The toll of a lot of traveling finally caught up with me in Tamale. I blame it all on Toufic and his damn hospitality. Toufic is a young guy who came with me to Mole, and given the awfulness of the journey from Tamale to Mole and back, I was thankful for the company. As it happens, he is from Larabanga, a village near Mole national park that I had read about in my research, so I was able to accompany him as he went home for a few hours. Larabanga is a 100% Muslim village and home to the oldest Mosque in West Africa, circa 1421. I was able to meet his friends and members of his family and he took me to the mosque, where custom compelled that I meet the Imam and request permission to go to (not in) the Mosque. The Imam was an elderly man who was laying out in the searing sun, and thankfully permission was granted for me to proceed. As Toufic led me to the mosque we came upon some men coming from the mosque who knew Toufic. A heated argument ensued in the local dialect that somehow related to my presence. I kept my head bowed, while I wondered what the problem was. It seems that Toufic was supposed to register at the office and I was supposed to pay two cedi. He had informed me that I would have to pay and there was some office we needed to go to, but he was now trying to tell the men that we had stopped by the office and no one was there. Having not specifically recalled this on our meanderings through the village, I nodded inconclusively as he tried to enlist my help in the argument. More heated words and finally I coughed up the two bucks, no problem, and at that point the argument ended in robust laughter and smiles. I've noticed many arguments in Ghana end this way.
Anyway, Toufic took me round the mosque, then we walked with his friends to “The Sacred Stone”, a mystical stone intertwined with the Muslim history of Larabanga, then he showed me an awesome project he is involved in with the local school. Only a few years ago most of the people of Larabanga rejected the notion of school and Toufic , now 22, was among the first to attend school from his village, though he had to walk about eight kilometres to Mole to go to school. He told me stories about he and his friends being chased by elephants on their journey to school. He showed me a project he is involved with, in conjuction with an NGO, building schools in Larabanga so kids may receive full schooling without having to leave the village until they seek post secondary education. I was very impressed by Toufic, who is now at college in Tamale.
After we left the school, we went to the soccer field to watch the locals play. It was then that Toufics cellphone rang and my downfall began. It was his sister on the phone, saying that she had prepared some food for us and we should stop by for a bite. I had been so good up to this point, but I knew that this was probably high risk dining for an Obruni. Nonetheless, I rolled the dice and came up snakeyes. The food itself was delicious. Two pots, one consisting of a sort of very glutinous mashed potato made with corn and plantain I think, the other a pot of sauce like a beef gravy with a few chunks of meat. The idea is you grab a handful of the glutinous mash and dip it in the sauce. As I said it was delicious, but its legacy was not. It is not that there was anything wrong with the food, it simply contains microorganisms that I haven't been exposed to. So the Obruni pays, while others enjoy. Throw in a 4:00 am bus departure on a journey of epic awfulness back to Tamale and depleted defenses from so much travel and you have the perfect recipe for a crash. By the time I got to Tamale, I was done. All hopes of getting to Kumasi or Accra were dashed when I saw that the next buses were not leaving for seven and a half hours, I threw in the towel and decided I needed a bed now. I limped back to the very crappy and overpriced Heritage Hotel and spent the better part of the next 27 hours in bed.
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