The sky was clear as we took off, which was nice since the weather in Berlin had been schizophrenic the last few days with downpours, then sunshine, then downpours again. I guess it’s been a while since I’ve had the window seat because seeing Germany sprawled out under me without cloud cover was a lot more exciting to me than it should have been considering the number of flights I’ve taken recently.
We landed in Morocco at Mohammed V airport and stepped out into the first real heat I’ve seen in six months. Most of the terminal was not air-conditioned and apparently you were allowed to smoke inside. Anyway, I got my passport stamped so legally I’ve been in Morocco. I also got some cool orange slippers there (later edit: which didn’t hold up at all).
Twelve midnight rolled around and we got on the stiflingly hot airplane to Accra. I slept most of the way but Olivia became friends with the flight attendants- two Morrocan guys. I went back there and hung out with them when I woke up and they were friendly folk.
The plane touched down in Accra, local time 3:30 am. Humidity about 95%. Accra airport was just what I imagined an African airport would be like: hot, concrete blocked, one storey. The guy who runs the orphanage we’re working at was supposed to meet us there, but he was nowhere to be found so made set camp outside in the pick up area. There was a huge LED lit advertising board glaring at us as we tried to sleep. Ghanaians approached us one after another, all eager to help and wanting to make sure that we had someone to pick us up. One guy insisted we use his phone (paid for by the minute) to call our ride. We were so exhausted by this point that we laid down on the benches and Mom and Olivia fell asleep.
I started to drift off when Raymond finally showed up with his driver/friend Ernest. They led us out to the car- carrying the baggage for the girls- and we proceeded to try and stuff all of our suitcases carrying a months worth of stuff into a tiny BMW sedan. Eventually, we stuck my bag in the back seat and we were on our way.
It was still dark at the time, around 4:30 am, when we started heading out of Accra. Mom, Olivia and I were crammed in the backseat with my suitcase with no seatbelts and no leg or shoulder room. Ernest was a lead foot so we took the highway at about 85 mph. Mom was having a heart attack. I was too tired to care. Then, it started to rain. We were speeding along in the downpour and about half of the oncoming cars didn’t have headlights on in the morning twilight. It didn’t help that most of the cars were painted grey or off-white. Oh well, a lot of the safety standards we take for granted aren’t present in Ghana.
About two hours into our drive we were pulled over for speeding. The officer showed us his radar gun: 62 km/h in a 50 zone. Apparently Raymond had told Earnest to go slow through the town because the speed traps are notorious; Raymond claimed to have been watching the speedometer the whole time. So, Raymond starts arguing with the cop and the cop is arguing right back; all the while I’m laughing my head off in the back seat.
“My bruddah, I respect you as an officer of the law, but I was watching the speed the whole time. You got the number from the car in front of us…”
Eventually the cop had enough and they “arrested” the driver and said that he had to go to court that very day. One of the cops got into our car while Raymond stayed back to negotiate. We ended up driving around the town while the officer gave us a tour. It was really nice actually and in no way as scary as being detained by the police in an African country sounds.
After a while we went back and found Raymond. Apparently he’d apologized for yelling at the officers and so, we were on our way again.
Driving through the Ghanaian countryside is like watching one of those Christian Children’s Fund commercials. People live in mud-brick homes with tin roofs, no running water, and definitely no electricity. Mothers with babies slung across their backs sit in the front and cook corn in big pots over open fires. Women carry big pots and platters of nuts, fruit, and fish balanced on their heads. Naked toddlers run around barefoot in the dirt while beat-up cars and vans speed by on the potholed roads.
However, unlike those aid commercials, everyone looked very contented, healthy and happy. When we drove by and waved, big smiles bloomed on every face because it’s rather uncommon for white folk to pass through.
Outside of the towns, the road conditions rapidly deteriorate. Ernest often had to dodge potholes 4 feet in diameter and about 6 inches at the deepest. We came across a few road repair crews, which consisted of locals filling the potholes with sand.
Every ten or twenty miles there were police checkpoints where uniformed men with AK-47’s lounged around waiting for cars to come by. They give you a quick look-over, move the road-barrier, and then wave you on with a smile.
After about 5 hours of driving (we were told it’d be a 3 hour drive) we bumped down the dirt road to our hotel, Afagame Guesthouse. Afagame means “in a big house” in the local language, Ewe. The rooms are the size of a standard hotel room, but there are some uniquely African touches! Firstly, only half the rooms (2/4) have air conditioning, and it works intermittently. Of course, Mom was about to get on the next flight home when her air-conditioning wasn’t working. The showers, refrigerator, lights, and toilets didn’t work at first. But, we’ve gotten it all worked out and I for one am very comfortable.
The staff here are super friendly and they cater to our every wish. It’s weird for me because I don’t really like being served. They make us breakfast and dinner of Ghanaian fare. West African food is a lot like Gullah “soul food” at home. Lots of spicy fish, rice, okra, yams and fried chicken. Tasty stuff!
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