Go on an authentic African Safari
= check.
Seeing the animals in their
natural habitat was breath-taking,
but the travel and everything else was…
an experience.
We woke up early on Friday morning
at 3:30 am, back packs packed with
snacks and clothes for the long weekend.
We jumped on a tro tro at 4am and headed
down to Ghana's big city of Accra
to board an STC bus (aka: Charter bus)
to take to Tamale.
From Tamale we would board another
bus to take to Mole.
Arriving in Accra's STC bus station,
tickets in hand at 5am, we learned that our
bus was simply "not coming."
By this point in our African experience,
we were used to "Ghanaian time"
AKA: anywhere from 30-60 minutes
later than promised.
But our bus was "not coming?!"
We asked what to do and they said,
"another will come this morning."
And so we waited.
Around about 9am an STC bus
pulled into the "Tamale" spot.
We rejoiced and boarded the
pleasantly clean and air-conditioned
charter bus.
We were over-joyed by its luxurious
leather seats, complete with two TVs
and ample space for bags and foot room.
We were off on our 12-hour journey
to Tamale.
The bus ride mostly consisted of sleeping,
eating, chatting, and stopping every hour
or two to pay the normal 30 pesweas charge to
use the local village's toilet.
AKA: you paid your toll, they handed you
a piece of newspaper, and then you made your way to
a cement stall outside with two blocks on the ground,
(one for each foot), and a hole between the blocks.
The bus ride eventually gave into Ghanaian time
and our expected 12-hour trip turned into
about 16 hours.
We arrived in Tamale late in the night around 1am.
We were told it was nearly impossible to catch
a bus that late at night, but there was hope for one
to come to the nearby Metro Mass bus station
a few blocks away around 4am.
It didn't seem realistic to pay for a hotel room
for three hours, knowing none of us would
actually fall asleep anyways,
so, we hung out at the Tamale STC bus station for 3 hours.
The bus station was mostly dirty,
with metal bars over the ticket booth,
and several cement rooms along the wall
filled with random storage materials.
There were a few rows of wooden benches
where some of the girls, including myself,
laid down to try and get some more sleep.
3:30 am finally arrived and the girls
woke me up to catch a taxi to the Metro Mass station,
in hopes of a bus actually leaving at 4am
to take us the rest of the way to Mole.
Arriving at the bus station we learned
that the bus to Mole actually doesn't leave
until 6am.
Then we learned it doesn't leave until 1pm.
Then we learned there actually isn't a Mole
bus coming at all.
Then we learned we could really take the Metro bus
going to Wa, which is farther north than Mole,
and just simply tell the driver we wanted to get off early.
Then we learned that there was actually a bus going to Mole
and it was getting ready to leave.
Then we learned that that bus was actually not going to Mole at all.
Going back to the original bus to Wa, we stood in line,
which is actually a foreign concept to Ghanaians,
so, after giving our 13 cedis to one of the girls in our group
to then fight in line, in hopes of getting 9 tickets to Wa,
the driver finally took our money and we were given
our tickets.
Exhausted from our recent 16-hour journey,
Frustrated from the lack of straight answers,
and dreading our next 4-hour bus ride to Mole,
we waited along the roadside for the bus to start boarding.
Our group of girls have now become masters
of peeing on the ground AND avoiding our shoes
We are pretty quick at it, too!
That's one great thing about Ghana.
You can pick your toilet.
About an hour later,
we boarded the bus to Mole.
This bus was not like an STC bus.
It wasn't air-conditioned,
which we were used to because of our experiences with tro tros.
The seating was much smaller.
The left side of the aisle had three seats,
while on the other side two seats.
I sat on the left side in the aisle seat and
two Ghanaian women sat next to me
towards the window, the woman closest
to the window had a 10-year old girl on her lap.
As they stretched out and got comfortable,
I got whatever was left of my seat.
Luckily, when the tickets run out, people just sit
in the aisles, complete with their luggage.
So, a Ghanaian man decided to plop down
next to my feet in the aisle and sit on his bags.
Now, we were shoulder to shoulder
for our 4-hour journey!
I put my head back and tried to sleep.
