Danger on the Volta

In 2006 Ben Whateley-Harris embarks on a journey on Africa’s largest man-made lake, but discovers all is not plain sailing


I had been volunteering in Ghana for six months, working in a school in the central region, in 2006, and thought I was fully acclimatized.

During the holidays I set off to the Volta Region in search of excitement: I planned to catch a ferry up Lake Volta, Africa’s largest man-made lake.

 Arriving one hot day in February. I am sweaty after a long journey from my school in a village, miles from anywhere via the capital city of Accra. I come across a beautiful village with straw roofed huts by the side of the river. The water lapped on the shore and the scene seemed idyllic.

 Suddenly I hear a cry of 'Money'.

I turn round to see group of half-naked children approaching. They pester me for money and run their hands through my hair, trying to grab everything they can, hands, feet and even ears. I have to escape and give these cheeky little blighters the slip as they are beginning to latch onto me with gouging fingernails, grabbing my bag and tugging at my clothes.

They come at me with a vengeance and soon I have to scramble over a small wall and up a steep palm-infested slope to get back on to the safety of the road.

I would have loved to have seen the passing bus driver’s face as an Obroni (whiteman) came hurtling out of the undergrowth clutching a bag and looking bedraggled with his hair in a bandana.

I arrive early at Akosombo port, full of excitement for the journey that lies ahead. I am fully expecting to see a large ferry crowded with people and goods at the dockside, but there is no sign of a single boat at all.

There is nothing to do at the port except wait and queue for tickets.

I finally after four hours, I manage to buy a second-class ticket. First class entitles you to a cabin but I fancy the idea of sleeping in the breeze out on deck.

Ticket in hand I wait for the ferry to turn up. It eventually does after I have devoured some deliciously greasy street food. I have waited 11 hours in the sun with goats surrounding me and I stand out like a sore thumb, the only non-Ghanaian.

The calm before the storm. Taken before a throng of people arrive

The docks become a mass of activity. People load massive wooden crates with yams and fruits. Cars are driven down on to the landing deck. Forklift trucks move large objects too and fro.

I am struck by the number of people; there are hundreds of them, all milling about, many balancing large bundles of clothing and food tightly wrapped up in colourful clothes on their heads.

The ferry has finally arrived, a large rusty hulk called the Yapei Queen, that desperately needs a lick of paint. It seems to me that there are far too many people and cargo for such a small and rusty old boat.

Everything is basically thrown on to the deck. Soon the crates are piled high and some people are sleeping in them. The gangway is opened and the passengers along with me get on board. I walk up to the higher decks through the 3rd class area - a hot and fume-filled hollow under the boat where hundreds of people cram in and try to find some floor space to sprawl out on. All I can see is a mass of bodies crammed together moving like a giant storm; the smell, along with the immense heat almost knocks me down.

Luckily I manage to get out and climb the deck to the second-class area to refresh myself with the breeze hitting my face through an open window. This area is pretty much the same in terms of cleanliness and I notice that the lifejackets are dated 1983 and the instruction poster on the wall has a man with the best mullet ever on it.

I walk straight out onto the deck and manage to find somewhere to sit. The loud hailer sounds booming out down the lake alerting the other passengers, the ferry turns round and sets off on what will become a memorable trip up the Volta River. Soon we are sailing at full steam ahead. At this point I have already argued with a Ghanaian Army sergeant. He stole the mattress that I raced to get when they were being given out.

Goods are loaded in the shallows

The captain of the ferry soon appears; he is wearing a bright orange boiler suit like they do in American jails. In the morning we stop numerous times in isolated areas with nothing but sand and rocks lining the banks of the river. Once or twice a small thatched hut with a pen full of bleating goats lined the shore.

People appear out of the bushes and load up the ferry with fruits and all sorts of boxes containing unknown treasures.

I love watching as the ferry waits and the people on shore wade out to climb aboard; some women did this with babies strapped to their backs with a brightly coloured cloth which is the West African fashion. I love the fact that even though the ferry does not boom out its massive foghorn, people came from out of nowhere at the right time to trade, load, and buy and also to board.

