Lake Volta region – Ghana

I couldn’t shake the feeling of exhaustion. I had finally been getting some good night’s sleep in a comfy bed, but still I had nothing in the tank, I just wanted to spend time on my own reading and listening to podcasts. The Blonde Squad and co were long gone, now on different continents, soon to be reabsorbed into their lives as they were before coming to Africa. The few that remained from the previous trip showed signs of surprise with my transition from an over-energised drunken adult child to a melancholic, introverted middle-aged man. In truth I think my mind was just going through some kind of withdrawal while my body was taking full advantage to recharge. Subconsciously, it was probably nice to have a few days taking a step back. I did trim my beard. After three weeks of neglect, it had become unbearable and a trim provided a surprising boost of freshness, enabling me to board the truck and leave Accra a little more focused on what lay ahead and more receptive of the six newbies that had joined us. It quickly became apparent what caused the little rumbles in the previous group, too many alpha personalities. Thinking back, whenever I tried to tell a story people would talk over me or simply ignore me hence why I don’t usually tell many stories in general. Ironically, some of my closest friends probably share the same sentiments about me. The new group, helped by being smaller, but also not appearing to have any alphas, felt much more relaxed form the start. A new, particularly jolly crew member had also joined to take on the driving duties as the original driver, Dean, had torn his knee to shreds a few weeks before while playing in the surf. 

From Accra we made a short drive to Aylos Bay Lodge which sits on the banks of the Volta River just downstream from the famous dam. It was a beautiful stop, perfect for my rehab and desire to socialise little and read a lot. A visit to a local glass bead workshop was all I had to concern myself with. Little more than a small collection of buildings, a pile of glass bottles, and several mud furnaces, the Cedi Bead workshop is apparently world renowned for their glass beads that play an important role in Ghanian culture. It turned out to be quite interesting. First, used glass is smashed down into powder and then, through artistic ability far beyond my own, different coloured glass powders can be layered so that when heated and remoulded back into glass they produce infinite beautiful patterns. Some in the group wanted to make their own, I didn’t, but I was only too happy to doze under a tree after realising it was a great opportunity to buy Rut some earrings. Back at the campsite, the two guys I had seen in the morning loitering on the water with their canoes hoping for business were still patiently waiting late into the afternoon. They weren’t pushing a hard-sell on anyone and I can only assume that determined patience pays in this part of the world. 

Our journey took us northwards past fixed machine gun posts that sent a warning we were in the high security area surrounding the Akosombo Dam which creates one of the top three largest man-made lakes in the world. A little further on, we camped at one of our more unique stops, Roots Yard, a twee ecolodge that encouraged the guests to unleash their Rasta, something that is never going to happen with me as I have an abundance of energy and spend too much time thinking to be able to walk at the pace required of Rastafarianism while enjoying Reggae music. You’re right, I have no idea what I’m talking about. However, I do have one interesting fact. Rastafarianism, although born in Jamaica, has its roots well and truly in Ethiopia. While staying at the ecolodge we went on a walk around the outskirts of the local village with a guide who showed us numerous local plants and the many medicinal and practical uses they had. I couldn’t care less, but the walk was very much appreciated, and it continued into the sweet spot of the day when the sun began to cool off in place of an explosion of subtle colour. We then headed off to see some of the local drum makers who had their stalls alongside the main road. As interesting as all this craft stuff can be, I hate feeling the pressure to buy something and I opted out of the drumming demonstration to sit inside the truck and instead watch a man up a nearby power pole attaching a light with nothing more than a single precarious looking belt and a pair of spiked boots holding him in place. On returning to the ecolodge I was surprised to find myself going to bed at 10pm after an unexpected number of beers, cocktails, and shots on the back of a very good vegan dinner. Involuntary veganism aside, my emotional stone wall had begun to crack. 

We headed up into the coolness of the mountains where a few of us hoped to get on a good 10-kilometre hike but as has been all too familiar on this tour we were unable to find any reliable guides. It’s quite frustrating as we thought it would be easier to plan such activities in an English-speaking country, there is so much potential for hiking of all lengths and abilities in the area, yet the locals just think you are mad that anyone would choose to walk for fun. We had to settle with the four-kilometre self-guided hike down to one of the waterfalls near to the camp, although that took a bit of Google Maps and sheer good fortune to get us there. It turned out to be quite the adventure as we descended amongst the trees and guessed the way at some junctions before reaching the small river that led us to the top of the waterfall. A series of fixed ropes then guided us along some steep terrain with impressive views before making a sudden turn downwards. It wasn’t quite abseiling, and I loved it, but it was probably a bit too steep and muddy for anyone not up to strength. At the bottom we were greeted with the waterfall’s plunge pool and a chilly place to cool off and swim, although the small island of floating plastic bottles took away some of the majesty of the place. Still, we were the only ones there, it was peaceful, and above all a stunning patch of nature. 

We arrived at our final stop in Ghana, next to Wli Falls, after stopping in to see some protected and sacred monkeys that despite a good historical story, the cost of getting to feed them a banana probably wasn’t worth the experience. Unfortunately, it felt like another example of holding on to the smallest piece of nature possible so that it can be monetised through tourism while everything else burns. In this region, that statement can be taken literally for we watched the surrounding mountainside light up with fire while enjoying a cold beer over dinner at camp. Wli Falls finally offered up the chance to go for a proper hike and we took it with gusto. Heading down to the park entrance at 7am, we collected our guide, and began a gradual climb from a hot 250 metres up to a loftier 700 metres. As we climbed up out of the trees and into the rocky outcrops that had been ablaze only the night before, we were greeted with incredible views of Ghana behind us, and Togo in front of us down in the valleys and beyond the mountain range that splits the two countries. As we levelled out, the path took us further along the mountain ridge until we caught sight of the highest waterfall in West Africa which could be anywhere between 80 and 480 metres high. Data is hard to come by and my ability to judge heights is even worse. However, the waterfall is technically two waterfalls with the first ending with a plunge pool before flowing along a tiny stretch of river and continuing down a second fall. I would argue that each fall is 80-100 metres high. Whatever their height they were wonderful to hike to, the challenging terrain made all the easier with the airconditioned forest created by the spray. After hiking down to the foot of the first waterfall, we retraced our steps back uphill before descending to the very bottom and getting the opportunity to swim. Here, the cliffs were black with large bats clinging to the rock in the shade of the midday sun. Back at camp in time for lunch we had knocked out 12 kilometres over six hours, fully satisfied to have properly got out into the stunning country that has been passing us by daily. 

The original title for this blog was to be When the laughter died, but upon reflection and the passage of time I realised that was a little dark, and although the laughter had died for a few days it slowly began to return. Relative to the first half of the tour I’m currently far from happy, but it is slowly creeping back as I become at ease with my new social surroundings. A good hike in a stunning environment makes a big difference, as does a new drinking buddy happy to keep some casual beers flowing during the evenings. I’m travelling with some great people, and a message from the Blonde Squad reminding me that it’s a ‘privilege’ to be on such an adventure was exactly what I needed to hear. There is no truer word, it is, as always, an absolute privilege to be travelling in this part of the world.

17^th January 2024