All of our work on HIV so far has been focused on education, awareness and prevention of the disease, so it was a bit of a shocker today to come face to face with a large group of HIV sufferers. As pre-arranged we set off early to see the support group which meets once a month at the District Assembly offices about 45 minutes drive away.
When we arrived we were told that the local volunteers; Small Paul, Ahmed and Bernice weren’t allowed to join the meeting – the group being worried that they might be recognized and talked about, which is a pretty sad indictment of the level of HIV stigmatisation. Apparently us white volunteers were considered ok on the premise of our innate ‘differentness’ and because we’re visitors in Ghana due to be returning to our home countries shortly.
The meeting was in full swing with 35 out of the 39 group members present. We were introduced to the group and invited to say a few words about ourselves and Tiyah before officially handing over the huge sack of rice that we had brought as a donation. We then listened to comments from the floor which was in effect a series of thanks for the food that we’d provided and appeals for further funding of food, schooling, housing, workshops etc.
The meeting finished with posing for photographs with the whole assembly, and a meet and greet where we were encouraged to shake hands with and say hello to each member individually, which made me feel curiously like a baby-kissing politician or Prince Philip, ‘…and how are you today?…’. But was seen as a very important exercise by the group organisers.
It was a very humbling, thought provoking session which not for the first time in Ghana made me feel incredibly lucky to be British. The group were in a mixed state of health, some of them obviously have the virus under control or were in the early stages and looked as fit, strong and healthy as anyone. Some of the others looked very sick indeed though, thin, drawn and slow moving – many of them with severe sounding coughs. It also highlighted HIV’s indiscriminate nature, young and old, men, women, and perhaps most distressingly a couple of young mothers. There was also a party of three blind HIV sufferers which kind of makes you wonder just how these people maintain such a firm belief in God.
As each of the people explained their individual hardships and appealed for money or food I felt progressively more guilty about being slightly churlish on buying the bag of rice for them to share. The vast majority of the group are unemployed and reliant on handouts and the meager funding the support group is able to provide to live on. So in no way could I begrudge them asking for handouts, even if it made me feel slightly helpless.
It was encouraging though to learn they’re not just looking for short term donations and charity - they’re working together as a collective developing a cassava production site which, when up and running, should enable them a bit of sustainability and independence. The old ‘give a man a fish’ line at work. Inevitably it’s not finished yet and they still need money to install electricity, but it’s a positive step and something that I would be much more inclined to throw money or efforts at if I’m able to.
Back at home, running water was back on for the first time in three days, so an urgent batch of washing before moving to a spot to watch Arsenal robbed by the devils of Manchester.
Sunday 30th August
A couple of hours in the office in the a.m., but most of the day was about the party for Laura’s leaving in the evening. Preparations were typically arduous, but the evening itself was a blast. The party kicked off at about 7.00 and we were fully prepared with a stock of beers and local spirits to keep the proceedings well oiled.
I guess in total around we’d invited about 20-25 people, so the 40 or thereabouts that turned up probably wasn’t a bad result given Ghanaians’ famous sociability, not to mention fondness for a free beer. Held in our courtyard and compound the music system that got going in the end was something to behold – a combination of the best (biggest) of Big Paul’s and Kwame’s sound systems hooked up to Paul’s computer made sure nobody in Achiase was in any doubt where the party was.
In addition to all of our friends and acquaintances from Achiase we also had as many of the Bunac volunteers that could make it, as well as Stacey’s new love interest, X-Man that we had made friends with back in Cape Coast. Everything went off smoothly, there was – just about – enough booze to keep the party going, and by and large the locals left at a decent hour. Mixing drinks between lager, whisky, local ‘gin’ and bitters I enjoyed getting merry.
The only other incident of real note occurred in the small hours when we were all sleeping, with me having to break down the door to our rooms, when locked, in the key went missing and one of the girls had the urgent need for the bathroom. In retrospect the keys going missing may or may not have been my fault.
Monday 31st August
A new experience today, tempting to catch a tro or taxi into Kumasi with no luck whatsoever we eventually resolved to walk to the taxi rank in the next town when we happened across a large open backed truck carrying eggs at the petrol station. Being that kind of chap, X-Man decided to hitch a lift for us on the back of the lorry, stopping only to make one egg delivery on the way into town.
Groups of Ghanaians perched precariously on the back, roof or side of passing trucks is an everyday sight, but a new one for us – in actual fact the open aired ride did wonders for my fuzzy head. The total randomness of the situation was just typical of the out of the ordinary occurring on a regular basis.
After lunch, and a bit of time spent investigating options to travel to the Volta region for tomorrow I set about trying to get back to Achiase which was easier said than done. For no apparent reason the whole of Kumasi had come to a complete standstill – with ludicrous queues for the tros and no sight of a vehicle I decided to treat myself to a taxi which in itself took 40 minutes to take the normally five minute distance to Bantama junction. My driver did though take an ill advised ‘shortcut’ through what I can only describe as a shanty town, an area of Kumasi that I had no idea existed featuring tightly packed homes, bars and shops overcrowding around uneven dirt tracks.
After getting home weary we had to attend a meeting in the office to say an official farewell to Laura. In typically drawn out Ghanaian fashion – faux official language and speeches, when a much more informal session was probably more how we’d do things. It was touching though how heartfelt the thanks and praise for Laura was (with a bit of a nod to us all as a team of volunteers).
