February 21, 2011
Several people requested elephant spotting while I’m over here, so I’m happy to report back my success. Seven of us ventured up to Mole National Park, which is in the north and takes roughly 18 hours to reach. Adventures galore in an 18-hour Ghanaian trek, let me tell you.
We left last Thursday, but because this is Ghana, you can’t plan anything in advance; everything is a step-by-step process. The buses sell out if you don’t buy your tickets ahead of time, but you can only do so in person 24 hours in advance. We had friends who tried to go the weekend before and got to the station at 10 AM to find the next day’s bus sold out, so we left our dorm at 4:30 AM and there the chaos began. Although there were lots of people bustling, we were especially out of place because it was all people buying their day’s supplies in bulk to take back to their shops and sell individually; it wasn’t yet oboruni o’clock, so people were particularly surprised to see us and even more inclined to “befriend” us. We shuffled back and forth between all the stations in Accra and successfully bought tickets on our third attempt.
We left at 6 the next morning for our 8 o’clock bus, tried helplessly to get tro-tros for seven at peak rush hour, then struggled even to get cabs, and ended up stressed that we weren’t going to make the bus. In retrospect, that stress was silly, because it’s Ghanaian time we were working with, which meant there was no way we’d be leaving Accra any time near the scheduled departure. We ran into the station at 7:30 expecting a line of people ready to board. Silly oborunis. We pulled out of the parking lot at quarter of 10.
Apart from the blaring Nigerian movies about orphans adopted by abusive parents who treat them as slaves (quite uplifting), the 12 or 13-hour ride to Tamale (“Ta-muh-lay”) was really quite comfortable. We met another American who lives in Tamale so he was giving us all sorts of tips, including a little information our guidebook forgot: the hostel where we had planned to stay is apparently a brothel. Hm. Questionable decision, but we decided to go for it anyway.
When we got off the bus, we were met by the lovely Cesar. Who is Cesar? We didn’t know. Still don’t know. But he was a random Ghanaian who led us all through Tamale to find our hotel and got insulted when we were wary to let him lead us down a dark road to this hostel at 10:30 PM in a foreign city when we had just met him and really had no idea who he was. He was particularly angry at me and accused me of being racist. That really makes perfect sense, because I would voluntarily choose to come to Africa if I didn’t like black people. Logically.
Eventually we got to the hotel, but alas, it was all booked. What kind of brothel doesn’t have room for seven 20 year-old girls is beyond me, but I suppose it was probably for the best. I had tried to call earlier in the week and book a room, but the number I had wasn’t working, and when I looked it up online it gave the same contact info. Luckily, it also listed a business address: “Near Ecobank.” Mind you, the tagline for Ecobank is “The Pan African Bank,” so there are a trillion all over Ghana. Helpful.
Then Cesar led us to our next destination, the Christian Council Guesthouse. Still no room at the inn. Two hours in, we finally found room at some unknown hotel in some unknown corner of this unknown city, so we handed over some cash and went to bed. Really it was more of a nap, because we had to be leaving for the bus station at 3:30 and it was already 12:30, but by this point we were happy to be behind closed doors and away from our pal Cesar.
…Or so we thought. About ten minutes after we got to the bus station, I turned around to the same glowing face we had left three hours prior. He had gone to our hotel to make sure we knew how to get to the bus station, but when he arrived, we had already left. So he followed us. Kind, yes, friendly, maybe, creepy, definitely.
But I suppose that’s the Ghanaian way. Once he saw we had tickets in hand, he was off and we heard nothing from him again.
Then it was a three hour ride to Larabanga, the village just outside Mole, and a 90 minute walk into the park. Victory!
We got in around 10 or 11, decided to do the afternoon walking safari, and lounged for a bit. Ate some lunch, squealed at the monkey who stole Hannah’s mango, spotted an elephant at the watering hole. An hour into our stay and already we labeled it a success.
