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.

The big match

In the mixer

It’s West Africa’s Clásico, the regional clash of the titans. Accra Hearts of Oak, Ghana’s most successful team, against their fierce northern rivals, Kumasi Asante Kotoko. The country’s two most popular clubs meet in Ghana’s version of Chelsea versus Liverpool Man United. And … it’s a little bit rubbish.

Many of Ghana’s brightest stars are whisked off to European clubs at a young age, and those left behind seem to be running through the commentator’s cliché book: the players couldn’t trap a bag of cement, and chances go begging that the most lethargic grandmother would have buried. But both sides give 110% on the pitch and plenty of full-blooded tackles fly in.

Packed stadium

Matches at the Accra Sports Stadium are about more than the football though. The ground is nearly full, 38,000 fans wearing the bright red of Kotoko or the garish yellow-blue-red of Hearts (one of football’s more lurid kits – imagine Crystal Palace mixed with Partick Thistle, with a bit of LSD thrown in). It’s also the only place in Ghana where you see anyone wearing a scarf.

A Hearts fan

Vuvuzelas buzz across the stadium, far louder than they seem on TV and every bit as annoying. People sing and dance together, and after every key moment men stand up and start a fierce argument with someone nearby – anyone will do, even if they agree with you. It’s a furious burst of shouting and finger pointing, then smiles all round and back to the game.

And..... he missed

A rare moment of skill lights up the first half. Wilfred Kobina, the Hearts midfielder, runs towards the box. As fans in the upper tier take cover, he surprises everyone by drilling the ball into the bottom corner. The Hearts players run off to celebrate and the stadium erupts on all sides. Cue even more shouting and finger-jabbing.

At half time, the crowd join in with Hearts’ endearing chant: ‘Arise arise arise, be quiet and don't be silly, we are the famous Hearts of Oak, we Never Say Die’. Fans pour outside to buy grilled kebabs and popcorn and mingle with the opposition. It’s all remarkably civilised for the nation’s biggest rivalry; perhaps the memory of Ghana’s worst stadium disaster, in which 127 people died, is still too fresh in people’s memories for any aggression.

The Kotoko teddy

The second half starts at a noticeably slower pace, Ghana’s intolerable afternoon heat taking its toll. The fans find new ways to entertain themselves. A poor offside decision leads to a volley of water bottles thrown towards the offending linesman; one hits him squarely on the backside, which satisfies everyone. An ever-growing throng dances around the stand, carrying above them a giant teddy bear bedecked in Kotoko colours. They seem to have more energy than the players by this late stage.

Kotoko equalise through a scrappy header following a goalmouth scramble, and apart from a few late chances for Hearts, the game peters out to a 1-1 draw. The spoils are shared and both sets of fans head home happy with the result. But that doesn’t stop them arguing furiously outside the stadium, about offside decisions, missed chances, and which side has the best teddy bear.

Shrines

Bolgatanga is hot. It is doubtless many other things, but it’s hard to appreciate them in such intense heat. The stifling, windless air feels like it is slowly cooking you; plastic chairs burn your legs; the heat rising from the dirt roads passes through your sandals and warms your feet. To confirm, it’s hot in northern Ghana.

Shrines at Tengzug

Luckily the Sand Gardens hotel, on the town’s outskirts, has several large mango trees in its spacious grounds. After arriving from Tamale in a Flintstones-era bus – complete with holes in the floor for your feet – Hannah and I headed instantly for their shade.

Faced with these options – blistering sunshine versus cool shade – it was tempting to spend both of our days in ‘Bolga’ hidden at the hotel. But describing the drinking of various soft drinks in a hotel would make for a fairly dull blog (insert joke here). So early next morning, we slapped on the factor 50, bought loads of water and hired a taxi to take us to the nearby Tongo hills.

The chief's palace

The village of Tengzug is the site of several shrines. Ernest, our guide, met us as we arrived and took us to greet the village chief. After a smile and a wave from the big man, we climbed to the roof of his house to admire his compound. It’s reputedly the largest chief’s dwelling in Ghana – and he needs it, having 18 wives and 350-odd relatives to share it with. Valentine’s Day must take a fair bit of planning in Tengzug.

Various dead animals

We went to explore the small, mud-built houses, one for each family group. The dwellings are all built into each other and connected by a labyrinth of narrow passages. And outside each house is a shrine – a stone stump plastered with chicken blood and feathers, or occasionally decapitated livestock stuffed with leaves and various charms. They looked vaguely sinister but were also intriguing – it’s not every day you see a headless goat with leaves up its bum. 