The entire 4-hour journey was a dirt road
that headed north.
Dirt roads in Ghana are never smooth.
It was complete with potholes
and the entire ride was bumpy,
similar to the feeling of an old wooden
roller coaster.
Lucky for me, I got used to the vibration,
jolts and bumps and it lulled me to sleep.
Plus with the two Ghanaians on either side of me,
I was sure not to fall from my seat!!
Around 9 in the morning,
29 hours after leaving
our guesthouse in Tutu,
we arrived in Mole.
We got off the bus,
sore and achy from the long, bumpy
trip and asked for directions to our
hotel in Lara Bunga.
We walked about a mile down a long
dirt road that looked like it led to nowhere.
Arriving at the Salia Brothers' Guesthouse,
I was half expecting a building, similar to a hotel,
maybe like our guesthouse in Tutu or the one
we stayed at in Cape Coast.
Well,
there were buildings.
Round, cement, straw huts, that is.
Northern Ghana lifestyle is
very different than the south.
I then realized we are truly spoiled in Tutu.
Natalie and I claimed hut number 5,
two other girls jump into hut number 3
and the rest of the girls took the building in the back
complete with 5 mattress pads
on the ground covered with sheets.
Our hut was small,
with bars and a wooden door over the windows.
The roof was made from sticks, tied together with ropes,
to ensure no rain would pass through.
Our bed was small, but had a wooden frame, a white sheet
on top and a blue-ish mosquito net hanging from the ceiling.
We had a wooden table that sat on the cement dirt floor.
We were blessed to have a outlet with a fan, though!!
The showers were just to the left of our hut,
complete with a large plastic barrel filled with water,
and a smaller bucket to fill up from the larger barrel
in order to take a "bucket bath" in the provided
bathing room.
The bathrooms were behind our hut,
they were toilets this time, but also had
a large plastic barrel with water outside so we could "flush."
The guesthouse was ran by a man named Osyere
and his wife with their 5 to 10 children
(many of them were orphans that they adopted).
The children all ran around, playing soccer, laughing,
calling out to us and following us around out of curiosity.
I washed my face and hands in a nearby bucket,
and wiped off the rest of my body with a baby wipe.
I changed my shirt and laid down to rest.
I ordered some jolof rice from one of the ladies in the kitchen
and ate that as we departed from the guesthouse
and walked to Mole National Park.
In total it was about a 4 mile walk,
straight down a red dirt road.
Lara Bunga and Mole are very clean compared
to were we are from in Tutu and Mampong.
There isn't a trail of trash on the streets, nor a sign
of dirty sewage.
Needless to say, it was beautiful.
The children followed us up the road,
running and playing, giggling and laughing.
We stopped at the huge "Mole National Park" sign
to take photos and then continued our journey inside the park.
It was time for the Safari.
A few girls piled inside the Safari jeep and the rest
of us jumped on top of the jeep with our cameras.
We traveled far out into the park, about 3 kilometers.
First we saw Pata monkeys and their babies.
Going farther into the park were antelope.
Reddish-brown, with tall antlers and bushy white tails.
As we traveled further in the park,
there they were.
The elephants.
I saw a gray trunk and a single white tusk
behind a very leafy tree.
Then it stepped into perfect view.
I think I stopped breathing.
It was enormous.
Bigger than any elephant I'd ever seen at a zoo.
It was majestic.
It was confident.
It was powerful.
Its infinitely heavy body walked with grace,
it's trunk swinging from side to side.
Our cameras clicked away.
We saw several elephants, herds,
mommas, babies, and papa elephants.
It was so much different than a zoo.
These elephants were free.
These elephants wanted to be here.
It was natural.
It was wonderful.
On our way back to the park station,
we encountered a few baboons,
playing with each other and eating berries off
of the ground.
Some of them were small, maybe the size of
a St. Bernard, while others were the size of
some our Jr. High kids at the deaf school!
Our safari was complete.
We could now check it off of our bucket list.
Our cameras were full and our bellies were hungry.
We made our way to the Mole Hotel, complete
with a restaurant and pool nearby.
We met many other "Obrunis"
all from America.
Some families were vacationing with their kids,
which made me miss traveling with my family.
