Our Christmas holiday was spent doing exactly what I have wanted to do for, oh, the last couple of Yule tides… we went to Lake Bosumetwe. Lake Bosumetwe is the largest fresh water lake in Ghana, and it was created when a meteor struck the earth a couple of years ago. It is about a 3 hour drive from Accra, under optimum conditions, which of course, we did not have. First, we departed from Tema, so that added an extra 25 miles, second, we left on Christmas Eve Eve day, which meant so did every other Ghanaian in Ghana. Traffic was its usual horrendous self, and ongoing construction of a highway intended to eventually provide a more direct link between Accra and Kumasi meant that the road we were on was left to its own devices – in other words, it was a frigging mess.
We didn’t go in our own van, which never would have made the (eventually 6 hour) trip but rather we hired a trotro and driver to take us and bring us back. I haven’t been in a trotro in a couple of years and, ya know, I wasn’t missing anything. Even with just six of us and some luggage, it was still cramped and tight and hot and jostly inside the van.
But we set off early enough and with only a couple of breaks we made it to Lake Bosumetwe by early afternoon. Our first break about 2-1/2 hours in was at the Linda Dorr Rest Stop which was, at one time, a beacon to Ghanaian rest stops. Now it is just decrepit and shameful. They charged us 20 pesawas each just to take a leak, and for that we got 4 squares of toilet paper and non-flushing toilets that are nauseatingly disgusting – it seems that Alex and I always manage to follow some poor soul who had the trots!
Mike wanted to buy a beef kebob while we were there (they used to be really good as I recall), but all they had was chicken; that wound up being completely inedible (even by Mike’s standards!). Alex asked for some grapes, and I had my money out to buy; when I asked the price, I was told 2, 3 and 5 cedis. So I asked to see the bunch that constituted the 5 GHC grapes. “Oh no,” the woman said, “not a bunch, I will count out the grapes from each stem and give you 20.” Um, I don’t think so, but not to disappoint Alex I did buy 8 grapes. But is that not ridiculous? I knew you’d agree.
About 30 minutes after that, we pulled up at Sly’s favorite resting stop, which is simply a chop bar – Ghana’s version of fast food. Within three minutes or so, there was an order of smoked fish with light soup at the table, and 2 cedis worth of perfectly pounded fufu. The soup was hot (in both respects) and delicious, and the fufu was as smooth as silk. Went down the gullet without a bit of trouble, and we were on our way 15 minutes later.
By then, we were about 90 minutes away from the lake and the kids were getting anxious. We reached the lake, stopped at the entrance hut where the “guard” looked in (no doubt saw me within a nanosecond) and then demanded 12 cedis entrance fee for the six of us. Then we read the sign: adult locals were to pay 1 cedi each; adult foreigners were to pay 2 cedis each and school children were charged 50 pesawas each. So, did we all – including our trotro driver and the children – look like adult foreigners? Apparently, but the guard’s attempt to impose the obroni tax on all of us was a big fat failure.
Finally, about 15 minutes later we reached our destination, Rainbow Garden Village. The owner of RGV (as they call themselves) showed us to our chalet, and it was the same one we stayed in several years ago. Not exactly big enough for the five of us, but with a couple of mattresses on the floor we’d make do. We had to “rough it” a bit, as there were only a few wall outlets (with different type pins than our laptops and sandwich maker, unfortunately) and a single ceiling fan that too gently pushed the air along. It would take a bit of strategy to get the laptops running (for gaming only, no internet and very spotty cell access) and to make our grilled cheese sandwiches, but we’d figure a way, of that I was sure.