Discussing Barcelona in the shade

Ernest then took us to the cave shrines among the ‘whistling hills’ – so-called because of the sound the wind makes as it passes through the rock formations during the Harmattan. As we walked, our conversation turned to the forthcoming Champions League games, and at the first shrine, Ernest’s efforts to inform us about his community’s traditions were betrayed by his love of football.

‘This is the donkey shrine, where people leave the skulls of their dead donkeys.’

‘Why do they leave the skulls here?’

‘To represent hard work by their animals. Tomorrow, you will see that Barca are still the greatest’.

‘Yes, but they struggled against Milan in the last round. Who comes to visit the shrines?’

‘People come from very far, from many lands. But with Messi, anything is possible.’

Donkey skulls

I could pretend this was frustrating and ruined the authenticity of the visit. But most people reading know that I am far more interested in football than rural Ghanaian traditions. By the time we reached Ba’ar Tonna’ab Ya’nee, the most important shrine at Tengzug, we had given up on local history and were fully focused on the shortcomings of the Ghana national team, particularly how the manager was a corrupt fool who favoured Ashantis.

A Tengzug kitchen

Ernest refocused sufficiently to remember tradition, so we left Hannah by a rock – no girls allowed at the shrine – and removed our shirts and sandals before climbing over the scorching rocks to the cave that holds the shrine. Inside sat the priest, wearing scruffy grey shorts and nothing else. Filling much of the cave was the biggest pile of dead chickens I have ever seen. I was asked if I would like to make a sacrifice, for wealth or to help my family prosper; I wasn’t sure of the vegetarian position on chicken sacrifice, so declined.

The priest then said something to Ernest, who translated for me: ‘He would like to know if you are a Barcelona fan’. Lying topless with two other men in a cave full of dead chickens, discussing Barcelona with a tribal priest, must count as one of the most surreal moments of my life (and I lived in Brighton for five years). I told the priest I supported Liverpool, wished Barca luck for their game against PSG, then made my way down to the relative normality of the Tengzug chief with his 18 wives and collection of leafy-bum goats.

The Whistling Hills

Football

At a Hearts of Oak match

The African Cup of Nations is here again and Ghana’s Black Stars are one of the favourites. Their games are notable for two reasons: they offer a rare chance to see Accra (virtually) devoid of traffic, and they are one of the few times when Ghana’s many football fans watch an African game.

For the rest of the year, people follow the English Premier League, the Spanish La Liga, and increasingly Italy’s Serie A and the German Bundesliga. The talk in the bars and ‘football theatres’ – small set-ups that show the games via South African DSTV – is of Chelsea, Barcelona, Real Madrid and Man Utd.

Epo's

Debates rage as fans of the big European teams (and Liverpool) argue about which is the best team, who are the ‘true champions’, which club has the greatest history. It’s remarkably heartfelt, considering virtually none of them has seen the teams live, or likely ever will. The fervour surpasses the atmosphere at Ghanaian league matches; Hearts of Oak, Accra’s leading team, rarely sell even a quarter of the tickets for their games.

There is interest in other English teams as well: a few hardy souls will turn up for Wigan v Reading. For the first time in my life, an in-depth knowledge of lower-league right-backs is proving useful; certainly more than it did as an opening chat-up line at university. 

Epo's at night

One of the most popular places to watch games in Accra is the terrace bar at Epo Spot in Osu. Its reputation means you are as likely to be sat next to a Canadian volunteer as a Ghanaian, but it maintains its friendly chaotic ambiance. The shouting is loud, the beer is cold, and the aroma of grilled food drifts up from the surrounding snack bars.

I went there for Ghana’s last group game in the Cup of Nations, against Niger. Radio XYZ was commentating directly from the venue, adding an authentic atmosphere to their coverage. Ghana won 3-0, an easy victory to top their group. But many fans are still downbeat about the team’s overall chances following the experience of last year’s tournament.

Ghana lost to Zambia in the semi-finals in 2012, with Asamoah Gyan missing another penalty to follow his effort in the World Cup quarter-final. As the final whistle blew, the fans at Epo's were all in agreement: the team had failed to live up to expectations; the coach was clueless; the star players were more interested in money; they never win on penalties. 

They clearly watch too much overseas football – apart from the heat and the smell of grilled goat, it was just like watching England. Hopefully they can go two better this time around – not least because it will keep Accra traffic-free for a good few hours.

Epo's at dusk

Rastas

Kokrobite beach

Arriving from the calm of Barbara’s Village, Big Milly’s was a jolt to the senses. The drumming workshop could be heard before we entered the gates: no surprise, considering the large group of rastas banging away, surrounded by a crowd of white backpackers all playing at being a rasta. Dreadlocks, tie-die t-shirts and fisherman’s pants: the familiar uniform of the gap year student.     

