From (Accra on the southern coast) to Bolatanga means travelling the entire length of the country bar about 12km which would literally lead you to the Burkina Faso boarder. Travel is via road only as the flight is very expensive and only takes you as far as Tamale and the rail transport system only operates in the southern regions from east to west of the country. Our journey to my new home town (well for a year or so at least) would take us on a well-trodden route north; from Accra to Kumasi, from Kumasi to Tamale and from Tamale to Bolgatanga or Bolga as it is colloquially known. We were all set to head off on Saturday. The plan was to take a bus to Kumasi (about a 5 hour trip), stay overnight, then take an early bus to Tamale which would take about 10 hours where we would stay overnight before getting a bus on Monday for the final two hours to Bolga. Although this could be done in one go overnight, VSO directive is for volunteers not to travel at night, just to be super secure (they are good like that), so unfortunately, splitting this journey up is the only option. Different bus companies, types of bus were being spoken about but I wasn’t that bothered, suffice to say I would be ‘where ever I lay my hat…’ on Monday. Frankly that was all that mattered; my next end goal was in sight…. That is until 4.30 Friday evening. Friday started with an unusually muddled morning. Barclays Bank failed to show, Dora (Director of Education)was unable to make her session on monitoring and evaluation due to ‘unforeseen commitments’ so we took the planned trip to the Programme Office earlier than expected where we were given our ID badges and allowance up to the end of September and fed lunch (two rice dishes, fish, some kind of meat – who knows what, and fried plantain). In reality this all sounds fine. Don’t get me wrong it wasn’t terrible but it was punctured with so much hanging around that it was quite frustrating. It didn’t help that finance had not communicated the fact that we would just be getting two weeks allowance to take us up to the end of September and then (somehow) we would get our first allowance for the first quarter (as we will be paid from now on) before the beginning of October. This meant they had counted over 1000 cedi per person (there were 17 of us) but they only should have been giving us around 200 cedi. We were told ‘When you know someone where you stay, get their bank details and we will pay your first allowance into their account as yours won’t open for 3 months’. You wouldn’t hear either half of that sentence in the UK! This is however just a taste of ’Ghanaian time’ I am just going to have to get used to. The afternoon followed with a trip to Oxford Street. A shopping trip, (get any ideas of Selfridges el al out of your head) to get the last bits an bobs we might need before heading north, where most luxuries were either not available or so scarce, they cost an awful lot of cedi. We were introduced to Koala the supermarket, I managed to buy a phone for 45 cedi (about 20 pounds) and was introduced to Mama planet. This is somewhere I know I will frequent on every trip to Accra. It’s a fair trade shop which sells the most amazing things, clothes, bags etc in beautiful fabrics. It supports women’s crafts and does an amazing job. It was during this mooch that our regional rep was interrupted with a phone call. It was about 4.30, to say that the bus doesn’t run on Sunday morning only 4.30 in the afternoon. Clearly that wasn’t an option. We hot footed it back to the Programme Office as it was imperative to get sorted asap due to the time. Most things closed at 5, as it was a Friday most places were likely to be already closed for the weekend.* So from 5 -7ish the plan changed an extraordinary amount of times. More times than I can begin to explain. You wouldn’t believe the different combination of bus companies, timetables and scenarios that were turned over that night. At one point we were making plans to stay in Accra one more night and the next considering reaching Bolga on Sunday not Monday. It all worked out perfectly in the end (as these things do) so I took great delight in knowing it was not my responsibility but yet knowing I was someone’s responsibility (for a short time longer at least) and sat back and watched it all take shape. We took the VIP coach at 8am the next morning to Kumasi. This was a 5 hour luxurious trip with 3 seats rather than the usual two aisle two seating arrangement which meant extra-large reclining seat and air con (I had come prepared with a jumper and socks for that and yes it was necessary!) The only thing blighting the luxurious 5 hour trip was the never ending (but useful) beeps, the striated tarmac and then non tarmacked roads, the endless pot holes, the embarrassing Ghanaian soap opera (think fake Bollywood), the annoying Ghanaian loud radio (endlessly preaching) and the tummy turning swerving. All in the sake of avoiding pot holes of course. It seems there is no ‘side of road’, that is, that the Ghanaians drive on the left but on the right if there is a pot hole and there is no room for a third lane of traffic or if oncoming traffic can’t move over, if they can’t, they signal as if to go into you and beep. They beep for bikes, children, goats, motos, cow and funny Zha cow like creatures, basically anything that might get run over and could move to get out of the way. It’s all very friendly, and as long as you have a good bus driver, fairly safe. The land is so green and lush, it’s incredible. Slow down for a second and you are surrounded by people trying to sell you things, cassava chips, bread, bananas, all in a large round bowls balanced on their heads, mostly women and girls. Towns are busy and hectic but typically African. We had a good night in Kumasi and still the transport saga continued well into the night. It wasn’t until after we had gone to bed when we got the final call to say what was actually happening. A VSO worker had bagged us a mini bus to take us to Bolga the next day which meant we didn’t have to do another overnight stop. Great news. We left at 6 am picked up at the gate to the hotel so no taxi needed. Not quite as luxurious, no radio, Bollywood style soap operas but intermittent air con. Surprisingly more tarmac than you could have hoped for and more pot holes than you would have wished for. The land continued to remain lush and green, on crossing the top of what I think must be lake Volta, either that or a very larger river running into it, the houses started to take on a more local feel. Gone were the breeze block compounds and instead were circular mud huts with straw cone roofs groups together. More and more termite mounds were cropping up, It was getting more rural. And I was getting closer to home. We did have to hit Tamale first, which we did, dropping off some vols at their hotel, and then picked up some locals needing to go to Bolga. Well, no point in having a half empty bus where you can have your own space; No! Bung people in, squash people in. You know what? Add a few plastic chairs down the aisle and bung some more people in. Pwah to personal space). For two hours I don’t know how I didn’t scream. My ankles were the size of the yellow melons that woman was trying to sell me back in Tamale. I didn’t care. We had dropped off the loacals at the bus station and the minibus was taking us to our doors. Goodness knows how they managed to wangle that but thank Jesus above (it’s all that preaching I was exposed to) they did. No lugging the 3 massive suitcases across mud to a taxi which can’t fit it in with ankles the size of melons. No just lugging 3 massive suitcases across heaped mud and rivers of (…. We’ll leave it there) to the other end of the road, because there was Men At Work - my road was being dug up. Presumably to deal with the over flow. The smell, the stench. Anyway. I had arrived, to be greeted by 3 female VSO vols, two of which were my housemates and Boris the dog. I couldn’t wait to unpack!
* This phenomenon had been mentioned during the ICT. It appears that no matter what job you do (including teaching), closing early on a Friday is pretty much a given and I don’t mean leaving at 3.30 to go down the pub…. I mean leaving after lunch (no Friday night detention for the Ghanaian’s then!), this equates to not a hope in hell of organising a workshop for a Friday and getting people to arrive to make it worthwhile. I have later found out that there is no point in considering doing a workshop on Monday either, on Mondays the Ghanaian’s are thinking about going to work. I have decided this phenomenon is worldwide, as a consultant in the UK, Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays were preferred workshop days. The only difference is the British remain stiff upper lipped and fail to reveal why. I figure we are all thinking about working on a Monday whether we are physically there or not and on a Friday we just wanna get the hell outa there. Same same.
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