Excerpt from my travel diary at http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/tim_buktu2/ghana-2006/1144757880/tpod.html Day 7 to 9: Where we should have been all along! I’ve travelled extensively in SE Asia , ventured into India and Sri Lanka and scratched the surface of twenty other countries around the globe, and I have to admit that at this point my first foray into Africa (excepting Morocco – does that count?) isn’t blowing me away. Where are the smiles in the street, the waving children, the welcome? So far our stock greeting has been the relentless call of ‘Obruni’; white man. It’s not that it bothers me, but compare it with a Laotian or Indian welcome and you quickly know where you’d rather be. It’s with an air of trepidation then, rather than excitement, that we end our coastal tour and set off for the eastern interior of the Volta Region. This involves us retracing our steps back through Accra and east towards Lake Volta and Hohoe. Instead of the tro-tro we somehow end up on a bus back to Accra . This is considered a more luxurious mode but I have to say I prefer the wind-in-my-hair experience of a tro-tro over the gentile stuffiness of the bus. The other advantage, I am soon to learn, is the tendency for buses to double as mobile pulpits as travelling preachers take advantage of a captive audience. I’ve only touched on it briefly thus far but Ghana is one serious hotbed of God-bothering. As a confirmed atheist I tend to scoff at such unquestioning devotion to a higher power, and by that I mean to the self-serving promoters of organised religion, not the Big Cheese Himself. But maybe now and again it serves some general good. I think Ghana ’s brand of fire and brimstone evangelical bible thumping does at least consistently promote one clear message; the difference between right and wrong. In a country where education is limited, tribal customs contradictory and survival tough, some pretty big grey areas can develop, depending on your point of view. The hollering preachers try to put that right in the most basic of terms; if you do bad things, God will punish you. That can range from cursing your luck to ending up in the bad fire being poked for eternity with pointy sticks. And so that’s what forms the entertainment for the Cape Coast to Accra leg of the journey; a salivating missionary extracting hallelujahs and loose change from his flock as he peddles dubious medicinal remedies amidst his godly message of right and wrong. Some people would label him a charlatan. I couldn’t possibly comment. The second leg is a fairly uneventful 7-hour STC bus trip from Accra to Hohoe. It’s an evening arrival so we disembark at dusk and are immediately pounced on by several competing taxi drivers. ‘Here we go again’, I think. But the tenacity of these chaps doesn’t rival their city cousins and they soon drift away into the night more concerned with their internal feud than the travel-weary, spaced-out westerners. This place feels different, more intimate. As if to prove the point our quick visit to the chemist leads to us piling into the chemist’s sister’s car; she’s doing her rounds and insists that we accept a lift to our chosen hotel, the Pacific Guesthouse. Things are looking up! By the way I’m guessing ‘Pacific’ is a reference to peacefulness, not the ocean, which is seriously far away. After checking in; good, clean, quiet and c190,000 for a room with bath, we head out for food. The Bradt Guide suggests Taste Lodge and I can happily confirm; beer cold, food good, still serving at 20.30hrs. Life saver! The first morning in Volta region, awakening with a dawn stroll in the rising dust shimmer of Hohoe main street on Palm Sunday, with villagers singing as they sweep their yards, is a whole world away from the chaotic and occasionally hostile atmosphere of the coastal towns. And the beauty of the lush green landscape, which rises up to form a protective ring of hills around the area, is matched by the incredible friendliness of the villagers, whose instinctive greeting is ‘welcome’ and a big smile, rather than ‘obruni’. I think we’ve come to the right place. A wander around town reveals a slower, rural pace of life, endorsed by a hotter, dryer climate. Powdery orange dust is all pervasive. Comically, the practice of giving religious appellations to local businesses flourishes here too and we debate our favourites; Jesus is the Sweetest Thing Confectionaries, or God Sons Telecommunications (the latter is wrong on so many levels I love it!). During our stroll we bump into Francis, an 18-year old student studying IT and business studies in Accra , who is home for the holidays. He takes it upon himself to be our host (not guide), proudly shows us his home town, asks questions about western life, football, employment and generally ensures we’re taken care of. We tell him we’re going to head to Wli Village to visit the waterfall, apparently the highest in Western Africa , and to stay for a few days. He quickly zooms about on his old bike and checks the various tro-tro pick-up spots, and with the most populous one located, makes sure we are given the local fare, although to be honest we’ve never had a problem in this regard. I ask what he thinks of the falls and he tells me he’s never been. His primary school once organised a trip but he was ill and missed it. Well young Francis, ditch the bike, hop aboard and let’s go exploring! Day 9 to 10: Wli Village / Agumatsa Falls Half-an-hour later, down a pretty decent road, we arrive at the small village of Wli , nestled at the foot of jungle-covered hills and towering rock outcrops. Having done our homework we head straight for Wli Waterfall Lodge with Francis in tow. The setting is perfect, with unspoiled views of the surrounding landscape and a chilled-out vibe to the garden, with giant conical gazebo and deckchairs fronting the villa. We quickly check in with the German owners; c110,000 for a boxy but adequate room. From there it’s only a short walk to the fringes of the hills and the trail to the Agumatsa falls. After a bag drop and Fanta for three we hit the road - and are off it again. We need to stump up the park entry fees and if feeling energetic, arrange a guide for the upper falls sitting, unsurprisingly, above the more renowned lower falls. We go for the full bhoona. Great decision. I would strongly urge those who’ve come to explore to make the extra effort (and expenditure). In my view there’s just no comparison between the rather dark, municipal feel of the lower falls (albeit that its record-breaking height is generously drizzled with chirping fruit bats), and the secluded magic of the upper falls, with golden sunlit bathing pool, jungle creepers, orchids, butterflies and the cooling mist from the 40m waterfall to wash away three hours of sweat and grime from the ascent. A fitting reward! I could wax lyrical but I think the pictures tell the story. We trek through the original tropical plant department at BQ. There’s not a breath of wind and humidity must be approaching 90%, but at least the sun is limited to the occasional piercing shaft through the canopy above. A guide is certainly needed as the track is steep, overgrown, dodgy underfoot and is prone to sporadically branching off on false trails. We tipped Pascal, the only one willing to take on the climb, c20,000 for his 4 1 / 2 hour service. This later guaranteed a smile and a wave whenever we bumped into him in the village. Maybe we overdid it, but for £1.20 it’s a pretty meaty shift! One other tip, take lots of water. And after the slog, a little patch of paradise; one that’s pretty hard to leave, basking in sunlight, fresh mountain spray and nature at its dynamic best. Back at the Lodge, feet up, slugging on a Star and guava juice, respectively, is a real treat after the trek back. Francis, who had a harder but more enjoyable day than he might first have guessed, is on a tro-tro back home. It probably cost me £3 to show him the wonder in his own backyard. Money well spent.