14.12.2018
I did not sleep well last night, but was up for our 07:00 breakfast. It was good breakfast with croissants, juice, eggs and good jam.
We left on time at 08:00 and first stopped at the Post Office again to drop my post cards off. Oliver decided he wanted a souvenir Nelson Mandela stamp as well, so he came inside as well. I had my postcards stamped at the counter and then dropped them in the big box marked Europe. Again it will be a grand surprise if and when they might arrive at their destination!
The morning drive was approx 1 hr 45 min along the asphalted N 19 road with little traffic westward. We crossed the regions where the Dagomba and Bassar people live and reached the small Bandjeli Village close to the border to Ghana.
At Bandjeli we visited the Bassar people who used to make iron following an old traditional procedure. It is a small village and when we arrived, they were already preparing a dance for us. But first we went to see an ancient clay blast furnace preserved in the village.
The iron specialists of Bandjeli have owned technical knowledge to cast direct reduced iron. This know-how was transferred from generation to generation over many centuries. Unfortunately, this tradition is now dying out – it might have been practiced until the 1950s – and the old furnace is only there as a sample to keep future generations from forgetting the traditions.
The reconstructed furnace is a bit over 2 m high and has on the bottom a diameter of approx 1.5 m and tapers upwards. The wall is supposed to be approx 20 cm thick and on the bottom there is an opening. Also there are smaller openings to have the air circulate to keep the fire going.
The rocks with iron ore which were used here were usually collected by older women after menopause and by young women who were still virgins. Mineral deposits were in general close to the surface and the ore was extracted by just loosening the soil with pickaxes and ore-bearing rocks were collected. The rocks were then crushed into smaller pieces. The furnace would be filled half with charcoal and wood before the ore rocks were put on top of that. Then the furnace was fired and at last filled up with more charcoal. It would have burned for maybe 2 to 3 days and temperatures of more than 1000°C could be reached. In the end they would have produced pig-iron which the blacksmiths in Tscharé would have processed. Nowadays, they however use scrap iron as we learnt yesterday.
We were allowed to visit the village chief’s compound as well. There are still some pieces of this pig iron left, so tourists can look at it. There were interesting round huts in his compound – they were decorated with geometric patterns. Definitely it looked, as if this village was more wealthy than some we had visited before. We were told those huts were all kitchen huts – each wife of the chief has her own kitchen. We counted 4 kitchen huts … busy man, that chief.
Passing through the assembly hall of the village, we witnessed some sort of trial going on. The chief himself was not present, his throne was empty. But there were 4 or 5 village elders. Apparently a woman had problems with her husband and was now bringing it before the elders to straighten him out. She was passionately bringing her case to their attention with her husband sitting next to her in a heap of misery … at least he did not say much.
Outside on the village square already the Fire Dance was getting prepared. A small fire was lit in the center and chairs were set up for us in the shade. The village chief arrived and took his chair to watch the dance. That is tradition, even though this dance was staged for us.
The Fire Dance is one of the revered traditional Bassar dances in northern Togo and Ghana. Not everyone is allowed to take part in this dance because it has some spiritual meaning. The dancers were traditionally seers. Persons who were not fortified spiritually, but tried to dance on the fire would be crippled for life.
The dance was usually done prior to warriors leaving for the battle fields to test the preparedness of the chosen warriors, but has since become a practice for festivals and special occasions in the Bassar communities.
There were some drummers and first the dance started with only a few dancers – all men. In groups of 3 they danced around the fire. They were bare chested, but had same upper arm braclets as well as ceremonial chains and head sets.
All of them had cotton skirts with colourful patterns – some had very short skirts.
They wore cuffs with iron rattles on them. Those must weigh a ton, because there were many rattles on each leg. The dancers were stomping hard and even jumping to make them rattle along in rhythm.
Every now and again one of the dancers would step onto the fire in the center or walk over it. Their feet must be callused to be able to do that! But I suppose from walking around barefoot so often they must be hardened.
As the dance wore on more and more dancers arrived. The drummers got more and more into it and sometimes joined the dancers to cheer them on.
Some of the villagers joined in the dance as well – some women and men just danced along around the fire. They obviously had much fun and got really into it. There was a woman who looked very much like one of the hippy rockstars from the 1970s with her gold wrought headband, golden hoops and gold-rimmed sunglasses.
It was a really cool dance and I enjoyed very much watching. I even tried out my new lensball and experimented a bit with photos.
