My arrival at Ashesi last Thursday couldn’t have been better timed. I parked close to a group of visitors just arrived on a formal visit. Americans, I guessed; you could tell from their biceps, wide-eyeballs, accent and all. A motor dispatch rider had escorted them from Accra, partly for safety, partly for comfort, but largely as protocol cover to one of Africa’s Top Ten universities, Ashesi, founded in 2002.
Situated on a hilly terrain, Ashesi makes you feel proud as a Ghanaian, taunting the laurels of a small university with a big name. Hear this awesome summary of honors: 1500 student enrollment; leader in undergraduate education, second best in Ghana, among top Ten in sub-Saharan Africa (THE); innovative and forward thinking; 50% women, 50% on financial aid; 25% paying nothing to attend; 27% international students, 32 nationalities represented, and more. That should quietly explain the rich mix of guests that defy the odds and trek to Ashesi daily for formal visits and educational tourism. Ashesi is indeed a tale of treasure buried in rugged landscapes, hard to reach, and crying for constant dialogue between the gown and the town.
Simply said, the rocky road to Ashesi frustrates access by certified residents themselves, and could weaken the University’s global stature if public goodwill does not intervene on a rescue mission. Why this desperate cry?
Whether approaching from Dome-Ashongman suburbs of Accra or Aburi, one cannot avoid the rocky ride to the small Berekuso township that hosts Ashesi. It begins with three kilometres of rugged potholes from Dome Roundabout to the outskirts of Ashongman, where assorted manholes and craters take over, leaving in their trail dispersed islands of bitumen.
And when you thought you were halfway through, you despair, hearing that the trip has just begun. The nine-kilometre stretch of rocky laterite is laced with a spread of preparatory schools, small-scale enterprises, elegant houses and retail stores wrapped in nimbus clouds of dust. Then come sharp-edged gravels that leave souvenir blisters on Michelin tyres; but also, part-submerged boulders, free-style erosion, mid-road rivulets, plus split rocks: collectively signalling no entry to Ashesi University.
Looking ahead, you are comforted seeing a beeline of commercial vehicles also picking their way on thorns in your direction, swaying, jerking, and rocking: ‘Weep not, you are not alone,’ is their message.
You plough through the painful stretch only to hear there are two more peaks ahead–the most prickly as you approach Berekuso. It’s here that vehicles often surrender, and wheel caps fall apart. Well-trained drivers alight to check loose body parts rattling beneath trucks, and pay heed to yelling axles and squeaking ball joints. If vehicle tyres have survived to this point, it’s only by Providence.
Article By: Kwesi Yankah
