Going Back.
I visited my dad. I worked every single day. And I solo traveled the country that raised me — one walk, one mountain, one memory at a time.
Photo by Hikeremote.
A Walk Through Accra: Cantonments to East Legon
Growing up, East Legon felt like another world. Not another neighborhood, another world. We’d make the trip in my parents’ car, and I’d sit in the back watching the streets zoom by, convinced it was the longest journey on earth.
It took forever, or at least that’s how a child’s mind measures distance, in anticipation and window glass.
As an adult, I wanted to walk it. The whole thing. On foot, the way my legs remembered nothing about.
The day before, I ventured the route, this time from Cantonments to East Legon, got lost somewhere around Cantonments, wandered for a while, laughed at myself, and gave up.
But the next morning I was determined. Google Maps said 5.5 miles. I laced up and headed out. I ended up doing 8 miles.
The roads have changed completely since I was a child. Highways have been built where there were none. Whole stretches I thought I knew have been rerouted, widened, and renamed. The city has been quietly rebuilding itself while I was gone, and it didn’t leave a forwarding address ha!
Somewhere around Palace Mall, Google Maps completely lost its mind. It took me half a mile in one direction, rerouted me another half mile, then walked me almost a full mile back to where I started. Sweating through my shirt, I finally sat down at Palace Mall, ordered the most refreshing pineapple juice of my life, and just breathed.
When I was ready to venture the streets again, I switched Google Maps to driving directions, and that worked like a charm.
Accra was fully alive around me the whole time — traders selling by the roadside, cars zooming past, creative road crossings, gutters to jump, and tunnels to negotiate.
About two blocks from my dad’s house, a fresh coconut guy appeared. Aaah! I stopped and had him crack open five coconuts; poured the water into bottles, and put the meat in a bag for me. Reminded me of those hot afternoons many moons ago, when we attempted to climb the coconut tree to get to a delicious coconut.
When I finally walked through my dad’s door, I immediately sat down, kicked off my shoes, drank my coconut water and ate the coconut meat like I had won something. Because I had.
East Legon doesn’t feel far away anymore. It just takes three wrong turns, chilled pineapple juice break, a tunnel sprint, and five coconuts to get there.
A Walk through Childhood Memory Lane
There was a road we were forbidden to cross as kids. Big and busy, the kind of boundary that exists in childhood as an absolute law. I stood at the edge of it on this particular morning and smiled to myself. Then I crossed it. Confidently. Without hesitation. It looked like an ordinary road, not the big bad road from childhood.
That smile didn’t leave my face for the next thirty minutes as I wandered my childhood street.
Everything looked smaller. The neighborhood, the houses, the distances between things, all of it looked different. I went slowly. No music. Just me and the street and whatever it wanted to tell me. I moved through it calling old neighbors’ names quietly in my head, letting the memories surface on their own with a big big smile.
The house where we bought candy on hot days. The house where my younger sister went for piano lessons. I could almost hear the music drifting out into those wonderful afternoons, filling the street with something warm.
The hotel where we went swimming, the laughter echoing off the water, the pure uncomplicated happiness of a hot day with absolutely nowhere to be. That hotel building now stands like a ghost town, but I hear every bit of the laughter anyway.
And then my favorite stop. A neighbor’s house; the one where we use to run through without a single care in the world. We played the worst piano tunes in that house. Genuinely terrible. And our sweet elderly neighbor would simply sit there, smile, and bop her head like we were giving her something precious. I thanked the neighbor in my mind with a smile. (As I type this, I remember that sweet smile and it makes me smile even more)
I stopped outside our old home and just stood there. Listened to the silence where all that laughter used to live. The laughter hang in the air. I looked around the corner towards more familiar streets, and smiled at the thought of the many evenings we would walk to each others homes, and stroll through the night till we exhausted all conversations for the day. I held onto the moment, smiled and felt grateful for all those memories.
On my way back I didn’t even think twice about taking a break at Coffee Shop. Some things you don’t negotiate with, you just get the meatpie.
I ended this walk satisfied and simply happy. When I reached the end of the road where I started, I looked back with sweat dripping down my face; a whole childhood just lingering there behind me. Worth every step.
Aburi: The Climb Up & Jogging Down
I woke up at the crack of dawn, grabbed a Bolt, and headed to Ayi Mensah before the world had fully decided to be awake.
I didn’t start climbing straight away. First, I walked, almost two miles through the early morning, just breathing it in. Ayi Mensah rising slowly around me, the air still cool and unhurried, vendors arranging their goods for the day ahead. There is something about a market town waking up that feels like a privilege to witness. I walked through it quietly.
Then I found the mountain. And I climbed it.
Aburi is Accra’s escape, the kind of air that makes you take a deep breath. The road winding up from Accra, the city falling away behind you, the temperature dropping just enough to remind you the mountain has different settings.
