Friday, July 6, 2012

18 Cape Coast: Beautiful Fishermen, Scary Canopy Walk and Living in Hope


Unlike yesterday’s 4 am start, I’ve overslept and wake with a fright at 7.40 remembering I’m meeting cabbie Abraham at 9 am.

I could take a cheap tro tro to the rainforest but I struck a deal with Abraham to drive me the one-hour, 33 km rough road trip, wait around, and then return me to the Oasis for the grand sum of 40 cedis (£13). The door-to-door, personalised service is convenient and comfortable and I’m happy to give this devoted family man a jackpot fare.

The cabbies in these poor coastal towns rely on the occasional tourist with deep pockets to compensate for endless standing around and squabbling with hoards of cabbies who compete for passengers in their customised yellow-cornered mean machines.

I strap on my heavy hiking boots hauled all the way from home for this starring moment. But first breakfast!
 
Suddenly dozens of fishermen are swarming the beach, hauling on ropes attached to a net, prancing and chanting, their melodious deep voices filling the air. The German couple and I rush with cameras swinging on our wrists, lured by their siren song, captivated by the spectacle of beautiful men at work.

The camaraderie of the beach fishermen is delightful and they appear to be elated as they harmonise and haul ashore their catch of small silver fish, flapping and flashing in the morning sun.
Later Abraham tells me boat fishermen chug further out to sea in motorised canoes chasing bigger fish. My late father, a fearless deep ocean game fisherman would be impressed!





Kakum National Park, sporting a sensational canopy walk, is a major international tourist attraction. The esteemed Bradt travel guide on Ghana devotes two enthusiastic pages of evocative description to the canopy walk, unique across the whole of Africa.

Built to protect and promote the rainforest in 1995 with US aid dollars, the series of seven wood and rope bridges extend 350 metres through the dense forest, towering up to 40 metres above the lush treetops. Tackling the daring walk is not for the faint-hearted or height phobic.

There’s no turning back if you lose your nerve and if you happen to drop your sunnies or camera, well you can say goodbye to them and expect some lucky monkey will be wearing your shades and snapping pictures, the envy of all the forest inhabitants.

Well I’m up for it! This is my very own extreme sports challenge, as adventurous as I get, as bungee jumping, climbing Kilimanjaro and running marathons are out of the question! I am pouring buckets of sweat in the close to 100 per cent humidity when I join a group of garrulous American tourists from Colorado and college students from Virginia.

Our conscientious guide extols the therapeutic virtues of special trees before we climb the steep steps to the viewing platform at the start of first bridge. I follow the others in single file as we wobble and sway with each step on the narrow plank, white-knuckled hands gripping the ropes on each side. Feeling like a baby elephant on a tight rope, I am slightly scared, imagining losing my foothold and slipping off the plank or somehow plummeting headfirst over the ropes.

By the fourth bridge I’m telling myself to trust my feet and look up. The tranquil, vivid greenery is soothing and I stride along, chatting casually, high above the leafy canopy, with the friendly college students who are curious about my career in journalism and why I’m travelling alone at my mature age!

By the time we return to the park entrance, the leaden sky is teeming with rain and we are all saturated like half-drowned furry mammals, having an authentic rainforest experience!

The canopy walk costs an exorbitant 30 cedis for non-Ghanaians. With the promised cash for Abraham folded neatly in my purse, I’m skint and forced to pass on visiting the nearby Monkey Forest Resort, a sanctuary for orphaned and injured animals. I’m disappointed but commit to seeing the wildlife when I travel in Kenya and Uganda, hopefully with Andrew.

We hit the road, cruising past poor villages of broken down huts and bustling markets, which by now are familiar sights. I’m no longer shocked by the ever-present poverty and no longer reaching for my camera. However I am shocked by an impressive mansion, perched brazenly on a hill, emerging from the surrounding slums like a mirage.


Abraham, himself a devout Christian, explains the gleaming new million dollar mansion is a Born-Again church! I can’t help feeling annoyed at such distorted priorities when villagers, who can barely buy food, donate their meagre finances to such an elaborate building. But Abraham accepts the paradox in this fervently religious country.

Nervous to go anywhere near the corner where the hustling lads are lurking, I steel myself to be strong and say NO to their irresistible offers, especially since I don’t possess two coins to rub together! But I will have to return, cashed-up after an emergency withdrawal at the ATM, and I’m sure the razor sharp lads can sniff the fresh supply of money. 

With royal waves and cheery ‘Helloooo’s’ to my endless young male ‘admirers’ (please indulge my delusions, I realise they are only interested in the contents of my purse!) who appear our of nowhere, I have survived the risky stroll to the cash machine and flopped, hungry and thirsty at the Moringa vegetarian café.

I order an exotic selection of yam balls, tofu kebab and ‘Black Beauty’ (battered aubergine) with spicy sauce and coconut-mango-lime juice. A group of Irish girls are venting about their travel hardships and when we start talking I discover they have been volunteering as teachers in Ghana for six months. Jaded and homesick, they are ready to jump on a plane back to Ireland.

Three sweet, innocent little kids approach me asking for donations for they Christian Union Youth Camp. I am now highly suspicious of these donation forms. I have a hunch the ‘official’ forms are printed by a racketeer paying the kids a small percentage of takings from gullible tourists. That’s my theory having been conned several times now. I give the big-eyed kids a cedi each anyway!

Confession! Rounding the corner, almost back safely in my hut, I have succumbed to Koby’s relentless charm and ordered seven more name bracelets from his clever friend and one ‘gold’ bracelet engraved by Koby himself with the symbol for ‘hope’. Is there any hope for me? Probably not, when it comes to sweet-talking, handsome boys. But with such talented entrepreneurs there is indeed hope for Ghana.           

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