Touring Ghana and Burkina Faso on Two Wheels

Riding in West Africa: a trip to Ghana and Burkina Faso on a motorbike

Ride report:

Starting point: Accra, Ghana

Destination: Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso

Accra-Kumasi-Tamale-Paga-Ouagadougou-Accra, 2,300 kms)

I flew Ethiopian Airlines from Nairobi to Accra, Ghana. The first mission on landing was to buy a 200cc Chinese-made ‘Royal’ brand motorbike. This brand is the most popular in Ghana (or so I was told), with the majority of okada men in Accra riding the 125 and 150cc variants. It is very cheap to maintain and rides well. The ride height is high (about 900mm), and you can see far into traffic. It cost me Ghana cedis 4,750 to buy from a place I know as Carprice (equivalent of KSh. 86,000). The only downside to the bike is the high fuel consumption (FC) whilst on the highway – relative to its small displacement, the FC is about 26 kilometres per litre.

When I bought the bike, I met a money changer, who told me he is from Niger – he is a Fulani, who are cattle-keepers in west Africa, and physically look much like Somalis of east Africa. Like we Somalis, they are also very troublesome, creating serious mayhem in Ghana and Burkina Faso. His name was Osman. He promised to buy the bike from me once I am done touring! I rode my bike through very heavy Accra traffic to Golden Tulip Hotel (where I was staying) and parked it at a desolate corner, on the advice of the security manager at the hotel, who told me that the bike will be stolen if I kept parking in the front yard!

To celebrate my purchase, I rode my new bike to the very famous Osu market. I went in to Buka café (which won an Africa award as the best restaurant in Ghana in October 2019) where I downed a plate of fufu, fish and light soup! I was truly astonished at the quantity of food that was laid before me – humongous plate. I have a phobia for this – and true to form, I did not finish the plate screen, to the disappointment of Adelaide the waitress. I told her: "look at my small frame. Eating food is not one of my main hobbies."

I left Accra on Saturday at 6.00 am, thinking that this is the right time to exit and avoid traffic. Accra traffic never sleeps – there were just too many cars even as early as 6.00 am. The highway out towards Kumasi is dual carriageway for the first 40 or so kilometres, but it quickly gets rutted and is not an easy road for the remainder of the journey to Kumasi (approx. 200 km). I made good progress, however, except for two occasions when I had to stop and tie my load again. I took breakfast about 50 km out of Accra.

I noticed that most drivers did not want to share the highway with me – they were trying to force me into the shoulder. I tried obliging them by moving into the shoulder, but getting back into the main carriageway at my usual cruising speeds (85 kmph) was a bit risky, with the death wobble of the cheap Chinese machine particularly terrifying me. It also was a lonely ride – I did not see any other rider at all during the trip, except for the ones stationed at the various trading centres.

There is thus very little respect for motorcyclists by motorists – they try to force me off the road and many of them came to within inches of my handlebars as they overtook me. I only noted them at the last time by the whoosh of their slipstream as they zoomed past, extremely close. I battled rain on most of the way.

I got stopped by policemen twice in Ashanti region, and once after Techiman. The first time I had no trouble, and they checked my papers and DL and released me with a smile once they realised I am a Kenyan. The policemen crowded around me and asked me if I run marathons. I confirmed to them that I can out-run any Ghanaian any day in any marathon.

The second stop was a lot more difficult. This happened because I went past a police barrier without stopping (I saw the sign announcing the barrier, and I did not stop, my mistake), and their shouts made me to turn back. The cop who stopped me was shaking with rage. I took my time to dismount, removed my helmet, and when he saw my facial features, he knew immediately I was a foreigner, and he cooled down. I spoke easily with him, and he asked for my papers. On seeing my Kenyan DL, he immediately went to converse with his boss, and he said I have just committed an offence.

He pulled out a yellowing, weather-beaten book, titled “Offences” and pointed out to the right clause. Of course, I read through and thoroughly agreed with him. I agreed to being a law breaker. He was surprised to see me concurring. Anyway, after a few minutes, and noting that I remained calm all through, they told me to go on since I am just a tourist. I scrammed and disappeared.

Kumasi (Ghana’s second largest city) is always jam-packed. I could not believe the extent of the congestion caused by cars (especially the tro-tros, a.k.a. matatus) in this city, Ghana’s second largest. Like Accra, this city’s traffic is mostly controlled by signalised intersections – there only a few roundabouts. The traffic control is efficient but the cars are just too many for the city – helped also by the low fuel prices (lower than Kenya, as of the time I was there).

I spent the whole of Sunday relaxing and visiting places of interest – especially the palace of the Ashanti kingdom. Here, there are artefacts highlighting the kingdom’s 324-year reign. I saw muskets (old guns) that the kingdom’s fighting men used in 1690s, throne seats, clothes worn by their fighters and kings, and so much stuff that left me impressed. The city has incredible history.

Of course, I have been gorging on Ghanaian food – great diversity, unlike Kenya's non-existent food cuisine, liberally prepared with pepper. Even the water here, I believe, has pepper. Fufu. Yam. Different types of soup (some called “light” soup). Fish, lots of it. Jollof rice. I went to have a look-see at the Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology.

