|
Getting your Trinity Audio player ready...
|
Photography and Words by Bright Owusu-Konadu
Standing atop Mt. Gemi after a steady climb was one of the most rewarding moments in life. This hike was unlike any other one I had done in the past. It was a grueling 3 hours hiking from Gbadzeme to Amedzofe to Mt. Gemi and back to Gbadzeme.
Two hikes up the mountain in one day was a personal record in my almost three decades of hiking Gemi mountain. It felt good that I was accomplishing this feat in my 40s. I had sold my village, Gbadzeme, and Amedzofe as great hiking destinations with many photographing opportunities to my friends, Dominic and Charles. They knew that, if all that failed, they were guaranteed a cool and relaxing break from Accra, at an altitude of about 700m in the highest habitable land in Ghana. The morning hike up was fun and capped with a long photo walk through Amedzofe to capture the sunrise and the waking town. I had agreed to chaperone Charles, a photographer and architect, during which I schlepped Charles’ long and heavy telephoto lens, as his new apprentice.
In return, I received a patient lecture on different light sources and how they produced pictures with dramatic effect, using the sunrise as an example. He explained how a rising or overhead sun eliminated shadows and hues, thereby flattening images. The conversation about natural light, seasons and microclimate naturally led to plans for future photo walks, including one in the evening and a future trip during the rainy season. Seeing my village through the eyes of outsiders always brings me joy. Dominic raved about the vistas from our hotel and the serenity of a location in the mountain. It felt like a spiritual encounter, as we sat together and talked about our different experiences that morning. Even the quiet, broken only by a quip here and there, felt more like a group activity than solo introspection. The freshly tapped palm-wine provided by the hotel further fueled these reflections.
The evening’s hike was dramatic in comparison and, consequently, more rewarding. Dominic joined us this time and was impressed with the sights. Charles went about setting up; to replicate shots he missed as a result of the harsh morning sun. I busied myself with negotiating a lower charge for entry to the hiking trail. I smugly reminded the young volunteer guide that I was a native of the land and had 30 years’ experience hiking up Mt. Gemi. This earned a chuckle from the folks at the ticketing office. Charles rolled his eyes. Everyone cheered the resulting rebate . The harmattan dryness and haziness was more severe than the day before, when we arrived at Abraerica Hospitalities. It also produced a spectacular sunset. The dust in the air refracted the sunrays just so, touching the snaking valley road and the Volta Lake, in the distance, with gold. The dryness was quite insistent, with accompanying plumes of smoke, giving the pictures a distinct effect. A crescendo of crackling sounds accompanied the smoke that was soon impeding a clear view of the horizon and towns we were photographing.
In what felt like a sneak attack, we were suddenly assailed by a bush fire ravaging the peak of the hill just a few miles from Mt. Gemi! It was as beautiful as it was devastating to behold. We abandoned our other photographic interests in favor of the fiercely raging fire, mostly out of concern for our safety but, also, intense curiosity. Soon, our cameras were pointed in the direction of what looked like a living ring of fire encircling the crest of the hill, cutting a path of burnt shrubbery in its destructive path. We watched the fire creep up the hill from the windward side, top it, and loudly descend into the valley towards the Vane township. Our initial curiosity was soon replaced by apprehension and wonder.
The image of one eternally raging orange orb on its descent in the sky to the left, and a raging orange bush fire on its descent to the right, will replay in my mind for years to come. Back at the hotel, I wondered how something so devastating could look so spectacular all at once. Witnessing beauty like that can be confusing. Were we to be silent and helpless witnesses, screaming and helpless witnesses, or documenting but, still, helpless witness? I remembered my great uncle’s recollections of the great famine of 1983, during a visit on the first day. He described fires that came over the hills from neighboring Togo to ravage the little cocoa and food crops that had survived the drought. To witness a similar event the next day was transformative. There is so much to experience going to the same place over and over again.
