Happy Easter!!!!

Just returned from a dusty, bumpy adventure-filled two weeks of travelling with my senior sister, Eileen, aka Yin Poka (her adopted local name meaning female god, no less!). She touched down on the 20th, we spent a couple of days bumming round Bolga/ Tongo & then, on the 23rd we decided we really should get a plan together & start moving before xmas. Neither of us had anything particular we wanted to do or see, so we decided we would roughly make our way slowly south & see what happens!
We arrived in Tamale (2 hours south, 3rd largest city in Ghana) which feels like a big bad city compared to Bolga. Tamale is a bit of a crossroads – you can head west (ghanas least developed region), keep going south, heading for the volta (world’s largest manmade lake?) or east of the volta – which has some nice mountains (eileen) & yendi, a small divided town which was out of bounds for a long time due to chieftancy disputes (me). So east it is! It was lights out in Tamale, so we had an early enough night in our sweaty little room at Al Hassans & slept fitfully.
Christmas eve & Tamale bus station is a busy little spot. Like a lot of these stations, you often have plenty of time to sit & people-watch & browse the goods that come to you via the many many hawkers. This particular morning we sampled nescafe in bags (skawldy), and a very strong ginger tea from a very handsome young man from Niger. The bus eventually filled up & was feeling very excited & adventurous about heading in to the unknown (yendi), not knowing where we will stay that night , would there be room at the inn???????
Yendi is a lovely little spot, you’d never guess there has been any troubles there until we spotted the odd military tank. There’s a real back water, 1 horse town feel to the place & everybody greeted us. I don’t think they get too many visitors. Fortunately, there was room at the Yahaya Iddy Lodge. Comfortable little place with a\c (didn’t need) & no running water. Xmas eve was spent literally saying hello to everyone as we walked the length & breadth of the town. The kids were particularly excitable. We ate in the local constituency office, was invited to a baby naming ceremony (muslim) and watched a big group of men practice their drumming & dancing, twirling in their smocks– great! We saw young men weaving the local cloth & then headed to evening mass – catholic. Was disappointed as it was exactly the same as home apart from the choir (nice) & getting splashed with holy water by priest.
Xmas morning we were hungry & walked down the street looking for food. It wasn’t looking too promising, until we discovered a stall selling fried egg sandwiches & tea – was the best xms breakfast ever! Was very happy. Yendi is mostly muslim so it was all business as usual, which was grand. We hired bikes off a dude on the street & headed back to the lodge to rest for a while (the heat can be pretty exhausting). Wished a lad (Saani) sitting outside our room happy xmas & he informed it was actually a sad xmas as his crops had all been burnt down (they burn the grasses annually here to keep snakes etc at bay & sometimes they get out of control). So was chatting to him for a while & the manager about the situation in the town. Turns our there are 2 sides, each with their own acting chief. Their previous chief died 20 years ago & they have not had the funeral yet & they say there won’t be peace until the funeral happens. All very interesting stuff. There was a public announcement made saying there would be no fire festival (usually celebrated on the 28th in the northern region) as it would be the perfect opportunity to start burning houses down (thatch roofs on all these little mud houses). So, when sis was rested enough, we went for a cycle out of town where we pretty much had the road to ourselves, apart from the odd other dude on a bike (remember al Hassan & his mother on the back and his dog after them – not for eating!). Investigated termite mounds (huge!!!) and passed by little villages feeling like we were on a living documentary. Had a lovely xmas dinner of rice, beans, macaroni, chicken & coke x’s 2(thanks dad - dad sent out 50 euros for a nice xmas dinner – must give him the 47 euros change!). Laughed at a little 1 on the way home, who was caught short going to the toilet & ran away from the “soulamias” (us whities) crying with her skirt around her feet – everyone was laughing. Night fell & had a nice cold beer & watched the world go by on Yendi high street – the silhouettes of the girls going home with the loads on their heads, the men out praying & all the usual goats, sheep pigs etc rummaging around. Was joined by a nice lady, Souira, who offered us a lift back to the lodge on her moto. Nice. Ate some cake & pud (thanks mum) watched some crap tv & felt a bit more like christmas!