We went on the walk and trekked all through the savanna. It’s so much different than around Accra- much drier, for one, also more spread out and less green vegetation. We saw three kinds of monkeys, some crocodiles, a thousand different antelopes, some baboons, some warthogs, then lots of cool trees and streams and such. I probably should have watched The Lion King in preparation, but it was quite cool. We didn’t see any elephants up close, but I was happy with the guy we saw taking his drink earlier in the morning. Can’t be greedy now!
In the morning we did the driving safari so we loaded the jeep, four in the back and four on top, and off we went. Within about twenty minutes we stumbled across an elephant so we shrieked, stopped the car, and got as close as we could. He was a big guy and had lost one of his tusks in battle. Tough guy. He was eating, so we saw him wrapping his trunk around the trees and shaking the leaves and such. Cool!
We got back in the car and kept going for a while, then came across a whole group of them. With babies! Just walking along, you know, how elephants do.
After the drive, we split and some of us went to the mosque at Larabanga, which, despite awful reviews, was really quite wonderful. We also walked through the village and on top of one of the buildings, saw a house and some women making shea butter, as well as how they dry out the yams for banku (my favorite). Definitely wicked touristy, but enjoyable nonetheless.
In the afternoon we did a canoe safari (who knew there were so many kinds of safaris?) where we saw lots of birds and big windy trees and all sorts of buggy bug bugs. On the way back I ate the fruit of a cashew tree and it was the most scrumptious thing ever. Then my mouth swelled and I couldn’t exactly feel my lips, but we can just ignore that part. I don’t know why they don’t sell them everywhere, but I’m certainly going to propose it to the Ghanaian Department of Agriculture. I think they’ll take my insight quite seriously.
We weren’t so lucky with Sunday’s transportation, so we ended up spending about 11 hours on a bus slightly less crowded than the Green Line at rush hour, and then another 7 on a [somewhat] more bearable shuttle, but eventually we reached Accra, and that’s what matters! So here I am, safe and sound, and happy to have spent the weekend with Pumba, Rafiki, and Dumbo.
Several people requested elephant spotting while I’m over here, so I’m happy to report back my success. Seven of us ventured up to Mole National Park, which is in the north and takes roughly 18 hours to reach. Adventures galore in an 18-hour Ghanaian trek, let me tell you.
We left last Thursday, but because this is Ghana, you can’t plan anything in advance; everything is a step-by-step process. The buses sell out if you don’t buy your tickets ahead of time, but you can only do so in person 24 hours in advance. We had friends who tried to go the weekend before and got to the station at 10 AM to find the next day’s bus sold out, so we left our dorm at 4:30 AM and there the chaos began. Although there were lots of people bustling, we were especially out of place because it was all people buying their day’s supplies in bulk to take back to their shops and sell individually; it wasn’t yet oboruni o’clock, so people were particularly surprised to see us and even more inclined to “befriend” us. We shuffled back and forth between all the stations in Accra and successfully bought tickets on our third attempt.
We left at 6 the next morning for our 8 o’clock bus, tried helplessly to get tro-tros for seven at peak rush hour, then struggled even to get cabs, and ended up stressed that we weren’t going to make the bus. In retrospect, that stress was silly, because it’s Ghanaian time we were working with, which meant there was no way we’d be leaving Accra any time near the scheduled departure. We ran into the station at 7:30 expecting a line of people ready to board. Silly oborunis. We pulled out of the parking lot at quarter of 10.
Apart from the blaring Nigerian movies about orphans adopted by abusive parents who treat them as slaves (quite uplifting), the 12 or 13-hour ride to Tamale (“Ta-muh-lay”) was really quite comfortable. We met another American who lives in Tamale so he was giving us all sorts of tips, including a little information our guidebook forgot: the hostel where we had planned to stay is apparently a brothel. Hm. Questionable decision, but we decided to go for it anyway.
