Monday February 19, 2007
Wa, Upper West Region, Ghana
It was not a good start... we joined up with the other members of the team. There was considerable discussion, much of it heated, about the day's agenda.
Eventually we were off, bound for a parade ground in the middle of Wa. I was armed with my tiny little video camera, shotgun microphone, digital audio recorder and digital SLR camera plus three lenses.
The original program called for Ghana's president, John Kufuor, to speak. But, as the original program was actually a shortened version of an even earlier original program, the president was unable to attend. Instead, the regional minister and a string of political and religious figures were on hand and addressed dozens of official types and hundreds of school children.
After a series of speeches there was a traditional blessing in the form of a libations, followed by some excellent drumming and traditional dance.
The large cement arms clutching a cauldron were then lit, and the regional minister took the freedom flame torch -- a three-foot length of bamboo painted with the colours of Ghana's flag -- and lit it from the cauldron.
Unbeknownst to Asamoah and me, the regional minister dashed off, torch held high. I yelled at Asamoah to grab our tripod and other gear that we had left near the podium. I grabbed the video camera and ran after the regional minister but was soon caught up in a sea of excited children. I could not keep up.
I turned around, and swam upstream against the school of children towards the parade ground. It was there that I discovered something terrible had happened.
First, my camera bag had been trampled and the protective filter of one of my lenses was smashed. Second, my digital audio recorder that had been on the podium was nowhere to be seen.
I freaked. Poor Asamoah felt helpless. He had done the best he could, but in his eagerness to rescue the tripod and microphone, he lost sight of the other items.
A few panicked minutes later, Asamoah discovered that the PR man for the regional minister had grabbed the recorder. I still don't know if he was being kind or thought it was some kind of a gift.
I decided to worry about the smashed lens later -- it was more important to try and catch up with the flame. We were both pissed that we were left behind. We walked around for more than an hour and despite asking bystanders where the torch went, we were unable to find it.
The two of us were frustrated, hot, thirsty and above all pissed that we were left behind. How the hell would be able to cover this event if we were left standing at the side of the road?
We met up with the rest of the group and expressed our displeasure at being left behind. It was all blamed on a communication breakdown, but in reality, it was also a lack of planning.
Back at our residence I was fuming as a police brass band played jazz and drank beer. Nearby, a group of politicians was sitting in an air-conditioned room enjoying the liquid gifts we had brought with us from Accra. Once it was gone, so were they. This isn't meant to be a criticism -- it's the same everywhere -- from Wa to Winnipeg.
The next destination on our itinerary, Bolgatanga, is the capital of the Upper East Region. Like the previous night, we left late. The road to Bolga, as it's called, was even worse than the road to Wa.
Not only was it in terrible shape, it traversed some of the most barren and remote land in the country.
We left during daylight hours, which afforded the opportunity to actually see the barrenness and remoteness. We saw few vehicles and even fewer gas stations. There was no cell phone service and the few villages we passed had no power and little to connect them to the outside world.
Most of the land near the villages was burnt. Bags of charcoal were piled along side the road, for sale to the few people who passed by. Another feature I noticed were small mounds everywhere. Smiley told me that these were actually fields of yams.
At one village, so small that we were unable to determine it's name, the local residents were not only unaware of the Freedom Flame or Ghana at 50 celebrations, they weren't even sure when Ghana became independent.
Communication was difficult as the residents spoke a northern traditional language that had few similarities to the Fanti and Twi that my traveling partners were fluent in.
We took lots of pictures, shot some video and waved Ghana's flag. It was an amazing moment, and more of what the tour should be about: local people celebrating 50 years of independence and what is now a free nation. Like every country, Ghana has its problems, but it is a rarity in Africa. And that certainly deserves to be celebrated.
Night was falling by the time we hit the road again. Our convoy of two vehicles sped along at a good clip down the red sandy road. We were in the second Land Yacht and kept back from the first due to the clouds of dust. When we got to close, our visibility dropped to the equivalent of minestrone.
Outside the town of Navarongo, which lies just a few kilometres south of the Burkina-Faso border and about 30 km from Bolga, the lead vehicle sputtered to a stop. Smoke poured from under the rear of the vehicle. The smell of burning oil filled the air.
The problem was serious. The motor ran fine, but when the Land Yacht was put into gear it stayed motionless as the driver revved the engine.
A few people gathered to see what was going on as we tried to figure out what to do. We had mobile phone service and were able to arrange help to meet us in Navarongo. But our vehicle would have to tow the stricken vehicle to town.
We didn't have a towrope, but with the help of my penknife, we cut one of the seat belts from the dead Toyota and tied the two vehicles together.
We averaged about 20 km/h as we covered the 10 kilometres that separated us from help. It was a good thing that the breakdown occurred where it did, rather in the middle of nowhere with no mobile service. We likely would have spent the night in boonies waiting for help.
When we reached Navarongo, we stopped near a major intersection in the northern part of town. As we waited for help and the organizers figured out what to do, a number of people gathered, wondering what this Freedom Flame thing was all about.
Soon, several people were asking if they could hold the torch. Since we were going to be here for a while, we thought, "what the hell!"
The burning torch attracted more people and soon an impromptu nighttime torch run was making its way through town. It was another great moment and showed the true spirit of the Freedom Flame: bringing all Ghanaians together to celebrate their freedom.
We had to leave the dead vehicle where it was for the night. It would be towed to Bolga the next day. The luggage, torches and promotional goodies were loaded in a truck sent from the regional ministry in Bolga. After a couple of hours we were on our way again.
A short time later we were settling into our remote ministerial residence for another abbreviated night of sleep.
Cheers!
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