By Sharon Zoe Williams
DAMBAI, OTI REGION — On the surface, the water is calm. But beneath the shimmering expanse of the Volta Lake at the Dambai Ferry Point lies a haunting tally: 11 boat accidents between 2023 and 2025. Tens of lives—fathers, traders, and school-bound children—have been swallowed by the same waters that serve as the region’s primary lifeline.
As the sun beats down on the Oti Region, two worlds exist side-by-side at the water’s edge. In one, the massive, metal Dambai Ferry groans under the weight of vehicles and passengers. In the other, narrow wooden engine boats bob precariously, loading human cargo for a journey where the only safety net is often just “God’s grace.”
The “Balance-Balance” of Fear.
For many, the choice between the ferry and a private boat isn’t about preference; it’s about time.
”If you just come and the boat is ready, you are good to go,” says Nari, a traveler from the Oti Region. She has just stepped off a wooden boat, her face reflecting a mix of relief and lingering anxiety. She describes the harrowing difference between the two vessels with visceral clarity.
“When we are sitting on the boat, you see the water. We are afraid small-small because of the way it’s doing ‘balance-balance.’ It’s shaking; it’s not stable. On the ferry, you don’t even know you are moving.”
Despite the “balance-balance” fear, Nari—like hundreds of others arriving from funerals or markets—wore no life jacket. Why? Because none were offered.
The Life Jacket Paradox
The safety gap is staggering. While the ferry crew boasts of a vessel designed with “neat buoyancy” that won’t sink immediately, the reality on the private wooden boats is a grim game of Russian Roulette.
“They don’t provide anything,” Nari insists, contradicting claims by some operators.
But even when equipment is available, a strange cultural hurdle emerges. Some passengers reportedly reject life jackets, citing “mal-ease” or fears of sickness from shared gear. It is a paradox that frustrates safety advocates: in a place where 11 people perished in a single 2024 capsizing on the route to Njare, safety is often traded for convenience or comfort.
The Captain’s Watch: 12 Years on the Water
High above the deck in the ferry’s wheelhouse, Captain Ebenezer Dukla keeps a steady hand on the pulse of the lake. A veteran with 12 years of experience, Dukla is the face of the “safest watercraft in the world.”
The work is not without its trials. The captain admits to navigating through “sudden strong winds” and heavy storms that threaten to drift the vessel. Yet, he maintains a calm confidence, even when pointing out the technical improvisations required to keep the aging ferry moving.
“These are the steering wheels,” he says, gesturing to the controls. “It’s defective now, so it has been transferred to the push button. It’s not the right way, but it is manageable for now.”
It is a sobering reminder that even the “safest” option requires constant vigilance and resources.
A Bridge of Dreams and Danger
About 20,000 people cross this stretch of the Volta Lake every month. For those heading to remote villages like Njare or Kudokope, the ferry—restricted to its short-cross path—is not an option. They are forced back into the wooden canoes, back into the “balance-balance,” and back into the hands of fate.
As the ferry horn blares, alerting the deck crew of another departure, the message from the crew is clear: the serenity of the ferry offers peace of mind that no engine boat can match.
But until more ferries are provided to maneuver these routes, the people of the Oti Region will continue to dance with the deep, hoping that today’s “Daily Crossing” isn’t their last.
