showed us a small cave where the baboons rest and play. The small boy in me simply couldn’t resist, and I slithered in to the cave. It smelled of baboons, and as I slid out the guide laughed and Hannah frowned at the state of my t-shirt. We wandered back slowly through the park, the kob watching us as we went, while I chatted to Stephen about his life as a guide.

Despite its modest attractions, our visit to the Shai Hills was an enjoyable and informative excursion. I learnt never to stay at the Shai Hills Resort; I learnt how little wildlife guides in Ghana earn (around 150 cedis, or £50); and, over the course of the next week, I learnt that playing around in baboons’ caves can give you an unholy case of the shits.