Eventually after almost 27 hours on board, the Yapei Queen arrives at the town of Yeji where there are masses of people and hubbub and noise on the crowded shore. A ferry called the Nana Besemuna has broken down and is still on the landing bay/pathway that runs down into the water.

Instead of finding another area to moor up what do the geniuses on board our ferry decide to do? Yes you have guessed it. They ram the Nana Besemuna in the hope of dislodging her from the moorings and taking her unloading place.

People are still on the decks of both ferries and they are running for cover as our ferry hurtles towards the other boat.

Like one giant game of bumper cars. I stand in shock on deck thinking that this cannot be happening. No one could be that reckless that they would intentionally risk sinking an entire cargo ferry and put the lives of all on board in danger.

The front of our boat hits the other ferry with such a force that I almost fall over. Many crates fall from their high perched places causing screams and people to run for cover.

The front part of our boat hits the protruding corrugated iron roofing that sticks out over one of the decks. When it does, it makes an ear splitting-screech, a sound akin to someone running fingernails down a blackboard.

Great lumps of iron shoot up in to the air; this was followed by a large hollow metal thud as the two hulks collide.

People jump overboard into the deep waters and men, women and children are on deck all screaming in panic at the captain and crew. The crew rush around like headless chickens and no one has a clue about what they are doing.

It can only be described as mayhem.

The corrugated iron roofing buckles under the weight and pressure and shoots up into the air.

A funnel billowing white wispy smoke is knocked off the deck like a skittle being hit by a bowling ball. It falls on to the deck with a loud clag that makes many jump and small children cry.

The front of the Yapei Queen screeches and scrapes all along the side of the other ferry. Now I am no sailor, or nautical expert and never, I hasten to add, will be, but what this chaotic bunch are doing is just plain and simply shear folly.

If cereal packets give out sailing qualifications as the free gift, I am sure this crew would gain their seas badges that way.

The trail of carnage and damage that the two ferries leave is ridiculous and must be very costly. While the ferry continues to back up and then re-ram the Nana Besemuna another moment of brilliance occurs.

As we rammed the other ferry, the large wooden crates and boxes on the deck tumble down and smash. People instantly seek refuge in the crammed area below deck and then the forklift truck driver decides in his wisdom to start up and rearrange the crates on the ground.

He does a three point turn and narrowly avoids running over a woman with a baby strapped to her back.

The deck is still full of people, so this forklift is a nuisance and a danger because he can easily crush someone.

I have to pull a small child away from almost getting run over and then I bellow at the driver telling him in the most undignified English that I could muster what a fool he is.

I am not the only one shouting at him; others are screaming too but in a language I cannot understand. Eventually the Yapei Queen’s ramming only succeeds in making the poor battle scarred Nana Besemuna become firmly wedged in the mud banks.

They don’t even manage to get her off the runway. So they decide to finally do the sensible thing and moor up on the mud banks and lower the front of the ferry into the water.

Why couldn’t they have done this in the first place?

Along with countless others I jump down into the water and wade waist high to get to the shore.

I wonder how the cars and tro tros (mini buses) on board manage to get off?

I finally step through the reeds and onto the bank glad to have my feet on dry land.

The scene of utter chaos continues.

Somewhere in the depths of the Yapei Queen the ramming has caused a fire and a man runs along the deck clutching an aging extinguisher.

Looking at the mayhem a large smile creeps across my face; nothing is ever simple.

I think, if I am honest, I wouldn’t ever have it any other way.

Drenched to the bone and leaving wet footprints, I set off in search of another adventure.

Date of trip - February 2006

Place - Lake Volta, Ghana, West Africa

View from the roof of the Yapei Queen as she heads towards a pick up point on the lake shore.

Writtle 0 - 103 Ongar

2^nd February 2013

Writtle 0 -103 Ongar

Tries: Whateley-Harris (4), Franklin (4), Bristow (2), Blake (2), Elvin (2), Smith, Regelous.