Others were on mission like us,
public health, and other training programs.
The girls and I took off our sandals,
and sat poolside, with our achy, tired feet
in the cool pool water
while we waited on our food.
The food arrived and we scarfed down
our french fries and ketchup!
Yep, we indulge in American luxuries
whenever possible.
After dinner,
it was dark, so we hopped in one of the safari
jeeps and headed back to our Lara Bunga hotel.
We all retired to our huts (or ground mattress pads)
and our worn-out bodies fell fast asleep.
By this point in the trip,
we were so tired and exhausted,
we honestly just wanted to go home.
We hoped to take an STC bus that next evening
in order to travel through the night.
We were all a little leery about that thought,
after learning of the 3 robberies that had
happened just the week before,
targeting STC travelers riding through the night.
We decided to pray about it
and sleep on it.
So we awoke early morning at 3:30 am (again)
to catch the Mole bus back to Tamale,
in hopes of STC bus tickets being available
back to Accra that night.
(you're really supposed to buy your ticket 24 hours early).
If not, we'd have to stay the night in Tamale in
hopes of catching a bus the next morning.
The sun was still sleeping,
so we stood outside of the hotel entrance,
bags on our backs and pillows in our hands.
Without a city light in view,
not even a lit candle,
I realized we were truly out in the middle of nowhere.
The sky was so clear,
with each star magnifying the size
of our Heavenly Father.
I whispered out of my sleepy mouth,
"I am so small, Lord."
Thankfully the bus arrived at 4:30am
and we boarded another Metro Mass bus,
this time only paying 5 cedis.
I got a window seat this time on the right side
and was able to sleep the entire way.
My allergies had been acting up again,
so my body was still drowsy from the Benadryl
I'd taken the night before.
(or, well, a few hours before) :]
This bus took a little longer than 4 hours this time.
We arrived in Tamale around about 9 am.
We ran to the STC bus station and asked for tickets.
We had our fingers and toes crossed.
We were severely discouraged and let down
to learn that the bus for that evening,
as well as the next day were sold out.
We'd have to stay TWO nights
in Tamale in order to take an STC bus home.
Our only other option was to take two Metro Mass buses
(the uncomfortable, shoulder-to-shoulder buses)
the long 12 hours home.
No one wanted to do that.
We were stuck.
We all started praying.
Heavenly Father,
please provide us a comfortable,
safe way home.
Protect us.
In Your Name,
Amen.
Just then the girl behind us in line
to buy her tickets in advance said,
"have you heard about VIP bus?
they may have tickets available
and it's just like the STC buses."
Cara and I looked at each other,
thanked the European girl,
and jumped in a cab.
I was praying the whole way there.
Arriving, I about jumped over the counter
at the Ghanaian woman after the words,
"yes we have tickets available"
came out of her mouth.
The bus left at 6pm that night,
so we had about 8 hours to kill in
the busy city of Tamale.
I was so overjoyed and thankful
for the way God provided comfortable
transportation for our over-tired and for
my sick, allergy infected body.
Everything was looking up
and we all breathed a sigh of relief
knowing we'd be 'home' soon.
I truly realized how spoiled we are
in Tutu.
Running water (most of the time)
Electricity (most of the time)
cool weather at night,
a promised two meals a day,
a way to wash clothes…
the list goes on.
Then,
when I allowed my mind to wander to my life
in America, I had to stop.
I couldn't even bear to think about how blessed I am.
We spent the day relaxing in the shade at the bus station.
It's so much hotter up north than down in Tutu.
It was dry and sunny.
We were sweaty and sticky
from not bathing all weekend.
We were stinky and had at least
20 new bug bites each.
We grabbed lunch in a nearby restaurant.
You order your food in quantity.
"I want 1 cedi worth of jolof rice and 1 cedi of fried chicken."
We ate our meals and then walked around town
to hopefully stock up on snacks for the ride home.
Once 5:00 approached, we sat down at one of the restaurants
again and each enjoyed a "Alvaro,"
a Ghanaian drink we've all grown to love.
It's carbonated but with fruit flavors like
pineapple, passion fruit, or pear.