After an hour the dance wore down and we got back on the road. It was only about 30 min drive along a dirt track to the border to Ghana near the village of Tabalé. There were only a few huts along the way and then all of a sudden there was a barrier in the middle of nowhere. Nearby was the customs post of Togo and a man came to check the car papers. That was quick and we had to drive around the barrier again to continue. Just a little further on was the Togolese Immigration Post. The van was parked in the shade and we walked a few meters to the hut where a guy waited for us to check our passports. He did not even have a uniform on other than fatigue cargo pants and a black t-shirt, but he did look somewhat like an authority. He brought his book and stamp out and sat on the porch at a wooden table. He studied every passport intendedly. This time Vero was prepared and had printed off a list with all our passport and visa details before. Now he did not have to copy it all by hand, so he should be happy. The man did acknowledge the gesture and proceeded to stamp our passports … but not before complaining vehemently that neither of the immigration officers before – in an country – had stamped our passports correctly. Of course, they not always stamp next to the visa or the exit not next to the entry stamp, but rather randomly and hopefully in empty corners … He did not like it at all, because he could not find the stamps he looked for … Mind you, all our passports have a lot … and I mean a lot! … of stamps from around the world in them. All of us have well travelled! So, after all it took a while before he had properly done all passport grumbling as he did it.
I really wanted a photo of the border post and since I was so successful yesterday, I tried again today. But I did not dare to be too close to the miserable man, so I walked back towards the van and did as if I checked my phone for the net. Which was not really just pretend, because arriving in Ghana my Ghanaian number would work again.
Eventually the procedure was finished and we all had our Togolese exit stamp and could continue. It was maybe a couple of kilometers to the Ghana border post.
The border means more than a customs house, a passport officer, a man with a gun. Over there everything is going to be different; life is never going to be quite the same again after your passport has been stamped.
-Graham Greene-
Here the border post was a big affair compared to the huts we encountered in Togo and Benin. We all got off the van while Maha and Rock went with it directly to customs. Locals usually do not need their passports stamped. Besides, in Ghana they are really strict with those vaccination certificates and Rock had forgotten his. So, they had to sort of sneak around the health post. Which was not a big problem, since local traffic seemed to be permitted and he did not need his passport stamped either. In comparision to us – we needed that stamp!
The Ghana Health office was the first office we had to report to. The lady was however lounging in the shade probably having her lunch time siesta. She did slowly get up when we were approaching the house, though. On the porch she put the book out, turned it around to us and said – You have pen?! You fill in! – What do we have to fill in? – You put name, passport number, batch number of yellow fever vaccination! – You need the batch number? In that handwritten book? – Yes!
So we did all dutifully fill in – with our own pens – the necessary information and then walked some 50 m to the Immigration Office. And immediately, it was recognizable that we were back in Ghana – OK, I was back in Ghana! For my 3 fellow tourists it was the first time. There were a bunch of soldiers in uniforms and an officer sitting behind a desk. Even here in the middle of nowhere, with not even an asphalted road leading here …
We filled in the arrival cards on the porch – Make sure you write clearly! If they cannot read it, you have to do it again! – Yes yes …. – Well, we all stayed on the porch and filled in the paper. I was finished first and then chatted up the guy that was inspecting my passport. He was a happy guy and did not even care what was written on the form. – Hey, you are the most friendly border guard we have encountered on this trip! – You think I am nice? – Yes, we think you are nice! – ….
One of the guys had a tablet and was taking photos of us – it seemed not too many foreigners are coming along this way and we basically made their day. A change from the daily boredom of the station, I suppose. – Hey, can we take a photo, too? – NO! No photos allowed on the boarder! – But your guy is taking photos! Can we take one photo with you, please? – No! No photos! – But why is he allowed to take photos? – Well, he can, but you cannot! – That is not fair! I thought you are a friendly guy! … Hey, you are taking photos! I want also the photos! – I can send them to you, if you want! – You can send them? Yes? – You give me your phone number, I send them. – Hmmmm, you want me to give you my phone number? I do not have one … – Then I cannot send you the photos. …
This conversation went on for a few minutes. We were all finished with our passports, but had to wait for Vero. She had so many visas and stamps in her passport that the officer behind the desk – she was the only one that went into the actual office – could not find the valid one and made a fuss that she did not have a visa … In the end that got sorted and I scribbled my mobile number on a scrap of paper and gave it to the guy with the tablet taking his promise he would send the photos when we had the possibility, but there is no net here at the border, so it might take some time.
