From Ghana to Burkina: back on the road

It’s so comfortable in Ghana. I knew it would be. Sure, I had my moments of frustration (you’d think the number of volunteers that come through Nsuta would sensitize the kids, but it somehow just makes them louder and more annoying when they screech Obroni at you), but for the most part, life was pretty chill.

Countless hours playing Yahtzee, Rummy, and Ludu (a Ghanaian game) with Poppo. Every day. Especially since the World Cup started; we pick a bar, play until the game starts, and play again once it’s over. Watch the next one, then go home, and do it again the next day.

2.5 months. We floated between Kumasi and Nsuta (Poppo’s hometown), and recently Kumasi and Duayaw Nkwanta (where our friend Romeo now stays). For 3 weeks, Alana and I made a little tour, but for the most part, it was a slow, easy pace for me. It’s the rainy season, so it’s not too hot, though we were often stuck caught out in it, holed up in some joint waiting for it to pass. And sometimes that means that we just had to run home in it, getting completely drenched, but laughing the whole way.

Throw in a knee injury a few weeks ago, and I really officially slowed down. Which was certainly needed after my race to get there. And again after that whirlwind with Alana. Photographic evidence of all adventures will come, once the ever-elusive wifi presents itself at my disposal.

But I started craving life on the road again. I was thinking, It’s hot, sure, and challenging, of course. But it’s exciting. It keeps me busy. Keeps me engaged.

And, no surprise here, I reached Day 1 back on my own, and was already frustrated and disappointed.

Thanks, Universe. I asked for that.

The challenges may not have changed, but they are still here, that’s for sure.

Heading into Wa, I was feeling totally alone. Figuring things out on my own again. The hotel I finally settled for was expensive, and in the middle of nowhere. Plus, the Ghanaian government had given notice of a price increase for fuel, so stations shut down or tripled their prices in advance, causing taxi rates to skyrocket. Even though it was totally justified, I couldn’t help but feel it was the same old White Girl Price.

I decided not to stay another day, and headed for the border in the morning. I was directed to the tro station, but I felt like there must have been a direct bus somewhere, even if I had to wait. But nope, a tro, a mototaxi, and a minibus were in store to get me into Burkina.

On the way, I thought about the things I would miss (human beings aside). They were all edible.

Goodbye to bean stew and fried plantains; goodbye to waakye, shito, and fufu. Goodbye to coconuts, FanIce, and fried rice. Goodbye to Star beer. Oh, how I will mourn the losses.

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