After finishing our drinks,
we ordered some rice to go and then boarded the bus.
I was smiling ear to ear to feel the luxurious feeling
of air-conditioning and wide leather seats where I could rest my body.
And we were off.
We ate our dinner and oddly enough,
we watched back to back MTV music videos of boy bands
on the provided TVs inside the bus.
Ghanaians are…interesting :]
After finishing our dinners,
we all crashed out for the remaining 10-hour trip.
Awakening around 5am,
we were in Accra!
We were so happy to be home.
Now all we had to do was to find a tro tro
to take back to Aburi and then it was about
a ten minute taxi ride back home to Tutu!!
We got off the bus,
sleepy-eyed, but excited and walked
around in the already busy city of Accra.
The sun was just rising and already
people were selling on the streets.
Stepping over sleeping Ghanaian men's feet,
or around a boiling pot of corn,
or blowing plastic trash,
we searched for a tro tro headed to Aburi.
A couple of Ghanaian
men called out Aburi Aburi!
They dropped their price right away by saying
"1.5 Ghana?"
"1 cedi and 50 pesweas?" we confirmed.
"yes," they answered.
Normally it's about 2 cedis per person,
so for 50 pesweas cheaper,
we jumped into the tro tro
without a problem.
I noticed the men had weird smiles on their faces,
and the way they looked at us 8 girls,
I was uncomfortable with.
Ghana is fairly safe,
and we've traveled via tro tro
in and out of Accra so often,
I got in.
Normally we wait to fill up the tro tro,
but we took off right away.
I found this odd.
But after I was reminded that it was a holiday
and not many people are traveling,
I felt a little better.
Then one of the girls said,
"we aren't going the right way."
My heart started racing.
We asked the men,
"where are you taking us?"
"Aburi, Aburi," they reassured.
We waited,
eyes wide-open
to any familiarity.
After about 10 minutes we recognized
our normal route out of Accra.
We breathed a sign of relief.
But how odd these men were acting.
Weird smiles,
strange laughing,
and constant conversation in Twi.
Arriving at the toll booth,
the driver asked the toll man how to get to Aburi.
Odd that they didn't already know.
Finally arriving at Aburi station,
exhausted, relived, and worn-out from our journeys,
we rejoiced!
We gave the men the 12 cedi like they asked and headed for the taxis.
Then,
we were stopped.
"This isn't enough money," they complained.
"Yes, that is the price you dropped." one girl said,
"so that is what you're getting."
"No, no we said 1.5 Ghana" the mate argued.
I yelled from my sleepy state of mind,
"Did you mean 150 cedi?"
"yes, yes," they said.
I couldn't believe it.
This was 125 cedis OVER what it would normally cost to
get from Accra to Tutu, we were experienced enough to know this.
Most of the time,
when a driver is out of line
in asking for too much money,
you give them the money they asked for
and walk away.
But there was no walking away this time.
They started to yell.
We were at the Aburi station,
so other Ghanaian taxi drivers over heard
and then the brawl started.
Me and three other girls got into the nearest taxi
traveling to Tutu, in hopes of just leaving the situation.
But the persistent tro tro driver wouldn't let us shut our doors.
He got into one of the girl's faces,
but she stood her ground.
Arguing in both Twi and English, taxi drivers
and our girls argued and negotiated
and conversed.
How ridiculous.
We were so close to home.
After about 20 minutes of stupid,
we complied and gave them a total of 50 cedis.
About 35 cedis over what it should have been.
I was saddened at how important
this absurd amount of money was to these drivers.
After what seemed like hours,
we jumped into our taxis and headed back to Tutu.
I about slumped onto the ground
and cried when I felt our familiar
dirt-filled and rocky gravel drive way beneath my feet.
We were finally home.
And how great it felt after such a trying,
exhausting, frustrating,
yet majestic and breath-taking weekend.
And now the countdown starts.
8 more days in this beautiful country.
And I intend to soak up every moment.
The refreshing rain,
my sweet kindergarten kids,
the tasty food,
and the friendly Ghanaian people.
I will miss this place.
And I realize that I no longer miss America.
I'm just overwhelmingly excited to get home
and truly enjoy what I already have.