And, once I saw the menu I realized we would indeed have to figure out a way to make sandwiches. The menu, by necessity given the remoteness of the place, was somewhat spare in choices: lots of rice – jollof, fried, plain – and fried yam or pasta, all essentially with either beef or chicken. Believe it or not, in spite of our location, right on the lake, no fish! For almost the entire week we were there, my boys survived on jollof rice with beef and fried yam chips, while Alex ate plain rice. On the second day I tried pasta with “creamy spinach stew” which was not spinach but kontomire (close enough, really); what I got was a dish with a lot of potential, except the stew was too salty and much too stingy a portion to even cover a third of my spaghetti. Fortunately, the cook was receptive to our criticism and the next (and next and next) orders of the pasta with spinach stew were larger and much less salty; with the grated cheese I’d brought along sprinkled liberally on top, it was pretty nice. We eventually found a way to make our sandwiches which broke the meal monotony and snacked on Frosted Flakes when tummies started grumbling.
When not eating (or waiting to eat – it typically took between one and two hours for the food), we did a lot of swimming. The lake was clear enough that you could walk out to your arm pits and see your toes (well, clear enough for me to see my toes, but not so much my darker skinned kids). It was also very warm, except for some delightfully chilly cold spots that we’d chance upon every now and again. The lake, unfortunately, also had leeches in it which we discovered on Day 2. Or should I say Alex discovered… the hard way. She had a tiny scab on her ankle that somehow broke off so the wound was open and she was swimming in the shallows with her brothers. Then in a split second, she comes rushing out of the water screaming and there on her ankle - -right where the scab should have been – is a skinny leach, and blood is trickling down her foot. She runs to me, I swat at it (*shudder*) and it is stuck good. I swat again (*shudder*) and it finally falls off into the grass. Alex, trooper that she is, asked for a band aid to cover it and got right back into the water.
View from the dock.
Yes, that's us swimming waaaaayyyy out to the log.
Ping pong hut
Weaver bird nests
For each of us, each day was essentially the same as the day before, with very little exception:
- Wake up
- Eat Frosted Flakes
- Watch the weaver birds build (and rebuild) their nests
- Swim
- Order lunch
- Swim (while waiting for lunch)
- Eat Lunch
- Swim
- Order dinner
- Swim (while waiting for dinner)
- Eat dinner
- Swim
- Look for shooting stars
- Go to bed
The exception, though, was truly exceptional – Sly got a couple of guys arrested! No shit. On the 2nd night that we were there, Christmas Eve it was, these three Rasta looking guys come sauntering down to the water side, and position themselves beneath a tree house thingy. Among them, they share a single beer, and one of them keeps walking between the tree house and the dock, smoking (and not a cigarette) as he does it. I’ve immediately got my mom-hackles up. I rouse the kids out of the water and we all head up toward the ping pong table where Sly is talking with the owner, Ataa. Sly has also got his radar working pretty damn well, because the Rastas are the subject of their conversation. At Sly’s suggestion, Ataa went down to talk to the Rasta. They claimed that “someone” invited them to visit, and that they took a taxi all the way from Kumasi (40 km away, mind you) just to share a single beer.
Ataa’s staff at RGV is comprised only of herself and her daughter, her cook, her waitress and a teenage errand boy. No security in sight. And Sly is certain that what these guys are up to is no good. Ataa calls the local police. As they’re waiting for them to arrive, the Rastas get up to leave (this is not necessarily good, by the way). When they reach the road, Sly tells them that the police have been called and that they should stick around. They’re arguing to Sly that they just came to “check the place out;” meanwhile, one of them sidles his way closer and closer to the road and all of a sudden takes off like a shot. Now, this place is so remote that it’s not as though they could just grab a cab and get away – he’s probably only hiding in the next village. The police arrive a few minutes later, show their presence to the other patrons (mostly Europeans) and then haul the remaining two guys away in their police van for an overnight in the slammer. Got to love the Ghanaian justice system (when it works in your favor, of course).
It was essentially a very boring week. Every day we swam, we pet the donkey, we listened to the birds, we played word games on the Kindle, we enjoyed the weather, we ate, drank and relaxed.
And it was exactly what I wanted and what I think we all needed. Can’t wait for our next trip.
Happy kids.
Happy New Year!
