After waiting a very frustrating three hours for the moto trainers to turn up we started our training just after 12 noon on Monday morning. In the midday sun. We started by going over the 5 day schedule from Monday 9 am (yes, I know, we were already at 12 noon Monday and had missed the 3 hours of training we were then told about – even the tea break) to Friday 5.30 pm. We were then ‘picked’ to the stadium field in which we were to do our off road field practice. Being ‘picked’ is a very Ghanaian English phrase meaning ‘to give a lift to’. You can say it in a number of ways here; ‘I’ll pick you’, ‘Pick me’ and to the taxi driver; ‘can you pick me at 9am tomorrow please’. All of which sounds very odd but makes utter and complete sense here.
We were given a talk about the parts of the bike. Yawn. But for the whole entire 5 days gears were called ‘Grears’, nuts and bolts were called ‘nots and bolts’ and spark plugs were called spark ploogs’. It’s difficult to really explain how the word is said in writing with the strong Ghanaian accent attached, suffice to say, internally I was amused. Which is good, I’d been waiting for soooooo long to get going I was ready to burst. I was the first to fall off (as predicted). My own fault, I was getting a bit too cocky as we were doing the equivalent of snaking in and out of the cones using trees when the tragedy struck. It had something to do with the fact it was loose sandy soil and a huge number of tree roots were exposed. Hey ho. Just my pride that was damaged magnified by the fact that I was at the front behind the trainer so everyone saw. We spent some time, too long, doing figures of 8 and by the end of day one, full with SWAP restaurant pizza (will be giving that a miss in the future) I was itching to get on the road.
Day two started with our first road trip via the busiest traffic lighted cross roads in Bolga, which in my month here have never worked. And in my house mate Hannah’s year here have worked maybe 75% of the time. Generally we will turn up at the office and a police officer will be directing the traffic and by the time we wait an hour or so for the trainers to turn up, they are no longer there… it’s a case of closing your eyes and hoping for the best. Bunny hopping across this junction was not one of my finest moto moments but I made it and managed the sand, the river banks, river bed, oncoming traffic on the wrong side of the road, various ‘honorary policeman’ and didn’t need a loo stop. Our meeting that afternoon with the DVLA Upper East Regional Director was not particularly enlightening, except when he explained why they don’t enforce animals are tied up in this country. To be fair, if they didn’t let them roam in the dry season they would all die, they need to be able to roam and find food and water. Anyway, we were told, ‘The animals are honorary policemen, we like them; they make the traffic slow down…’ What?! They cause the most accidents.
Day three started with a 4 hour (should have been 2 hour) trip to Bongo and the Burkina Faso boarder. The scenery was fab, and we passed through a few very rural villages. Why did it take so long? One of the volunteers had still not been able to get past 2nd ‘grear’. An issue when you need a bit of speed. ‘Why was she on the road then?’ I hear you ask… ‘It’s Ghana’ is the only reply I have for that.
We sat through another ridiculous talk about the rules and regulations of driving in Ghana by a Police Commander from Upper East, which was pretty much a repeat of yesterday, the only sensible thing said was ‘you must wear a helmet’. Most sentences started with, ‘you should’, ‘you must try’, ’it is law here to….’ knowing perfectly well that no one abides by the rules and regulations. The most hilarious statement from locals is that if you ride a push bike (there are many here) then the road rules don’t apply – including which side of the road you ride on and abiding by red lights – because you are on a push bike. Even though if you are on a push bike you are even more exposed than on a moto as you have no helmet – go figure.
To be honest, if you are at a stop light, it doesn’t matter what vehicle you are in. No one stops. It was market day so we had requested a town ride when Bolga would be at its busiest. Market days are heaving form very early in the morning until very late at night. It was during this relatively short road trip (and directly after the talk from the police commander that the trainers had sat through) that I narrowly missed two sheep, a dog, a cow (sorry… four honorary policeman) and a woman crossing the road. Then when I stopped at the stop light… well it was red, I was shouted at to ’Go! Go! Go!’ by the trainer….. I simply closed my eyes, took a deep breath and figured it’s actually safer to ‘do as they do in Rome’… if we get stopped by the police on a ‘crack down’, it appears you simply give them a few cedi and all is good. No problem then…. Agghhhh...corruption at its finest.
