West Africa Dream Days.

God Has A New Agenda roars the billboard, en route to Kwahu- a small mountain town in Ghana’s Eastern region home to the Easter Festival. Road fringes are where life happens in West Africa; hair is weaved, women scramble to sell goods; "plantaaain", “credit” and my favourite “PURE WATER”. Colourful wax prints strut by. Ghana is the vibe!

I thought Kwahu Easter festival, being in the historical heartland of the Akan- once one of Africa’s biggest empires, would be littered with tradition. Or that Ghana being an overtly religious country the festival would be religious- nope! I ask my Ghanaian almanac/friend, Doug. He offers “Busia has the deer hunting festival, and Accra has Homowo” He goes on listing festivals across the country, then he looks at me pointedly.
E: so?
D: Eastern region wanted a festival, to chill.
E: And what happens?
D: Nothing. The Seinfeld of African festivals? As I leave Doug reasons “you go because YOLO".

YOLO! I won’t quote how long it takes from Accra to Kwahu because ditching time is a rule of YOLO. A trotro leaving Kaneshie station will cost you $2.00 and WILL be uncomfortable. Arriving at Kwahu, we get right in and ‘jubilate’. Kwahu, set amongst dramatic mountains, is cooler and greener than most of flat Ghana.

The vibe is on steroids. B-boys, fly-girls, old ladies come up grab my bum and demand I dance.
It is an amorphous festival with no program. Popcorn for dinner. Indomie for breakfast. “ONE INDOMIE, NO SPAM, and A LITTLE CHILLI” the lady yells back “white man little chilli or African?”

Sarkodie, a pop-superstar, was to be the highlight of the night, but I go nowhere near the stage and just because his performance was live didn’t mean all other soundsystems were quiet. Due to poor planning we didn’t book accommodation. Just as we start to worry an acquaintance rings “I hear you are in Kwahu, we have beds for you at the teacher’s college.” Immediately he hangs up to not waste credit on information like who he is. It’s not the Hyatt, but you don’t need it when people are so generous.

Day two of the festival is paragliding, actually West Africa’s biggest paragliding festival. I sit on the edge of the mountain and watch people run off the side, becoming dots in the distance as I sip fresh pineapple juice. The mountains have a mild chill but I don’t know if it warrants the stores selling second hand ski jackets along the road. The second evening is spent dancing, jubilating, looking up at the sky and wondering why?