I left Mole reluctantly and headed back to Tamale to meet Kerstin, who was coming up from the south. It had only been a week but we greeted each other like long lost cousins! I’d met another German (a doctor, over here to research tropical diseases) so we three had dinner together. He told us some horrific stories about children, starving but neglected by their mobile-phone-owning parents. It made Madame seem quite angelic in comparison!
Next day, we left Tamale for Bolgatanga (aka Bolga) about 3 hours directly north, where we put up at a very pleasant hotel. We then spent the afternoon being ripped off in Paga …
All the guide books recommend visiting Paga but my advice is – DON’T BOTHER. We started at the crocodile pond where we had to pay 4 GHC each just to see the crox in the pool. We then HAD to pay a further 4 GHC to purchase a chicken, which was to be fed to one of the crox. The guides wanted Kerstin or me to throw the chicken but we refused on the grounds of sheer terror. Other foolish tourists not only fed the croc but also sat on it to have their picture taken, once it’s been fed and is docile. But we weren’t deceived- the other crox that hadn’t had their dinner, can creep up on you if it takes their fancy – so we made a hasty retreat and fled.
We then made our way to Paga Pia’s Palace where we were confronted by two very grumpy, very old men who told us we couldn’t go in on our own. Of course not, we had to pay the obligatory 4 GHC and have an official guide, after which we then entered the Palace…
First our guide told us about some sacrifices that families have to make if their daughter doesn’t want to marry the man who had been chosen for her. These were in the form of goats, sheep, chickens etc and we kind of got a bit sceptical when he said the last time this had happened was two weeks ago. Yeah, right!
Then we went to the compound where the present (11th) Paga Pia lives with 300 relations including 5 wives and 15 kids. We went to one of the buildings of the palace where the low entrance and high rim – reputedly a relic of the slaving era – made it impossible for someone to enter without giving the occupant plenty of time to whack them on the head! Except our accomplished guide told us a different story – that it prevented wild animals from entering, He got all the other facts completely mixed up too – there was talk about holes carved out of the stone wall, some containing small stones and he changed his story so often – one minute they represented dead people, the next only those that were still alive, that Kerstin had hysterics and had to remove herself, leaving a helpless Helen to pretend to listen avidly and keep a straight face ….
On to the third tourist attraction of the afternoon. We had to take a taxi to the Pikworo Slave Camp and were charged – you guessed it – 4GHC each. When we arrived, we parted with yet another 4GHC each to walk round the camp with our 14 year old (or so he looked) guide who proceeded to talk as if reading from a script. We aren’t sure who trained all these Paga guides, but they could do with a top-up course. Any volunteers?
Actually the camp itself was the most interesting of the three attractions with some real, sad stories. At any given time, up to 200 slaves from Ghana and Burkina Faso would be held here, eventually to be sold to slave traders. Oral traditions suggest they were well looked after – so they’d fetch a good price of course. Chilling viewing was the cemetery and the punishment rock, on which failed escapees would be seated and bound hand and foot to bake in the heat of the sun (and boy, does it get hot here)
Several GHCs later, from paying grasping taxi drivers as well as (expected) donations, we arrived back to the sanctuary of our hotel where I totted up just how much we’d been ripped off. Around 50 GHC, which is approx ten pounds each. So it’s all relative!!!!