We were up lovely & early Stephen’s day to get the early bus to Bimbilla – thinking if we get there early we can keep going – head for the hills. Six o clock in the morning is by far the nicest time of the day. It was cool – could even wear a jumper! I don’t bother but you do see dudes with coats & woolly hats. Watched the lads load up the roof, goat after goat after goat & tonnes more stuff then finally more passengers! A young man with a copy of ‘the merchant of venice’ asked me if i wanted a read. Can’t really figure why they study that stuff here. Anyways, was sorry to see the back of Yendi, which we affectionately renamed Dink City, DC. The journey started out lovely, with a belly full of egg sambos & sweet coffee. The road was great for about 5km. Then suddenly hit the dirt road & the entire bus shook & the windows rattling was deafening. Dust poured in the windows & it felt more like a choppy sea ride than a bus. That wasn’t so bad, but then heard a snap & part of the roof was broken & was sagging at which stage everyone was shouting at the driver who shouted back & kept going. I was sooo scared. The thoughts of that steal roof caving in , followed by the boxes, crates, bags, furniture & a farm full of goats & people was not good. Surely only God could get us there now. (I’m starting to appreciate why everyone puts their faith in God – there isn’t much else!)Eileen must have looked pretty scared too as at 1 stage the Shakespeare boy told her not to be scared. Tried to think of something else (for the next 2 hours) & not look at the roof but was hard. The roads are scray enough here without also having to worry about he roof caving in! Was most releieved/ shaky to reach Bimbilla in 1 piece & after a nice cup of tea & hearing they would be having the fire festival we decided to stay for a couple of days. Some boys showed us the Junior Originals’ Guesthouse & we chilled for the afternoon.
Not much going on in Bimbilla, bar a lotta lotta dust, which gives it a bit of a run – down feel. Strolled down the road – not as ridiculously friendly as yendi but friendly all the same. Going past the bus station , a young man greeted us, wished us a happy EasterJ & showed us where we could eat –nice little place. His name was Ibrahim, he had just finished secondary school, failed English & maths & was now selling fone credit under an umbrella in the bus station. He was very sweet, I was asking him about the chief situation here (similar problems as yendi aparently ) & he told me he didnt know as he was only a small boy. So he taught us a few words of local language (language changes in practically every town!) –how to say good evening & respond & thought us saying it was the funniest thing ever. I love these dudes – there’s a real sweet innocence about them – not like in the cities! Although Eileen got a “whats up” off a few cooler dudes wearing baseball caps that night. Was talking to some funny drunk guys back at Originals, who wanted to come to Ireland in my suitcase (if i had a cedi for everytime i heard that 1!). They told us the story behind the festival. A long log time ago, a chief/ prophet married & he and his wife had no son. They tried & tried (only got daughtersL) and eventually the gods smiled on them & they had a son! They were soo happy. One day the wife couldn’t find the son. The chief didn’t now where he was either. They were very worried so they called together everyone in the village (using the “talking drums” –dude acted this out for us very well!) to tell everyone to go out & find the son. So they took torches of fire & off they all went. They eventually found the boy under a baobab tree so they took the boy & some branches from the tree & returned to the palace – the branches symbolise new hope/ beginnings. Nice story.
So, the following day was to be the Festival. Asking around & people were very vague about the details of the wheres & whens. So, after mass (again – boring apart from singing but not a lot else happening) & wandering around and resting and meeting some lovely children, we sat for a beer as the night fell around the spot where apparently it would all be happening. 6, 7 oclock, still nothing. Then, out of nowhere we could hear drums & shouting & saw fire & a procession of thousands of people marching past – incredible! Everyone had torches - women with babies on their backs, children, young men with big knives, faces painted white, devils horns – the works! So a young girl, Freeda caught me by the arm, passed me a torch & said come on , so me & Eileen were whisked away into the sea of fire! There were literally thousands of people & they were delighted to see the whities taking part! Soon enough our friend Ibrahim clocked us & he and his friend flanked us on either side & became our bodyguards for the night! The kicked small children out of the way – told us when to stop, when to “branch” & basically warned everyone close by to keep their distance. Meanwhile bushes & grass & everything along the way was being set alight. I had 1 small scared girl clinging to me til Ibrahim spotted her & gave her her marching orders. It sounds intense & it was, but it was absolutely hilarious. I felt like royalty. Eileens bodyguard, Saani, a cute little 15 year old ,wouldn’t let me open my water bottle myself & practically held it to my lips. Very funny. So, we reached the tree, swapped our torches for branches (relief!) & all headed back to the village. The lights went out & everyone just piled home. Freeda wanted to go to the disco so the 5 of us piled in had a boogie & was then escorted home covered in dust & black. What a buzz!
