This morning is close the windows, put on warm slippers and a sweatshirt cold. The house was 69° when I came downstairs. As if it were winter, I clutched that warm coffee cup between my hands hoping to stave off the cold. I woke up at 7:30 today so it seems my body is finally recognizing it’s home.

Today is Paga day. Paga is the last town in Ghana before Burkina Faso. In my day it was the last town before crossing into Upper Volta. Paga is famous for its sacred crocodile ponds. I visited there forty-two years ago, and it hasn’t changed a bit except for the price. It was 3 cedis for Ghanaians and 6 for non-Ghanaians. I protested that it was wrong to charge white people more, but the man claimed he also charged Africans not from Ghana the same 6 cedis. I asked him how he could tell Ghanaians from non-Ghanaians and he just shrugged. The biggest pond, the Chief Crocodile Pond, is supposed to have around thirty of these sacred crocodiles. No one is allowed to eat the meat or harm the crocs in any way. The pond is lovely with lilies all around the edges and in the middle. A donkey was to one side munching grass. It looked almost idyllic. I tried to see any crocodiles lurking on the surface the way they do in movies but saw none. These beasts are lured from the water by a whistle and the promise of a live chicken which we had to buy. Thomas and I went as close to the edge as we dared, and the man whistled. Out of the pond came one of the biggest crocodiles I’ve ever seen. He ran out of the water on all four legs, and we stepped back, a bit nervous I’ll admit. The croc stopped close to the chicken man and just stayed there immobile for a while. He didn’t look real. The man threw the chicken and the croc grabbed it and ate it in about a minute. A second croc, far smaller than the first, came out of the water to the right of us and started making his way toward us. A small boy scared it away with a branch but it stayed by the edge of the pond and I could see its head above the water. The chicken man then went and held the croc’s tail and asked if anyone else wanted to do the same. When no one was the first to brave the tail, I said yes and up I went and grabbed the end of the tail. After that the men did the same. Thomas wanted his picture taken for posterity. I’ll send it by e-mail to him when I upload my pictures out of the camera. As we were getting into the car, an old man approached us and showed us pictures of the museum like collection of huts and artifacts across the street from the pond. When I asked how much, he said whatever you want so Thomas and I drove across the street.

It was wonderful. The old man was our guide from hut to hut. We were followed by two of his grandchildren. The huts were old and many of their walls had large painted figures. The biggest hut had clay figures that had been dug from the area and were dated to be at least 1000 years old. The old man showed us how the young boys hid on the roof from slavers, other African tribal men who sold their captives to the whites. In the birthing hut the man played a gourd and the music which announced the birth of a son or daughter. He said the hut was still used by some of the local villagers. He had a few local goods for sale, and I bought a beautiful hand-woven cloth and a large calabash which had figures etched on it. The man and I bargained a bit, and I think I got a good price for both. When we were leaving, I left 5 cedis in thanks.

Paga has a slave camp, but I noticed the cost and decided that this non-Ghanaian wasn’t going to pay again. Thomas and I headed back to Bolga.

The road between Paga and Bolga was one of my favorite rides. Lines of large trees periodically appeared on each side of the road and shadowed the road as if you were on a small country by-way. I remember riding to Navrongo, the town between Paga and Bolga, on my motorcycle. I remember the shadows falling across the road from the tree branches covered in leaves. That road has not changed and the ride back to Bolga was a joy.