Return to Accra
I wandered up to the tro tro station for Accra. It was a short walk, and I was there by 8am. I got a ticket from a man sitting at a desk and boarded a black Toyota minibus. There was already one passenger waiting on board.
Based on my relatively short wait in Takoradi, and given I was travelling to the capital, I had expected a short wait. Nevertheless, it took almost two hours for another ten passengers to turn up. During the wait, we were constantly bombarded by a guy who was selling some kind of health potion. He was persistent and he managed to get one sale from a lady in front. I wondered what it was for.
As we set off I realised the little bus was airconditioned. This was welcome in one sense, but I knew I would miss the open window of my previous trip. The trip went relatively quickly, the lack of opening windows precluded the sellers of snacks surrounding us whenever we slowed down, although we did make a kind of semi formal stop after a couple of hours.
Oxford Street
I was dropped, as expected, at the vast Kaneshie Takoradi trotro station on the outskirts of Accra. I was bombarded by offers of taxis as soon as I stepped out of the vehicle. As intended, I rejected them in favour of an Uber and fought my way through the crowds to the entrance and the main highway.
The problem was not actually getting the Uber driver to accept the ride, it was the time it took, in horrendous traffic to reach me. In fact, it was over 40 minutes after getting off the bus before I was in a vehicle. The journey itself took less than twenty minutes.
My final Airbnb in Ghana was off the famous Oxford Street, located in the eastern part of the centre and billed as the street that never sleeps. I had a wander down the street.
I walked from Danquah Circle to the Shoprite supermarket. There were plenty of little shops and stalls selling African souvenirs. I never intended buying anything, but the constant bombarding and pressure to buy was irritating, nonetheless. Lots of people came up offering things to sell, there were also beggars and plenty of children asking for money.
I was not surprised to find Oxford Street a bit of a letdown. Perhaps the attraction to those outside Ghana is it is western and to those who have been here a while it offers supermarkets and restaurants away from the normal Ghanaian fare.
Bika
Ironically, Ghanaian food was exactly what I wanted. I headed off on a side street to the Bika restaurant for a late lunch. The place was attractive, partly indoors, partly outdoors and decorated with plenty of cool greenery.
I chose a red-red bean stew with fish and a side order of plantains from the extensive menu. The service was quick, the food was not cheap but it was good.
Makola Again
My plan for the late afternoon was simple: walk over to the railway station and see if the 5:40pm train to Tema was running or not. I got there slowly, wandering through the ambassadorial quarter, passing the British High Commission at one point, to finally reach the edge of Makola market again.
My second foray into the market caused no less sensory overload than the first. I zigzagged through the streets filled with stalls, alive with the bustle of the evening rush. It was going home time and minibuses were being dangerously overloaded with produce.
I emerged at around five o clock right in front of the little gate where I had paid the platform ticket a few days before. This time there was nobody to charge me a fee and I walked straight into the station compound.
The 5:40pm to Tema
I walked over to the station building and I was relieved to see a train in the platform. I made my way towards it but was stopped by a guy who quickly put a thick wooden stick across my path. “If you want to ride the train you need to buy a ticket”. He gestured me towards another chap sitting on a chair with a ticket machine in his hand.
I paid my 7 Cedis (40p), the flat fare for any station including the Tema terminus and went back to my friend who now lowered his stick to let me pass. I asked when the train would leave; “at five forty” he confirmed.
The train on the platform was not quite what I was expecting. It was not a little DMU, in Ghanaian colours like the one in Takoradi. Instead, it was a rake of four passenger coaches in a blue and white livery.
I walked to the front noting that the locomotive had not yet been attached. I boarded the first carriage and was surprised to find I was the only passenger. Still thirty minutes to go and nobody had turned up.
Outside on the platform, women went up and down from the market with their wares on their heads, getting ready to sell to passengers who would surely soon arrive.
A few people got on over the course of the next few minutes. Then, a guy came along with a machine and offered to sell me a blood pressure test. I declined the service, but wondered if there was something about the coming ride that would raise my blood pressure.
Soon, I heard the unmistakable sound of a locomotive and got off to watch an old General Motors diesel approach the train and couple itself to the front. Now with just fifteen minutes to go, we were in business.
The crowds now descended, they were leaving it late obviously, and when departure time came around, the carriage was full and people were standing in the vestibule.
The windows were open, and I was able to peer out, trying to avoid giving the impression to the platform sellers that I was after buying something. People were friendly and smiled but no one was curious enough to ask what the only white guy on the train was doing or where he was going.
Then, bang on time, and accompanied by much tooting and wailing on the horn we were off. Slowly edging out of the station and along the very track I had walked along during my visit to the market a few days before.
It was already dusk by the time we left. I had decided that, rather than ride the whole way to Tema in the dark, just one station would be enough to give me the experience. The train picked up some speed and then after a few minutes slowed for Circle station.
It was a bit difficult to get off because Circle was a joining station, nobody was expecting me to try to alight there. When I finally got on to the platform I saw more people getting ready to pile into the already crowded carriage. I was surprised to see some people were even travelling on the locomotive.
Oxford Street by Night
I watched the train leave, waving at the passengers as it tooted and wailed into the dusk. Then I realised they had locked the main gates to the station. It was logical as they would not have been expecting anyone to leave until the next morning’s service. I was eventually shown out, with a smile, through a side exit.
I walked along a dark lane until I reached the busy Circle ring road, it started to rain for the first time since I had arrived in the country. I sheltered under a bridge, one of the market stall holders let me borrow a chair to sit down while I called and waited for my Uber.
Kingsley the Uber driver chatted about bio diversity, genetically modified crops, political corruption, land prices and the lack of proper gardening in the central reservation on the Circle ring road before depositing me back in Oxford Street.
I walked up and down the street again. Now it was slowly turning in to one of the city’s main entertainment districts and red light areas. I had a couple of drinks at one of the quieter bars, a bit of food from one of the petrol stations and then got an early night, letting the street that never sleeps do its thing whilst I slept.
Osu
I was leaving in the afternoon, so I had a final walk along Oxford Street and then beyond all the way down to Osu Castle. As I reached the coast I saw a shepherd tending his small flock of sheep, I had a chat with him and he invited me to take a photograph of them. It was a bit of a strange sight for the centre of a city. He was breeding them for meat he explained.
There were a lot of murals on the walls in the area. I chatted with a guy who was importing T shirts from India and other places about the economy and the future, Ghana still had a lot of problems but he was optimistic.
I finally left my Airbnb and called an Uber for the airport. The last thing I did was to photograph the I “heart” Accra sign. I had loved my time in Ghana. I had had a few surprises here and there, but I had found the country safe, warm and welcoming. The people were great, although perhaps a little lacking in curiosity, and there was certainly a special vibe to the place.
Perhaps my biggest bugbear was Accra’s horrible traffic, although luckily I had a smooth enough ride to the airport.
The next stage of my journey was to Sierra Leone and after a small mishap, my own fault, of a missing reservation, I passed through the airport and boarded an Asky flight heading for Freetown.
Trains To Beyond 