We're Ghana Win The Cup!

Kumasi is the second largest city in Ghana, and the old capital of the Ashanti Kingdom, which was a nice enough place, but nothing really special. I walked around for a few days, but in all honesty I spent quite a few hours at a local bar, watching football as the World Cup has now started. One morning I got up early to catch some minibuses to the nearby Lake Bosumtwi, I arrived in a small village then had to walk for a few kilometres before I arrived at the guesthouse. This was a really nice quiet spot, and between world cup matches I walked around the hills and villages surrounding the crater lake. I did struggle to catch some of the games though due to poor reception, so when I met Quentin and Anna, a French/Swedish couple living in Ghana and found out they’d be driving back to Kumasi the next morning, I more than gladly accepted their kind offer of a lift.

Back in Kumasi, another full day of football awaited, and you might be able to see a pattern in how this blog will pan out for the next month or so. My next destination Cape Coast was a roughly five hours south, so I needed to get up early once more, in order to arrive before the first match of the day. Cape Coast is a really pretty and charming town with loads of colonial charm but also a sad history as this was once the largest slave trading port in West Africa. I have been here almost a week now, most days there are three World Cup games on, and I have now got it down to a pretty good routine of getting up early walking around, doing sightseeing between matches and enjoying a few beers throughout. Two of the main sights I visited were the castles of Cape Coast and nearby Elmina.

The first building on the sight of the Cape Coast Castle was actually a timber lodge built by the Swedish, but later converted into a much larger fort and castle by the Portuguese, Dutch and lastly the British. It is an impressive structure on the rugged coastline, but as mentioned it’s history is tragic as it’s main purpose was to hold thousands of slaves captive before their treacherous Atlantic crossing. Elmina Castle is located in the neighbouring town of Elmina, which is smaller but perhaps even more charming. The castle is the oldest European building in Sub Saharan Africa, built by the Portuguese in 1482, but later taken and expanded by the Dutch. Again it was so sad to take the tour, walking around unventilated dark rooms originally built to store gold, ivory and other goods, but converted to cramped dungeons for human cargo when that became the more profitable export. In other news I can tell you I have been robbed again, surprise, surprise! This time I was walking home late at night with a newly found friend when two guys jumped me, one of the held me from behind, with a knife to my throat whilst his friend emptied my pockets of the cash I had on me. I was terrified to move in case he slipped with his grip of his blade, but once they had run off I made the walk back to the hostel. The girl I was with said she couldn’t get home so late at night, and I knew there were empty dorm beds where I was staying, so she came back there to sleep.

Once we were back she started yelling and causing a scene, waking the other poor sleeping guests, I felt bad but she wouldn’t stop so I went to get a security guard and he helped me get her out of there. It was only much later I realised my small backpack was open, and my newly retrieved wad of 2000 Ghanaian Cedis (roughly $400) was gone. The more I think of the situation I’m pretty sure she was in on the first robbery as well, but there’s not much I can do and I can only be happy I wasn’t injured and that I only lost cash and not something harder to replace like my passport or credit cards.

So FaSo Good

Bobo-Dioulasso is the second largest city in Burkina Faso and I spent a few days exploring it and its surroundings. One surprising factor was that for the first time really since Morocco I experienced hustlers, trying to charge you to visit places and even to enter certain neighbourhoods. Whilst I can kind of understand this phenomenon in the Moroccan sights with hordes of tourists everywhere, it was strange to find it here, as I was the only tourist as far as I could tell. As a result I didn’t visit the old quarters or the Grand Mosque built out of mud, but I saw it from outside and it was under construction anyway. One day I visited the nearby village of Koro, where the adobe structures are all built up on a hill, but to be honest it wasn’t that interesting and once more there were people squeezing you for money.

I did have a couple of good nights out though and saw an interesting live concert, with the talented musicians playing traditional wooden instruments. The morning after I got on a bus taking me to the capital Ouagadougou. Since a very young age I have been interested in maps and world geography (rumour has it my first word was Reykjavík) and one of my all-time favourite capitals has to be Ouagadougou, it’s just such a wonderful name that rolls of your tongue, the kind of name that if it were made up in a fictional novel would probably be accused of being too racist. When I arrived, I once again found cheap refuge at a Christian location this time in connection with the large cathedral. That would probably be my top travel tip for budget accommodation in these parts of the world, as hostels don’t really exist the best choice is often these religious institutions usually located in good central locations, the only downside can be that they have early curfews and make you feel like a terrible person for arriving late and intoxicated.

