Tro Tro From Mole to Tamale – Guest Post

By Alena L. Nelson

Alan and I successfully made the journey from Mole, with a stop at the Mosque in Larabanga, to Tamale. We took a taxi to Damongo and then after some waiting in the afternoon heat we departed for Tamale on a tro tro. Any journey by tro tro is always a cultural experience. By the time we left I was drenched in sweat and I’m sure Alan was too. At one point I struggled to breathe it was so hot but as soon as the tro tro hit the road the wind rushed in all the open windows and everything was good again.

Although we were traveling through a rural area where it seems many people survived through subsistence agriculture or by making charcoal, the road was very busy. There were private cars and trucks loaded so heavily it seemed impossible for them to drive safely. Occasionally other smaller tro tros passed us. We drove by very lean cattle, white, with large horns and a massive bump on their backs. I almost forgot to mention the goats- they were everywhere and became a default of the landscape just like the anthills.

The first time I saw a massive anthill I was so excited. They are a rich red earth color and often taller than I am. My favorite Chinua Achebe book is called “Anthills of the Savannah” and according to my African literature professor they were a powerful metaphor for his post colonial observations. Now I have seen anthills in the Savannah! The sight took me back to my evening literature class at the University of Ghana in Accra. It was only six years ago but it feels much longer.

I wish I knew what to say about my first time in Ghana but it’s challenging to try and remember something with new eyes. I feel like such a different person now. When I ask Alan what it’s like being here, for his initial thoughts, he says, “it is very poor but it didn’t look bad or unsafe. In America places that look poor look sketchy-er.”

When I ask him if he finds anything beautiful he mentions my old campus and the way people dress- but not Accra. Then he starts to joke about how capitalism everywhere is beautiful before seriously mentioning all the entrepreneurship visible around us with people’s businesses. Driving along in a taxi you can find anything you need to build a house, clothe yourself, or feed a family along the road. Ghana’s economy is fully visible from your window.

From our tro tro window the Savannah passes by. There are many trees I do not know and the occasional mango or baobab tree. The landscape is truly beautiful. On our ride to Tamale there are also many school children, all in matching uniforms, walking home along the road. We learned from one local that school starts at 6am and ends at 1pm because of the heat, although, that may not be consistent for each school. The villages have many traditional houses, round with hard earth walls and thatched roofs, often grouped together by little walls into small compounds. People are resting in the shade of large trees. Women are in their shops sewing colorful fabrics and chatting, sometimes with a baby sitting on the broad table as they work. Because this is Northern Ghana we pass at least one mosque in every town.

Inside the tro tro Alan and I are still sweating. Alan has the window seat, I am next to him, and a younger Ghanaian man sits next to me. Then there are two small children pinched next to their mother, or possibly grandmother. The young girl holds her sandals in her hands and has a serious expression smiling only once in the three hour ride. In addition to the tro tro driver and his “mate,” who collects the money, there are many other passengers squeezed in. One woman, younger, has a small baby with little new orange plastic sandals on the baby’s feet. There is at least one young man who is a student. Almost all of us are headed straight from Damango to Tamale and I wonder why each person is headed to their destination.

Sooner than anticipated, we cross the broad White Volta, which we think is the halfway point. The water is earth colored. It’s the dry season and several people are swimming in the river. After we pass the Volta the environment grows quickly more urban; we start seeing more buildings made from concrete. Although I am relieved the journey is over there is something sad about it finishing. I realize I am looking forward to our taxi ride to the Tamale Airport where we will see the Northern Region’s Savannah scroll out our windows one last time.

(Oldest mosque in Ghana and possibly West Africa)