Mole National Park – Ghana

Exiting Tongo was like escaping the apocalypse; the countryside crackling all around us, sounding like a hailstorm on a tin roof in slow motion, yet the thick black smoke, intense heat, and sight of flames ravenously consuming a particularly dense area of bush revealed the true source of the sound. A little tortoise scurried around on the hot ashes, its life turned upside down, not knowing which way to turn. We were sat at the border surrounded by fires in all directions, the sun masked by the smoke that only eased when the flames got particularly aggressive. We crossed into Ghana where a degree of normality returned and it felt like for now at least, we were safe from any impromptu barbeques. Driving along, it appeared that Ghana had already had a good go at burning anything that would burn. It took a full day to get from the border to Mole National Park and I found myself sat in one of the rear-facing seats which always seems to offer a greater opportunity to take everything in as we pass by. It also means that people have already clocked the truck and composed their reactions which are more likely to be seen when looking back than sat facing forward. A debate had sprung up centred around judging countries and their friendliness based on how much the locals wave at the truck. It’s a crude measure for sure but I feel it offers a simple baseline. Some argued that it was vain to be expecting scenes of welcome and waving back as the truck tore past in a wave of dust. I don’t particularly feel comfortable with it, but then I see a 6-year-old girl dragging a full 20-litre drum of water stop, coyly smile, and wave, to which I return a smile and wave triggering her smile to erupt from expectation to radiant joy. We can spend all day discussing why that may be, but on the simplest level is not returning a wave and a smile with the same better then pretending to blank it?

Mole National Park is Ghana’s premier wildlife viewing park full of elephants, leopards, warthogs, crocodiles, and countless birds. It is also the perfect example of where just a little love and care would go a long way. Our campsite was bare, dusty, and scorched by the sun, although to be fair, so was the majority of the park. The baboon proof bins were far from it, and the bathroom block looked as though an elephant had got stuck inside with little left intact. Despite happily purchasing many beers we would have to pay to take a cooling dip in the pool. As it turned out, I probably should have treated myself to an air-conditioned upgrade that came with breakfast and the swimming pool, but as the trip was so close to the end and I was yet to upgrade, I felt I was cheating myself. Instead of rushing on a game drive at 6.30am on our first full day I had taken the decision to nurse a rum induced hangover instead, loafed around the campsite for the majority of the day, and jumped on a 3.30pm safari. Going back to what I was just saying, a little love and effort would go a long way. Despite the park being a tad shy of 5,000 square kilometres our guides were reluctant to go much further than the lodge and they had us back comfortably under the scheduled two hours, after departing late. Still, we did get to see an elephant or two in the setting sun, a few monkeys, and of course, many birds. If anything, it was nice to go out for an open-air drive. I did manage a 7am walking safari the following morning which started in much the same vain as the evening before, passing elephants and warthogs grazing on the local soccer pitch next to the village and its primary school. Things did improve though, not so much with the wildlife viewing, but certainly with the hiking as we finally turned away from civilisation and hiked in towards the waiting expanse of the national park. Obviously, it wasn’t long before we were turning back to camp but as with the drive the evening before, it was nice to be out on a little hike in a stunning ecosystem. 

Now you may think I’m being a tad dismissive about seeing some of Africa’s incredible wildlife and I am, with good reason. While preparing brunch at camp on our first day, a warthog and her babies casually approached us in search of food and made several additional sorties during our stay. These animals are usually impossible to photograph as they are so skittish in the wild which is why I found it strange so many were about the village. We never fed them, but easy pickings were obviously to be had somewhere. There were then the baboons. One time I was loitering around the empty campsite a troop of baboons began a raid, poking around anything and everything that took their fancy. Incredibly they weren’t too fussed about the tents, probably because they were distracted by the large blue truck with its windows cranked open by maybe five centimetres to allow a smidgen of fresh air inside. This was all that was needed for a baboon to get his hand inside and onto a bag of baguettes. I approached the truck amongst shouts from the thief’s mates, managed to get inside, and came face-to-face with the aggressor who bared his teeth at me in a brazen attempt to get me to leave him be. For a moment it was impossible to get near the window to close it while the thief lashed out at me in absolute faith that he could beat me in a fight. I’ll admit, it was unnerving. The following day I was sat by the pool reading a book when two baboons came running into the bar area at full pelt ignoring everyone lounging around, intent on carrying out a shock and awe style attack, diving into the kitchen that was soon emitting sounds of crashing pots and pans, a chorus of Ghanian swear words, and then departing just as quick with a bottle of tomato ketchup. Finally, let us never forget that Africa always delivers – as if all this wasn’t enough already. With the heat and dare I say a little boredom creeping in on our second full day, I headed to the tent for a cheeky siesta as the heat of the day began to tail off. I slept little, in part amused by the rummaging sounds in the nearby bushes that I assumed to be our warthog or baboon friends. I therefore got up and made my way to the truck to prepare the kitchen for cooking dinner, but it soon became clear this would have to wait as an elephant swung his head around from inside the surrounding bushes and advanced towards me a little faster than I felt comfortable with. I hastily made my retreat, quickly opening the truck, and sat there happily watching the elephant go about his day. My cooking partner arrived shortly afterwards but other than that it was just the three of us, two watching in absolute silence and awe, the other ripping leaves of trees and sniffing around the tents before finally wondering off towards the village. The elephant was the same chap we’d seen several times, identifiable by his single tusk, no doubt comfortable around humans, yet still an intimate encounter with very much an extraordinary wild animal.

The morning we left Mole NP, we stopped off at the Larabanga Mosque, one of the oldest in West Africa, built around 1421 with mud and sticks. It is a profoundly beautiful building, stout and whitewashed with wooden poles sticking out of its walls that offer support for the planks used to stand on when carrying out maintenance. We weren’t allowed inside, and the locals were very strict about our presence within the general area, never mind the mosque. Although it wasn’t uncomfortable, we were happy to hit the road, stopping off at an impressive waterfall for lunch before continuing south and stopping at another waterfall and bush camp overnight. It was one of the more peculiar bush camps. One we had to pay to use yet had no facilities and was littered with the shells of chalets half-built and quickly falling into ruin before getting chance to serve their intended purpose. The river was a murky grey, the waterfall set amongst the trees where intermittent heaps of litter lay and concrete structures for whatever purpose ruined the natural beauty of the plunge pool. Cows were constantly herded along the track that ran through the camp area, although this was a bias joy amongst an otherwise 1980s Soviet subsidiary. Once again, I was left with the dilemma that faces me with every bush camp, bathroom facilities. Throughout this trip of West Africa I have gained an incredible amount of self-confidence which has led me to believe I can do anything I want, such as waiting for an acceptable toilet instead of stressing about finding a bush which just makes me want the bush more. Knowing we were staying at a good place in Kumasi the following day I mentally prepared myself to hold on tight until arriving there instead of looking for the perfect bush. It’s mind over matter when attempting to avoid the need for a bush poo. Some places are much more inviting than others. The arid north of Ghana and Togo has not been one of those places. Whether my eccentric little brain will successfully play the game or not, only time will tell.

3^rd February 2024