Ghana

Two years goes quickly. It feels like only yesterday that Hannah and I landed at Kotoka airport in Accra, late in the night, wondering what life in Ghana would be like.

It wasn’t yesterday, of course; yesterday I was sipping a coffee in a trendy Berlin café, just around the corner from our new flat. The summer air was crisp compared to

Accra’s humid cloak; the pavement consisted of neatly arranged slabs, rather than an open sewer; the waitress came straight over to serve me, without having to be prodded awake first.

And yet I was missing Ghana. Berlin seems too calm, too organised. I miss the chaos: hawkers coming up to sell bead necklaces and phone credit; goats eating plastic bags and chickens pecking for seeds; the constant sounds of car horns and music; children playing in the streets; everyone smiling, whatever they’re doing.

Ghana was a wonderful home for two years. We visited a lot of the country – the geography geek in me was pleased that we spent time in all ten of Ghana’s regions – and were rewarded with some truly memorable experiences.

One highlight was Mole National Park, which compensates for its lack of big cats or migrating herds by getting visitors up close to its elephants. If you’ve never watched elephants mix up a mud bath before coating skin or playing together in a water hole, or had one look you directly in the eye from just a few metres away, then it’s worth visiting Ghana for this alone.

The bird walk and afternoon game drives were also rewarding. Our guides always managed to spot something special: a roan antelope through the dense bush or a colourful fruit pigeon hidden in the higher branches. Mole has plans to develop a luxury lodge, and the road from Tamale is being improved. Hopefully the park will maintain its understated charm despite these new developments.

Ghana’s main attraction is its tropical beaches. We explored much of the coast, from Beyin near the Cote D’Ivoire border to Keta Lagoon in the southeast. My favourite place was Green Turtle Lodge, a backpacker resort near Akwidaa – the perfect place to lie back in a hammock, drink beer with other travellers and wish you had thought of writing ‘The Beach’ first. Hannah’s pick was the more upmarket Fanta’s Folly near Butre, where the eponymous Nigerian owner serves delicious food flavoured with herbs picked from her husband’s garden. We also saw our one and only turtle in Ghana here. Closer to Accra, Till’s No.1 resort provided a quick weekend getaway from city life.

One of my motivations for moving to Ghana was to see the lesser-known parts of a country, something not always possible with shorter visits. The main outlet for this was the Ghana Mountaineers, a group of like-minded hikers gathered from across the world in Accra. We climbed Ghana's highest peak; we camped out under a full moon on Verandah Mountain; we completed Ghana’s own three peaks, Krobo, Iogaga and Osoduku; and we beat our own tracks through the hills of the Volta Region and beyond, literally in places: while many people visit Boti Falls, very few hack their way up the river to do it, battling snakes (OK, one sleeping snake), storms and the jungle on the route. Ghana has huge potential as a hiking destination; nothing too high or challenging, but fantastic views and a good infrastructure to get around easily.

If Ghana is easy to fall for, Accra takes a little longer to love. It’s a fast-developing city, with high-rise buildings going up on every spare corner of land, clearing the last few green spaces and trees as they go. Half-built concrete shells dominate the city’s skyline and as flats, hotels, offices and shopping malls come to life. Many of these changed little in two years, as the developers’ money runs out or they become mired in land disputes. Painted warnings claiming ‘land not for sale’ are a common sight, and anyone passing through Cantoments will see the red warnings on land: ‘Property of E.B. Tibboh – keep off’, although he never seemed to actually build anything.

Next to our flat in East Legon, an entire block of flats was constructed from scratch during our stay. As the bright orange outer panels coloured our neighbourhood and the vast satellite dishes were screwed on, the family living across the road sold simple meals of fufu and sauce to workers from the nearby repair yard and farms from their ramshackle wooden hut. The children, who worked there late into the night, sold me beer and tomato puree, insisting that I returned the bottles so they could get their deposits back. Every few pesawas counts for Accra’s poorer residents. And their simple business was a step up from those found in the poorest quarters, such as Jamestown.

