The charge of the impetuous Ghanaian girl,
Act I of an erotic story, taking place in Ghana

fille de Kau


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The Fazao mountains edging the frontier with Togo bathed in a morning fog. The splendid landscape of the forest of the Palime area made us forget for one moment, that we had to enter Ghana, relived its ambushes and its arbitrary situations.





Going through Ghana was not an easy task, we did it before. We finally went through the border characterized by a kafkaian bureaucracy in our way to Kumasi and Ivory Coast we hoped to rejoin before the end of the day as if we where going back home. We feared the dangerous pitfalls which accompanied our journey to the Gold Coast a few months ago. But the road was good, which was unusual.

We drove at an average speed, admiring the landscape and trying to familiarize again with driving on the left side of the road. We remembered with joy the significant facts of our short travels in the countries of the Sahel, we left Abidjan one month ago.

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In the distance, we saw a gathering on the left side of the road. We approached slowly of what seemed to be road workers. We now distinguished clearly some armed gendarmes surrounding a sea of half naked black corpses, busy clearing the undergrowth on the side of the road, at least it seems like it. The majority of the workers where rather idle, if not at rest. They handled long and fearful machetes.

When approaching, we felt a king of effervescence. Some men had ventured on the roadway and appeared ready to stop us. Others where agitated, holding up their machetes or attracting the attention of the soldiers to our presence. We had been accustomed to such situations from our previous journeys. At most villages, improvised roadblocks stopped vehicles and let you go through against a small bakchich. Those methods of control of displacements of the populations inherited from the sinister Soviet Union where the leftist leaders of Africa learned their skills, had been it seems, transformed by the creative populations of Africa in useful stations of taxation. Nothing however indicated that these points of control where official.

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The attitude became hostile at the time we came close by to what seemed to be convicts occupied at communal work. I had to slow down to avoid running over one of the men. I saw them now congregating with angry looks around the camping car. One of the soldiers aimed his rifle in our direction and intimated us to stop.

Marco Polo or the imaginary journey (Translated from Contes et légendes érotiques d'Afrique, november 1998) © 1996 Jean-Pierre Lapointe
(tribute to Leni Riefenstahl and the beautiful people of Kau)

ACT II