Ghana: A Love Affair

I am having a love affair. Not of the sort that involves illicit sex in seedy hotel rooms. No, I am not having an affair with a man at all. I am having an affair with a place. Ghana.

It all started when my friend Meghan picked me up from the airport and took me back to the dorm where she (a third-year medical student on a research fellowship) lives with medical residents from across English-speaking Africa. Within minutes of being shown around and introduced to Meghan’s hallmates (smart, young African women) and her research (pediatric HIV), my mind had taken off. Images of myself in three years time, hanging out with all my cool female African friends doing groundbreaking research in Ghana danced before my eyes. Granted, by this time, I’ll be thirty and probably far better off actually completing my medical degree then lighting off to Africa once again, but whatever, I was running with the fantasy.

From Meghan’s dorm, it was off to a party in Accra, where I was further amazed by people having real conversations about interesting things!!! Coming from Monrovia, where the mood tends to be along the lines of ‘God-I-hate-this-fucking-shithole-country-let’s-get-wasted,’ it was refreshing to be in a place where people actually seemed to be positive about what they were doing. That said, I’m sure that at least part of my rosy impression of Accra expat life was due to a ‘grass is always greener’ effect, so my enthusiasm should probably be taken with a grain of salt.

That was night #1.

In comparison to night #2, however, night #1 was a mere flirtation. Night #2 was full on infatuation (if not quite true love). Having woken up late and hung over from night #1, I impressed myself by rallying and getting on a tro-tro (a minibus bush taxi) to the town of Atimpoku, a small town nextled near the southernmost tip of Lake Volta, in eastern Ghana near the border with Togo. If my visit to Ghana in 2006 hadn’t already let me in on the fact that transport in Ghana is nearly effortless in comparison with most other West African countries, my trip to Atimpoku (and pretty much everywhere else in Ghana) brought the message home. As one of the first passengers to buy a ticket, I prepared for 1-3 hours of waiting for it to fill, pretty much the standard waiting time in such a situation everywhere else in the region. Yet, to my great surprise, not twenty minutes later, the tro-tro was full and off we went. And—as if I weren’t already star struck enough—we only sat three people per row! Only one person per seat! Exactly as the original carmaker intended! Holy shit, where am I, I thought? In practically every other West African country I’ve traveled in, the driver would never think of hitting the road without at least 4-5 people crammed in like sardines. Not so in Ghana, my friend. I had so much room, I barely knew what to do with myself.

After about two hours of dust-free riding down a decent paved road, I arrived in Atimpoku. Honestly, there are not even words to describe how I felt upon seeing the lake. The tropical Lago di Cuomo was how I described it in my mind. Even veiled in the haze of the Harmattan (yearly winds that blow sand down from the Sahara and leave the skies of West Africa overcast for weeks), the place was stunning. There’s no way I can swim, though, I thought to myself. This place can’t be that perfect. But no, wrong again, Ariel. As it turns out, Lake Volta is actually so clean as to be a major source of drinking water for a large part of Ghana, not to mention crocodile and hippo-free. Oh – and did I mention there were no mosquitos? Yeah. A-m-a-z-i-n-g.

So there I was, swimming and floating away, starring at the surrounding hills, when my imagination again began to take over. What if I just opened a little health center right there overlooking the lake? I thought to myself. I could even have a floating clinic or boat ambulance to reach communities living on remote corners of the lake! It would be the perfect marrying of my desire to provide quality health care in Africa with my desire to live by a swimmable body of water. Seriously, I thought I could be in love.

From Atimpoku, I went on to the Avatime Hills, where I got my ass kicked (albeit enjoyably) hiking with incredibly fit Ghanaians. Then on to Wli Waterfalls, purportedly the highest in West Africa. Just as quickly as I fell for Lake Volta, I fell for the town of Wli. Squeezed up against the border with Togo, the landscape was green and hilly and seemed more remote (a plus in my book) than Atimpoku. And as it boasted yet another swimmable body of water (in this case, two pristine waterfall pools), I had a hard time deciding which place I loved more. Indeed, traveling around Ghana was like dating locations. Which one would woo me most successfully? Do I want a peaceful mountain lake, or a waterfall in the woods? Eenie meenie minie moe…

But alas, even as I swam and indulged in my imagined Ghanaian future, I knew it was just an affair. Ghana was too easy, too perfect. For love, I need to be pushed and challenged, beaten and inspired. Mali gave me that, and two years out, I still haven’t moved on. So while Ghana was a wonderful vacation, filled with swimmable bodies of water, scenic hills and seemingly effortless public transport, I know it is not where I will end up in the end. Whether I will end up back in Mali, or whether I will eventually fall in love with some place else, only time will tell. But in the meantime, I'm enjoying my affair...