Arriving in Tumu after two long days on dry dirt roads was like stumbling upon a lush oasis in the heart of the desert. As we were nearing Tumu I felt a sudden surge of energy and decided to race an Apsonic Trike taxi carrying three old Ghanaian ladies into town. I kept up good pace with them and could see they were laughing at my efforts. Always in view I flew along after them, faster than I had gone all day on the dirt. Accompanying the transition to pavement upon entering Tumu was an overwhelming relief and a sense of accomplishment. We had made it half way to Bolgatanga! Continuing with our good fortune of finding accommodation we ran into a PCV (Peace Corps volunteer) that we had met in Wa over egg sandwiches. She hooked us up with her room in the house of a hostel owner complete with shower and the fanciest toilet we had seen in Ghana. After a delicious meal at Chop Better we relaxed with our feet up, preparing physically and mentally for the next push.
In the morning we said our farewells and set off for Nakong, the alleged beginning of the paved road leading to Bolga. The sense of relief we had felt entering Tumu disappeared as soon as the pavement did only a few K outside of the town. Back on the familiar sandy, pot hole ridden, wash board track we trudged along in the morning sun. This particular section of dirt road was particularly draining and painstakingly slow because of its condition. Unlike the previous days the washboard was unavoidable and if you didn’t want to get a bruised gooch you had to take it slow. Trying to find the best, smoothest line amongst the various hazards made for a comical scene. Often side by side Armando and I would cross paths in front and behind each other trying to find the fastest rout. Eventually, one of us would choose wrong and get bogged down in the sand just to see the other ride off ahead laughing. And then there was Maggie, who, under the impression that avoiding hazards was a waste of energy, would just plow through the sand and washboard and take the beating like a champ. All the while Armando and I cringed as we watched her bounce ruthlessly along, yelling with frustration and laughter. At times I would forget that this road was indeed the main highway between the two major cities of the upper east and west regions. Only when the Bolga to Wa Mass Metro would come barreling along dragging its dusty red dirt cyclone would I be reminded that we weren’t on some uninhabited, unexplored region of the earth.
In the morning we said our farewells and set off for Nakong, the alleged beginning of the paved road leading to Bolga. The sense of relief we had felt entering Tumu disappeared as soon as the pavement did only a few K outside of the town. Back on the familiar sandy, pot hole ridden, wash board track we trudged along in the morning sun. This particular section of dirt road was particularly draining and painstakingly slow because of its condition. Unlike the previous days the washboard was unavoidable and if you didn’t want to get a bruised gooch you had to take it slow. Trying to find the best, smoothest line amongst the various hazards made for a comical scene. Often side by side Armando and I would cross paths in front and behind each other trying to find the fastest rout. Eventually, one of us would choose wrong and get bogged down in the sand just to see the other ride off ahead laughing. And then there was Maggie, who, under the impression that avoiding hazards was a waste of energy, would just plow through the sand and washboard and take the beating like a champ. All the while Armando and I cringed as we watched her bounce ruthlessly along, yelling with frustration and laughter. At times I would forget that this road was indeed the main highway between the two major cities of the upper east and west regions. Only when the Bolga to Wa Mass Metro would come barreling along dragging its dusty red dirt cyclone would I be reminded that we weren’t on some uninhabited, unexplored region of the earth.
The day progressed and we gradually began to see the road conditions change. Eventually we crossed a dried up river and entered the construction zone close to Nakong. At this point we were all beat, had repaired who knows how many flat tires, and were ravenous for nourishment. A few construction workers told us it was about 14 K to Nakong and later yelled at Armando and I for leaving Maggie behind as they sped by in their truck. By the time we reached Nakong and stiffly got off the saddle at a waakye stand we had nothing left, it was all on the road. We proceeded to lounge about on the waakye wura’s benches and she eventually asked if we needed a place to stay. Grateful for the offer she led us to the Neam tree where we napped on the platforms under its forgiving shade. Our new friend assured us she would take us to her home as soon as she finished selling her food and left us to recuperate. Five hours later as the sun was going down and we were still sitting in our sweaty kits she returned and escorted us to a nice compound near the cell tower. Presented with fufu we ate heartily until we were satisfied. Once we were satisfied they brought out the next course and we were forced to eat more. We never went hungry on our trip. Ghanaian hospitality is the best I have experienced in this world and as little as it may seem some people have, they will give you everything to make sure you are comfortable, clean, safe, and full. This aspect of Ghanaian culture was truly a life saver on our journey and honestly the reason we were able to sail as smoothly as we did. None of us will soon forget how generous and genuine the rural people of Ghana truly are.
Again commandeering a kind man's room we made our beds and crashed hard for the night. The morning was cool and windy and the stars gleamed like spilled jewels in the heavens. Riding cold and tired away from Nakong we wondered if the rumor of the paved road was true. It was always a bit tricky interpreting Ghanaian’s sense of distance. At times we would be told that our destination was “far, oh it’s far, you can’t go you will die!” when it actually turned out to be five K down the road. On the other hand, as we got to the north where people travelled farther distances on bike and foot we would be told “It’s not far, not far” and 20 miles later we would still be riding. Soon enough though we spotted it and took a video of us crossing onto the largest stretch of pavement in the last 120 miles. From Nakong we continued towards Bolga, expecting to arrive by the end of the day. We stopped for breakfast of Bambara and rice in Chiana (?) which was the beginning of a very unique landscape unlike we had seen in Ghana so far. The geology of the area consisted of large irregular mounds or hills of house sized boulders interlaced with shrubs and farming settlements. The piles of rock spread into the distance blending with the crops and sporadic outcrops of trees. The morning light provided a dramatic air to the already intriguing surroundings and taken together was one of the most beautiful and interesting landscapes in Ghana. Slowly emerging from the hills we turned onto the straight road leading to Navrongo. Before we had realized, we were there, the pavement doing unseen wonders to our pace and endurance. Infatuated by the abundance of shaded streets and a welcoming atmosphere we decided to spend our well earned rest day in Navrongo. Scoring an 11 cedi room for the three of us at the Catholic Center we dined on eggs, bread, Milo and beer and basked in the freedom and spontaneity our nomadic lifestyle permitted.
~Frazer Tear
~Frazer Tear
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