Defying disability for a glimpse of paradise: A hike up Mount Afadja

By E.J Awoonor Ahiable

The last time I visited Mount Afadja, the highest peak in Ghana and West Africa in 2018, the metallic signs marking completion of the various quarters where spindly and rusted brown, and featured lettering made in yellow paint. The last sign at the summit was also a sad rusty thing announcing my arrival and triumph in yellow hand-written pant. It was as anti-climactic as anti-climaxes go. Now, five years later, the brown signs have been replaced with spanking new white signs sporting digitally-printed green lettering; stone steps in some places which now add to the ropes slung around sturdy trees to help you along the way; and a hollowed-out Instagram-template metallic sign that stands at the summit to welcome you – a modernized experience for the city-bred millennials, Gen Zs and Gen Alphas who frequently storm up and down the mountain.

But, whatever the case, climbing and descending Afadjato remains a gruelling expedition that challenges your will, eventually rewarding you with a stunning view sweeping majestic lusciously green mountains that literally take your breath away, probably because the air is thinner at the top?

The missing alphabet in Afadjato’s Origin Story

Afadjato is located in Liati Wote in the Afadjato South District of Ghana’s Volta Region. According to the local historian who introduced us to the lore, the mountain was known as A_adjato, which means ‘war on plants on mountain’. I insert the “underscore” in the name in place of an alphabet which does not exist in the English language. That word is produced by putting your lips together, like you are blowing on hot food. The sound you produce will be close to the original alphabet. English linguists simply replaced it with the letter ‘f’ for easier pronunciation. And that is how the word, ‘Afadjato’ came to be.
The story goes that the original settlers -hunter-gatherers- were plagued by wild animals, which they chased up the mountain (“Tô” in the Ewe language). Unfortunately, dressed in only animal skin, their skin itched every time they chased the animals into the mountains. They thought, primitively, that this meant the mountain was protecting the animals. The culprit turned out to be the poison ivy (Dja) littered across the mountain. Poison ivy is common to moist deciduous forests and wooded areas. The settlers then declared war (Afa) on the plants (dja) on the mountain (tô).

Ascending Afadjato

The ascension begins with a trek to the foot of the mountain. Beware if you are in bad shape because that trek will leave you winded even before you start. A sign is there to remind you that the climb has been split into 4 quarters and you are merely at the beginning of the first quarter.

Quarter 1

This quarter is the most challenging. It will break you. Halfway through the first quarter, I was visibly panting through my mouth. And my heart. Imagine this – douse yourself in a gallon of diesel. Then throw on a couple of lit matches. Yeah, you get the idea. I could feel it inflamed and screaming against my chest. I tried to tame the flames with water and ended up gulping half a mini bottle of water. I finished the bottle before I ended that first quarter and it still was not enough. The tour guides will tell you to drink water in sips. Too much of it will weigh you down and make the hike more laborious. Perhaps the tour guides should have spoken to my heart first?

I observed that the climbers were experiencing similar discomforts with different descriptions. Obviously, I wasn’t ashamed to voice out the ordeal with my heart, neither was the other climber who said her heart wasn’t in her chest anymore. She felt it beating on her face. I welcomed her confession. Misery truly loves company.

To worsen matters, my belly began to constrict, marked by a sharp pain piercing my side. I recognized that pain, which I mostly felt after sustained jogging for maybe 25 minutes. I felt that after about 10 minutes of hiking up a mountain. My odds weren’t look too good.
Word of unsolicited advice- this is not the stage to be macho. You want to take as many rests as you can to conserve your energy and calm down your poor poor heart who didn’t ask for any of this. Other climbers would have niftily taken the lead, seeming impervious to the slippery, treacherous path. The quote that most encapsulates this stage is William Shakespeare’s ‘To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man’. You cannot afford to keep up appearances. Rest for however long you need to. The race is not for the swiftest but for those who know themselves and how much pain they are willing to endure.

Quarter 2

Travel light. Against my own advice, I didn’t travel light. My hiking partner and I had agreed, during the trek to the foot of the mountain, to share the backpack which carried our 3 litre bottles of water, two mini bottles of water, two mini bottles of soft drinks, snacks, a mini portable speaker, a power bank, and extra phone, and other stuff. Yeah, don’t do that. I was to carry it at Quarter 1, he at Quarter 2 and so and so till the summit. I happily relinquished the bag to him, gulped some more water, and took about 30 breaths. My heart and my belly needed them.

