Not much has really changed here since tourism development began, by his account. A couple of home stays have opened, but farming still supports nearly everyone. The government promised new jobs; in practice, guiding is close to the only one that's actually materialised.
Electricity has changed more than tourism has, in some ways — its arrival brought refrigeration, which brought more bars serving cold drinks, a small but visible shift in daily life. Phone access remains scarce: around twenty-five telephones serve the whole village, with public phone booths filling the gap for everyone else.
Water still comes from the river daily, supplemented by rainwater in season, though there's talk of a proper system eventually. Toilets are similarly basic — a handful of homes have flush toilets, most use a pit that's periodically emptied by truck and hauled to Ho, the regional capital. Garbage collection doesn't really exist; it's dumped at a few points in the bush and left there. Public transport is irregular at best, hampered by the state of the roads leading into the village.
All the houses and land here remain locally owned. A German visitor recently floated the idea of opening a hotel and restaurant; whether that actually happens, he can't say. Crime is close to nonexistent — the occasional theft of farm produce, nothing more.
Traditional ceremonies continue much as they always have. Couples increasingly live together before marriage, sometimes prompted by a pregnancy, though most still wait for the wedding. He credits the shift less to tourism than to contact with visitors from Accra, whose more modern lifestyle carries its own influence — television, only recently arrived, plays a role too.
When tourists first started coming here, white people were a real novelty. Kids would follow them through the streets calling them obruni.
That novelty has largely faded, though children still occasionally do it. Migration runs mostly outward, toward better job prospects elsewhere; the few who move in tend to come for the quiet, the views, and the cool climate, mostly from elsewhere in the Volta region.
He expects more change ahead — a rebuilt tourist office, more lodging, and the construction jobs that would come with it. What bothers him most, though, is the forest rule: tourists allowed in freely, locals barred entirely.
“You should not make a distinction,” he says, “especially since it are our forests.” His one other request of visitors: stop leaving rubbish behind at the waterfall.