The explorer who will not come back or send back his ships to tell his tale is not an explorer, only an adventurer; and his sons are born in exile. - Ursula K. Le Guin

19 October 2019, Sawla to Bole, 30.51km
Motel De Eureka 40GHC (R114)

We were in Bole early enough to run a couple of errands. First, we had the bikes washed at a place that washes autocycles and cars using high pressure hoses and elbow grease, the latter by applying soapy water with a scrubbing brush. All for the exorbitant sum of 2 cedi (R5.50) per bike. Then we had my sports bra and cycle pants mended at a small tailor where four young women were making school dresses. Their sewing machines are hand-operated; their iron takes hot charcoal. Off the grid! The hooks and eyes on my bra have rusted in the humidity and are snapping off one after another. And today, I discovered my cycle pants had split along the inner thigh. Both were mended in cheerful style, the young women refusing point-blank to take payment, saying that perhaps one day I would return the favour. When I asked to photograph them, they were excited and obliging, and took pleasure in the results.
We were surprised and thrilled to find a room at a good price that sports aircon - the ultimate luxury in the endless heat. While our hosts changed the sheets and washed the bathroom, we walked down the road in search of something to snack on and a softdrink, returning with boiled eggs, deep-fried cheese, and sugared doughnuts.
Bole is one of the few relatively attractive small towns we have encountered in Africa, which is stingy with its man-made aesthetic pleasures.
The road here was mildly hilly and a pleasure to ride on this quiet Saturday. The only jarring note being occasional demands of: “Give me one cedi”; “Give me money”; “Give me your bike”; “Give me a bottle”; “Give me your bag”. It is important to know that the demands are few between greetings without agendas, but are inevitably an irritant, even bearing in mind that the delivery style is blatant probably due to a lack of language skills rather than an intentional rudeness. It is seldom that we encounter an actual beggar, someone in real need; mostly those who make these “demands” are ordinary folk going about their ordinary day.* I have mentioned before that I find demands aimed at the seldom tourist annoyingly irrational. The question of how best to respond is a challenge. Sometimes I say: “Good morning, yes; money, no”. Sometimes I turn my head away, refusing to engage, to offer the “variable reinforcement” that ensures the continuation of irrational behaviour. Sometimes I just say “No”. Today, a young girl and her small sister jogged beside me demanding first one thing then another. To each I replied “No”, which simply triggered a different demand. In the end I turned and said “It is rude to ask me like this”. The girl’s face fell, and she took her sister’s hand and immediately stopped jogging beside me. It was obvious she had clearly understood me. It was obvious my response came as a shock to her. Her response made me feel my reaction had been overly harsh, and I have mulled over it all afternoon. Is it OK to “re-educate”? Is it OK to express annoyance? Or should one laugh it off and move on?
*Recently a woman, too thin, approached me while Charl was shopping for a drink. She spoke no English, indicating her need by demonstrating eating from her palm, the gesture oddly vulnerable.
Today at a police stop we saw a truck driver hand the policeman a package and wondered if it was a bribe. A taxi driver in northern Ghana had complained to us, saying “We have to share our money with the police”; and we heard an advert on TV for a bribe hotline of sorts, proposing people send in videos and complaints to be dealt with.

For today's route see below photos
For overview route, click on ROUTE tab above…