Tuesday 1st September Next adventure – destination the East of Ghana close to the border with Togo, and the Volta region, named after the huge lake that dominates this part of the country. It’s just Duncan and I taking this trip – he was keen to visit the area before leaving for England at the weekend, so I took up the opportunity for a lads trip away to make a bit of a change.
The Volta is famous for its natural beauty, boasting both the highest mountain in Ghana and the highest waterfall in West Africa in addition to the lake itself. But before any of that could be enjoyed, the customary penance of travelling in Ghana had to be endured… Somewhat surprisingly the Volta is relatively untraveled by visitors to Ghana which means transport links, unreliable at best to other parts of the country are even more tentative.
With apparently no buses on the route our only option was a tro from Kumasi to Ho – something in the region of a six hour drive. I’d been reliably informed the day before that the tro would leave at around 8.00 in the morning and that we would need to be at the lorry station for 6.30 at the latest to ensue a ticket. So sure enough we both got up early and made our way to Kumasi by 6.00 where we found the tro in place, but no semblance of any other passengers until at least half past eight, the tro eventually leaving at 10.40.
It’s a recurring theme, to be quoted a wildly inaccurate journey or departure time by locals and I can’t quite work out whether its there natural willingness to please that makes them tell you what they think you want to hear, or they just in actual fact have no idea about how long things will take… either way I haven’t yet had the confidence to take their estimates with the mountain of salt they probably warrant and pitch up a couple of hours after the suggested time.
We finally got to Ho – the largest town in the region, but in fact a pretty small place - at five p.m. with nothing more in mind than a couple of beers, food and some kip after a long days traveling. Unfortunately we got clung on to by a local man named Michael immediately on arrival who was harder to shake off as swine flu and twice as irritating. Not in the mood to be making new buddies, his constant chatter, declarations of undying friendship and insistence on taking us to see this guesthouse, that pot or even to meet his family were entirely unwelcome.
As a side note, an excellent discovery of the day was that Duncan plays cribbage – so we unwound with a couple of games over an evening beer at the Jarso Guesthouse.
Wednesday 2nd September
A quality day’s sightseeing with an intense mountain climb and the spectacular Wli waterfalls. Setting off fairly early we made a relatively painless trip from Ho to the equally charmingly named Hohoe, and then on to Wli itself in a taxi.
The Wli waterfall is the highest in West Africa, so given the choice of hiking to the upper or lower falls we naturally opted for both and set about the surprisingly arduous ascent to the summit of the mountain which is home to the falls. The intensity of the climb came as a bit of a shock after the casualness of the departure – no warnings about suitability, no safety briefings – just the suggestion that we might want to buy some water. In the UK, or god forbid in America you’d have needed a full medical before even getting through the gate.
After a leisurely start, the walk rapidly developed into a real climb, scrambling over rocks and trees seemingly positioned as an additional obstacle course for flabby tourists, stopping occasionally to admire the views – or using that as a handy excuse to catch our breath. We got to the waterfall in less than the two hours it had been suggested and although it wasn’t a baking hot day the forest was incredibly humid, so by the time we reached our destination I had my very own waterfall of sweat running down my back, just as impressive as the real thing.
… Well perhaps not quite, after hearing the water for a long time we came up to the falls quite suddenly catching us slightly by surprise, and it was stunning. I’d guess about 200 feet high and embracing the natural beauty of the rocks, trees and fauna that surrounded it, offering a real magical storybook quality.
The descent was just as tricky, if not as punishing as the climb, but we were rewarded at the bottom by the lower waterfall which was just as picturesque as the former, if not quite as imposing. At this one though, we were able to take a refreshing dip in the pool at the bottom, although the spray from the water hitting the pool created an almost painful horizontal sandstorm-like bombardment.
To complete ‘otherworldliness’ of the view, high on the crevasses of the rocks flanking the waterfall were thousands of bats circling the sky and letting out their shrill call to the surrounding forest.
Friday 4th September
With increasing tolerance – or should that be resignation? I put myself in the hands of Ghanaian transport again, this time traveling back from Hohoe to Kumasi through the night.
Although in our heart of hearts we expected to be disappointed Dunc and I rose early to see if we could find a tro back to Kumasi earlier than the bus we knew left around eight p.m. – but with no luck we bought our tickets and tried to figure out how to spend the next 12 hours over breakfast of fried chicken and rice. Worse ways to start the day…
Anxious what with the unreliability of transport that any significant day trips would risk missing our bus back, we resolved on a quiet day in Hohoe which in the end included trips to the library and the internet, a slow lunch and several games of cards. In actual fact hanging around for a day with no real purpose was quite enjoyable.
Predictably the tro left two hours after the scheduled departure time and we rode through the night arriving back at the central market in Kumasi exactly nine hours after leaving at 6.45 in the morning. I’ve recognized a growing acceptance in myself over these epic journeys – if told two months ago that I’d endure a nine hour nocturnal bus ride with no leg room to speak of, a bumpy road rending any sleep fitful at the very best with relative good humour I’d never have believed it.
I’ve become a bit more philosophical about now – there really is nothing you can do to change it and all I’d gain by getting angry or stressed in an aneurism. In fact I’d promise never to complain about London transport again, but I know that like the drunk that vows never to touch the stuff again after a heavy night, it’d be a hollow promise and in all likelihood I’ll fall right back into complaining again.
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