Next morning we were up at 6 to get the early bus out of town, heading further south. It left 7 hours later! so we had plenty opportunity to familiarise ourselves with the bus station, the toilets & the sisters who made the best egg sandwiches in town. Of course our pals from the previous night showed up & we were relieved to get on the bus & roll out of there after lunch to Hohoe. Hohoe is another lovely bigger town with a few tourists knocking around. We visited the “biggest” waterfalls in west Africa. Nobody is quite sure exactly how high they are & local estimates range from 20 meters to 2km! But they are big & for the first time in Ghana it provided a safe place to swim, which went down well. It was pretty quiet with just a couple of kids having a splash, a Togolese Jehvovs Witness & a young man who sang Celine Dion to me in a bizaarly high pitched voice!
Heading into new years, we hit the hills to mountain paradise lodge, pretty much what it was. I got a rough cold though & pretty much convalesced in a lounger looking out over the hills spotting the odd butterfly, reading Adrain Moles The Prostate Years & dozing small small. New Years eve we were joined by a few other travellers over some delicious groundnut soup & forced ourselves to stay awake til midnight. Nobody broke into Auld Langs syne thankfully!
So, New years day & business as usual as we descended the hills & hitched a ride to Ho from a lad with the National Lottery. I was pretty nervous in the car as we seemed to be going pretty fast & couldnt tell if this lad- Mensah- had been drinking or what was up with him. He was certainly tired, having been in church till 2 in the morn to bring in the new year. Later learned that was pretty much how everyone celebrated! Unfortunately we missed that one! So tried to relax a little & enjoy the scenery (lovely lush jungle) & was relived to arrive safely in Ho. We immediately squeezed into a trotro to the coast.
Keta is a very peculiar backwater of a place, which has practically been washed away by the sea. There are old colonial buildings lying in ruins & the town is all sand & very curious indeed. Not too many visitors here either it seemed. The beach is lovely & pretty much empty apart from a few young boys trying to surf on a plank of wood. We jumped in enthusiastically but got scared of the strong tide so settled for a little paddling pool by the spot, which was really lovely for an hour or so. As was the swimming by our hotel, which we really enjoyed the next morning for a few hours. We decided we needed one more adventure before returning north, so headed out of town to visit a famous fetish priest (possessed by the local god) at his shrine, who gathers with his congregation every Sunday after 2, according to the Bradt Guide. So, we arrived in this small small village with a big big shrine. We asked a young lad if it was ok to visit the priest. He went off, came back & asked for our names & country. He went off, came back, said that was fine!? & so in we went. There was a strong 200 plus congregation, doing some drumming, singing & dancing. We were introduced to the priest, via his secretary who wanted to know how we heard of this place. We showed him the guide, he wasn’t aware of it, so he photocopied it & the ceremonies began. We sat in the fancy chairs up the top, singing & dancing stopped & all took to their seats, women on the right, men on the left, the priest & his men up the front. No photos allowed. They brought a man out, who stood before the chief in robes. The chief stood up, removed 1 robe, then the other to reveal a naked man! Very interesting. He then wrapped a grass “skirt” around his waist & led him round in circles & then made him do a dance. Amazing. So he was done & now it was time to start seriously offering up some cocks (chickens) & goats to the gods in exchange of favours granted & to be granted. They held them up before the shrine by the scruff of the neck, drummed a bit & then they were dead! Didnt realise they were actually strangling themL Pretty rough. So there was loads more dead chickens, blood & dancing which was really cool. So, when we’d had our fill of dead chickens, 2 hours later, we took to our heals for the big smoke & a 13 hour bus ride home-which wasn’t boring cause we had 12 hours of Nigerian movies & they saved the foaming at the mouth bible stuff for the last hour arriving home sweet home to Bolga at 5 in the morning.
After a couple of days chilling,staff party (check out sis & our new chief!) had to say bye-bye to sis at Paga after 1 last egg sambo at the lorry station & more g-nuts & milky sweet coffee. Best xmas ever! (well at least since i got bootskates off santa in 1988).