Transmenu powered by JoomlArt.com - Mambo Joomla Professional Templates Club

During the day I visited the forest, to witness for myself the extent of the destruction. Acres and acres of greenery had been striped off to make way for farms. I was very disappointed. I took a short cut back but ended up lost. I decided to listen for the sound of water, the waterfall, Begoro’s hidden aquatic jewel. I found water, but not what I was looking for. A little crystal clear stream, one I had not seen before. Begoro has seven different waterfalls hidden in the forest. Going along the banks, I discovered the flowers grandmamma had talked about in her Ananse stories. A bunch of small clustered flowers, of different colours, on a stalk affectionately called ‘Ananse dokono’ or Ananse’s kenkey. The squirrels too shy to share the sight with me, were also scurrying across the forest floor from tree to tree; i guess they wanted to see who was trespassing and probably leaving their homes in fear of dying in their houses on top of prime woods, identified for felling.

The first time I visited my home town, Begoro, in the Eastern Region, I was overwhelmed by the sight of colors that lay before me. I was young back then, but that did not stop me from noticing the use of color in this quaint town. This time my purpose there was to see my grandmamma, who I was pining to see after years of dissertation. She has always fascinated me with her stories and history of the land of Begoro. She’d talk about the forest, the spirits, the people, the history, and launch into narratives regarding each. Her house was at the entrance of the path that led to the forest and every morning the palm wine tapers would pass by our house, from the forest, for water in exchange for the fresh, sweet, milky liquid culled from the heart of the palm tree. Grandmamma used to talk of the missionaries who mistook the wine for a mild aperitif when enjoying time alone. How wrong, the beauty of palm wine is it’s innocence but it has the potential to knock you out cold. But this time my visit was not to sample drinks, grandmama told me of the rapidly disappearing forests and how she would miss the serene atmosphere of the canopies of green. Loggers were cutting trees down; the land was being sold to people who wanted to build retreats in the heart of the forest. She told me the story of how she discovered the presence of the spirits of our ancestors in the forest. She’d say, stand still for twenty minutes and wait for them to kiss your cheeks in greeting.

I always thought she had a fertile imagination. During the day I visited the forest, to witness for myself the extent of the destruction. Acres and acres of greenery had been striped off to make way for farms. I was very disappointed. I took a short cut back but ended up lost. I decided to listen for the sound of water, the waterfall, Begoro’s hidden aquatic jewel. I found water, but not what I was looking for. A little crystal clear stream, one I had not seen before. Begoro has seven different waterfalls hidden in the forest. Going along the banks, I discovered the flowers grandmamma had talked about in her Ananse stories. A bunch of small clustered flowers, of different colours, on a stalk affectionately called ‘Ananse dokono’ or Ananse’s kenkey. The squirrels too shy to share the sight with me, were also scurrying across the forest floor from tree to tree; i guess they wanted to see who was trespassing and probably leaving their homes in fear of dying in their houses on top of prime woods, identified for felling.

I found my way back but this time near the east of the town. I was in the yard of the first Presbyterian church that was built on a hill as a beacon of enlightenment for the people centuries ago. The church ground was filled with exotic plants and fruits that the missionaries planted to feel closer to Europe as much as possible. Cinnamon trees, blood oranges, gargantuan grapefruits, ornamental pineapple and Mediterranean basil dotted all around. Grandmamma said that the church was on one side of town because in the old days the town was divided into God’s people and the people of the world. Those who chose the former lived on the hill and those who chose the latter, were below, with the chiefs. Talk about a catch 22 situation. As I stood on the hill, I took in the sight of the town below; to my right, the color of rusty roofs beset with the red earth - streets running through, to my left and behind me the different shades of green of the forests. Above me, the sun was painting its own masterpiece and the wind was all around me, crisp, cold but peaceful. I guess the ancestors were kissing me then, on the cheek, welcoming me back.Begoro may not boast of much in terms of tourism, but the town is filled with history, friendly people, and secret waterfalls of such heights that would even rival mount Kilimanjaro. The town is a hiker’s paradise, laid out for those who want to appreciate Eastern Ghana’s forest promenades. There are no fancy hotels but comfortable lodges and guest houses. This would set you back a few hundred thousand cedis. Bottled water is in abundance and a local missionary clinic available in case of any mishap. The town is two hours from Accra.