Cons:  Hardy (2), Fenner (8)

Silly injuries and limping off: Hardy

Ongar bounced back from their defeat against the many faces of Ilford Wanderers and the two week layoff due to snow with a stonking victory against Writtle.

They recorded their biggest victory since the 100 -0 thrashing of Ravens back in 2008. It was the clubs second highest score ever after a 113 -0 victory against a team called Orwell when Ongar played in black and white and Mark Jones had knees.

However Ongar could and should have broken that record but the match ended ten minutes early.

After frozen pitch, snow drifts and Jeddy leading Aaron Hardy off on a merry dance across the channel it was nice to get back on the field of play and pull on the blue and gold shirt.

A fresh faced young Ongar team rocked up to Writtle eager for blood. Only 4 players were over the majestic age of 30 in the match day squad and we fielded a few teenagers to boot.

They were incredibly up for the game as even the perennially late changer Michael Blake had managed to squeeze himself into his kit at 9am.

Ongar started very brightly, Jeddy was playing like a demon after his discovery of Richard III’s body in a Leicester car park.

Writtle kicked off and after what seemed a matter of seconds Simon Franklin did his usual. Not his usual as in doing his business in the local knowledge wagon; his usual as he ran, no one caught him and he scored.

Two early tries allowed Aaron Hardy to slot over the extras but then tragedy befell Aaron. Our usual saviour at ten, our hero, our leader on the field and our protector of the faith was down injured and crying like a child who had lost their favourite Dave Blake action figure.

Aaron ran with the ball and suddenly fell down like Neil Springate’s trousers in public. He let out a terrifying scream that set all the rooks in the nearby trees flying away.

Aaron lay in a pool of his own tears and was gingerly helped off the pitch. By that I mean he was carried off and was not chased off by Jeddy.

He lay howling on the side-lines with rage that he had let his team down. While everyone on the pitch sighed with relief as now we had a replacement ten who could pass and wasn’t associated with the peeping Tom alliance group.

Carl Regelous who had arrived late was thrust into the action and came off the bench to fill in at full back while everyone’s favourite Joey Barton look-a-like and clinical test victim Jack Smith filled in at ten.

Carl made an immediate impact when Jack lofted the ball down the pitch. Ben Whateley-Harris chased the ball and beat the entire Writtle team bar the scrum half to the ball. Writtle’s scrum half picked the ball up off the ground, stood up, turned round and was flattened like the Beast of Brentwood falling on Tom Bristow.

The ball flew out of his hands and bobbled nicely for the onrushing Carl who put the ball between the posts for a simple try.

Simon then started to run around with his man udders swaying in the breeze and had added another try before you could say ‘Jeddy Jeddy Bang Bang’.

Dave Blake then got in on the action and muscled his way through some tackles to shrug off the opposition and score in the corner.

Jack Smith failed with his attempts at converting so Ralton Fenner was promoted to chief raspberry picker and kicker for the match. Jack said he had a touch of the Brentwood wobbles and his kicking feet had gone to jelly.

Tom Bristow then scored in the corner and smiled like a loon after doing so. He was so happy that afterwards he sabotaged the super bowl and made the silly American version of ‘rugby’ delay their game by a whole 34 minutes.

The first half became a try fest; to be honest it was ridiculous, there were far too many scores to remember.

Jack Smith squeezed one in and celebrated by abstaining from touching Michael Blake for the rest of the match.

Simon Franklin now had been identified as the danger man by Writtle who had two men marking him. Therefore he received the ball and instead of running he waited for the two defenders to commit themselves before off-loading to Ben Whateley-Harris who ran through to score under the posts.

Then Ben Whateley-Harris intercepted a pass from the Writtle ten to the centre and ran clear through to score almost moments later.

It was becoming a free for all in the try scoring stakes at the point. Michael Blake had taken off his socks and was counting his toes to try and keep up.

Blakey did however lead from the front and gave a great example in the pack.

Unlike when he coached the minis the next day. He shouted instructions on the side-lines while eating a pork pie. This part is actually true!