Funnily enough, that night my whats app beeped 54 times and that guy had sent 52 photos from our visit at the border post plus a couple of messages. When I showed the others the next morning, they were well surprised. They had been sure those photos would never arrive! They agreed to send him a thank-you-photo of all of us back.
We waved those guys good-bye and they even let us take a photo of our own before we left. Maha and the others had parked our blue van somewhere around a house out of sight of the customs building. They had done the papers, but were ask to go report somewhere again. They said, they were only ask to report again, because the border officers expected more bribes. So, we did not linger, but rather hightailed it out of there. There were a couple of bush taxis piled high with good waiting there as well and sure the officers would be busy with them.
Now in Ghana the road did not get any better. For the next 70 km the red gravel track would lead us west to Yendi. A few kilometers into the country we reached the small village of Tatale. There was one local bar where we could have the last picnic of our trip. It was a big house and we sat in an airy room. There were doors on every wall and open windows, so the wind blew through. My first destination was the fridge with the drinks. The beer was cold! But I noticed something else – there were beer bottles that had the same label as the small schnapps bottles I bought in Ho before – the one with the African herb extracts. Vero said, it is some beer mix drink and was not bad. I wanted to test it and the others followed along.
Orijin is made by mixing neutral spirits with extracts of herbs – such as sweet koala nuts, ginger, cloves, chamomile, thyme, cinnamon – and sweet tropical fruits. Inspired by the tradition of herbal drinks, it is an alcoholic blend with the flavours of African herbs and fruits, combined to give a refreshing bitter-sweet taste. It actually is no beer mix and does not contain barley or hops. The resulting flavor is a lightly fruity, bitter cocktail with a distinct medicinal taste. Anecdotally, many fans of the drink claim that the herbs that give the drink its distinctive flavor also act to prevent or counteract a hangover after a night of drinking … I did like it very much and decided on the spot to buy more of the small bottles of the stronger liqueur version of the drink as souvenirs along the way.
We had our picnic of baguette – which we had bought this morning in Togolese Kara, because in Ghana there is no more good French bread – We are now back in former British country and the food will change accordingly. But we did still have some paté from Benin and it was a good last picnic.
In the village and along the road in pretty much all villages and towns, we always saw many seamstresses. They often had set up their old Singer pally sewing machines just next to the road in front of their little huts. Sometimes it was one alone, but often it was like a tailor enterprise, where 3 or 5 or 6 women were sitting around a table sewing clothing.
After lunch we kept driving along the gravel track towards Yendi. There was no truck traffic here and only a few bush taxis. Mainly we encountered motorbikes loaded with people and many people walking along the road with goods carried on their heads. I took a little nap again, but maybe half way to Yendi we passed a huge bridge over the Oti River.
The Oti River or Pendjari River is an international river in West-Central Africa. It has its source in Burkino Faso, flows through Benin and Togo, and then joins the Volta River in Ghana. It is about 520 km long. The mouth of the Oti was formerly on the Volta River, but it now flows into Lake Volta in Ghana.
Maha, Flo, Oliver and I got off the van and walked across the bridge. There was not much traffic, but the bridge was rather big. That reminded me again of what I wanted to be when I grew up back in East Germany. I studied civil engineering until the wall came down and if anybody asked me later, what I would have done, if the wall would not have come down, I would always say – I would be building bridges in Africa. Vero said, in some way I am still building bridges, but just different ones as a tour guide.
Well, this bridge seemed predestined to have a geocache on it – unfortunately, it did not have one. But if I had a spare magnet box and paper with me, I would have put one there. With relatively little traffic it could have lived under the rail forever. But … I did not have a box with me and so there will not be a geocache here … if I ever come back, I will be prepared, though!
There was much washing going on down at the river banks and on the bridge we met some girls walking along on their way to do laundry by the river. They were very happy to get photographed while walking towards us.
Below the bridge we saw many women doing laundry or washing dishes and kids having fun in the water or helping. After washing, the clothes would be laid out on the shore to dry in the sun.