In Ouagadougou I met up with Marcus, a friend of a friend from back home, who has been living here for almost a year now with his wife who works for the Swedish Embassy. Although the city didn’t have very much to offer it was a lot more developed than I had expected, Marcus was a great guide driving me around all the different parts and introducing me to his wife and some of his expat friends, as an extra bonus he also gave me five boxes of snus, so as you can imagine I was over the moon. On my last evening I met up briefly with Irene and David again before getting up early the next morning to catch the long bus south across the Ghanaian border all the way to the town of Kumasi. The journey and border crossings were hassle free, it took almost 20 hours though, and once I arrived in the wee hours of the morning it took a while to find a place that was open, but in the end I managed to find a cheap lodge to crash at.

Trainy Season

Whilst my Ghanaian visa was being finalised I decided to visit the nearby and more relaxed town of Grand Bassam by the beach. Maybe I’ve been spoilt by beaches lately but this didn’t quite measure up to the standards I have come to expect, the turbulent ocean made it unsafe for swimming and a lot of debris and trash had washed up on the sands, also the rainy season didn’t make matters better and the colonial part of town was quite dull. The most interesting part would be the lighthouse which was pretty but oddly far away from the coast. After a couple of days I could head back to Abidjan where my visa had been approved and the next morning I boarded the train heading through the entire country all the way north to Burkina Faso.

I do love travelling by rail and though I had expected the journey to be slow I hadn’t anticipated quite so many stops and for such long periods of time. People were stocking up on all kinds of fruits, vegetables and various other food products along the way, and soon the floor of the train was barely visible, meaning one had to sit with your knees almost up to your chin by the end of it. After roughly 26 hours I had passed through both immigrations, taking me into the first landlocked country of this trip and finally arrived in the small Burkinabé town of Banfora. I figured a couple more hours of travel wouldn’t hurt and decided to make my way to Sindou. However there was no transport until later in the evening, so I killed a few hours walking around in the sweaty markets with all of my luggage before I could squeeze into a minibus.

It was quite remarkable how pretty much the whole time since I Abidjan I had seen nothing but different shades of green forests and fields and then suddenly when we reached the small village of Sindou, these giant, brown, sandstone peaks jut straight out of the ground for miles on end. I watched the sunset, had a much needed shower and dinner before I could finally lay my head down at a cute “campement” with mud huts and open air showers. The following day I spent hours getting lost and climbing around the stunning rock formations and then a couple more hours trying to hitch a ride back to Banfora seeing as all official transport had left early in the morning. There was hardly any traffic, but eventually a car stopped and they agreed to take me for a reasonable fee.

The next morning I met up with Patrice, a Rastafarian guide who drove me on his scooter to the nearby Dômes de Fabedougou. These domes were similar to the Sindou Peaks, but smaller and rounder and not covering as large of an area, they did provide a nice view of the rice paddies and sugarcane fields below before we drove on to Karfiguéla Waterfalls. The cascades weren’t so powerful at the moment as rainy season hasn’t quite started yet up here, however it was nice to cool off in the natural pools. After this I decided to keep moving and to my surprise found a very fancy bus heading to Bobo-Dioulasso.

Ebony and Ivory

Harper turned out to be quite a pleasant small town. It is the capital of the Maryland County which at one point was actually an autonomous nation. Today however its former grandeur can be seen in places, but many of the old buildings have been abandoned after the devastating civil wars, the former Presidential Mansion is now home to squatters. We spent a few days walking around the quiet streets and beautiful surrounding beaches, and then I decided I wanted to cross over to the Ivory Coast hoping to make it to the embassies before the weekend, in order to start some visa applications. The border was very close to Harper but heavy rain had turned the dirt roads into muddy rivers. Unfortunately my only option of transport was a motorcycle and after over an hour of getting whipped by the weather conditions I arrived at the immigration office soaking wet and covered in mud splashes. Perhaps the officials took sympathy on my pathetic entrance as both sides of the border let me through without any complications.

Then began a frenzy of different slow transports, first a pirogue across the river, then into a shared taxi and then to a succession of minibuses, always having to barter hard over prices and then waiting for them to fill up before finally arriving in the small town of San Pedro. Once I arrived here, there didn’t seem to be too much on offer and when I heard there was a night bus going straight to Abidjan I decided that was my best bet. Early the following morning I arrived in the large city, I had no idea where I was going to stay but I told a taxi driver to take me to the neighbourhood of Cocody, solely because it is mentioned in a song by Ivorian reggae legend Alpha Blondy. To my surprise I managed to find a reasonably priced hotel, although all the other guests don’t seem as pleased with their rooms as none of the lovely couples that enter stay for longer than an hour. I was just happy to take a shower and get out of my muddy clothes after 24 hours on the road. Abidjan, though it isn’t officially the country’s capital city (this moved to Yamoussoukro in 1983) is by far the largest and almost all political institutions and foreign embassies are still located here.