If you worship any deity, Quarter 2 is where you call on them. I unabashedly called on mine for supernatural strength because girl, if Quarter 1 tried to break you, Quarter 2 will play mind games on you. This is where you start to get retrospective and loopy and wonder, who sent me? Why am I doing this? Is this even worth it? Is a stone really a home? But in between the incessant thoughts, I recommend that you rest and remember to look around. At this stage, you are well above sea level. Looking down below, you will be blessed by some stunning sprawling sights. My hacks for conquering Quarter 2, and actually all the quarters, are take really short steps, not strides. Again, the ascent is not for the swiftest.

Get a third pair of legs, i.e a walking stick and don’t give it up till you are back at the foot of the mountain. I got mine from a hiker on the descent. He relinquished it reluctantly. I gave this third leg to someone else during my descent. I came to regret.

Ignore those overly positive hikers shouting encouragement at you. Like, “don’t give up, you can do this”. Like girl, I know I can do this. This is my second go at this mountain. Nowhere did it even occur to me to give up because I’ve made it to the summit before. To those who require encouragement every second of the climb, maybe don’t ignore them. Breathe through your mouth. Pray for strength. Trust me. It helps.

Quarter 3

My deity responded and gave me the supernatural strength I had whispered for back in the trenches of Quarter 2. I didn’t take nearly as many breaths probably because I didn’t have the weight of the backpack holding my down. My hiking partner had decided to carry it all the way through…probably why the rest of the climb was easier? No, it was God. Simple. Period.

Please look around more at this stage when you come upon an area where the dense foliage opens up and blesses you with more stunning views below. I briefly wondered if this is what God sees when he looks down upon Earth? Maybe not the slums and overcrowded townships but this. Where aside the beaten path, everything seemed pure, unsullied by man.

Quarter 4

I had supernatural strength at this stage. My third leg had now become an accessory I held horizontally behind my back. My climbing partner remarked that I resembled a house master lurking around dormitories at night, hoping to catch and ruthlessly lash some undisciplined student that had flouted lights-out rules. It seemed easy. As if I could go on forever. This is an illusion. Do not fall for it. One last mind trick the mountain plays on you before making it to the summit.

About a third of the way through Quarter four, the layout suddenly changes, without warning. It is rockier, with vegetation that is more dried-out twigs than leafy green – a startling change from the luscious green, enclosed vegetation you’ve hiked up from. Rockier, steeper wedges to lodge your feet into for balance, and less trees to hang on to for support means it’s all on you. And this seemed to go on forever. This sense was heightened by a hiker who called out to a friend who had made it to the top. She responded. She called again and again. She responded yet again and again. She sounded near, yet was far. It was frustrating. Why couldn’t we get there already? Here, it is important that you keep faith and manage your frustration. Eventually, you will have to manoeuvre yourself over some boulders and finally hoist yourself over to the flat plane at the top. Those already there might chorus a welcome to you, which you will shyly accept. You might even whisper or yell a ‘finally’ and trudge exhaustedly to the large hollowed out Instagram layout designed signboard.

Someone will slink into your periphery and offer you ridiculously overpriced beverages so beware. But, whatever happens, remember to ask someone to forever immortalize the moment you hiked up the tallest peak in West Africa, 2,905 feet above sea level.

After, take a moment to catch your breath, before properly admiring the surrounding landscape. You’ve never seen anything as lusciously green before, or exhaled air as clean and crisp. You might ask some questions, such as, if Afadja is the highest peak, why does it seem like the surrounding mountains are taller? Don’t expect an answer. Instead, take some more pictures, and accept requests to take others’ photos. Then go and admire the landscape some more, looking intently as if trying to burn the sight into your memories forever.

But, don’t look too hard though because you might miss the cascading falls tucked into the mountains so far away.

My body was going to ensure, the following day, that I felt the consequences of hiking up a mountain- sore thighs and calves and an aching armpit (please don’t ask me how) but it was worth it. At least one of my questions was answered. Yes, I defied the possibility of disability for a glimpse of paradise. They should put that on a badge and sell it at the summit.

Notes

Climb lite. Any extra weight will make the climb unnecessarily laborious. I recommend a playlist, a mini portable speaker, and a giant bottle of water.

You will meet many other hikers on the descent who will shout out many words of encouragement at you. Some will lie and say the summit is around the corner. You know it isn’t but you accept the lie because you want to trick your mind to keep going.

Wear shoes with ridged soles. Mine were flat soled. It was enough to carry me up but proved unhelpful on the way down the slippery slopes. I fell three times, getting disheartened after the third fall. A dread set in after that, thieving away the joy of the descent and leaving a sour taste in my mouth.

The tourism authorities really ought to consider equipping the tour guides with First Aid. No such support is provided so girl, it really is between you and your deity.

About the author: The author E.J Awoonor Ahiable is a corporate communications expert working with the UK-Ghana Chamber of Commerce. She is a travel writer for Africa Publicity