Aventure Grande - Partie Quatre

It was Thursday morning in Atakpamé, Togo. Hannah, Corbett and I were on a stroll through the market district after a breakfast of omelets, bread and an inexorbant amount of Yoki Pomplemouse soda… ok, maybe it was just me who drank 2 liters of that. The road meandered down the hillside through the makeshift landfill. Another trash heap… this one was on fire though. If there was ever air that I wanted to avoid breathing it was here, among the burning trash fumes. I saw a dead rat in the trash heap. I guess it was too much for him to handle too.

Eventually, we meandered our way back up the hill and into the center of town to catch a tro to our next destination. I realize that I painted a fairly bleak image of Atakpamé, but by no means was it a bad town. In fact, aside from the trash, it was one of the more beautiful places I’ve been. The whole town was built on a strangely placed hill amidst the savannah I could see it being a very pleasant and relaxing place to live.

A more appealing view of Atakpame

Nevertheless, onwards we went. Crammed into a tro-tro headed for Badou I enjoyed the view of south central togo as we climbed onto the mountain on treacherous switchback roads crumbing at the edges. It would have been frightening if it weren’t for the fact that we had the road to ourselves and there were no passing vehicles.

Here’s a video to give you an idea of what it’s like aboard a tro-tro:

After traveling for nearly three hours I finally saw Badou in the valley below and I knew that I wasn’t going to make it… I really needed to use the bathroom and at least a dozen kilometers of brutally bumpy switchbacks and mountain road lie between me and the nearest proper facility. It would have been something like riding “The Mean Streak” at Cedar Point for half an hour consecutively when the bathroom is all you could think about... utter hell. I made the tro stop to let me out. It continued without the three of us.

I had caused us to be stranded on a mountain road several kilometers from town with a long winding hike through the rainforest between ourselves and water… Some friend I am. Despite the unfortunate situation I had landed us in, it was actually an exceedingly beautiful place and the hike down to Badou was fun. Being stranded atop a mountain and having to hike a remote road through the rainforest to town is actually not such a bad fate.

Where we were stranded... thanks to me

Once in town we drank a ton of water, ate some rice and began to search for a ride to the Ghanaian border. After some negotiating for price, Corbett found a trio of moto drivers willing to take us. To our surprise, the border was 20km away through a narrow dirt road which was impassible by car… Good thing we were taking motorcycles.

I assumed that our drivers were exaggerating the road conditions to get a better price from us but there was no exaggeration whatsoever. I soon found myself clinging to the back of a motorcycle racing through the pothole laden dirt “road” which was scarcely wider than a hiking trail at highway type speeds. The forest thickened and before I knew it we were deep within the rainforest with enormous trees flying by on either side as my driver weaved in and out on the trail avoiding puddles and potholes without breaking pace. Ferns swatted my elbows as we cornered and weaved and the sky began to darken, threatening rain. Eventually we came upon a small shack with a Togolese flag waving above it. The border?

Yes… but only sort of. He had no means of stamping our passports, and therefore, no means of extending our Ghanaian visas (which need to be renewed every 60 days by international travel or paying a fee in Accra). Disappointed, we decided to pay the fee in Accra and continued for the Ghanaian checkpoint hoping they could stamp our passports.

More jungle roads and then we turned off the path onto a plywood, plank and lumber store discount pile hack job of a bridge over a small stream. On the other side was a lady (troll?) demanding a 5cedi toll. Of course, our drivers made us pay. We rolled over to the bench where Ghanaian soldiers monitored the international road traffic: one guy and a basket of fruit (rush hour). They informed us that this was an unofficial border crossing and were welcome to cross back into Ghana but there would never be any official, passport record of our return and therefore we would run into a whole heap of trouble whenever we tried to use our passports again. Luckily, there was another crossing to the north that could process our passports.

Back on the bikes. Back over the bridge. Back through the jungle. Back to unnecessary, dangerous and exceedingly fun speeds. Trees whipped by on the left and right once again and I thought “This is the closest I’ll ever be to riding a land speeder on Endor.” … nah, this is cooler. Luke Skywalker aint got nothin’ on me!

The trees broke, we entered a clearing and the forested mountain range revealed itself over the green vegetation. I watched the vista whirr by and thought about how this very well could be the coolest thing I’d ever done. Back into the forest. The sky darkened, the road flattened and we went faster still.

The accelerator eased and we coasted to a stop in a small village with a small brick building at the edge. A real border crossing with real stamps, Huzzah!

STAMP!

Walk a bit. Paperwork, small talk, confusion, STAMP! Back in Ghana. The confusion was likely due to the fact that I don’t think any non-Ghanaian, non-Togolese had crossed at this remote checkpoint in years.

We hopped in a car and were off to Kadjebi, Ghana. Then to a Ho-Hoe bound tro tro. I shared the front seat with a tragically misinformed Nigerian. After an hour and a half of explaining that African Americans in the US aren’t segregated into a separate state from everyone else I mercifully arrived in Ho-Hoe… Where did he come up with an idea like that? … It still baffles me.

Dinner!

Another Tro! ... or not.

We boarded a tro to Accra but we had to wait for it to fill first before the driver would leave. So we sat… and sat… and stood … and sat again … and fell asleep … and woke … and got impatient. After over 3 hours of waiting, the van was full and we were able to leave for Accra.

Another 3 hours later, at 3:30AM, we arrived in Accra. The journey was over but my wounds were not. With ISH in sight, I stubbed my toe at Opungalu causing it to bleed profusely… Of course, I spent a week on an epic adventure, come home unharmed just to wound myself at home… Of all the stories I could have behind that scar, It will just be the time I was tired and stumbled over a brick outside ISH… sigh.

THE END.