Life in Accra had its moments, though. We enjoyed some fantastic food (none of it Ghanaian) in the capital’s many restaurants; I played football with former Ghana internationals at the British High Commission, and we watched the local derby, Hearts of Oak v Asante Kotoka, in the impressive national stadium; Hannah taught a former president’s grandson at Ghana International School; and on an unforgettable night at +233 jazz club, we joined our Canadian friends Andrew and Christie as part of a mass dance routine without being laughed off the floor by the more supple and rhythmic locals.

We also experienced an African election. After the build up, which saw the unexpected and widely mourned death of the president John Atta Mills, I had anticipated … what? Street riots? Tribal warfare? Perceptions of African democracy are probably tainted by those that make the news in the UK. But in the event, it was extremely quiet and democratic; there was more tension in the city during the two African Cup of Nations, in both of which Ghana made the semis. And lost.

There are many more memories: the primary school on Kpala island in Lake Volta powered by the playground roundabout; visiting the rice farmers in the Volta Region and hearing about the complexities of land acquisitions; experiencing the shrines and rituals of northern Ghana. Two years was long enough to enjoy the good things about the country, and we are leaving before the typically insignificant and indulgent expat frustrations – power cuts, heat stroke, traffic, bewilderment about the Ghanaian way of doing things –led to an even more unhealthy amount of Gulder beer being consumed.  

Hannah and I are both certain that we will return to Ghana, to visit friends, return to Mole and laze on the beach. But for now, as with half of the dishes listed on any Ghanaian menu … please, it is finished.

Afadjato

Mount Afadjato. Not that huge.

Mount Afadjato is Ghana’s highest mountain, reaching 885m. But the usual nicknames given to a country’s highest point are not applied here; no one describes it as ‘the rooftop of Ghana’, for example. And as you arrive at the base at Liati Wote, it’s easy to see why: Ghana’s highest mountain is surrounded by taller ones.

On the way to the top

Even the nearest peak, just across the road in the village, looks bigger. As our group from the Ghana Mountaineers pulled on walking boots and paid our hiking fees, I asked Justice, our guide, if the nearby hill was actually in Togo, given how close we were to the border. “No, but it’s much harder to reach the top”, he replied. It seems Afadjato is not even the tallest in its village; its image was quickly becoming irredeemably tarnished.

A signpost

The answer lies in the complexities of measuring summits and descents in between high points, a familiar issue to anyone who has tried to distinguish between Munros, Corbetts and Grahams in the UK. On the route up, Justice explained that the higher peaks nearby form part of a ridge that switches between Ghana­ and Togo. So while there are higher points in Ghana, Afadjato is the highest freestanding peak.

Hot, sweaty and having just been sick

I think that’s right; Justice wasn’t entirely sure, and didn’t really seem to understand why it mattered. He had a point; a good walk is a good walk, and Afadjato is certainly that. A steep path leads up its western face, with a couple of rocky climbs that provide a nod towards its ‘mountain’ status. And the views at the summit are superb: the Agumatsa Hills, coated by a dark green forest, stretch for miles to the north and south.

Also visible from the top is Tagbo Falls and after descending the hill, we continued along the low-level path to this beautiful waterfall set in a lush forested amphitheatre. The walk up Afadjato had worked up a sweat and Stephen, Quaysie and I splashed under the water to cool off. Once refreshed, we could reflect on our earlier achievement – climbing the highest hill in Ghana that’s not partly in Togo or a bit tricky to get to. Now that’s some achievement.

Tagbo Falls

Lagoon

Tudu station

A long journey by tro-tro – the clunky minibuses that serve as Ghana’s bus network – can be viewed in two ways. It can be a window into typical Ghanaian life: the chatter among the passengers; the sights along the way, such as the hawkers that crowd the windows at every stop; or the radio programmes, which could be anything from vibrant highlife music to a phone-in testing Bible knowledge.

