Getting connected

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mount Iogaga

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

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

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

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

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

Mount Krobo

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

New home

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

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

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

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

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

Sightseeing

There are signs that you have been in a hotel too long. The barman brings you a beer without being asked. You have tried everything on the menu (a quicker process for vegetarians, granted). You have counted the tiles on the bottom of the pool, just for something to do. 148, if you were wondering.

The trouble with hotels like the Madindi is the ‘home from home’ aspect works too well. There is little inclination to leave their comforts when food, beer and a swimming pool are all under two minutes away. Plus the reliable wireless access means I can get my hourly fix of football news and Hannah can catch up with the German soap Verbotene Liebe. So with cabin fever kicking in, we headed into the city on our first weekend.

With two years to explore all the sights, we are not in a rush. And Accra is not exactly Rome; we would quickly run out if we rushed it. Osu castle is historically interesting, as it was the residence of Ghana’s first president, Kwame Nkrumah. But you aren’t allowed in. James Town is another historical part of town, but it’s not safe to wander about without a local guide, apparently. The Planetarium is Ghana’s newest big attraction, except it’s not open to the general public.

We did make it to La Pleasure Beach at Labadi, east of the city centre. It’s a funny place; a line of beach bars and café’s, plus donkey rides for kids. Like a tropical version of Blackpool.

The National Museum is listed as a highlight and a city not spoilt for choice, and contained the usual collection of broken pots and ugly carvings found across the world. My favourite exhibit was the necklace made of human teeth – none in the gift shop, sadly, or Christmas would have been sorted – and the picture of a man eating snakes. Champions restaurant nearby was even better, with huge plates of jollof rice (spicy rice cooked in tomatoes) and fried plantain.

My fledgling attempts to birdwatch in Ghana (of which Hannah disapproves, seeing it as a middle-aged hobby) have also begun. We saw a beautiful kingfisher outside the museum, and I saw two vulture-type things on my way to Melting Moments coffee shop in Labone. (More accurate descriptions of future sightings may be possible once my bird guide arrives from Germany.)

Anyway, time for another dip in the pool. See if I can spot that tile with the crack in it again.

First impressions

Accra is huge. As we flew in last night, the city lights seemed to spread for miles. No doubt we will soon settle into our little corner of it, but there is a lot to be explored.

The information gleaned from guide books pre-trip seems to be mostly right. It’s not too hot at the moment – August being the coldest month. People are friendly and helpful and we have yet to encounter the worst of the traffic (just a matter of time, I guess). And football is everywhere – the TVs show Premier League highlights on repeat and the names of Ghana’s big stars mark the shirts for sale in the numerous street stalls, with Chelsea having a worryingly high profile. (No sign of any Swindon or Hannover shirts yet.)

The local food is good, too. Our first meal was at Maquis Tante Marie restaurant. Red red, a stew made from beans and palm served with fired plantain, will be a veggie favourite. And best of all is the discovery, via a thoughtful welcome pack of groceries from Hannah’s new school, that cheese is alive and kicking in Ghana! The only downer is that Ghana has followed other African countries in making the piss-weak and tasteless Lipton Yellow Label its tea of choice. I have yet to get an explanation for this disappointing trend.

Hotels are expensive – $200 a night at the Midindi Hotel. It’s pleasant enough – a pool, Wifi, and helpful staff (one of whom drove us to a cash point when he realised we were stuck) – but it seems a lot for what is essentially a basic city hotel. Maybe its location between the airport and the US Embassy inflates the price a little. But future visitors, don’t worry; you can stay with us – provided you bring some decent tea.

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.