early (for me) the next day it was time for the beach. And time for my first
encounter with that legendary Ghanaian mode of transport, the Tro-Tro! Got to
the Tro station, ask a few people where the tro to angona leaves from and get
on board. Its basically a minibus with fold up seats in the aisles of varying
sizes. They leave when they are full or more than full. People use them to
transport themselves and everything all over the country. You wouldn’t want
to be in one in a crash as there is no escape, but if you want to get about
and don’t want to charter taxis everywhere its the only way. Sadly the usual
method of counting if it is full is to get you on board and wait for it to
fill up. No aircon and 40°, not a fun way to spend 20 minutes of your life.
But cheap, even if you’re forced to pay a fare for your bag, but 25p ×2 for a
20km ride is better than waiting more than an hour for the next one so they
can shove you bag under a seat.
A short taxi ride from agona later and I was by the beach. I checked into
Alaska hotel, into a round mud hut type place by the beach and went off to
find the party…. The beach was huge, the hangout area by the beach was busy
from Ghanaians down for the weekend, but after a good wander up and down there
were probably 15 white people in the village. Some party! And the weekend was
the busy time, I really don’t know how half the places could survive. Still,
the beach was a couple of kms long, clean and fine sand, waves good enough
for body surfing, all i needed was a bit of romance… or so I thought!
I sat down to read by the beach, I got harassed by the juice man for 10 mins
until I agreed to purchase his bottle of ‘fresh’ juice (i just caved, it was
too expensive but he was so insistent… and annoying), too much money os
spoiling me on these trips. Ah. peace and quiet, with only the sound of three
frenchmen drinking wine and throwing water at each other. A Ghanaian girl sat
down next to me and we began the usual exchange of name, travel information,
liking ghana, home country, same old same old. After 30 minutes of this she
suggested we go for a walk along the beach. I thought ‘why not, im not doing
anything else important’. She said she was a 23 student on holiday for 3
weeks, studying catering in the nearby city of Takoradi. I wasn’t so sure but
prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt. The place wasn’t exactly
brimming with people to talk to and I was feeling slightly lonely I admit.
However this is normal state of affairs when you travel alone, a few days of
not knowing anyone, trying to make some suitable friends, chatting to people
and never seeing them again, not chatting to some guy on his own and then
seeing him with 2 pretty girls a week later… Quite normal. We walked along
the beach towards the nearby headland, children playing on the sand, local
fishermen repairing nets their boats pulled up out the tide. Again I was
asked if I wanted to smoke ganja, I replied no. This would be a frequent
theme in out conversation. There are 3 reggae bars along that stretch of
coast, and its not easy to guess their main cash crop (especially considering
the cost and quality of the pancake I ordered at the start of typing this. 1
hour later I got 3 tasty pancakes, far too much to manage for breakfast, I
only wanted one, a room temperature banana shake (which also took an hour to
come… or rather an hour to warm up) and since I foolishly didn’t ask for
the cost, a bill for £4!)
We walked over to the Black Mamba restaurant, run by a local guy and a german
woman, didn’t see the woman but the guy was friendly enough. They had a huge
sty full of pigs, chickens and vultures…. Well, I guess the vultures were
free to leave but it was a strange combination of bed fellows. Sitting at
the headland for what I thought was a quick rest and look at the view
produced a menu and offer of refreshment, Angela could hardly contain her
disappointment that the Guinness (the most expensive drink) was finished. She
had to settle for Star beer, and since the water was also finished (!) me
too. We sat and chatted about this and that, while I just wanted to get back
to my book, she said how we would have to go and visit the fort in the next
village together and, alarmingly, how she would love to come north with me
since we both had such long holidays. Obviously Im not used to 23 year old
girls throwing themselves on my generosity so much but I didn’t really fancy
bank rolling this girls holiday. Ok, if she had been stunningly good looking
or not such a motor mouth I might have considered it, but I hadn’t brought
that much cash with me and there was no ATM for 20 miles, so I was in danger
of going broke after a few days myself.
It was late afternoon still and we walked back to the beach and had to visit
her ‘brother’ who just happened to work at one of the reggae bars, and just
happened to be cutting up a huge slab of weed into a plastic bag. I saw this
and then some guy with a uniform showed up, Angela said he was he police, it
was ‘no problem!’, Yeah…. right! Mary Jane is illegal in ghana like most
countries and I set off for a brisk walk back down the beach. Just because
Angela (like Mark before her) tells me that she would never let anything
happen to me is no comfort at all when you’re banged up in some filthy cell.
I suspect that thailand would be luxurious compared to a moderately affluent
african country! I didn’t want to go back to hers to collect her swim suit
but she just happened to have a ‘auntie’ nearby who had one. Damn, I managed
to get some peace since she couldn’t swim by going out into the surf, but she
stayed in the shallows lurking like a hungry shark waiting for me to go back
in.
Sometimes I really hate being English, I suppose an Australian or American
would have told her to ‘f**k off and leave me alone’, but Im too polite so I
decided to revert to the classic tactic of being rude and uncommunicative
until she left me alone. I suspected she wasn’t a student after all,
reinforced by her attempts to get ‘friendly’ in the surf. Not the ’summer
lovin’ I was really looking for! It was interesting to watch the fishermen
bring in the catch of the day by a dozen or so guys pulling in the nets from
500m out in the bay, they ended up with loads of barracuda as the little kids
scrabbled for the tiny discarded fish. Still Angela was telling me to come
here, do that, lets go but I did my best to ignore her. I took a shower after
my swim and then she insisted she get changed in my room. Great. I could
hardly leave her in there with all my stuff lying around, she probably
wouldn’t nick anything but I wasn’t gonna take that risk.
It was awful, I took of my trunks and then she asked if I was ashamed of my
body because I didn’t turn around! I got dressed, had to give her my sarong
to use and then kept asking why I wasn’t looking at her. Because you’re naked
as the day you were born and I don’t want to give you any encouragement? Then
I said I was tired and needed a nap, so did she… was there any escape? ‘Im
tired, I need peace and quiet’, ‘its ok, I just lie here, feel free!’. No
you’re not! I kicked her out, although she left her bikini behind, for the
obvious reason of coming back to get it, even though i put it in her hands
since it was so obvious. I locked my door, closed the windows and crawled
under my mosquito net to watch a film on my PSP. About 2 hours later there
came a tapping at the door, light but insistent, I held my breath and waited.
I was wearing my earphones so she couldn’t hear me, I hoped… I gave it
another half an hour, dressed and ran out to the main road. Hoping she wasn’t
lurking nearby.
I dined in great luxury at Zweite Heimat, home of the legendary Nana, such a
sweet and gentle guy you could’nt hope to meet anywhere else. He prepared me
a lovely fresh barracuda with rice and tomato sauce. I sipped a cold beer and
nodded to the people passing on the street. I was very exposed, it was right
next to the main junction in thu village, Angela could be using her juju
right then to track me down, but she never showed up. I finished my meal,
complemented the chef paid and went to leave. Nana insisted he clean my dirty
hands because of the fish. I told him I only used my cutlery but he insisted,
running off to buy some lemons which he put on my table. So I waited and
waited, he came back and cut one in half, then I waited some more… My hands
weren’t even sticky so I grabbed him, shook his hand and said good night, the
legendary hand wash people had written about all over his walls would have to
wait. I brushed my teeth, locked my door and slipped into a restless uneasy
sleep…



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