At the other end of the bridge was the village of Sabari and since there were no people around on the road Flo and I did a quick health break just down the escarpment of the road. Quick quick, before some kids notice the foreigners on the bridge! And make sure you pee downhill and not sideways …
Until we reached Yendi and the asphalt road it was a gravel dirt track all along. There was not much traffice – but if we met other vehicles it were usually overloaded busses or tuktuks. There was also a lot of people walking along carrying goods on their head. Supposedly it was better to walk along the road than through the fields back to their villages.
Since we had crossed the border there were police check points in regular intervals and our driver had to produce the van papers very often. Some of those police men were friendly and even spoke some French when they saw the license plate of the van was Burkina Faso. But some were rather miserable, one even stated very loudly that, because there were foreigners in the van the driver would not pay any money. That is the thing with the bribes, they only ever ask when there are no white-noses observing, apparently.
Just when we reached the asphalt road close to Yendi there was another police check point. This time we had to unpack everything. The policeman said there was some sort of event in the town and therefore security measures had been stepped up and everything must be checked. He made us get out of the car, looked in every bag, opened every suitcase, felt along my backpack – the only thing he overlooked was my camera bag … I had put it habitually on my back …
Once he was done we were allowed to pass. Not that he would have found something, if there had been something … That was not a thorough check, that was pretty much just harassment … or maybe he was doing is job, but was bored with it and did not do it properly …
In the town of Yendi, which has a population of approx 52000, were indeed many people on the go. But it looked as if whatever event had happened, was already finished and most people were on the way home. It is a mainly muslim town. We passed the market area and the bus station where busses got overloaded with people on the way out.
We saw many men in the traditional Ghanaian smock. The smock is made from a fabric called Gonja cloth which originated here in Northern Ghana. It is a thick striped cotton fabric. The cotton is picked, dyed and woven by hand. Usually, the pattern on this cloth is blue/black and white stripes. Long narrow pieces of fabric about 10 cm wide are woven and then sewn together or sold in rolls. A Ghanaian smock resembles a shirt and is mostly worn by men, but there are female versions. Usually, the neckline and sometimes the front part of the smock is embellished with embroidery. The threads used for the embroidery pattern are white or blue&white. The pattern on the fabric itself is a combination of black and white or blue and white stripes of different width. The smock is usually worn with a kufi cap – a small round skull-cap widely used in Africa – or a red fez hat.
From Yendi we continued to Tamale for approx 100 km on good asphalt road. It was a quick drive passing many small villages with round clay huts. Here on the main road there was much truck traffic again – overloaded trucks, of course – and also many busses. And for the very first time we had a cow herd crossing the road in front of us. I had already missed the cows being herded along the roads – in East Africa they were everpresent, but here they are probably not driven along the roads.
We reached Tamale just around sunset. Tamale is the capital town of the Northern Region of Ghana, with a population of approx 361000 Ghana’s fourth-largest city and the fastest-growing city in West Africa. Most residents of Tamale are Muslims, as reflected by the multitude of mosques in Tamale, most notably the Central Mosque. Tamale is located in the Kingdom of Dagbon. Due to its central location, Tamale serves as a hub for all administrative and commercial activities in the Northern region, doubling as the political, economic and financial capital.
We reached the Hotel Mum around 18:30. It was a newish hotel at the outskirts of town. The room was small, but had a balcony and was very comfortable. Oliver was the unlucky again – his room was again not made up and he had to change again. Oh well. WIFI was very slow, but my Ghanainan number was working fine, so that was good.
Behind the hotel was a pool and there was a party going on. Nevertheless, I took a beer from the restaurant to sit by the pool a little before dinner. Dinner was Ok. I had guinea fowl again, which was very dry today. It came with spicy jollof rice, which is one of the most common dishes in West Africa. Jollof basically means “one pot”. It was very spicy here. Finally some taste in the rice! We finished our Sodabi bottle and I had a very early sleep today.
15.12.2018
My room had a balcony – unfortunately it wa smostly grown over by some climbing bush and the view was to the parking lot.
This morning breakfast was supposed to be at 07:00, but it was not ready, nobody was in the restaurant yet. Flo and I sat by the pool in the sun, while breakfast was quickly prepared. Back in former British colonies there was no good French bread anymore, only untoasted sweet toast bread. But the omlette was good and the orange marmalade as well.
Departure was on time at 08:00 and our first stop was at the shop of a Shell gas station. The minimarkets at the gas stations are usually very good and well stocked. I was delighted to find the small bottles Orijin Bitter here and bought 5 more of them to take home. They were however twice as expensive as when I bought them in Ho. Back there it was Cedi 4 a bottle and here they asked Cedi 7. Still a cool and inexpensive souvenir.