Walking around it was sometimes hard to believe I was still in West Africa, tall skyscrapers dominate the skyline, fancy air-conditioned shopping malls are everywhere and when my eyes spotted the familiar Burger King logo I couldn’t resist the expensive splurge and temptation of a Double Whopper Meal. After a couple of days Irene and David caught up, and we have been hanging out and walking around the different parts of the city. As with many other “capitals” a lot of my time has been designated to applying for visas and waiting for them to be processed, my visa for Burkina Faso was granted and now I am waiting for the result of my Ghanaian application, which will hopefully be more fruitful than my previous attempt in Freetown.

MonRover

As soon as I arrived at St Teresa’s Convent, which would be my home in downtown Monrovia, I bumped into Irene. Irene is a Spanish girl, and together with her American boyfriend David, they are pretty much the only other long term travelers I have encountered on my whole trip, having met them once before in the Guinean highlands. David had had to attend to some business back home in Cairo, but the following day he returned to sub Saharan Africa and for the next few days the three of us explored Monrovia and its surroundings. The first thing we all needed to attend to was applying for Ivorian visas and once that was processing we were free to see what else was on offer. Monrovia is probably the most developed city I've seen since leaving Morocco, clearly influenced by its liberated American slaves with large fancy car dealers, furniture shops and supermarkets lining the broad avenues whilst huge gated compounds protect the wealthier population from the not so fortunate. We visited the abandoned Hotel Ducor, which was one of Africa’s finest hotels a few decades ago, but now a nine story skeleton stands in its place with all the rooms plundered, the rooftop still offers some great views of the city though.

Another day we travelled to the nearby town of Harbel, to visit the Firestone Rubber Plantation, which at an alleged 1 million acres is the world’s largest and in its heyday provided 80% of the planet’s rubber. It was interesting to see how such a massive company still seems to be working on small scale, collecting the white latex sap by hand and carrying it in plastic buckets to wherever it gets processed. Monrovia was a nice enough city, with quite a vibrant nightlife, but also a much divided city between rich and poor, giving some areas a very sketchy feeling. Also I don’t feel as bad about my linguistic skills in the French and Portuguese speaking countries before this, as here I can really struggle with the Liberian English and at times it can be near unintelligible to my ears.

Once our visas were processed, we decided to leave the big smoke and head east along the coast. We made it to the port town of Buchanan and searched for a cheap place to stay, what we didn’t know was that former football star and current Liberian president, George Weah, had also decided to visit town. After finding no room at most Inns we finally managed to find a reasonable place, watched the presidential motorcade, had a nice fish dinner and beers in the sunset and then called it a night as we would be getting up early the next day. Our goal was to eventually reach The Ivory Coast, but we opted to take the less travelled route along the coast, hoping to stop off and visit some small beach towns on the way. Being a less travelled route though, meant that the transportation prices were higher, so we decided to try to hitchhike. In my experience there really isn’t such a thing as hitchhiking in Africa, as no matter what transport you get, you will usually have to pay, but we were hoping it would be considerably less than what we were quoted by share taxis. It turned out to be a very long day, not helped by the fact that the rain had really decided to make its presence known. Since starting this trip, rainy season has been a concern as it can make travel very difficult in these parts, many of the dirt roads I’ve taken so far would have been impassible once the wet season arrives.

In the end, the three of us had to split to increase our chances, I managed to get a seat first with some road constructors, then a group of illegal gold miners followed by some local workers for a German NGO, and finally I reached the goal of Greenville late at night. It had taken me nearly 15 hours to cover the 208 kilometres, but to my pleasant surprise only one out of the three transports had asked me for money. Irene and David weren’t quite as lucky, but they arrived the following evening after having camped at the junction where we separated. The next morning we were lucky to find a driver who was willing to take us all the way to Harper at a fair price, and after almost 8 hours on the dirt roads we arrived there safely.