As Writtle practiced their restarts, every time Big Jack Burton practiced his high ball gathering and then charging. It took Writtle a great effort to get him down and then once they had they had to deal with Sam Minns rampaging towards them.

Sam Minns was playing today straight from his appearance on Splash! The celebrity diving competition, he was so diving mad that he still had his speedos on during the game.

His triple duck somersault belly flop scored highly with the judges but he was eliminated by the public vote who kept Eddie ‘the eagle’ Edwards in instead.

Alan Elvin was his usual fat, lazy, slovenly, unfit self. His chubby body lumbered round the pitch not wanting to be in the game at all.  He scored a try early on by plodding over the line, wheezing and whining like Michael Blake outside a closed sweet shop.

Then Alan suddenly popped up out of a maul with the ball. Writtle looked at him and thought that the game had stopped. Michael Blake was arguing with a Writtle player but the game was still flowing. Alan started to skip along jokingly and then realised that the ball was still in play. So he skipped over the line in a rather effeminate manner unchallenged and scored the most camp Ongar try of all time. It must be something to do with his Michael Blake all you can eat training methods.

Every so often Writtle would clear their lines and the ball would go into touch for a lineout.

The line would be formed and Jeddy was lifted. Each time he did so it was like the lighting of the Olympic flame. His beautiful body was hoisted aloft to the noise of harps and cheers from his adoring female fans on the side lines.

Jeddy caused so much hassle on the side lines with all the cheering and the 38 pitch invasions by giddy teenage One Direction fans that he had to be taken off to sign autographs.

Coming on in his place was none other than the destroyer of Persians and everyone’s favourite poundshop Spartan Dave Lewis. He trotted on greased up wearing a utility belt and a beard that he had stolen of Brian Blessed.

I have no idea what the score was at half time but it was a lot to nought.

Writtle had their moments and at one point Ongar were pinned to their line. They used their strengths well. They were bulky, strong and experienced. But Ongar weathered the squall and came back at them harder and faster  with the momentum of Big Jack trying to get skinny jeans on.

The second half started slowly and it was as though both teams were feeling each other up for weaknesses. Then Ongar realised that they had 60 plus points on the board and Ben Whateley-Harris ran past half the Writtle team to score and then be told to slow down by the referee.

Simon popped up with another try and Ben Whateley-Harris scored his fourth before Simon matched that mark. Both were tries caused by shear speed and good finishing.

Ben then went for his fifth but somehow fell over just before the line, he did however pop the ball to Tom Bristow who scored his second of the game and for that moment was the happiest man alive. Then he had a beast of Brentwood flashback and became a depressive again.

Sam Minns was quite miffed that Ben popped the ball to Chode rather than him!

Dave Blake scored another powerful try in the corner before John Berry rolled back the years and set off like a wounded gazelle.

He covered a phenomenal amount of ground before being brought down. He did however his fast break he set up someone who scored.  At this point I have no idea what else happened in the game.

People scored, Ongar dominated the scrums and Big Jack gathered everything in the air. Ronnie Plumb had a great game and Neil Springate also put in a shift in the pack playing a half each.

Jason Field started and was replaced late on by Club captain Ian Springate who was resting himself after an unfortunate incident where he caught himself in the car boot door.

The final whistle sounded and John Minns had a smile on his face. Ongar had been, ruthless and clinical. But they had also used their heads, played as a unit and played more importantly as a team.

No one had said a word out of turn and the atmosphere in the changing room after was one of joy and chest thumping proud achievement.

Everyone played outstanding and was playing for their places next week. No one backed down, every tackle was made and every tackle hurt a member of the opposition.

We must salute the opposition as they played with guts and grace in defeat. They were nice bunch and gave us a fair and honest game.

Ongar may not have broken a record with their score but they broke Penny Blake’s heart as it was her birthday.

Remember lads, we need to get down to training this week as the next game will be harder, faster and a whole different kettle of Jeddy Fish.

As the sun set and we headed off to watch England beat the Sweaty Socks Dave Lewis and Jason Field rode on Neil Springate’s back  into the sunset