Or it can be a complete pain in the arse. Literally; the cushions on most seats lost any sense of padding years ago. Our trip to Keta Lagoon started firmly in the latter camp. Forty-five minutes through Accra’s horrendous traffic to Tudu bus station; an hour waiting for the tro-tro to fill up; then another trip back across the city. Sweaty, cramped and irritable, we passed our flat on the outskirts of Accra nearly three hours after leaving it.

Guinea pigs

Ultimately, the pay-off in these journeys lies in the destination. And Meet Me There ecolodge, near Keta Lagoon in Ghana’s southeast corner, made the stiff backs worthwhile. The lodge’s main attraction is its small saltwater lagoon for swimming, and the menagerie in the grounds: guinea pigs, rock pythons, two dwarf crocodiles and several dogs, including three very playful puppies. The resident goats had given birth that day, and their kid stumbled about while they carried on eating. Bright red fire finches and seedcrackers competed for the seeds in the sand. I even had a crab nip my little toe, something I didn’t think happened outside of Beano cartoons.

A West African dwarf crocodile

The only sad note was the vervet monkey, which is kept chained up in the corner. The future for this creature, and all the other animals, should be release in a nature reserve, which the owners are trying to create nearby. This is, naturally, taking a long time to negotiate with local people and landowners. Hopefully for the monkey’s sake, it won’t take much longer.

*****

After spending most of Saturday lazing by the lagoon and playing with the puppies, Hannah and I decided to explore the local area that afternoon. I had an urge to see the Volta Estuary; it must be something to do with studying geography.

We caught a tro-tro for the (mercifully short) distance to Atetite, a small town by the river. As we stood, wondering which way to head, a man came over and introduced himself as Prospect – many Ghanaians have wonderfully descriptive names like this; maybe it’s where the Spice Girls got the idea. Having just finished his shift as a taxi driver, Prospect offered to show us around.

Atetite beach

The next two hours were probably the best tour we have had in Ghana. Prospect showed us the stunning beach by the estuary, an expanse of bright white sand completely devoid of litter, beach huts, anything except a few fishermen. Just behind the beach was a series of small lagoons, similar to the one at Meet Me There and dotted with wading birds and lined with palm trees. We wandered slowly, soaking up the serenity of this unspoilt corner of Ghana.

It’s perhaps surprising that the beach is so unspoilt, but two factors preserve its underdeveloped nature. The region hard to reach, being several miles off the Keta loop road, which itself lies some distance of the Accra–Togo road.

The other factor is the severe coastal erosion in this part of Ghana. The thin strip of land that separates the vast Keta Lagoon from the sea is being rapidly eaten away and is threatened by sea level rise, despite the efforts to reinforce the land. Maybe that is also deterring investors. But, for now at least, it is one of Ghana’s finest coastal destinations.

Smoking fish

After leaving the beach, Prospect introduced us to the people in his village and the nearby farms. A group of women showed us how they smoke the small fish caught nearby, and children ran out of their huts, smilingly demanding to be photographed. This informal tour was a stark contrast to the organised tour to Nzulezo; there, the daily stream of tourists has understandably made people resentful of people poking around their homes, or indifferent at least. In Atetite, every person we met waved, smiled or stopped to shake hands.

Only on our tro-tro journey back to Meet Me There did we find someone not pleased to see us. A small baby, wrapped tightly to her mother’s back, took one glimpse at my white face and started howling, a petrified look in her eyes. The wailing got louder, much to the amusement of the other passengers. “She doesn’t like you because you are white”, explained an old man, laughing racistly and smelling strongly of palm wine. But given the warmth of our welcome elsewhere, it was hard to feel too offended.

In Atetite

Rice

Compared to its neighbours, Ghana gets good press. It’s widely praised for its solid economic growth, stable democracy and rapidly developing infrastructure. As Barack Obama said on his recent visit, ‘Ghana continues to be a good-news story’.

