And so it is that I am back in Warrenpoint. I arrived home on Saturday past to a dark and dreary Dublin airport and to Irish potatoes. As I write, however, I pack, and this evening I leave again, this time for the jungles of Malaysian Borneo and Sepilok Orang-utan Rehabilitation Centre where I will be volunteering for the next two months.

The last few days back in the Mournes have been busy. Busy with visits to my always accommodating GP, Dr. Mary Bonner for advice and tablets relating to tropical diseases, and to my bank and credit union, where I try not to show my face too often. I met for the first time the beautiful Aoibhe Carr up in Belfast, my newly-born ‘niece’. I spent time with my brothers and parents, without whom I would be lost.

I called into the p.5 class at St. Joseph’s p.s. in Bessbrook so that they could meet me in person and to show them some photos and videos of Ghana for their project. I dropped in a Ghana flag and a map of the country and fielded some very interesting questions; ‘Do you know Michael Essien’?

And of course I hung out with my family and friends, and bumped into most of Doochary. An interesting night in Madden’s in Belfast on Monday and a relaxing evening in Cairn Hill watching Arsenal escape the Emirates with a draw in the face of some Barcelona magic.
My time in Ghana now seems like a distant memory, even though this time last week I was having dinner with all my volunteer friends in Hans Cottage outside Cape Coast and enjoying Star beers in ‘Meet me there’ Spot.

My final two weeks in Ghana were spent travelling around the country alongside a Dutch volunteer with whom I worked in the Akuapem mountains on the building project, Jelle (pronounced ‘Yellew’) Or Kofi as he was known. Given that few Ghanaians could pronounce ‘Breandán’ or ‘Jelle’, organically we adopted our Ghanaian names when travelling; Kojo Kearney (being Monday born) and Kofi Schreurs (being Friday born). We have these names on all of our STC bus tickets.

As we were coming from different towns, Kofi from Koforidua in the east and I from Cape Coast, we met in Kumasi and took a tro north to Techiman, Nkoranza and then to a monkey sanctuary between the villages of Boabeng and Fiema. Kofi had the audacity to wear his Tafi Atome t-shirt, another major monkey sanctuary in the Volta region of Ghana. This seemed to be greeted with more surprise and delight than competitive grudge.

At Boabeng-Fiema we learned of the locals’ fierce support for the monkeys, believing them to be spiritually connected to the village and even burying those monkeys that are found dead. We were able to get up close to the Mona monkeys, although we were attacked by one mad Columbus monkey whom our guide was convinced suffered from senility due to it’s 34 years of age. I know some 34 year olds about whom you could say the same thing.

Our lunch in Boabeng-Fiema was grasscutter, bush meat, although I did have difficulty seeing the meat in front of my face due to the huge number of flies in the vicinity. As a consequence, Kofi and myself bought some bread and vegetables, found a stove and boiled up some eggs, to have what would be one of the most common meals of our trip. The egg sandwich.

On the way back to Techiman, our tro broke down and we had to hitch a lift on the back of a pick-up truck to the nearest village. Finally we made it to Wenchi, where we were able to talk our way onto a Metro Mass government bus going to Wa in the north west, the most remote region of Ghana. The bus was packed, so it was standing at the front for five hours, although we did manage to get some of the passengers involved in a game of ‘Spa’, a Ghanaian card game.

When we arrived in Wa, whatever little electricity was alive in the town completely died so we stumbled through the dark to find a chop bar where we had probably the best Banku we had eaten in Ghana. Don’t get excited. Banku still isn’t that good.

The next day it was to Wechiau to meet Aziz, our muslim guide to the hippo sanctuary. We got a tro to the lodge, took only what we needed and walked to the water’s edge. A canoe then took us to our tree platform, our hippo hide. Yep, we were sleeping in a tree. With water, egg sandwiches and some fermented sugar cane to keep us company, we spent the evening learning Ghanaian songs from Aziz and listening to the strange noises from the forest. It was a real highlight of our trip.

Back to Wa and then the long bus to Damongo, alighting at Larabanga. Destination: Mole National Park, posterboy tourist attraction of Ghana. The morning safari got us up close to elephants and Kobs, the afternoon jeep safari took us deep into the park for a better look. In between it was swimming pool time as the sun hung heavily in the sky and the only Irish person in Mole Park, aka yours truly, celebrated St. Patrick’s day with a couple (perhaps more) of cold Stars.

It was precisely due to these green celebrations that Kofi and I missed our bus from Mole the following morning. With no other transport until the following day, we decided to load up our backpacks and beg. Luckily our begging was met with a positive Nederlander response as a travelling Dutch couple in a tank-like Mercedes 1519 offered a lift to Larabanga and then onto Tamale. The trip was a surreal one for me, driving on the worst road in Ghana for 5 hours in a massive 4WD Caravan listening to crazy Dutch conversations. You try it. I’m not sure if it is stranger than travelling on the STC buses and listening to the awful shouting Nigerian movies for 7 hours (Nollywood, wha).

Tamale was a pit stop. There was internet. There was real food. There was a shower! There was a bank. It was a case of reload and go. South to Kumasi. Here we had arranged to meet with three other Akuapem volunteers who were on their way up, travelling to Mole. We were invited to stay at Vince & Sue’s house, an English couple working in Ghana, and we had a little taste of luxury. Vince & Sue were family friends of one of the volunteers we knew and their hospitality was seriously appreciated. Sue made a delicious pasta and shrimp dish with freshly baked bread. Vince got the beers in.

From Kumasi, it was back to the coast at Takoradi and then to Awiebo junction, where we took a taxi on a non-existent road to the little fishing village of Beyin on the West Coast of Ghana. Our accommodation was Apollonia, a basic hut right on the beach. While it’s quaintness and location were to be admired, it’s ability to cope with tropical African thunderstorms was not, and I spent the night standing above a wet bed, trying to shroud myself in a mosquito net.

From Beyin, however, we were able to take a canoe trip to the stilt village of Nzuelo, a very strange and isolated village built entirely on stilts. That day I felt voyeuristic, looking in on a very different way of life and consuming too much Akpeteshie with the locals for my liking.

We moved on to Busua, a beach a few hours to the east of Beyin and closer to Cape Coast. The beach and water here was so clean, with fantastic waves and some nice places to eat and drink. We met a couple of interesting people and played some cards. I managed to try my hand a surfing at the Black Star Surf Shop.

After a few days charging the batteries, it was back to Cape Coast for farewell dinners with the volunteers with whom we had been working over the last few months. Everyone always says that it is the people you meet that make the experiences, but I have no problem in saying that I fell in with a great bunch and they made my time volunteering in Ghana very enjoyable. Although they all do smell a bit. Well, actually a lot.

I am off to the airport right now. When I find the internet I will post a blog and photos again. My jungle trousers, rain-jacket, leech socks and head lamp have all been packed. I am Bear Grylls. I am David Attenborough. I am the wild man of Borneo.