Welcome to the jungle

The day after being diagnosed with dysentery I went for an eight mile hike through the jungle in Aburi. I was feeling a million times better by the next morning, but the group was a little concerned. After the hike a girl said, “Damn girl, you are a trooper. To have the shits and still be down for a trek like this… I’m impressed!”

The beauty of the jungle cannot be communicated with justice. The colors can be named, the denseness compared to places known, but the sounds, the skipped heartbeats from rustled branches, not knowing whether human or animal… this cannot be shared through words.

I imagined the trail would be much like a national park – widely beaten by guided groups, scenic overlooks crowded with vendors, maybe even signs pointing the way. The trail was more like a whisper, if that makes sense; skinny, wide enough to walk single file, one foot in front of the other. The vegetation formed high walls pressing against both shoulders. This was no tourist trap. (we hoped it wasn’t a trap…)

Animals (we hoped) seemed to creep by our sides, unseen in their thick habitat. Wandering through uncharted territory, guessing where to go when the path split, there was a united sense of uneasiness. We knew there were other people around more interested in us than the scenery.
Our first encounter was with a man squatting, trying to enjoy his morning BM. We were quite startled, but he seemed mostly amused. Approaching him, it looked like he was resting – his machete by his side, peacefully staring towards the horizon. It wasn’t until greeting him and walking past did I notice his pants pulled midway down his lean legs, butt glistening with morning dew. It would have been awkward to warn the person behind me; instead I just snickered as I heard each “Hello, ohh!” down the line in our group of 20. He kept his smile and we kept our eyes straight ahead.

Next we stumbled into a Rastafarian hideout. A wild-haired, friendly-faced man strolled towards us with open arms. I noticed his scrawny legs first because he wasn’t wearing any pants. His baggy shirt was just long enough to cover anything that could’ve possibly dangled from underneath. If pants are too constricting I would imagine underwear would be unbearable. Not that I was looking…

He and his friend welcomed us and explained that we took a wrong turn and the path ended there. He would gladly show us where to go, but wanted to play a song for us before leaving. A girl who had hiked the trail before later explained that we were going the right way, but they were protecting their marijuana farm. They must’ve been high because the song, while very much appreciated, was absolute crap. I thought for sure they would ask for money, but they turned out to just be good-intentioned, ganja-growin’ men of an ultimately peaceful faith. I would’ve liked to hang out longer.
These are the types of experiences I was hoping to have here.

While it was a thrilling encounter it left us increasingly alarmed, realizing this was not a tourist-trodden, marked trail. The moments of silence after parting with the Rastas seemed to be a moment of groupthink – collective mental images of being attacked in the jungle.

Thankfully that didn’t happen, but I was prepared with my pepper spray.

When a herd of long-horned cattle came rushing from behind, forcing us onto the high banks of the road I for sure thought someone was going to get gored. I thought I was covering all bases by bringing pepper spray and band-aids, but I was not prepared for running with the bulls.

I managed to escape yet another frightening incident by deciding to throw in the towel early. A small group (me included) broke off to head back to Accra instead of continuing the hike through botanical gardens. Shortly after we left, the bulk of the group was directed into the office of some sort of sketchy tour agency. They threatened to arrest everyone for trespassing and not paying for the hike. A verbal confrontation followed – we are sick of being taken advantage of – and the man demanded payment saying that he had done us a favor by not hiring men to rob us while on the trail. Apparently he frequently does that to keep people off the trail without his guide services. Our weariness wasn’t misguided, which doesn’t make me feel any better.