Rice

Living in the capital, and sticking mainly to the well-polished tourist trails, it’s easy to get an overwhelmingly positive view of this friendly country. But delve a little deeper and the familiar African themes of poverty, injustice and inequality persist.

Land acquisitions in Africa have rightly attracted considerable controversy. In many countries, land is taken away from local people and sold or leased to investors from rich countries who speculate on it on global markets; or to foreign companies who use African land to grow food for their own populations, or even biofuels for their cars.

Prairie Volta Rice Ltd.

I travelled to Mafi Dove district, on the south side of the Volta River, to research an article about a large land acquisition project for rice production. Quaysie, a friend who comes from the Volta region, offered to drive and translate from Ewe, the local language.

Prairie Volta Rice Ltd, the US-backed company behind the project, leases around 3,000 hectares near the river, which is used to irrigate the rice. But I had read that the crop is not for exporting; rather, it is for sale on the local market, in an effort to reduce the country’s massive dependence on imports (which cost around $450million a year). This sounds more positive than schemes; I tried to keep an open mind as we arrived at their office and processing plant in Aveyime.

Richard, the manager showed us around and openly talked about the controversial start to the project. The company rents the land from the Ghanaian government, who ‘acquired’ the land in the 1970s without paying local landowners any compensation – still a source of much anger in the villages surrounding the rice farm.

The company’s position is that compensation is not their responsibility; Richard was keen to talk instead about how they were donating computers and equipment to nearby schools and hospitals. And how they were employing local people and providing farming machinery for local use at reduced rates. Maybe this land scheme was being done differently; it was hard not to be impressed.

Quaysie with the rice farmers

Until we met the rice farmers who work for the company: they told a very different story. No pay for two months. No fuel to power the shiny tractors that stood idle in the fields. I asked them about the donations made to local schools and hospitals: “That is a lie. It is not happening.”

They suggested we went to meet the land-owning villagers, so we drove along the dirt road to the village of Bakpa-Kebenu. As we pulled up, I was surprised to see the villagers all sat in a circle on plastic chairs. 

“Do they always sit about like this?” I asked Quaysie.

“No, the farmers called ahead that we were coming,” he replied. “They have called a village meeting.”

Mobile phones really do reach every corner of the continent; I blushed at my patronising ignorance.

Village meeting

With Quaysie translating, the village chief told me the catalogue of woes his people have endured. There has been government corruption – only those who voted for the incumbent party got compensation for their land; the rest got nothing. Many subsistence farmers from his village have had their crops damaged by the chemicals the company sprays by plane on the rice fields. And they have little way of fighting back. “When the government is involved, who do we complain to?”

 

We spent half an hour in the village, listening to their stories and the way they had been treated. The circle of faces all focused on me, unsmiling, almost accusing. And as I got up to say goodbye, the chief asked: what would I do to help? I apologetically promised to deliver copies of the magazine when the article was published, knowing it would have little if any impact.

But as we left, the stern expressions gave way instantly to warm smiles, waves and an insistence on photos with the chief and the elders. Despite the hardships faced and my nosing about, looking for a story rather than a way to help, the people were as friendly as Ghanaians always are to strangers.

Meeting the chief

Having chased some stray chickens out from under the car, we set off along the road once more. We passed the rice farmers again, still sat with nothing to do. Alongside them sat the armed soldier who spends each day with there, chatting and smoking. He’s there to make sure no one steals the rice from the fields – a clear example of the warped priorities of the rice company. As one of the farmers said: “They pay him to guard the rice; why can’t they just pay us for our land?”

Dam

Akosombo Dam

The Akosombo Dam is Ghana’s equivalent of Big Ben. The country’s signature monument, a world-famous sight that every visitor wants to see. And when you get there, you look at it, take a photo, and … well, that’s about it.

You can’t walk on the Akosombo Dam without prior arrangement with the owners (and ‘prior arrangement’ is a loosely understood concept in Ghana). You can’t even get that close – the best viewing point is the balcony of the Volta Hotel, several hundred metres away.

