I was slowly making my way to Côte d’Ivoire and planned to cross the border at Sampa, a small but regularly used (by locals) entry point more or less in the middle of the country along the western border. It’s a very interesting region little visited by western travelers (like most of the country), still in Brong-Ahafo but at the very westernmost edge.

My journey was interrupted, though, by an unwelcome dose of malaria. I woke on the last day of my stay in the bungalow at the Hand in Hand guesthouse feeling a bit achy with flu-like symptoms so decided I’d better go to a clinic for a blood test on the way to the next place, depending on how I felt later in the day. I felt a little worse as the day wore on (crammed inside the back of a minivan) so broke my journey in Effiduase and went to the hospital. Effiduase is a small little place (actually back in the Ashanti region) but with the help of a local I found a private hospital where I got a blood test (and a good measuring of my height and weight) which told me Yes indeed, I did have malaria. I was given a three day course of pills and was told to rest, so wandered down the street and found an old though reasonably comfortable hotel where I spent the next few nights resting and feeling woe-begotten. There was no running water, so bucket showers were the order of the day. They’re less quaint when you have malaria, I discovered.

Gone as quickly as it had come three days later I felt perfectly fine and was back on the road moving towards the border, exploring a few other towns and regions along the way, mostly on foot. Malaria, it seemed, was a doddle.

The towns in the region are all very agreeable, small but quiet (sort of) with alarmingly friendly people. I know I keep saying how friendly the people are, but they really are. I can’t count the number of short conversations I had with locals who all wanted to know how I was, where I was from and what I thought of Ghana. No one seemed at all surprised, bothered or otherwise when I told them I had malaria. Mostly all adults in western Africa get malaria repeatedly over the course of their lives (If they don’t actually die from it) so they treat it more or less as we’d treat a cold. I thought I was a hard core survivor, but no one else did.

A highlight of the next few days was a visit to the Bobiri Butterfly Sanctuary near the hamlet of Kubease. To be honest I’m not that bothered about butterflies, but the sanctuary was spectacular, located deep in the jungle. There is an old “lodge” (I’m being generous here) where visitors can stay, what there are of them. It was remarkably cheap, and there were cheap (and bad) meals for order, as well as warm beer.

As with many things in Ghana the area was beautiful and the tourism potential enormous, but everything was all run down and unorganized (torn and moldy Time magazines in the lodge dating from the 1990s). I was the sole guest for two nights.

I enjoyed a few walks in the sanctuary with Alex, a helpful guide who pointed out all the plants and trees and butterflies, and I had long evening chats with Suzanne, the woman who cooked the (bad) food and tended to the guests. They ran the generator for a few hours in the evening but there was no wifi or TV, just a few electric bulbs and the thundering rain as I sat on the veranda watching the little running streams of rain water form all around the lodge.

Next week I’ll post the last blog on Ghana, then start in on the Ivory Coast.

Stay tuned!