On day four at DVLA my licence should have been converted to a temporary Ghanaian Licence which will be replaced with a permanent one in 3 months. I was told to smile and chat enough to the DVLA man that he liked me and didn’t ask to see me ride, nor take the written test. I understand he would also have been ‘dashed’ some money to get the solomeas (white people) through. We would use a different term in the UK… I’ll let you figure out what it is. It’s the Ghanaian way. Day four would have been bureaucracy and corruption at it’s very best. Unfortunately the machine to make the licence was broken and the man who fix’s it was in Tamale, a 5 hour tro tro ride away. So instead of bureaucracy and corruption we were faced with the consequences of living in a remote part of a developing country. I’m learning the patiences of a saint. The licence will be next week or maybe the week after, who knows. Now we wait. Instead we took a ride out to Tongo and the Tongo Hills to practice steep hills…
The long trip to Paga and the crocodile pools took us on a brilliant ride for our final day. I honestly felt like I was doing motor-cross riding or something. With a distinct split in the group (one girl only getting up to 3rd ‘grear’ today) we split into two and I went for speed. Loved it. Making friends with the crocodiles was unusual to say the least. Never have I seen a man get in with the crocodiles and paddle around it in the water swinging its tail around like it’s some kind of toothless inanimate object. I remind myself where I am and then everything seems normal.
Even the trainers going off to the boarder for over an hour to flirt with the women didn’t bother me today. I’m done with getting stressed about waiting and remembering to bring a book.
I’ve succeeded all week to ‘manage’ my toilet stops to coincide with being around a toilet, always helpful but not always an option in Ghana. Public toilets in Ghana as I am sure you can imagine are not ideal. Women have the choice of a urinal for a number one and a toilet for a number two. I have yet to experience the urinal, will have to let you know. The toilets are grim and I would never use them for what they are meant for – would rather bust my colon. If you are in a more rural area you don’t worry about toilets or urinals….just make friends with nature and hope you have brought along some T roll….The VSO toilet is acceptable and all week I’ve managed to hold it to make it back to the office and at the same time holding off any impending water infections. It’s a difficult plate to balance when you live in a country of extreme heat. You don’t want to drink so much you need to go to the loo every 5 minutes, especially when toilets are difficult to find but at the same time you need to replace the gallons of water you lose through every pore of your body, all day, day and night. I had known all week Paga would be the day I experienced my first ‘going to the loo the local way’. You can’t miss the openness they have in partaking in what I consider to be a very private act. Men are constantly peeing on the side of the road (my mother would hate it) with no care or desire to hide what they are doing. I’m immune to this now. I am not however yet immune to seeing people treating shitting in the same way. Literally they just squat in the busiest, most open area you can find and crap…. Luckily I didn’t need to get at one with nature on the number two front but was successful in peeing behind a tree missing my leg, my shoes, experiencing little ‘splash back’ and as far as I’m aware kept my western dignity.
This was not the case for a female member of our moto group however, who, to maintain her dignity, shall remain nameless. I am so surprised this wasn’t me. It was during the time a member of the group had come a little too close to a dog (actually it was the dog which had come too close to her) and had come off her moto, in the middle of a village. I had ridden off with another vol unaware of the carnage behind but turned around and returned to the scene when we realised no one was following. While we were alcohol wiping her legs and ankles another female vol realised this could be an opportunity to go pee. She realised the fallen moto rider had enough help and took the opportunity to ask one of the local villages where she could pee. They directed her to an open space at the back of a ‘house’, her face must have said it all as she was redirected away from the open space towards a bush at the back of the house. Still donning her helmet she decided it was safe to ‘go’ and dropped her pants. It was around this time that she noticed a couple behind the next house having a good old look. She felt safe in the fact that in wearing the helmet no one would know who she was so she continued peeing, finished, pulled up her trousers and walked back to the front of the house thanking god that she would never have to visit this village again. Unfortunately she had been left with a very uncomfortable spiky feeling between her buttocks. Her first thought she recounted to me later was that she had a caterpillar up her bum. In Ghana you see there are many and they are all extremely hairy. She panicked. Wouldn’t you?! She spoke with a local village woman and tried to explain her predicament and asked to go in the house to sort herself out. This involved a panicked face and a lot of pointing. The Ghanaian lady was telling her to take off her trousers and in the commotion left to retrieve a sarong to save my friends dignity. Thankfully the offending object was retrieved and the spiky grass flower was removed from the buttock area… slippery little suckers. Thank goodness it wasn’t a caterpillar! Through my friends traumatic experience us girls now check before we squat that there are no long bits of grass for us to pick with our bum cheeks as we rise from the squat position.
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