And again

And yet, like Big Ben, it is still worth the effort to see it – to marvel at its size and wonder whether it really is just the pile of rocks and mud it appears to be. There’s no information boards, no museum and no guide, so these questions remain unanswered until you can get home and google them.

The region has other plus points as well, making a trip out here worthwhile. Chief among them is the Aylos Bay Hotel, perched on the bank of the Akosombo River. Hannah and I, with Manu and Flo, visiting friends from Germany, had arrived the night before after a hellish tro-tro journey from Kpando – thunderstorms, potholes, darkness and a maniacal driver are not a good mix. 

Atimpoku Bridge

The hotel’s lazy charms were the perfect remedy after such a journey. The highlight is the riverside dining area, especially the pontoons that float on the river. You cannot see the dam from here, but the impressive bridge at Atimpoku is visible. 

We immediately made our way there and our nerves were soon restored as we sank beers and enjoyed the good quality Ghanaian food (the best palaver sauce I have had here). It takes time to arrive – service here is as slow as most places – but for once the lethargy is in keeping with the surroundings.

Aylos Bay

Two bats called to each other in a tree nearby, a high-pitched squeak they repeated for two hours. The only other sounds were the oars of the occasional pirogue splashing into the water, and of course frogs and cicadas – the soundtrack to any night in Ghana. Certainly no interruptions from the staff; when I walked up to the bar to order more drinks, they had long since gone and the bar was closed.

 

Our visit to Akosombo could be summarised as an attraction you can’t visit, and a hotel with staff who would rather you didn’t bother them. It would be mean-spirited to conclude it was a typical Ghanaian experience. It would also miss the point; Ghana does understated better than anywhere, and in places as peaceful as Aylos Bay, that’s no bad thing at all. The dam was merely the cherry on a very sleepy cake.

Brunch

Cockerels

Cockerel

There’s no need for an alarm clock in Wli. The local cockerels provide a free wake-up call, competing to see how can screech the loudest. The problem is you can’t set them for a particular time. And so, I was roused at 4.30am – more than an hour before the scheduled start of our walk to Wli’s upper waterfall.

Wli waterfalls, a combination of two falls that together form the highest in West Africa, is one of the Volta Region’s most popular attractions. The usual approach is along the floor to the lower falls, but James and I had signed up for the route along a mountain ridge to the upper falls.

Looking across the valley

We met Samuel, our guide, at the Wli tourist office at 6.00am. Wli village was already busy; women and girls swept the yards, while a local bar already had music playing. And the souvenir sellers who line the path to the falls were already setting up their stalls, ready for the earliest arrivals. Clearly the cockerels do a thorough round of the village.

Samuel, with Mt Afadjato behind

We enjoyed the cool morning air as we climbed steadily, following the steep southern shoulder of the bowl that contains the falls. After 45 minutes we paused above a sheer rock face. As we sat, a West African River Eagle swooped past. It nearly dropped the branch in its beak, before performing a clumsy mid-air juggling act and gliding off nonchalantly, pretending nothing had happened.

As we followed its flight round to the cliff face where its nest no doubt lay, our gaze was drawn to Mount Afadjato to the south. This is Ghana’s highest mountain, if only by a few metres, but it looked suitably imposing for the title, rising up from the early-morning haze that hid the villages below.

A short climb further and we reached the forest that covers the top of the hillside. Hidden in the grass lay planks of wood, clearly cut by a mechanical saw.

Wli Upper Falls

‘Togolese’, said Samuel. ‘They come up here to steal wood and smuggle it across the border.’

‘But why don’t they cut wood in Togo’ enquired James.

‘And why do they cut wood in the forests right at the top of the hill, not lower down?’ I asked.

‘And do they really drag a mechanical saw all the way up here?’

‘Yes, Togolese’ repeated Samuel, emphatically. Discussion over. And neither of us could come up with a better explanation as to how they got there.