Sour Leone

The doctors gave me the all clear to keep travelling after another visit and some more IVs, so I started making my way to the Liberian border. Originally I had planned to visit some more national parks in Sierra Leone, but all the medication was making me feel very weak and I didn’t feel like hiking was on the cards. The drive to the border again took longer than expected, first I had to wait for more than three hours for the 4x4 to fill up so by the time we reached the border town of Jendema it was getting late. There was a United game on that evening, and not wanting to miss it I decided to spend the night rather than keep travelling. Border towns are not usually great places, and Jendema was no exception, a lot of shady money changers and motorcycle trying to rip you off, but I found a cheap guesthouse watched the boring 0-0 game and then walked to the immigration office the following morning. I had heard bad stories about this frontier and I soon found out why. I got into an office with the very rude officer, who refused to give me his name but I gathered it was Mr. Kamara. Nobody wore uniforms or badges here, giving it a very unofficial feel. Mr. Kamara told me my visa wasn’t the right kind, and that I would have to pay 100 US dollars before I could walk out of his door. This was of course not true, but he pointed to a note on his wall that he had printed off as proof. There was a lot of arguing, all I wanted to do was leave the country and I really had to bite my lip to try and stay polite, but my blood was boiling on the inside. Eventually he agreed to “help me” and I got the price down to 150 000 Leones which is roughly $20. Then I had to go to the health inspector Mr. Clifford, and to no surprise he claimed that my yellow vaccination book was incomplete as I didn’t have a cholera stamp. Once again I knew this was bullshit, but in that environment you are very vulnerable, with him holding on to my documents and an armed guard watching over my every move. He said my options were to go back to the nearest hospital a few hours away, get the vaccine then wait ten days for that to be confirmed, plus I’d need to pay for a new Sierra Leonean visa as Mr. Kamara had stamped me out, or I could give him some small money and he would wave me through.

I hated doing it, but I gave him a ten dollar note, and I was out of Sierra Leone with a sour taste in my mouth after having loved the country for my entire stay, these corrupt and cowardly men had ruined it. On the Liberian side, I had no problems at all and after getting a shared taxi and a motorbike I arrived in Robertsport. I walked around looking for a place to stay, but the limited options were all overpriced and not quite in my budget range. Then I met Kadala, an 18 year old boy who lived in town with his grandfather, he said they had a spare room with a mattress and that I could stay there. I gladly accepted his generous offer and we made our way to his house.

Robertsport is a small fishing town with Lake Piso and green mountains on one side and some wonderful beaches with nice surf breaks on the other. I stayed for two nights, constantly with Kadala and his 15 year old friend Ibrahim in tow, which although it might sound ungrateful got kind of tiring after a while as I am used to being alone and having more freedom to do what I want. So early on Sunday morning I gave Kadala some money to show my appreciation and got a shared taxi towards the country’s capital Monrovia.

Beached As

After several different modes of transport I made it from Freetown to Kent, where a boat was waiting to take me to Banana Island. This was a very small island just off the peninsular coast, which was a nice break from the hectic Freetownian life. I spent two days relaxing, walking through the dense jungle and viewing some old relics from colonial and slave trading times. The beaches however weren’t quite up to my spoilt high standards from Sierra Leone and being on an island I felt almost trapped at the guesthouse which didn’t want you leaving their grounds without paying for tours or their accompaniment, so I decided to head back to the mainland and made it to Bureh Beach.

This was more my cup of tea, perfect yellow sand beaches against the backdrop of the green mountains, blue waters with waves attracting a surfing crowd all set next to a small laid back village. Over the weekend, it was flooded with NGO workers from around the country, which created a bit of a party but was once again relaxed when they headed back to their jobs. I could have really stayed here for a lot longer, but I also feel I need to keep moving as there are still many places I want to visit on this trip. So once more I packed my bags and got some uncomfortable rides to Sierra Leone’s second largest city, Bo.

Bo seemingly doesn’t have too much to offer, a large town full of honking motorcycle madness, but it is where I am currently resting. After not feeling great for a while, I finally decided to visit a clinic in Bo and see if there was anything wrong with me. Of course there was as the test results showed I had been reacquainted with my old African friend Typhoid. The Egyptian Doctor, used the words heavy and severe to explain how obvious the results were, then hooked me up to some intravenous drips and prescribed enough pills to kill a small hippo. It’s hard to know how long I’ve had Typhoid, as pretty much every meal I’ve had in Africa is a potential culprit, but going on my bad luck in Guinea I have a sneaky suspicion I may have contracted it there. Tomorrow morning I will go back to the clinic and then hopefully be allowed to keep travelling, taking antibiotics for the next two weeks and also avoiding spicy or fatty food, a task that may prove difficult as everything here is full of chili peppers and dripping with palm oil.

In Footwear Related News: The life of my Freetownian flip flops was short-lived as I misplaced them at a beach party in Bureh, perhaps subconsciously on purpose as I really didn’t like them and they had already given me blisters. A new pair has been purchased in Bo, which I already like better so we will see how long they last.