Hi there. Each Sunday Bill manages to not work, well, you know, he can’t help himself, so he pops in for an hour, and then we have a family day. We’ve taken the 1950s route and go for a Sunday drive to explore our local area. The drivers think its pretty hilarious, and more fun than shuttling people around for work. So much so, they are thinking about places we should visit, particularly over the busy Easter season.
Last Sunday Cecie was a bit under the weather, so just Lill, Jock and I headed to Lake Bosomtwe. The lake was created by a meteorite impact, resulting in an almost circular take. Half way between Konongo and Kumasi, turning off through the busy town of Ejisu, the road then climbs snake-like up and over the crater edge, and then down to what can only be described as a tourist town. All the while, driving though very lush, steep vegetation, with the tropical rainfall washing away the edge of the road in sections.
On the road up the hill, a rope blocked our way and an entry fee was required. Some guidebooks doubt the authenticity of this toll, but we paid regardless, and hoped the money goes to the upkeep of the lake. Francis, our fab driver, tried to convince them that given we now live here, I am now Ghanaian, and thereby needing to pay only GHC1 rather than GHC2. Sternly, the toll man told me I was not Ghanaian. I asked him, jokingly, how could he tell? We thought it was hilarious, I don’t think he did.
Once we got out of the car we were accousted by the usual tourist hawkers and kids wanting to wash the car [Sorry guys, we don’t need the car washed]. We were shepherded into a ‘business centre’, given a short, but interesting talk about the formation of the lake, from scientific and spiritual points of view, and entreated upon to buy a tree to help preservation of the lake shore (we did, but never saw the tree). We were then given a ‘tour’ of the lake edge, and was told a ‘white woman swam across the lake in 4 hours’, a feat, in this non-swimming country, which was described with something bordering on reverence. There are some interesting taboos about the lake, which disallow the use of boats, paddles and fishing lines. The fishermen use flat pieces of wood like rectangular surfboards and paddle with their hands to set their fishing traps. Motorised tourist boats seem exempt from the taboo. We avoided pushes for boat rides, pottered about and then had a swim.
It was good, the water was clear, and the lake side surprisingly [almost] free of rubbish. The street boutique sold a selection of swimmers and kids floaties. A group of people frolicked in waist deep water, in what appeared to be a poorly coordinated Coke ad. The kids wowed everyone with their swimming prowess.
We headed home, happy to have been out in the world, in a sparkling clean car.