Bawku the beautiful (2)

As a tourist destination, Bawku would not be the first choice within the Upper East Region. 

In potential, however, the area abounds in attractions.

To the south, Bawku shares boundaries with the Northern Region; offering a nice view of the Gambaga Scarp.

Talk of the breathtaking views atop Zongoyiri and the elephant migratory corridor at Widnaba along the Red Volta River Valley.  

There is also the exotic 15th-century Wariyanga Mosque situated southeast of Bawku. This was built by one Alhaji Mahamadu who settled here after a long trek from Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania. According to the Museum and Monuments Board, the unique architecture has been standing for about 300 hundred years.

For events, the colourful Samanpiid Festival, which takes place in December is worth seeing.

Bawku is also a landmark that is full of relics of the infamous slave trade. In terms of legends, the area is not lacking. One of my favourites is about Yaringungu, some 10 km from Bawku. 

The Yarigingu area is enclosed by a lovely chain of hills.

This stretch of highland is known as Agorl. His wife is Agorlok, the river goddess, flows below man and wife.

The children of Mr And Mrs Agorl are the blessed, little crocodiles in the river. And of course, they lived happily ever after.

One warning though – the crocs here are not as playful as their cousins in Paga.

At Yarigungu, the scenery is enhanced by the presence of snow-white cattle egrets.

The entire picture here actually reminds me of Ecuador as shown in travel magazines.

Unfortunately, this attraction has a long way to go. Like the Wariyanga Mosque and the Red River Volta Valley area, the access road is as good as non-existent.

The Kulungungu Bomb Site is another tourist point that needs serious attention on account of its national significance. What happened here in August 1962 very nearly changed the history of Ghana and Africa.

The first President, Dr Kwame Nkrumah escaped death by a hair’s breadth.

Nkrumah had stopped over from a visit to Burkina Faso.

It is reported that at his reception, the bouquet being offered to him by a primary school girl happened to have been packed with a bomb.

In the ensuing explosion, the poor girl got killed, Nkrumah was injured and so were several others. 

The access road to Kulungungu, at least, is good but the site itself needs a makeover.

Also, the statue representing the first President has to be remodelled. The face of the one there does not look any more like Nkrumah than mine does.

Another important historical heritage is the Naa Gbewaa’s shrine. Located near the Gbewaa Training College, the sacred spot is surrounded by a thicket of trees.

According to legend, the founder of the Mole–Dagbon ethnic group eventually settled at Pusiga in the 13th century. He died and “buried” himself at the spot which evokes reverence till today. 
 

Caravan  

The Mole-Dagbon super-tribe has members scattered throughout the Northern, Upper East and Upper West regions of Ghana, as well as in Burkina Faso and beyond.

A positive thing is that this attraction at least has a receptive facility under construction. 

On my way back to the Bawku town, I encounter one beautiful scene which is likely to stay in my mind for a long time. Riding in a bus, we meet these cart-loads of sacks containing most probably, sweet potatoes being pulled by donkeys. Each cart has a driver who is merely a boy with a whip.

They are all hurrying to cross the border into Burkina Faso with the cash crop.

There must have been a hundred of them in one endless line.

The remarkable thing about the caravan was the uniformity of each donkey-cart package and the intense look on the faces of the boy drivers, donkey cart, after donkey cart, after donkey cart….. 

Having satisfied my wanderlust, and having absorbed the heat and the dust and the noise, it was with much eagerness that I arrived at the Shalom Restaurant for supper.

I slump into a chair at an open-air table where I can feast under the savannah stars.

For first aid, I attend to my body temperature with a well-chilled stout.

I am then served with grilled chicken chopped to pieces with a good mix of raw vegetables teasingly served on a silver tray.

Trust Good Old Shalom to get it right. 

I wash my tasty meal down with two cans of guava-based fruit juice.

From where I sit, I hear the distant cry of the muezzin.

I feel deservingly good but the chilly harmattan wind blowing my tablecloth spells the message that I have a return trip to make.

I manage to get myself on an old Peugeot caravan heading for Bolgatanga.

Soon, we set off, leaving behind Bawku town with its narrow streets, endless human traffic and kebab-smoke-filled air.

Then just in front of the district administration, our car stops right behind a huge 40-foot trailer.

Its ‘’Long Vehicle’’ reflector sign is right in front of our nose. Whatever it is, we are too close to take a turn and drive past.

Neither could we reverse since there is now a build-up of other vehicles behind us.

We all hold our peace as the driver switches off the engine. 

Sitting right behind the driver, I open the door and step out to find out about the traffic hold-up. I do not see a long queue ahead nor road works; not even an open bonnet of any car.

All I see is the driver of the trailer sitting relaxed behind his wheel while chatting with another driver who is from the opposite direction.

This other driver too had blocked traffic behind his bus. 

I sit back in the car and announce my fine. No one shows interest.

I find the indifference equally odd but hey, this is Bawku.

At last, the silence is broken by the coming alive of our car’s engine.

I notice the trailer in front of us move and we inch forward.

It gathers speed and we follow up.

That is how we leave Bawku, - chasing after the taillights of a trailer whose driver has just had a nice little chat in the middle of the road.