Memories of Elsewhere: Krobo, by Tim Woods

In these times when many of us are staying very close to home, we have invited Elsewhere contributors to reflect on those places that we cannot reach and yet which occupy our minds… 

By Tim Woods:

It didn’t take self-isolation to transport me back to Ghana; I’ve been visiting regularly in the seven years since I left. And more often than not, my memory dumps me on the scrubby slopes of Krobo.

At 345 metres, Krobo is far from the highest mountain in the country. Nor is it the most spectacular, a title belonging to the peaks further north in the Volta Region. There isn’t much in the way of wildlife to draw your gaze: the resident troop of baboons are the only mammals likely to be spotted, although the birds are, as throughout Ghana, spectacular. But one thing Krobo has in its favour is accessibility. In under two hours, you can escape the sweaty chaos of Accra and be out in the wild. Somewhere open. Somewhere green.

And escape I did, as often as possible during my two-year stay in the country. Along with the other Ghana Mountaineers, I spent every second Sunday hiking up the inselbergs south of the Volta River. Iogaga and Osoduku were more challenging, but Krobo was my first hike in the country and remained throughout my favourite. A short, steep scramble through sharp-bladed grass and over dry streambeds takes you onto the summit plateau, where you will find a giant metal cross, a bizarrely located family of terrapins and hazy views south towards the Shai Hills. Coffee too, if you remembered to bring some.

There are more obvious places for my absent mind to wander. England is one, being the country I called home for thirty years longer than I did Ghana. Yet despite the relative brevity of my time there, the country got under my skin with an urgency that hasn’t dulled with absence. Almost as soon as I left, I vowed to return. 

It’s not proven as easy as expected. Two children have complicated all travel plans, even those that only extend as far as the other side of Berlin. Then of course there’s the issue of climate change, that swiftly forgotten existential threat to our species that was demanding that we curb our habits long before some uppity virus turned up. I have long since felt a responsibility to tame my wanderlust, to fly far less often. Travelling to another continent just because I’d quite like to now seems an extraordinary indulgence. It will happen, because my principles aren’t as robust as I’d like. But I’m not yet sure when. 

If, when, I do go back, Ghana won’t be as good as it is in my memory. One advantage of exploring places through reminiscence is the chance to apply filters. From the comfort of my sofa, I can overlook Ghana’s traffic, dust and poverty; tune out the biting insects, the regular sickness, the power cuts. Even hiking virtually up Krobo, it’s easy to eradicate the dust in the throat, the cuts and scratches covering legs and hands, the perspiration stinging eyes. 

It will be different, too; places change when we’re not there. Accra will be shinier, busier, not quite how I left it. Will Krobo also have altered? There was talk of making proper paths up its slopes to attract more visitors, and of introducing a hiking fee to benefit the local community. Noble ideas, but they haven’t happened in my memory. Like many people’s favourite places, I want it to remain exactly as it was when I first encountered it.

But that’s the whole point of memory: to enjoy the good stuff while ignoring the different or uncomfortable or forgettable. Now, when thoughts of happier, freer times are more vital distractions than ever, or in better times when I simply fancy idling, I can relive those Sunday mornings out in the bush. Climbing with friends and catching up on our expat lives. Hoping to spot the baboons before they spot us and scarper. The crisp taste of fresh watermelon on the drive home, and the splash of chilled beer on a burning throat. Thankfully, Krobo will never be too far away for a quick visit. 

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Tim is an editor on Elsewhere: A Journal of Place and the author of Love In The Time of Britpop. You’ll find him on Twitter here.