I went alone, which meant I set my own pace, and stopped when I wanted to. At the top I just stood there for a while. Looked out. Breathed. Then I jogged back down.
If you’ve been holding back because you think you need someone to do this with you, this is your sign that you can head up the mountain by yourself.
Safari Resort: I Fed a Zebra
The drive there made me happy before I even arrived. Mountains as backdrops, rolling past the window is my kind of landscape. I am a nature girl through and through, and there is nothing my soul loves more than open space, fresh air, and something green and big to look at.
I’d just come off the high of game drives in Zambia with my BFF, so walking into Safari Resort, I wasn’t sure what to expect, but what I found was a breath of fresh air. Tucked away, peaceful, lush in a way that made me want to slow all the way down and just wander around.
So that’s what I did. I wandered. Through the greenery, through the fresh air, with no particular agenda and nowhere to be. That freedom of space , the room to just move and breathe and exist without walls, is one of my favorite feelings in the world. Safari Resort gave me exactly that.
The employees were exceptional at every step. Pleasant, helpful, and genuinely enthusiastic about what they do. I learned things I didn’t know I didn’t know; about the animals, their habits, their stories.
And then, the zebra. My hand outstretched, a zebra eating from my palm. Somewhere between disbelief and absolute delight, the zebra couldn’t be bothered.
The lunch at the end of the tour was the perfect closing note, delicious and satisfying. It was the perfect ending to an amazing day.
Akuapem Mountain Group Hike: Strangers Who Turned Moments into Memories
4:30am. The alarm goes off. I yawn, stretch, and remind myself why I said yes to this.
By this point I’d been in Accra for a week, waking up early to walk the streets, working remotely, seeing my dad, visiting with friends. I was already in a rhythm. But this morning was different. My buddy ‘A’ was picking me up and we were heading to Akropong to meet a group of strangers for a hike up the Akuapem mountains. Like any new thing, there was excitement. A little nervousness too; you don’t know what to expect, you don’t know the group, you don’t know what the mountain will ask of you. But since Kilimanjaro, I’ve learned to trust that feeling. A little nerves means the experience will be worth it. And, things always, always work out.
‘A’ picked me up and we headed toward the Eastern Region as the city was still dark and quiet around us.
The group leader (may your soul continue to rest in eternal peace, Jeff) gave us a warm welcome, and we went to meet the others. It took about thirty seconds to feel completely at ease. The warmth, the humor, the easy way this group folded ‘A’ and I in, like we’d been hiking with them for years.
A brief introduction, a short warm-up, and then we were off into the hills and paths of the Akuapem mountain.
Every footstep felt like a real connection to the earth. We climbed and talked and laughed and drank enormous amounts of water because the heat was not giving up.
We stopped to crack open ice cold water at different points along the route. We stopped on a farm to admire delicious looking cocoa. We stopped to take in the views, and those views stopped us completely every time. We crossed a slab over a huge gutter that had no business being as wobbly as it was, and we did it with full humor and zero hesitation. Even when we found out a few minutes later the slab broke and sent some of our group members wading their way through the huge gutter, we found a way to crack jokes.
Every time the tiredness crept in, someone cracked a joke and pulled the whole group forward on laughter alone.
And then, my favorite moment of the entire hike. The steepest section. Someone called it, and we immediately formed a human train, hand in hand, nobody left to figure it out alone. That is when you see the power of human kindness.
We came down the other side and ended up in Awukugwa. Chilled water. Fufu from a chop bar, because we had fully earned it. And then, we broke down a few dance moves. Of course we did. Oh what a day!
Akuapem Mountains, thank you. Hikeremote, thank you, thank you so much for an extraordinary climb.
A Love Letter to Ghana & Going Back
A whole coconut in my hands, the afternoon heat on my shoulders, going nowhere in particular. The vendor with his machete and his stack of coconuts. One clean crack. And for that moment, I am completely, utterly home.
Ghana, this one is for you.
Thank you for the mornings. 7am walks on the beach.
Thank you for keeping my childhood where I left it. Danquah Circle – all the beautiful chaos around it, the same circle. The roads from ElWak through 37, Christ the King, Flair, Morning Star – with sweat dripping down my face, I walked past each one with memories from many moons ago.
Thank you for the people – the old and the new, such a beautiful blend.
Thank you for the crisp air and sunrises on those beautiful mountain ridges.
I came back to rediscover the city that raised me. The city rediscovered me first.
So go back. Walk it. Eat everything. Call your old friends and say yes to the new ones. Stay out alone at night. Dance if you must. Climb the mountain twice. Breath in the crisp air. Walk along the shores and listen to the Atlantic waters. It will take you back.
Ghana gave me all of this, and it’s waiting to give you your own version.
With 
~ Eliza
I hope you always choose open roads to a new adventure.
Leave a Reply