I found a funny thing in the shelves as well – I like browsing in supermarkets! – they had Shit-o Sauce! I had to laugh about this name, of course. Turns out, that shito sauce is widely used as the name for the hot black pepper sauce ubiquitous in Ghanaian cuisine. Shito is the word for pepper in Ga, a Ghanaian language from Accra. Shito sauce consists primarily of fish or vegetable oil, ginger, dried fish, prawns, crustaceans, tomatoes, garlic, peppers and spices. The blend of spices and fish differs between different regions and villages, though. In Ghana, shito is used with a variety of dishes. Indeed, its uses have been adapted to that of a local ketchup, hot sauce or chili oil. It is not uncommon to find shito being eaten with white bread or spring rolls. I should have bought a glass to take home … But I forgot.
Today we drove down the good asphalt road N 10 south to Kumasi. There was a lot of traffic again, many trucks with any kind of cargo and also containers going along.
Near the small town of Yapei we passed the bridge over the White Volta River. Again we walked across to have a better view. The White Volta or Nakanbé is the headstream of the Volta River, Ghana’s main waterway. It emerges in northern Burkina Faso, flows through North Ghana and empties into Lake Volta in Ghana. It did its name justice – the water seemed to have a lot of sediment in it and look rather whitish.
Again we saw many women and children doing laundry, washing dishes or bathing themselves. And even though the bridge was relatively high and we were far away from the people, they did see us and eyed us skeptically.
I had to take a photo of the bicycle by the road – an inside joke …
Only about 60 km on – it was a quick drive and I had a nap – we passed over the Black Volta River near the town of Buipe. The Black Volta or Mouhoun flows through Burkina Faso and reaches after about 1352 km the White Volta River in Ghana. Once more we got off the van and walked across encountering many waving children along the road. Here they were waving and shouting – Obruni, obruni! – again.
The Black Volta also did his name justice – while it was not black black, it was definitely dark green in contrast to the White Volta before. We saw women and children getting water from the river near the town.
Driving further south we passed a region where charcoal was being produced. We had seen the big sacks of charcoal sitting by the road already before, but here seemed to be a center of that.
An estimated 60% of all wood taken from forests globally is burnt as fuel – either directly or by first converting it into charcoal. In Ghana 90% of households use firewood or charcoal for cooking. Charcoal burns much hotter than cut wood and is lighter to transport. It will last in storage without degradation many years longer than fuel wood. The production of charcoal in Ghana is normally done by groups using the earth mound method. Average producers can produce 11 – 15 bags of charcoal per week, but production is generally higher in the dry season than the rainy season. Roadside sellers usually buy charcoal in large quantities from charcoal producers – they either gather charcoal from them or wait for the producers to supply them. Then there are the truck dealers – they buy from roadside sellers in large quantities and bring it to cities. They load an average of 150 bags of charcoal on one truck. Although charcoal production contributes to deforestation, development institutions are recently considering the charcoal industry as leverage for addressing poverty and environmental conservation – they seek to promote charcoal production as an alternative income source for illegal chainsaw lumber millers in Ghana, for example.
There was more track traffic again. We passed a truck with a goat surfing on the roof. The truck was loaded high with whatever and the goat was tied on the top – it did not seem to mind. There were also a few trucks piled high with old bicycles. Whatever they did with them, nobody could tell us. But there were hundreds of bicycles on those trucks.
Just before lunch time we stopped at the Kintambo Waterfalls and took a walk. The Kintampo Waterfalls are one of the highest waterfalls in Ghana. Also known as Sanders Falls during the colonial days, they are located on the Pumpum River, a tributary of the Black Volta River, about 4 km north of the town of Kintampo. This waterfall, one of the main natural attractions in the area, is hidden in the forest and it is formed by 3 main drops where the longest drop measures 25 m. It was very hot today again, but parts of the short way were shaded by forest. It was only a few minutes to the first part of the fall. But there was not much water coming down, so it was not really impressive.
The second stage was even less visible, because it was deep in the forest jungle. But the 3rd and final step was nice. There was a long staircase leading down to the bottom of the falls. Many people were having a Saturday outing with the family. A girl in a pretty dress was posing in front of the fall for her boyfriend who took photos. Of course, we posed as well with the Ghanaian flag – not as graceful as the girl, but it sure was worth a photo.
