Only 810 kilometers to Bolgatanga or "Mom, are we there yet?"

Although our family has lived in Ghana now for over 3-1/2 years, we've limited our in country excursions and vacations to those places that we can get to within a 3 or 4 hour drive, maximum. Which basically means, given the condition of Ghana roads, about 100 miles outside of Accra. However, with a bit of luck (and not a little maneuvering on my husband's part), we traveled to Bolgatanga for a business trip (for hubby) and some sightseeing (for me and the kids).

So, we leave our home in Tema very early on a Tuesday morning, as we're to meet our driver at 5:30 SHARP near Kotoka Airport in Accra. Now, in case you're not familiar with the Ghanaian method of timekeeping and appointment scheduling, this basically means, that as long as you arrive within a few hours of the appointed time, you're still okay. Given my American need for punctuality (my Ghanaian-born husband might say it was more my anal-ness) meant that at 5:30 a.m. we were alighting from our taxi. Lo and behold! Already there waiting for us. Our driver! So far, so good.

Our driver, Forson, drives for the Ghana Statistical Service, for which my husband is a consultant, and this assignment (which he chose) was to survey the Bolgatanga office. Okay, so it was as good an excuse as any for us to go North. The kids were off from school for mid-term holidays, and we had a nice car to drive in, with a professional driver to get us there. So, how bad could it be? Let me think. Hmmm, three kids, no TV, no DVD player, no eating in the car, 810 kilometers (or 503 miles), about 10 hours drive, scenery limited to forest, goats, mud huts, and the end of the trip, we're not in Disney World. It could be bad.

Off we go. The first two hours just flew by (of course, all the kids were sound asleep), and before we know it, we're at our first stop, the Linda Dorr Rest Stop near Koforidua. Now the concept of rest stops is exceptionally new to Ghana. The Linda Dorr is really the first of it's kind, with actual rest rooms (though you have to pay 1,000 cedis to use it, they do at least have toilet paper!), and a fairly clean restaurant/chop bar. Because we were driving in a private car, we actually could take our time here, if we wanted, When coming by bus, as we did on a recent trip to Kumasi, the driver only allows you 15 minutes. That day, after our potty run, my kids were running around like lunatics trying to decide what to buy to eat on the bus before it left without us (naturally, sausage and kebabs, and meat pies), but my husband and his sister, in that same 15 minute time limit, not only used the rest rooms, but managed to each eat a bowl of fish light soup with fufu and drink a Star beer. Talk about fast food!

After that, no more "official" rest stops. Convenience breaks are wherever and whenever the urge strikes. And good thing we're not allowed to eat or drink anything in the car (my husband's rule, not the driver's), cause not only do I have a shy bladder, but I also haven't quite mastered the position necessary to "wee wee" in the bushes, without soaking my underwear or feet. Neither has my 6 year old daughter, Alexandra, conquered this. I am sure that if any Ghanaian saw the contortionist act that we have to go through just so she can stave off wet undies, they'd laugh their heads off. Let me just say, it takes the two of us for her to go. Boys are so lucky.

Once we hit Kumasi, which was only 270 km from Accra, the kids were wide awake. The books, toys, games, cards, GameBoys got old fast. And someone (okay, it was me), accidentally reformatted the MP3 player and erased all the songs. Have I mentioned that there are only a handful of radio stations in Ghana, most in Accra, with the shortest transmission range in radio history?

Until Kumasi, the road and ride were actually pretty good. But from Kumasi north to Techiman, construction and pot holes were the name of the game. For almost one hour, Forson drove that car as though we were going through a mine field. We weaved left and right, and drove on the shoulder (if there was one), sometimes having no choice but to drive through potholes that made the car dip down so much you felt like you were on a Six Flags roller coaster. The construction only made things more exciting, since there are usually no flag men, you just dodge and weave through the trucks and the loads of gravel and sand, trying to avoid oncoming traffic who are doing the same thing, only they're coming at you. Of course, to the local taxi and tro tro drivers, the potholes and construction sites were merely "bumps in the road," and they continued to drive and weave their way through them as fast as possible. I think, perhaps, their logic is, the sooner they get through it, the better?! Naturally, my husband can't resist yelling out the window to them, "Are you crazy or what?" or, my personal favorite, "You big fool. @sshole!" Spoken in the local language, just so they'd be sure to understand him. Meanwhile, my American kids are loving this, cause, of course, they know ALL the bad words.

Then, before we knew it, we were driving through the most perilous city in all of Ghana: the infamous Kintampo. Okay, really, it's not a bad place, so my sincerest apologies to any Kintampo locals who may be reading this. It's just that whenever my husband and I are out driving, and we get cut off by another driver (which happens all the time), Sly loves to yell out, "Where did you get your license? Kintampo? Go back to your village!" It was funny driving through there, and believe it or not, we didn't get into an accident.

From Kintampo we soldiered on to Tamale, where we intended to stay overnight. Oh, for those non-Ghanaians reading this, Tamale is pronounced tah-mah-lā, not like the Mexican food, tah-ma-lē. Tamale is the capital of the Northern Region of Ghana, and it is 658 km (408 miles) from Accra. What a clean city! It was such a pleasant surprise, coming from Accra and Tema which are notoriously filthy, to see this neat, clean, uncongested city, with hardly any traffic, in large part to a special bike lane on the major roads. Most people get around on two wheels, whether by bike, moped or motorcycle. We even saw women with babies tied to their backs (though my neurotic safety-conscious self really had a problem with that, as you can imagine).

Outside of Accra (and to be truthful, even in Accra), lodging accommodations are rather hit or miss, and I guess the Norrip Guest House would be leaning more toward the miss part than the hit part.

Our "requirements" were that the rooms have:

1) Air conditioning: The A/C worked in both rooms (boys in Room 2, girls in Room 4).

2) Television: We couldn't get a single television station (scroll up and re-read what I posted about radio... ditto), still it worked. This was really not a problem, until my son, Sean, realized that there was some football premier league championship game on the next night that he, "HAD TO SEE!" Really, it's all just soccer to me. Give me a good ol' Yankees game, any day.

3) Clean bathroom: Ours was self-cleaning; the sink, the drain beneath it and the bucket beneath that all leaked constantly and left the bathroom floor covered in water (I had to wake up twice each night to empty the water bucket, else we'd step out of bed into it).

4) Swimming pool: The swimming pool was a 20 minute walk from the guest house, and it had a sickly greenish cast to it, that made me wonder had they never heard of chlorine and were all of our immunizations up to date, but, hey, it had a slide, so my kids couldn't have cared less.

5) Restaurant: Only served one kind of food - guinea fowl, and you had to order it early in the day and they'd have it ready for you by sunset. Fortunately, and most importantly, they had cold beer and soda, otherwise we'd have been so out of there.

Technically, the Norrip Guest House had all those things, so I guess I can't complain (too much).

Tomorrow: Bolgatanga, Paga and the Sacred Crocodile Pond.