When we got off the bus, we were met by the lovely Cesar. Who is Cesar? We didn’t know. Still don’t know. But he was a random Ghanaian who led us all through Tamale to find our hotel and got insulted when we were wary to let him lead us down a dark road to this hostel at 10:30 PM in a foreign city when we had just met him and really had no idea who he was. He was particularly angry at me and accused me of being racist. That really makes perfect sense, because I would voluntarily choose to come to Africa if I didn’t like black people. Logically.
Eventually we got to the hotel, but alas, it was all booked. What kind of brothel doesn’t have room for seven 20 year-old girls is beyond me, but I suppose it was probably for the best. I had tried to call earlier in the week and book a room, but the number I had wasn’t working, and when I looked it up online it gave the same contact info. Luckily, it also listed a business address: “Near Ecobank.” Mind you, the tagline for Ecobank is “The Pan African Bank,” so there are a trillion all over Ghana. Helpful.
Then Cesar led us to our next destination, the Christian Council Guesthouse. Still no room at the inn. Two hours in, we finally found room at some unknown hotel in some unknown corner of this unknown city, so we handed over some cash and went to bed. Really it was more of a nap, because we had to be leaving for the bus station at 3:30 and it was already 12:30, but by this point we were happy to be behind closed doors and away from our pal Cesar.
…Or so we thought. About ten minutes after we got to the bus station, I turned around to the same glowing face we had left three hours prior. He had gone to our hotel to make sure we knew how to get to the bus station, but when he arrived, we had already left. So he followed us. Kind, yes, friendly, maybe, creepy, definitely.
But I suppose that’s the Ghanaian way. Once he saw we had tickets in hand, he was off and we heard nothing from him again.
Then it was a three hour ride to Larabanga, the village just outside Mole, and a 90 minute walk into the park. Victory!
We got in around 10 or 11, decided to do the afternoon walking safari, and lounged for a bit. Ate some lunch, squealed at the monkey who stole Hannah’s mango, spotted an elephant at the watering hole. An hour into our stay and already we labeled it a success.
We went on the walk and trekked all through the savanna. It’s so much different than around Accra- much drier, for one, also more spread out and less green vegetation. We saw three kinds of monkeys, some crocodiles, a thousand different antelopes, some baboons, some warthogs, then lots of cool trees and streams and such. I probably should have watched The Lion King in preparation, but it was quite cool. We didn’t see any elephants up close, but I was happy with the guy we saw taking his drink earlier in the morning. Can’t be greedy now!
In the morning we did the driving safari so we loaded the jeep, four in the back and four on top, and off we went. Within about twenty minutes we stumbled across an elephant so we shrieked, stopped the car, and got as close as we could. He was a big guy and had lost one of his tusks in battle. Tough guy. He was eating, so we saw him wrapping his trunk around the trees and shaking the leaves and such. Cool!
We got back in the car and kept going for a while, then came across a whole group of them. With babies! Just walking along, you know, how elephants do.
After the drive, we split and some of us went to the mosque at Larabanga, which, despite awful reviews, was really quite wonderful. We also walked through the village and on top of one of the buildings, saw a house and some women making shea butter, as well as how they dry out the yams for banku (my favorite). Definitely wicked touristy, but enjoyable nonetheless.
In the afternoon we did a canoe safari (who knew there were so many kinds of safaris?) where we saw lots of birds and big windy trees and all sorts of buggy bug bugs. On the way back I ate the fruit of a cashew tree and it was the most scrumptious thing ever. Then my mouth swelled and I couldn’t exactly feel my lips, but we can just ignore that part. I don’t know why they don’t sell them everywhere, but I’m certainly going to propose it to the Ghanaian Department of Agriculture. I think they’ll take my insight quite seriously.
We weren’t so lucky with Sunday’s transportation, so we ended up spending about 11 hours on a bus slightly less crowded than the Green Line at rush hour, and then another 7 on a [somewhat] more bearable shuttle, but eventually we reached Accra, and that’s what matters! So here I am, safe and sound, and happy to have spent the weekend with Pumba, Rafiki, and Dumbo.
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