Back to Ghana

Saturday

After a top notch breakfast, we climbed onto the back of motorcycle taxies for our trip up Mount Klouto. It was only 12km from Kpalime although way up a narrow, winding mountain road. We briefly stopped for photos at a waterfall. Instead of hiking up Mount Klouto right away, our guide took us to a local artists gallery.
Using paints made from local plants and canvas also made locally, the paintings were rather stunning. While there were typical depictions of palm trees, traditional mud huts, and women, I was impressed by the amount of abstract art done by one of the artists. Perhaps it was the strength of the Togolese coffee but I overcame my usual pre-fabricated opinions about abstract art to warrant some complements. I also hoped for a good price on one of the hut with palm tree scenes hanging in the corner. Without even negotiating in the tense Ghanaian style, my offer of $20 USD for a 12,000 CFA painting was accepted. I also bought half a pound of coffee which will with any luck (pending my existing stock of Starbucks), make it all the way home.
Hiking up Mount Klouto was rather easy as our vertical ascent was at best 400 feet as the motorcycle taxis had done most of the work getting us to the artist gallery. We walked through a pretty English run hotel which may warrant another trip back as the locale was quiet and cool with beautiful views. We walked up the quiet dirt lane past an enormous tree, big enough to warrant photos of ourselves in the tree.

Through prettier fields of a crop of the unknown sort (at least to me) and past glimpses of the views below, we finally reached the flat top of Mount Klouto. We were even greeted by not one but two radio towers. Barring that, the view was rather stunning. While haze obscured things such as distance Lake Volta, we could still see the surrounding higher hills, a PM’s summer residence, and a small town nestled in the valley below us. Unfortunately, the legions of butterflies were reduced to just a few because of the later hour in the morning and the lack of ripe fruit on the large tree on the top.

Mount Agou, despite its taller nature, lacked the 360 degree views of Mount Klouto. It was more about the journey away as the mountain was a good 20km away over rough and narrow roads. It was quiet coming down as the motorcycle drivers turned off their motors to save gas as the grade allowed for surprisingly quick speeds. We passed through a small hillside village that could have come from Nepal. On the way back down, we were stopped by a fallen tree as a family of loggers were hard at work ravaging the hill side. My driver got off the bike, picked up a machete and within ten minutes, the large tree was cleared and we continue almost silently down the mountain road, the loud cycle horn advertising our presence coming around a blind turn.

Back to Accra

After a long wait for still more delicious food, my travel buddies and I decided that since we had accomplished all that we had set out to do, and since we were low on funds (16,000 CFA per night can do that), we hired our guide and two others to take us by motorcycle taxi to the border. Of course, luck would have it that we owed half a day extra due to our late checkout and the sky which had been relatively clear all day turned ominous as it often does although rain rarely falls from those skies here.

Well, we had sat on the back of motorcycles for at least 60km on Friday and as we hopped on one last time to go back, we had already logged 64km or more than day. Surely, a few more would not be too much of a problem even with full backpacks of stuff. Well, it turned out that my travel buddies were scared for their lives most of the way back.

The sky got darker, the rain drizzled down, and the road was among the worse “major” roads I had laid rubber on. Despite my grave misgivings on the 45km ride back from Lake Togo on Friday, complete with enormous and overloaded tractor trailer trucks, total road reconstruction, and other crazy motorcycles, all at the terrifically terrifying speed of 80-90km per hour, I thought the ride back to Ghana was a piece of cake. It helped that my driver and I joked about the road including my own father preference for non-avoidance of potholes.

All of my good rides were with drivers who at least could laugh at what I was saying, my non-Francoise coupled with “small-small English,” helped the mind forget the fact that one is indeed on the back of a motorcycle with no helmet, speeding along on an awful road at with a poorly functioning headlight, and clear out the thoughts of should one survive the immediate worst of a crash, the subsequent medical facilities located hours away in Ho, Ghana or Lome, Togo. Cutting edge surgery would be assessable only with the medical evacuation card in my wallet followed by a 6 hour chartered flight to Europe or South Africa. Plus, there is the added pressure of loved ones and what such an event could do to them. Should I travel to another country with abundant motorcycle taxis, I may purchase a helmet before leaving.

Crossing the Border

The poor quality indicated the amount of traffic the crossing to Ho, Ghana typically handled. Our first passport check was with a Togolese military guy. He was in a dilapidated hut, cradling a flashlight to look at our visas, write down our personal details inside an equally dilapidated ledger, and find the ink pad to give our passports a decent stamp. Should the Togolese military ever find a better use of their time, they could train 10 year old's to perform their job or at least a large percentage of it.

Our second Togolese passport check was even more relaxed. A military guy and his off duty buddy were lying on cots under a pavilion. We chatted up the lonely pair and the military guy became more animated as he came out of his drowsiness. “How are you from?” That was the answer he sought my colleague who was having none of it as it was at the end of a long day of traveling, all of which appeared lost on the face of military man. He gave us back our lifelines with a smile and a goodbye.

Finally in Ghana

We finally reached the Ghanaian border station. We were first asked for our yellow fever cards, a new experience as we had not been asked for them when we first arrived at the airport. After a few tense moments of frantic scrambling, we were waved through as the yellow card I received from the Albany medical clinic finally served its purpose after decorating the last page of my passport. This was also done by flashlight. Unlike the Ghanaian border station at busy Aflao, computers were nowhere to be found nor were the passport scanners, ready to scan my identity into Ghana’s database. Instead, flashlights built into cellphones and after an generous donation, matches started a lone candle which helped the agents read the Ghana residency permits in our passports and fill out our immigration forms. Shortly after beginning the process, the sky opened up as it had threatened to do the entire ride to the border. It did not just rain but bucketed in a tropical sort of fashion that one is accustomed to seeing television shows such as Lost. By the time the immigration formalities had been completed, most of rain stopped.

We got one lost short ride to the mostly empty tro-tro station and paid our guides with both CFAs, handshakes and hugs, augmenting that feeling of accomplishment at the ordeal we had all jointly experienced. The tro-tro was meant to hold nine, two in the front of the station wagon, four in the middle and three in the back but one lone Reuters contractor and ourselves ended up paying extra to get things moving to Ho. The car lacked even side panels on the doors as well as a handle to open the windows. My pencil found a use to crank things open. In addition to being dirt, the road was also under construction as the driver occasionally weaved through large piles of gravel and drove through large puddles of rain. We even passed a few soggy motorcycles trying to do the same thing. Ho came up quickly and the gentleman from Reuters walked us to the tro-tro station that goes to Accra as he was headed in the same direction. We settled in to a comfortable, new Toyota van with clean seats, air-conditioning, and closed windows for the two and a half hour jaunt back to Accra.

Togo was well loved as I know one of my travel buddies is headed back this weekend! If I had more money, I would join them but I would like to visit Burkina Faso and Mole National Park before heading home instead.