From the contraband wood, the path headed steeply into the chamber. Tree roots and vines provided vital handholds during the precarious descent, and the brief glimpses of the upper falls provided little distraction from the task at hand. After a final, vertical slide through mud, rock and bush, we finally reached level ground again and continued quickly to the falls.

James

The water cascaded from high overhead, dispersing into spray before it reached the plunge pool. The spray soaked us in seconds, providing instant refreshment in the morning heat. On the opposite side of the falls was a path leading uphill. ‘The path to Togo’, said Samuel solemnly. No doubt used by those pesky wood smugglers.

"Numerous bats"

After admiring the falls, we headed quickly downhill to reach the main footpath. After passing the colony of bats that live near the falls – modestly promoted in the region as Wli’s “numerous bats” – we returned to the comfort of Wli Water Heights Hotel to shower, shower again, and then eat.

From the hotel’s courtyard, you can just see the waterfall, as well as the many other hills that crowd this beautiful corner of Ghana. And so we settled in for an afternoon of the scenery it from a distance while the hotel’s friendly waiter brought a steady supply of well-earned beers. It had been an early start thanks to the cockerels, but at least Wli is suitably sleepy during the rest of the day.

View from the hotel

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.

Mount Adaklu

A post-walk beer is a regular feature of walks with the Ghana Mountaineers, but this was the first time we had started drinking before the walk. But this was all in the name of good manners – sharing a bottle of gin with the chief of Helepke village as we requested permission to climb the nearby mountain, Adaklu.

We sat in the chief’s dark living room – twelve walkers from Accra and eight members of the local tourism committee – exchanging pleasantries and making arrangements for the next day’s hike. I was unsure if there was an ancient tradition that meant gin must be shared, or if the chiefs just liked it. Either way, no one complained.

Outside, the large clouds that had been gathering over the summit let loose into one of Ghana’s violent tropical storms, with Mount Adaklu taking the brunt. As we drove back to Ho, I wondered what the deluge was doing to the mud paths we would be ascending.

We were up and ready to go at 05:30 the next day and after breakfast at the Bob Coffie Hotel (twelve of the smallest omelettes I have ever seen) we set off once more for Helepke, the largest of a collection of villages that circle the base of the mountain.

At 602m, Mount Adaklu is a mountain in miniature, but still large enough to mimic Mounts Cameroon and Kilimanjaro in its ecological zones that vary as you climb. We passed through maize farms in the village to reach the foot, then through tall grasses until we reached the treeline, where huge trees provided a dense shade.

The path through the jungle was steep and rocky. Nothing tricky under normal circumstances, but the previous day’s deluge had turned it into a type of gloopy porridge, causing everyone except our sure-footed guides to slip. The trickiest section was a near-vertical series of rocks up to a large boulder. Hard enough going up, it surely crossed everyone’s mind that we would also have to go down it.

Such trifles don’t bother most Ghanaians, though. Just above the rocky cascade was a cocoa yam farm. The farmer greeted us as he passed, then leapt down the rocks in his worn-out flip-flops while balancing an overflowing basket of the heavy tubers on his head.

The rain had also brought out the forest’s huge snails, which were enjoying the moist vegetation. The youngest guide with us was delighted, and collected several for his dinner. He assured me they were delicious; I was happy to take his word for that.

Beyond the yam farm the path levelled out as we crossed the plateau of this table-topped hill, and quickly reached the top. The guides proudly showed us the shelter they had built using the profits from tourism. They hope to encourage more visitors here, and the new road being built to connect Adaklu with the popular town of Ho will certainly help. The profits are also shared between all the villages around the mountain, so everyone gets their share, however small.

The walk down proved tricky, with some finding the steep and slippery paths a trial, but we all made it back to the village safely and headed back to Ho, where Kevin had organised a traditional Ghanaian lunch for us to finish the trip: light soup and fufu.

