Jungle Drive: Arriving in Ghana
‘Arriving at one goal is the starting point to another.’ – John Dewey.
Upon Arrival
It is unsettling to arrive in a country without any local currency or any means of contacting the outside world. We have no local SIM card to make calls and no idea where the nearest source of WiFi might be found. The disorientation is made worse because we are tired after a thirteen hour flight from the UK. As we step out of the airport terminal, heavy bags in hand, we are immediately hit by sweltering heat and harassed by countless taxi drivers, eager for our fare.
Finding Our Ride
‘They said they’d have a sign,’ H says, looking around, ‘Can you see a sign?’
I try to peer past the taxi driver, still clamouring for our attention. There are throngs of people arriving and departing, a sea of suitcases and backpacks. I see several signs with names but nothing with our names.
‘There!’
H points suddenly. The sign doesn’t have our name, but ‘Original Volunteers’ spelled out in faded typed letters. The corners are dog-eared and the laminate is peeling. The guy holding the sign doesn’t speak English, but motions for us to follow him.
‘Remember they said that people may impersonate them?’ M says, looking uncertain.
The three of us exchange glances. I take action, hoisting my backpack higher up my back and following the man.
‘I’ll ask him,’ I say, ‘We won’t know unless we ask.’
Our Driver
The man is casually dressed in dusty shorts and a t-shirt. He’s obviously keen to get on the road, leading us without speaking to a field which seems to double as airport parking. The car looks beaten up. My gut instinct kicks in and before we fully commit, I ask.
‘Do you have ID?’
He thrusts a battered ID card into my hand. It looks convincing, but we have no money, no means of contacting anyone. I need to be absolutely sure this stranger is who he says he is.
‘Please can I call someone to confirm who you are?’ I ask, slightly awkwardly.
As he passes me his mobile, I get the impression this isn’t the first time he’s been asked that same question. Still, a quick call and my nerves are settled. He’s our man.
On Our Way
I am reassured. I smile my thanks and we load our bags into the car before clambering in after them. The seats are sagging and uncomfortable, there are no working seat belts and, with all our bags, there’s not much room to spread out either.
We are all weary from too long spent in the air, but as we career out onto the road it vanishes. I cling to the door handle as we weave through traffic, trying not to worry about my lack of seat belt. I try to take everything in as we speed along. This country is like nothing I’ve experienced before.
Through the open windows, there is a cacophony of noise. Angrily tooting horns as drivers impatiently cut each other up, car engines snarling, people shouting, music from an ancient cassette player that is blasting as we drive by. I try to memorise every detail, drink it all in and soak up the atmosphere. Slowly, the car eases away from Accra and we speed north, towards our destination.
Into The Jungle
We follow good roads for a while, slowing occasionally for police check points, although we’re waved through without stopping entirely. And then suddenly, without any warning, we turn off the tarmac road.
My head connects with the roof of the car as it is thrown into a gigantic pot hole. I grimace with pain and rub the bruise. After ten minutes, it becomes clear that this is our journey now. We inch along a dirt road, with is bone-judderingly rough and full of holes. We cling on, barely speaking. I am tired, excited, apprehensive. We have no idea where we are going or what to expect.
As we navigate the treaherous pot holes, the car slows to a crawl. School children walking home from classes are going faster than us. They cry out when they spot us, waving and shouting.
‘Oburoni, oburoni!’
We later learn that this means ‘white person’ and we become accustomed to being greeted as such. The children now wave and occasionally run after us. We wave back.
On either side of the road, rainforest is closing in, green and dense. The road is a narrow artery running through this vast mass of jungle, acres upon acres of it, stretching away in every direction. Every few miles, there is a small village and people stare at us curiously.
Nkawkaw, Mpraeso and a fall…
Around three hours later, we slip back onto tarmac and the car speeds up. We are approaching Nkawkaw, the principle town of the region. Soon, we are at the heart of the town, crawling along in traffic as donkeys, goats, chickens, children and street sellers weave between the cars. At a disorganised, hectic crossroads, the driver leans out and purchases water for us. We gulp thirstily. It’s the first drink we have had in hours.
Now, we climb steadily into the mountains, taking a switchback road to Mpraeso. This is a small town near the village where we’ll be staying for the next two weeks. We pass through now without stopping.
Another fifteen minutes further down the road and we arrive. The car takes a sudden sharp turn off the road, aiming for a narrow bridge that spans a ditch. The driver misses and the car slumps unceremoniously into the shallow void.
In the UK, this might be a big deal. Somebody might call a tow truck or erect road blocks. Here, six men instantly surround the car and simply lift it out of the ditch and set it back on solid ground. They melt away into the background as quickly as they arrived. Up the final, narrow driveway and we are here.
It is time to begin our two week adventure proper.
We’ve arrived. We have a shared room where we put our bags. We eat eggs and sit outside in the warm evening. The prospect of adventure and of the unknown lies at our feet. It is a blissful feeling.
NB: This post was edited and the images were added 29th January 2019. You can read a little more about my adventures in Ghana here.
Original Volunteers still operate in various countries across Africa, South America and Asia. However, since returning from this trip, my opinion on volunteering has changed somewhat. I doubt I would ever volunteer again without deep consideration into the reasons behind my choice to do so. I wrote a post detailing my viewpoint on volunteering, which you can read here.