We had deposited Natasha and Vero at the Waterfall Complex before our little stroll to the falls and now we returned there for our lunch. First we went to the fruit stalls in the parking lot and bought some mangoes. It is not mango season at the moment, but they had some imported ones I think. Then we opted to eat in the local restaurant rather than in the tourist one next door. It was time to try out Fufu!
Fufu is an extremely popular and common food in West Africa and it originated in Ghana. The traditional method to make fufu is to boil starchy food crops like cassava, yams or plantains or cocoyams and then pound them in a mortar into a dough-like consistency. Fufu is eaten with the fingers, and a small ball of it can be dipped into an accompanying soup or sauce. In Ghana, fufu is white and sticky.
We bought our food ticket at the cash window – I chose Fufu & Beef for Cedi 6. Then at the kitchen window we had to present the ticket and received a bowl with a huge lump of fufu filled up with spicy tomato sauce and 2 pieces of beef inside. On the tables there were plastic bowls, water pitchers and soap bottles to wash your hands – The traditional method of eating fufu is to pinch some of the fufu off in one’s right hand fingers and form it into an easily ingested round ball. The ball is then dipped in the soup before being eaten. – In West Africa eating with your right hand – same as in India, the left hand is the dirty one – is tradition. But for us white-noses they found a spoon in the kitchen …
There was a bar window on the opposite end of the restaurant and I got a cold beer to go with the fufu. The food was good – but it was way too much for us. The huge lump of fufu did not seem to get smaller and it seemed to get more and more inside my stomach … In the end we should have bought only one portion for the 4 of us – it would have been enough for us. Mind you, Maha, Rock and our driver all ate up their portions and smiled – It was so good!
Our afternoon drive to Kumasi was uneventful – it was approx 180 km more and the road was good, traffic increasing the further south we got. While the North is more muslim country we reached now a region with Ashanti Christians.
Ashanti – also known as Asante – are an ethnic group native to the Asante Region of modern-day Ghana. The Asante speak Twi which is spoken by over 9 mio ethnic Asante people. Asante is often assumed to mean “because of wars”.
The Ashanti people are increasingly irreligious, though among those who follow a religion the most common is the Ashanti religion – a traditional religion which seems to be dying slowly but is revived only on major special occasions – yet is undergoing a global revival across the diaspora – followed by Christianity.
A very noticeable custom of the Ashanti are the funerals – they are made easy to spot by their red tents, groups of chairs, music and wailing, amplified for all to hear, and the distinct black and red funural attire. Even though grieving the death of a loved one is universal, the particularities of Ghanaian funerals can be a little mystifying. Funeral rites are more or less like a festival to the Akans – a people group that spans from the Ashanti region to Brong-Anafo and includes most Twi-speakers. Mostly, it is observed on Saturdays – because everybody has to work during the week and the weekend is off. Early on Saturday, religious leaders pray and people come to see and mourn the deceased. If the deceased was a Christian, there is a burial service at church. After the service, the body is taken to the graveyard and buried. All cries and mourning end there. They cannot come back home with tears. Those who are related by blood to the deceased will put on red cloth. Women wrap black cloth around their waist and red on top covering one shoulder. Everybody else wears black. Back at home, family, friends, and sympathizers find something to eat – which is mostly provided by the family of the deceased. Friends and sympathizers – anybody is welcome at the happening – make donations to reduce – if not clear – the money invested into the funeral.
During the afternoon we were supposed to look out for red and black clad people in large numbers and if we would see one of the funeral get-togethers, we would stop and attend. We did see a few people walking along, but only ever 2 or 3 … And then I fell asleep again … When I woke up it was late afternoon and we were close to Kumasi and still had not seen anything worth stopping … maybe better so … funerals are a delicate matter and I am not sure if it had been the best to intrude and take photos … even with a donation made … So for me it was better this way, even though I would have liked to take a couple close up photos of the fancy red and black attire people wore for it …. I did not even get a photo fromt he distance, though …
In the late afternoon we reached the outskirts of Kumasi, Ghana’s 2nd largest city – and we noticed it by the traffic! We immediately got stuck in a traffic jam …
Kumasi – historically spelled Comassie or Coomassie and usually Kumase in Twi – has a population of approx 2 mio people and is located near Lake Bosomtwe, in a rain forest region, and is the commercial, industrial and cultural capital of Asanteman. The name Kumasi comes from the Twi language – meaning “Under the Kum tree”. Kumasi is alternatively known as “The Garden City”, because of its many beautiful species of flowers and plants. It is also called Oseikrom – Osei Tutu’s town – after the Ashanti King.