Fufu is a thick white dough made of cassava and it is one of the few trials of living in Ghana. It is best described as like eating Play-Do but without the novelty of being an interesting colour. It can’t even be described as bland; it manages to taste of nothing in a slightly unpleasant way.

It can take several hours to pound the cassava for fufu; why anyone bothers is beyond me. I managed about three mouthfuls, then gave up and ordered some rice to go with the groundnut soup – which by contrast is a delicious local dish. Feeling brave after managing a little fufu, I ordered a glass of cocoa bean wine, made locally. How bad could it be?

Very. Tasting of gone-off chocolate, which is essentially what it was, it was a hard glass to polish off. But having failed with the fufu, I was determined not to lose culinary face again. I held my nose, downed it, then ordered a large Star to wash away the taste, safe in the knowledge that Ghanaian beer is up there with the best that the country has to offer.

Waterfall

Near the Togo border are Wli waterfalls, one of Ghana’s most popular attractions. Our group loaded into the hire car and took the road north from Ho to Hohoe. Hotels in Ho market Wli as a ‘nearby attraction’ – a questionable claim when it is a three-hour drive, but the Volta Region is a beautiful part of Ghana, with forested hills rising above tidy village farms, so the journey is part of the fun.

The popularity of an attraction in Ghana can be roughly gauged by its booking office. At Wli this is a large room with tables and chairs, complete with adjacent snack bar and gift shop, so it must see a lot of visitors. We were assigned a guide and started off along the track to the falls. The path was still slippery following the previous day’s storms, and the fords where it crosses the outflow from the falls higher than usual, but the forest was refreshingly cool and butterflies flew about everywhere.

We heard the waterfall long before we rounded the corner to see it. It was in full spate, the water crashing around 30m out from the cliff and the spray covering the whole clearing. An impressive force of nature, only spoiled by the mounds and mounds of rubbish left in the undergrowth in every corner of the site. The waterfall was too forceful to swim in the plunge pool, so we passed the time trying (and failing) to get good photos, and getting soaked before heading back to the car. There are longer hikes around the upper waterfall as well; worth noting for a return visit.

Amedzofe

The next day we headed for one of the Volta region’s most interesting places, and also one of the most remote. High up in the Avatime Hills is the village of Amedzofe and its nearby peak Mount Gemi.

The walk to the mountain is an easy half-hour pootle; it’s the drive there that brings you out in a sweat. A series of hairpin bends ascend an increasingly bumpy and poorly kept road. Quaysie lurched the car from side to side to avoid ruts and potholes, seemingly oblivious to how close we veered to the very long and very steep drop. I was relieved to reach the village.

We called in at the small tourist office in the village and our guide led us to Mount Gemi. The name is not an ancient Twi word, but named after the German Missionaries, who built the cross on its summit that doubled as a communications device during World War II.

This was about all he managed to explain; his attention was mostly on the village football match. Football is big news in Ghana, even in isolated mountain villages, and this encounter with Fume, a neighbouring village, was particularly spicy. I couldn’t understand the chants at opposition players, but they didn’t sound like friendly encouragement.

I asked our guide how many people visit Amedzofe each week. “Sometimes about 20, sometimes none, but it is fine, they are all welcome”. It’s a refreshing approach to tourism development. While it may not boost the bank balance, it helps to keep places like Amedzofe unspoilt as they slowly adapt to tourism.

After passing a cloud of biting gnats on route – the best technique is to run through swirling a t-shirt – we reached the summit. It’s one of the highest points in the region at 611m, and the views were incredible: miles and miles of dark green hills stretching out towards Lake Volta, with dusty brown villages dotted in every pass in between. Well worth a nerve-wracking drive and a cloud of biting insects.

Before heading off, we bought some cold drinks in the village and sat in stone chairs while a bunch of old men played Damii. This is a Ghanaian game similar to draughts, the main difference being that players have to slam the pieces down and shout regularly at their opponent. They ignored us completely as they focused on the next move or insult, so we drained our bottles and headed back to Ho, and the long drive back to Accra.