The courtyard was overflowing with market stalls and sellers, people walking through to the beach, and 4x4s – evidence of its glowing reputation among expats. As we were shown to the reception, we passed a big screen showing the English Premier League. A big cheer went up as Man Utd scored a last-minute winner against City – I was beginning to think that Big Milly’s wasn’t my kind of place. 

Lobsters

Amid all the commotion, Hannah and I did what all sensible creatures do – we hid. Our small room in the gardens, set back from the action, had two chairs and a table outside, so we sat and read our books. I felt a little middle-aged for not embracing the vibe and whipping out the bongos, but I would have stood out like Prince Charles at a rave.

A stall at Big Milly's

As dusk fell, though, the weekend crowds drifted away and the attraction of the award-winning resort became clear. A terrace bar overlooks the beach, where the souvenirs stall owners were packing up while the fishermen tidied up their nets for the day. Peace descended, and as the candles lit up the resort’s restaurant, Big Milly’s assumed a renewed charm. It may not have been the ‘love at first sight’ that many reviews insist is unavoidable, but the place was growing on me.

The restaurant

The attraction became yet stronger that night when Hannah called from the outdoor shower: a large fruit bat, eating a banana just behind our hut. We watched her feast until she flew off into the night.

Early Monday morning, Kokrobite beach looked similar to any other fishing resort along Ghana’s coast, a gentle hum of activity as people began their days. I walked down to the water, which was remarkably free of litter for such a popular beach. I made my way to the rocks further on – despite being 35, I still can’t resist looking for crabs in rock pools.

Sunset

A man squatted on the rocks above me. I waved, and was surprised when he frowned at me; not a typically Ghanaian response. At that point I realised this part of the beach doubled as the al fresco toilet. I left him to it and headed for breakfast (after washing my hands very thoroughly).

While Big Milly’s dominates the beach scene in Kokrobite, there is a village just behind. That afternoon, we wandered up the steep track to explore. Tourism has certainly made its mark: every other building was a restaurant or guesthouse, in varying states of repair and completion, but they are all overshadowed by the glitz of the star attraction.

Thirsty in the afternoon heat, we called in at a small shack. The overpowering scent of dope should have warned us what to expect: a rasta bar, and we were the only ones without the ubiquitous dreads-and-vest look. The smiling owner took our drink orders, and a man wearing a Bob Marley t-shirt and smoking a massive joint stumbled over.

“Hi”, he drawled, sitting next to us. “I am the King of Tanzania, but have left my kingdom to see more of my homeland, Africaaah!”

I smiled and nodded awkwardly, the standard British response in such situations. By the time we had finished, he was asleep in the corner, joint still smoking away. It was a fitting image to take away from Kokrobite. 

Football on the beach

16 hours and counting…

… and the final preparations are done. Bags packed and repacked to meet weight requirements, boxes sent via DHL (except for the guitar, which came unstuck on its non-conforming dimensions) and flight details checked every hour or so, even though I know it is 10.45 tomorrow. Our anti-malarials went into the hand luggage - a three month supply cost more than my camera. The flat was cleaned yesterday (to exacting German standards) and so a few hours to kill time before leaving for Accra tomorrow.

Time to think about our new home for the next two years. It’s hard to know quite what to expect – the internet provides a website to meet every viewpoint these days, although most agree that Ghana is a beautiful and welcoming country – many repeating the cliche “Africa for beginners”. Accra’s reviews are a little more mixed; some describe it as an exciting, bustling city and one of Africa’s safer capitals, others dismiss it as a dull stopover that is best departed as soon as possible on route to the country’s more interesting parts (Cape Coast, the Volta hills, Mole National Park). It’s hard to know which views are correct – the truth is no doubt somewhere in the middle – and we will find out soon enough. Descriptions of the area we will live in – West Legon – make it sound safe, fairly pleasant and a touch dull, a Ghanaian take on Milton Keynes.

The goodbye to Hannover was a little easier than leaving Brighton two years ago. Less stuff to pack away for one thing (my worldly possessions, i.e. Star Wars figures, old football programmes and various walking paraphernalia are already tucked away in my dad’s attic) and fewer goodbyes. A farewell game at Hannover 96 was a typically frustrating 1-1 draw, and my last 6-aside game for Rote Kurve in the Fansliga ended with a last-minute fluffed clearance from the lumbering English defender (me) to cost us a hard-earned point against the league leaders. Hopefully there’s a team in Accra in need of some good old-fashioned English hoofing at the back.

Next stop Hannover airport, followed by Munich, Lisbon and, finally, Accra.