The following, I set out for a 380-kilometre run from Kumasi to Tamale, the northern-most city in Ghana. It took me six hours to get to Tamale – I ended up arriving at 7.30pm, when it was already dark. The entire stretch is like a verdant garden – green and rich agricultural zone. However, I only enjoyed the last 100km – the rest was a road pockmarked with huge potholes. I said a silent “thank you” to our own KeNHA – I think we have better roads in Kenya!

I was stopped by a group of policemen, whose interest perked up immediately I told them I am Kenyan. They did not ask for any papers, and instead were genuinely worried for me: “you are riding all the way to Tamale?”

I stopped at a large town called Techiman, where I had yam and fish, washed with good old Coke. Girded appropriately, I rode uneventfully until I sighted Tamale. The amazing thing is in the northern region of Ghana (and whose HQs is Tamale), riding is the in-thing. My eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when I saw the wide variety of riders – including wizened old grandmothers totting out their grandkids on their Chinese scooters. Everyone rides.

I stayed at the Catholic guesthouse in Tamale for two days. Like I said earlier, the city is a bikers’ paradise – there are more motos here than anywhere else in Ghana, and there is therefore more respect for bikers. As the guesthouse, I met a gutsy young man who was staying there, and we became fast friends. I am thankful for his friendship, for I learnt a lot about my bikes, which were completely alien to me! His tutorship made life even better on the saddle for me.

On Wednesday, I had my bike washed and serviced. I left for Paga, the border point between Ghana and Burkina Faso at 10.00 am. I promised to fill up my tank at a Total gas station whose signage told me it was 3 kilometres out. Barely a km afterwards, my bike died off. No fuel. By pure luck, this was 10m away from a gas station. I went in and refuelled, and hit the road.

I got surprised by the prevalence of police roadblocks. These roadblocks were just 10km or so apart, sometimes even less. I noticed the roadblocks cordoned off the entire road with metallic gates, or sort off. I was not stopped on this stretch at all.

Drama awaited me when I crossed into Burkina Faso. I had obtained Burkina visa in Accra during my time there. Exiting Ghana was somehow easy – although the immigration servicemen dilly dallied with my passport for 20 minutes while they tried to establish something I could not determine. I waited patiently until they stamped me out.

Burkina Faso – the initial ‘welcome’ frightened me. Once I crossed from Ghana, I met a group of policemen hurdled around a makeshift veranda. I stopped – language problem. Somehow, we understood each other and they stamped me in. I went in search of a building I was told to get laissez-passer.

I went round and round in circles, till I almost dropped dead because of the spirit-sapping heat. Finally, I got to know the building and rode there, past a group of gun-totting gendarmerie (their equivalent of our GSU).

This was the beginning of the drama for I was immediately surrounded by a group of gendarmeries, and was searched very vigorously while four men pointed their assault rifles at me. Later I understood that there is a rebellion in the north by men who look like me. Burkina Faso has had terrorist attacks orchestrated by Touaregs and Fulanis, who apparently are the scourge of west Africa.

The security men had suspected me once I had removed my helmet, and they saw my features – I looked to them like an Islamist terrorist, and they reacted immediately. They forced me to lay all my three bags on the floor, and remove each and every time. Their leader, who seemed very hostile at first, even went as far searching all the nooks and corners of my bags. I had nothing to satisfy his curiosity – so, he let me go. I went to have lunch and a drink. I was totally impressed when I was able to down a pizza liberally made with prawns!

I survived the terrible heat of Dakola (a.k.a. Pagga), and went on the road at 5.00pm to Ouaga. The road condition improved – a smooth highway, only (as the Ghana immigration man informed) a little bit narrower than Ghanaian roads. I rode through a national park, and my biggest fear was smashing into one of Burkina's elephants!

My pacemaker was a 1980s Mercedes W124 (I believe a shared taxi, as I could see the car bottoming out) who I tailed closely so that he could clear the road of dangerous traffic for me – especially goats and cattle! I followed him from the border all the way to Ouaga. Adama Ouedraogo, a Burkinabe rider leader, received me at the outskirts of Ouaga and I followed him (he was driving his family home) all the way to my hotel.

I was totally impressed with the great night-time lighting on all the major thoroughfares of the city. Even at 8.30pm, the city was a beehive of activity, with thousands of cars and ‘motos’ inching along on congested roads to their various destinations. I was completely rained on, and my bags and my riding gear were totally soaked.

My takeaways from my trip were quite many:

(a) the universal respect for the highway code by everyone, including riders, in both countries: at traffic robots, no one runs the red light!

(b) efficient traffic management using signalised junctions, in the main cities of both countries – one thing that I am sure will help gridlocked Nairobi, where we use inefficient, police-manned (and DEADLY) roundabouts, sadly …

(c) the incredible biking lanes all across Ouagadougou were a revelation to me: bikers do not have to join the main carriageway and they are therefore protected from roadway conflicts with cars – something completely alien in Nairobi!

(d) the women riders of northern Ghana and Burkina Faso – they are totally badass! There are probably as many women riders as there are men!

Looking forward to going back one day and riding all the way again - but this time including Togo and Mali as well.