The Gulf of Guinea

From the university to Nkrumah Circle a tro tro costs 60 pesawas, about 45 cents. A tro tro is just an oversized, boxy van full of seats—though they don't feel oversized once you are inside. A few years ago a law was passed that every passenger must have a seat, so I haven't experienced a tro tro as those in years past would have. But a van will have a driver and a money collector (who doesn't need a seat) and about 11 paying passengers. On the other hand, I read (and saw the accompanying picture) in the paper today of a taxi with driver plus four in the front, six in the back, and two in the trunk (with the hood open). So a tro tro may actually be a luxurious way of traveling. Tro tros are used for travel all over the country, not just within the greater Accra region.

A tro tro plus baggage

The tro tro depot for Volta Region, near Makola market

Nkrumah Circle is north of Makola market, and the closest I can get to the ocean without changing tro tros; it is, essentially, the end of the line. Changing tro tro would be an additional challenge. Tro tro stops are like a bus stop in Canada, but without routes and schedules marked. A stream of tro tros pull up, the money collector jumps out on the fly and starts yelling the destination in heavily accented English, while gesturing wildly. The gesture for Nkrumah Circle is fairly easy to tell; it involves waving an arm, or more subtly, just a hand, rapidly in a circular motion. Even once I have detected the right gesture often I still cannot detect the word 'circle' in the accompanying vocals. And of course seating is limited and people are jumping in and out of the vehicles while I am trying to determine the destination.

It's about a 40 minute walk from the drop off to the ocean, which takes me back through Makola market and down to the Ussher Castle. From here I will have to weave a bit, and finding a break through the last row of buildings to the beach turns out to be a bit more difficult than you might think. The coast is not lined with beach houses and public walks. The beach is a factory, the buildings face away from it, toward the vibrant city, and there seems to be no public access.

Selling computer cables

My route also took me past the Cocoa House. This is the central government office for the Ghana Cocoa Board, charged with the management of the nation's largest export (think the Canadian Wheat Board). All cocoa is bought by the government, which negotiates prices on the world market. Ghana is currently the largest exporter of cocoa, a title usually held by Côte d’Ivore (and Cadbury is the single largest buyer). There is a gap between the price paid to farmers and the market price, which is a source of income for the government. That the price of cocoa has shot up in the last year ought to have increased the wealth of both the farmers and the government, but there are no observable signs of this.

After several unsuccessful attempts to break through the row housing to the beach, I am spotted by Evans, a local, looking to pick up some tour guide Cedis on his day off. I've learned in James Town money is never discussed, but the friendly locals are always friendly for multiple reasons. A quick introduction, including a round of “where are you from?”, and he immediately takes me around a corner and down a path to a spectacular view overlooking the Gulf of Guinea.

It turns out Evans’ day job is supervising the garbage clean up on this stretch of the beach. He knows everyone, is related to half of them, and understands what job everyone is engaged in. This is Saturday, but it is not a day off. The beach is busy, with people mending nets, repairing and building boats, selling and buying tackle, doing laundry, even making concrete blocks.

The boats are quite fascinating, for they are a combination of dugout and planks. The bottom is carved from wawa (triplochiton scleroxylon), a huge tropical tree that is a perfect choice for an ocean going boat. The tree can grow to a height of 45 metres with a diameter of about two metres. In addition, the first branches may not start until about 30 metres off the ground. This leaves a vast stretch of straight grained wood with a sizable width. 

As you can see, on top of the dugout the sides are built up in a carvel style, creating a seaworthy vessel with good storage for a catch of fish. The dugout will last about 50 years, while the sides need replacing every half dozen years or so. Notably, the iron spikes in the sidewalls rust out. The boats here are about 10 metres long; the one being worked on is new while the other two are rebuilds using the original dugout.

Even smaller boats are built with this construction. This boat, about five metres long, when on the water, is fitted with three masts in this rectangular slot, one vertical and two angling to port and starboard.

The pier is completely covered with nets, floats, people working, playing, and just hanging out. There is a little group of young men kicking a football around on the sand and another group in swimming.

Evans takes me down the beach, chatting, jibing, teasing the locals, all the while providing me with details about the activities and live on the gulf. A large boat can cost Cedi 50,000 - 60,000 (about three years salary for me) but will last 50 years with care and regular refitting. Slaves were brought down through tunnels or down grand staircases to the piers and out to the awaiting ships. His cousin does a good business selling tackle to the fleet. This friend, who is supposed to be painting boats, is using the boss's paint to detail his van.

Turning away from the beach, Evans and I start to walk back through James Town. But this time, through Evans' eyes, there is more to see and learn.

A few weeks ago, Veena, Ralf, and I sat in the jeep waiting for Fortune to return with the giant grouper. Without knowing it, we were parked kitty corner with the palace of the king of James Town. I didn't even know James Town had a king. It turns out all the original villages along the coast had and still have kings. Evans takes me to the palace, really just a big house, no different in style than the surrounding buildings. With one exception: colourful bas relief works of the king and court.

The wall on the outside of the palace (pictures permitted)

Photographing inside the palace is not permitted (yes, I learned the hard way). But I did meet, and apologize to, the king's linguist, who thought it was all very funny, especially my attempt at saying sorry in Ga, thanks to Evans' coaching. No one really considered it a big crime.

A linguist is the person who speaks for the king; essentially, the king will speak quietly to the linguist, who in turn, will belt it out for all to hear. It is a very important position, as you can imagine. More than a town crier, the linguist through his utterances enacts laws and judgements.

Behind the palace are the real streets of James Town. Here people live, work, and play. As we wind through them, Evans explains that in each kingdom everyone is given a specific name that is particular to that kingdom. So walking the cosmopolitan streets of modern Accra, if one local meets and asks the name of another, he will immediately know what neighbourhood (kingdom) his is from. This is to reveal, without stating, what neighbourhood you grew up in. (In my case, Valleyview.)

In addition to a palace, each kingdom also has two houses (for men and women). As near as I can tell, these function as a cross between a club house, a parliament, and a town hall. Photos are permitted; in fact, Evans was pretty proud of the elephant. Also several onlookers encouraged me to photograph their friend doing laundry. Click. Then much laughter as they explain to her in Ga what just happened.

Finally, with the top of my head nearly burnt from too long in the sun (I hadn't planned on such a thorough tour of the beach and James Town) I tell Evans I must head back to Legon. We shake hands on the street and I ask him if I may give him a little money for his time and expertise. A broad grin spreads across his face, "Of course."