Aburi Botanic Garden – A beauty that never dies

Travelogue


The entrance to the Garden

 

Aburi is one word that occupies an important place in Nigerian history. Aburi is more than a word actually. It is the name of a small Ghanaian town that was chanted with the reverence of a litany in the events that led to the Nigerian Civil War. Aburi was the last theater of peace and reason before the illogic of the gun-nuzzle took over. It was the town where Yakubu Gowon and Emeka Ojukwu met to make the final attempt for a peaceful settlement of the crisis that led to the war. History tells us that Aburi did not fail us; Gowon did. What history does not tell us, however, is that Aburi is more than a treaty town; it is also a picturesque little escarpment on the outskirts of Accra and home to West Africa’s oldest and greenest garden. And perhaps, because of history’s silence, many Nigerians that visit Ghana never get to see this 120-year old splendor in the sun. I almost missed it on my recent visit to Ghana but for the timely suggestion of Godwin Nnanna, a Nigerian journalist that lives in Accra.

Children playing in the Garden

I had been in Accra for 5 days. I had savoured the quieted of Labone, the scenic beauty of Cantonment and the sight and smell of downtown Accra. I had been to Cape Coast and seen the bewitching forest of the Kakum National Park and its mazy walkway that stands 30m high and 330m long. I had also visited the majestic Elmina Castle with its array of haunting relics of our misbegotten past. Elmina had left me bleeding all over with mind-wrenching imageries of the transatlantic slave trade. I was still traumatized by Elmina when I arrived Aburi Botanic Garden. I had traveled up a breath-taking, steep mountain road that snaked like a river past the hilltop castle where the Aburi Accord was struck and stopped over briefly to photograph the beautiful home of Rita Marley, wife of the late Reggae King, Bob Marley.

 

Rita Marley's Villa in Peduase, near Aburi

 

 I had taken in the silky smoothness of the road, the unspeakable peace of the countryside, the quirks of local folks who seemed accustomed to the unfamiliar gaze of strangers and arrived at the regal gate of the Aburi Botanic Garden. A long paved road hemmed in on both sides with tall palm trees wound deep into a lush green garden with thick canopy foliage. A light wind wafted from behind us stirring the fronds of the tall palm trees into a frenzied dance. It seemed a quaint welcome dance. But I took it all in with glee. 

The thick foliage of the Garden

Walking into the garden flung open the doors of memory and invoked images of my childhood in living colour. The chirping of birds on the low lying twigs of trees, the gentle cascade of debris from broken bird-nests overhead, the delicate flitting shadows of overhead canopies dancing on the ground in front of us as the wind shook tree branches above and the magnificent splash of brilliant rays through the leaves that broke into a thousand shards all around us. As we walked further in, it began to feel more like a walk into a friendly rainforest and less like a walk in the garden. Then, gradually, the tall palm trees gave way to even taller trees of all kinds and from all climes. Each tree is diligently identified by its native name, its origin and its botanical name. Further steps took us deeper into the floral bowls of the garden. Birds sang on tree tops above. In the distance, a faint throbbing of hip-hop rhythm serenaded us. We wended our way through the track, weaving through trees, partly egged on by the faint rhythm and the mazy splash of brilliant rays through the thick foliage above. Our search ended soon as we arrived a small clearing where a crowd of youths were dancing to the exploding beat. I remembered that it was Christmas. The season and the spirit.

Aburi International Conference Centre - venue of the famous Aburi Accord

 

Turning away from the party scene, we arrived another clearing. Suddenly the canopied roof of the scenario seemed to have been lifted up to allow a generous splurge of the sun on the verdant green lawn in the open where half-naked children romped about in play and a handful of picnicking Lebanese families sat in a circle over a meal. Standing on the edge of the clearing, I felt transported by the magic of the scenery through a flight of the imagination to a world where there so much peace, the birds herald the sun with a song each morning. On the far edge of the clearing stood a row of houses where holiday makers who wished to spend a night or two could live their dream. But the more I looked at the houses in this forest of flowers, the more they seemed to me like the perfect hideaway for writers who wished to court creative quietude on a blank sheet of paper. I made a mental note.

Outside of the regal gate of the garden, sunset beckoned in colours of bronze. We stepped into it.

 

Rastafarian Gatekeeper guarding Rita Marley's Villa