Today we spent most of the day relaxing at the house in Community 10, mostly waiting for lunch to be done. Food here takes hours to prepare; I laugh when I pass by “fast food joints” or “chop bars” (same thing). There is no such thing here as fast food.

So, the tale of the bus ride to Navrongo: On Monday, December 5, Pastor Joseph and Pastor Paul went over the arrangements for me to travel to the North. It was necessary to travel to Accra to purchase the tickets a day ahead of the departure date so Alex set off for the Capital late in the day. He returned fairly late in the evening, as Accra and Tema have heavy traffic. The depot was closed when he got there, so he had to return in the morning.

Next morning, Alex returned from Accra about 10:30 a.m. with the tickets and said we had to take off for Accra at 11 because we had to report to load the bus by one sharp; the buses supposedly do not let you on if you miss boarding time.

A.M. or P.M?

Right now.

So off we went in a taxi to Accra to catch the bus. The plan was to take the bus straight through from Accra to Bolgatanga and then to take a taxi to Navrongo.

Then the plan was to take the bus straight through from Accra to Navrongo.

Then the plan was to take the bus from Accra to Kumasi, where we had to switch buses, and then from Kumasi to Bolgatanga. The latter turned out to be the plan that took root.

We arrived at the depot just before 1 p.m. as directed and stood in line to board the bus for nearly an hour. Suitcases, bags, boxes, 50 kilo bags of rice and yams, all sorts of cargo to be loaded in the bus compartment sat piled up in the middle of the depot, with the owners thereof standing around to be sure it got onboard. Finally, at 3 p.m., the bus driver got behind the wheel and started the bus. Off we went.

The travel time from Accra to Kumasi should be about four hours, so the one o’clock bus should have gotten us there by 5 p.m. We pulled in at 8:30 p.m. and Alex flew out of the bus and disappeared on me. I had no idea where he went so I sat out the crowd fighting to get off the bus till I could get off safely. Outside, a woman said that a man was calling for the obruni so I followed her pointed finger and found Alex bodily guarding our seats on the bus, fending off two men who were insisting on taking them, calling for me to quickly get in the seats. Once I was in our seats, Alex went to tend to the luggage.

The second bus was quite smaller than the first; much of the luggage from the first bus did not fit into the compartment in the second so it wound up in the aisles. There were new travelers on the bus with us, apparently having bought “tickets” at Kumasi to continue the ride to Navrongo. The bus drivers print out their own tickets to make money on the side and pack the buses out without reporting to the company. Bogus tickets look official, but the ink is a different color and there are no seat assignments printed on them. The worst part was that the first bus was loaded to overflowing and few of those initial passengers were getting off at Kumasi.

Behind me the two new travelers who had wanted our seats were now shouting at a woman carrying a toddler; she had been sitting behind me on the first bus. More and more passengers got involved in the argument and then a chief, who seemed to be the woman’s father, got on the bus and began to get up in the men’s faces, his robes flying around with his clenched fists.

It was sort of just like the bus ride to Bolga earlier in the year.

At 10:15, the bus pulled out of the depot headed for Bolga.

There are TVs at the front of the buses so the passengers can be entertained during the ride, whether or not they want entertainment. There is simply one volume on every TV: blaring. The Ghanaians love Nigerian movies. Aside from the foul language (the movies are in English; Ghanaians do not know what the foul words mean—they find them amusing), they are filled with great violence toward women, which for some reason is also amusing. The slow takes and close-ups drag on for minutes at a time, one after another; a theme song repeats throughout the sometimes 4 or 5 hour movies redundantly; and the story lines are so shallow that they made me think of Roy Rogers or The Lone Ranger, which by comparison are Oscar material. My apologies to my Nigerian friends; I just couldn’t get into the movies.

This particular bus had air conditioning that worked—very, very well. Within an hour, Alex had pulled his arms into his tee shirt to try to keep warm and I had taken the curtains off the window to cover myself. The men in front of us kept turning the vents toward me; I kept turning them back. Just when I was ready to smack that guy’s hand as he reached for that vent one more time, Alex spoke up and told the guy to leave it alone, that if he was cold, he should ask the driver to turn off the A/C.

No, he said.

Every one of us on that bus was shivering from the cold and no one would ask the driver to turn off the air. Having experienced the brouhaha over the seats earlier, I knew better than to open my American mouth. It is impolite to ask the driver to turn the A/C off.

Ghanaians will shout at the driver if they are unhappy with his driving, but they will not ask him to do anything. That will never make sense to me as I recall the riot over the bogus tickets. They will fight over a hot seat but not a cold bus.

At midnight we were allowed to visit a rest stop for fifteen minutes. I made straight for the women’s rest room, noticing Alex standing in front of a gentleman at a table. Alex was smiling at me and handing the man money. Being in a rush, I really did not take the scene in; I vaguely recall Alex waving to me and seeing the gentleman hand what looked like a tissue to him.

Hurrying to take care of business in the rest room, I did not realize till after I did that there was no toilet paper in the stall (yes, this rest room actually had stalls with real toilets!). The fact that there were no toilet paper holders or dispensers somehow did not register; thankfully, I travel with a packet of wipes.

On the way out, the beggars were lined up with hands outstretched. Alex had to rescue me from them; they surrounded me and I could not get past them. I asked him what he had bought from the gentleman at the table outside the rest rooms; he told me he was purchasing TP for me to take in with me. That is why he was waving at me: you cannot use the toilet unless you pay up front.

Yep. The Ghanaian people know that they have to buy their toilet paper up front so that gentleman rarely misses a fare. I wonder what they would have done to me if Alex had not paid my way in; send in the toilet police?

Finally, at 7 a.m. Tuesday, we pulled into Bolgatanga bus depot, a barren lot with a low-roofed building that was lined with vultures. Yes, vultures: ugly, stooped-shouldered black birds that are perhaps two feet tall and have beady eyes and wicked beaks. The sky was full of them circling and the few buildings were covered with them. As startling a sight as it was to me, I quickly discovered that they are completely afraid of people; they pose no threat to the living.

As I approached a trio of them sitting on the ground, they eyed me, jerked their heads a bit, and then took off. The rooftops cleared off as the three took to the air; only two vultures remained on the rooftop looking at me and retreating beyond my view as I lifted the camera. I think I got a photo or two.

Well, I am thankful that we arrived safely, if not somewhat frigidly. I am thankful that the trip took only 18 hours and not 32; even though I am repeatedly told it only takes 12 to 14 hours. I am thankful the bus did not break down dozens of times, leaving us stranded endlessly on the hot, dusty roads. And I am so very thankful for Alex, who watched over me the whole way, took care of all the details, kept me from being arrested by the toilet police, and shared the boredom and the frost with me.

The Northern Region had a torrential rainy season this year from late May to end July. The ground was covered with tall grasses that were recently scorched from the sun, the trees had green growth on them, and areas that are obviously irrigated are bright green with vegetation. The lake, which was nearly two-thirds dried up in February, had filled up because of the bountiful rains and there was water in the land again. It was good to see.

Blinking lights, battered Santas on some of the rooftops, and the occasional Christmas decoration are just such odd sights here; the weather is high in the 80s and the humidity is rather dense, and this is the cooler time of the year. In Navrongo, the temps were perhaps 15 degrees higher but humidity was non-existent, as we were in the savannah.

Have a blessed Christmas Season.

Smiles