It is the second day of January, in the year of 2012 as we leave the comfort of our hotel room in Wa to make our way east towards Bolgatanga. We expect to make it there in about four days, and road conditions will be a challenge along with considerable distance between towns and villages. Most of our riding felt like we were in the middle of nowhere, surrounded only by the dry winds and burning brushfires as we struggled through on endless dirt roads with washboard-like surfaces. Loose sand further created difficult conditions, as it made control over our bikes even trickier.
Much grasslands and sparse trees characterize our northern route through this area. We learn later that the reason for much of the brush fires is caused by poachers who want to drive out the animals for game and hunting purposes. It was an interesting site to be riding along substantial fires along the sides of the road, clearing out much vegetation and leaving only the remnants of trees and ashes, making it seem like death and darkness had taken over the area. We don’t encounter many towns as we ride towards our next destination. Riding along for hours, hindered by the road, we become exhausted and hungry. We have to ration our water supply, since there aren’t many places to buy any, and food is scarce, even in the communities we pass. It is at this point where our most common source of water is from a bore hole, which pumps water straight from the ground. Although only in selected areas, water from these sources is definitely superior in taste as compared to that of the sachet water.
Continuing through the quiet roads, hearing the cry from trees burning, there is a stillness that covers all life. Giant plumes of smoke interfere with the sky and the wind rustles in what is left on the other side, yet to be touched by the spreading flames. We finally arrive at a fork in the road, wondering where the hell this next town we see on the map is. There aren’t any homes, shops or food stands around, and upon asking some people seeking shade under the trees, we learn that we are in Wahabu, on the border of the Gbele Game Reserve, our destination for the day. “Well, is there any place we can find food? We’ve been traveling now for six hours on bicycle, and we need to rest…” They laugh. There isn’t any food around that anyone is selling, not even water. “You can just pass through here and go to the next town, there isn’t anything here. It’s just 16km more, you can make it.” Margarita is stunned, and on the verge of tears, proclaims, “Just 16km?! We’ve been riding all morning; I can’t go any further than right here. I’ll cry if we have to go any more…” We were all drained from the day’s ride, and we had no options except to either keep going, or figure something out. Luckily, a man came up to us and told us to follow him. Turns out, he is a ranger for the Gbele Game Reserve, and takes us to his campsite, where several other rangers are stationed there for weeks at a time. He fed us plenty of rice, offered us water, and we chatted with the other members of the camp for a while. There happened to be a spare room which wasn’t in use, so we were given this space for the night.
Relieved to have found some accommodation for the night, we were thrilled. We talked about life out in the bush, and learned that these men would go out into the reservation for a few days out of the week and patrol the areas for illegal poaching. We were extremely lucky because it just so happened that when we arrived they were staying at the permanent station. If we would have arrived there a day later, this area would have been deserted of anybody, thus forcing us to continue to onward. The rangers were all very friendly, welcoming and hospitable, providing us with an evening meal and good company. We fall asleep tonight to the sound of fire crackling in the distance, burning through a nearby area and being the only light in view aside from the moon. At last we rest before embarking on another journey through the rough roads leading east, isolated from the rest of the world.
Much grasslands and sparse trees characterize our northern route through this area. We learn later that the reason for much of the brush fires is caused by poachers who want to drive out the animals for game and hunting purposes. It was an interesting site to be riding along substantial fires along the sides of the road, clearing out much vegetation and leaving only the remnants of trees and ashes, making it seem like death and darkness had taken over the area. We don’t encounter many towns as we ride towards our next destination. Riding along for hours, hindered by the road, we become exhausted and hungry. We have to ration our water supply, since there aren’t many places to buy any, and food is scarce, even in the communities we pass. It is at this point where our most common source of water is from a bore hole, which pumps water straight from the ground. Although only in selected areas, water from these sources is definitely superior in taste as compared to that of the sachet water.
Continuing through the quiet roads, hearing the cry from trees burning, there is a stillness that covers all life. Giant plumes of smoke interfere with the sky and the wind rustles in what is left on the other side, yet to be touched by the spreading flames. We finally arrive at a fork in the road, wondering where the hell this next town we see on the map is. There aren’t any homes, shops or food stands around, and upon asking some people seeking shade under the trees, we learn that we are in Wahabu, on the border of the Gbele Game Reserve, our destination for the day. “Well, is there any place we can find food? We’ve been traveling now for six hours on bicycle, and we need to rest…” They laugh. There isn’t any food around that anyone is selling, not even water. “You can just pass through here and go to the next town, there isn’t anything here. It’s just 16km more, you can make it.” Margarita is stunned, and on the verge of tears, proclaims, “Just 16km?! We’ve been riding all morning; I can’t go any further than right here. I’ll cry if we have to go any more…” We were all drained from the day’s ride, and we had no options except to either keep going, or figure something out. Luckily, a man came up to us and told us to follow him. Turns out, he is a ranger for the Gbele Game Reserve, and takes us to his campsite, where several other rangers are stationed there for weeks at a time. He fed us plenty of rice, offered us water, and we chatted with the other members of the camp for a while. There happened to be a spare room which wasn’t in use, so we were given this space for the night.
Relieved to have found some accommodation for the night, we were thrilled. We talked about life out in the bush, and learned that these men would go out into the reservation for a few days out of the week and patrol the areas for illegal poaching. We were extremely lucky because it just so happened that when we arrived they were staying at the permanent station. If we would have arrived there a day later, this area would have been deserted of anybody, thus forcing us to continue to onward. The rangers were all very friendly, welcoming and hospitable, providing us with an evening meal and good company. We fall asleep tonight to the sound of fire crackling in the distance, burning through a nearby area and being the only light in view aside from the moon. At last we rest before embarking on another journey through the rough roads leading east, isolated from the rest of the world.
By
Armando Vargas
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