Hot Tamale

The morning of March 13 was a defining moment of my travels: in addition to my being in Ghana for exactly seven months, it was also the time in which I felt further away from home than I've ever felt before.

At 4:30AM, all the mosques in the village turned on their loudspeakers and announced the Muslim call to prayer. And here I am, sleeping on a mattress on a roof in a sleeping bag that isn't mine (thanks again, Meghan). It was very dark. Moments later, a bus comes rolling down the road, honking loudly, announcing its arrival. I groggily threw my things in my bag and ran to the bus, which was about to make it's way to Tamale. Somehow I got on the packed vehicle with the help of my alleged pseudo-guide friend. I don't remember much.

Four hours and a flat tire later, we were in Tamale. The girls opted not to go with me to Lake Volta but instead make the gruelling trip back to Accra via tro-tro (another 13 hours in a confined space). Chacun son gout, as the French say...

I went to the nearest hotel, the Al Hassan (of course!) and booked a cheap single room, of course one of the "first-floor hotboxes" as described by the Bradt Guide that, "are best avoided unless you enjoy sweaty, sleepless nights." Apparently I do.

I spent the day napping, using the internet and walking around town. Pretty uneventful, but they have a very large mosque downtown. Tamale is the largest city in Ghana North of Kumasi and an important transport hub. If you want to go anywhere in the North or go onward to Burkina Faso and Mali, you need to pass through Tamale. It's also hot. Ridiculously hot. So. Damned. Hot.

Basically I could feel the sun slowly evaporating my soul. Considering they probably haven't seen rain there for at least four months, I can see why. It was probably the hottest place I've ever been. I felt sorry for the Americans who were in Mali at the time. Even the ones from Texas!

As expected, that night was spent roasting - even the bed was mysteriously a source of heat. A bucket shower helped me adjust, since the water was out (ironically the selling point in the Bradt Guide for the Al Hassan was its "fabulously enthusiastic shower"). Another swing and a miss.

As thrilling as Tamale was, the next morning, I was off to meet my destiny on Lake Volta...