It took forever to reach our Hotel Sunset. Traffic was a bitch and crawled along. As usual, many hawkers were peddle their goods on the junctions. We had our 2nd clash with Christmas – a Santa Claus was offering Santa hats!
Another guy had a tray full of national flags and I wanted one as a souvenir. Maha called the guy to the open window and handed me one to look at. He wanted Cedi 5 – Really? – That is a whole Euro! – Yes, it is not expensive! …. And then the traffic light way ahead jumped to green and the Germany-like avalanche of cars started moving … Oh, we are moving! I have to pay! – Relax! He will come! – You sure? – Yes, he knows which car and that we will not be moving far before the light jumps to red again! – Well, if you say so … And as surely as an amen at the end of a prayer that guy came running after the van and picked up his Cedi 5 a few minutes later when we had to stop again.
Sunset Hotel was in the ourskirts of the city in a quite neighbourhood. However. as we arrived already music was blasting in the courtyard by the hotel pool. Oh, you should have heard Natasha … She was in her element … complaining is her favourite! And Oliver joined it …
Check in was slow, but then we all got rooms on the 3rd floor. Lucky, they had given Natasha the room furthest away from the music. Flo had caught the short stick today and had the room right above to pool and music, I was only opposite. Flo did not care and for me it did not matter anyway – I live on a ship … If it is too quiet I cannot sleep … Oliver was next to me, but went to complain and changed a few rooms over to the other end next to Natasha.
At the front of our floor was an outside terrace and Flo and I went to get a bee at the pool bar to watch the rest of the sunset. We had missed theactual sunset, because we had to go down and check about dinner with Maha. It was a good spot on the terrace and WIFI was good up there, so we hung there for a while. We had found a new beer brand – cannot even pronounce it, but it was good and cold.
Before dinner we wanted to have a shower, but Flo came running – her whole bathroom was under water! Something was leaking. I phoned reception and they said, they would send somebody, but when 10 min later still nobody had shown up, Flo went down to reception to report. I told her to demand a room change straight away – there was still the room Oliver did not like and it would be on the other side further away from the music. But they told her, there was no room available … So when finally somebody showed up, we made some ballaballa, but then they realized that there was indeed a lot of water in the bathroom and it was not a small problem … Hence, they let Flo move to the other room which was – surprise! – still vacant after all.
Dinner was supposed to be at 19:00, but when we came down Oliver and Vero were there and said, dinner was not going to be before 20:00, because there had just a big group Ghanaians arrived and because of that they could not have our dinner before 20:00. – What? We ordered like 2 hrs ago! – Yeah, but they said, they cannot finish it earlier! -Jeeezz, … I am going to get a beer at the pool bar! … When I got back with my beer in hand, we discussed some more with the staff and then all of a sudden, they did say, the food would be ready in a minute. And believe it or not – they brought our starters out in no time. We had Russian Salad. It was huge, but they had forgotten the dressing … We asked for it and it came shortly before we had finished eating the salad …
We were all there – except Natasha – she had been told 20:00 was dinner – it was a bit of a confusion today … I was not going to run get her, sure not! I had already said the other day – we have 4 (!) people – a guide, a trainee guide, a driver and the boss – with us to take care of us and since neither me nor Flo nor Oliver needed much attention, they could put all their effort into the task they had at hand with Natasha! They get paid for it! … Vero had reception call Natasha – she did not pick up – so somebody went up and told her. She was under the shower and not ready, therefore arrived at the same time as our pizzas – and she we heard all about it the whole evening …
They did advertise Italian pizzas here and of course we had ordered it. I had it with beef and it was not bad at all! Pizza in Africa – nothing is impossible.
After dinner Flo and me went to check out the pool party. It turned out to be the end-of-the year party of a bank and everybody was done out in their best attire and well into it. It was a closed party and we just stood at the fence for a while watching, before calling it a night.
The AC in my room was running after I had changed the batteries from the TV remote into the AC remote and the familiar sound drowned out that little music I could here. I wanted to sit on my balcony – yes I had a balcony to the rear – but the mosquitoes were partying, too and the kitchen smell was too much, as well. So I watched some TV and wrote before sleep.
