Departure from Accra

Tuesday, July 9^th – Monday, July 15, 13

            It’s been nearly a week since my last journal entry, in which time I’ve covered an incredible amount of ground.  On Tuesday the 9^th, I had an all too familiar day.  After a  leisurely morning of Joy Family Lodge breakfast, a little lounging and reading, it was time to begin packing for the next voyage – Accra to London.  I quickly realized that I had far more to bring outof Ghana than I had to bring in, meaning I’d have to purchase another bag to carry on the plane.  Keith and Dave also wanted to head out to spend the rest of their money, so after breakfast, the three of us headed up to Amasaman. 

            After the twenty-minute walk to the marketplace, we paused to enjoy a fresh coconut, prepared right before our eyes.  I purchased another cheesy plastic bag to carry on the flight, and with ample time to kill, we decided to just take a walk and get lost.  And we did.  From the marketplace we traveled inland, away from the main road, into a neighborhood.  As I’ve explained before, the term Obrunimeaning “White Person”  can seem derogatory at first, but in places where whites are so rare, I imagine yelling it is akin to me yelling if I saw someone famous or an alien; they may have personalities or be no different, aside from appearance, but the shock of seeing them is cause for excitement and immediate classification outright. 

            We walked for over an hour, on dirt roads, losing the sound of the road.  It’s been a real gift to spend the second half of my trip with fellow Americans, not just because they share the same sense of humor and cultural references, but because it’s lonely to travel alone in a foreign place.

            We followed the sound of horns and traffic, and eventually made it back to the Amasaman road, and back to the Lodge.  The rest of the early afternoon consisted of packing, enjoying one last shower, lunch, and finally, arraigning a ride to the airport (last minute I might add).  Keith asked me to accompany him to the Amasaman lorry park, and minutes later we were waiting for a lorry up from Fise Junction.  I hailed one down, and soaked in the next half hour of true Ghanaian culture.  Me ko Amasaman I said.  Bako Sen?  I paid the driver, and saw squished between a large madam and her infant children.  At the stop, Keith and I ran across the highway to the lorry park and approached the first lorry in the shade, the driver visibly asleep in the front seat. 

            We knocked on the door, and the mate answered.  Commence typical Ghanaian bargaining.  First the greetings.  Ma aha Driver, Mate, Ete sen? We asked.  Me Pawa Chow, me ko Kotoko Airport.  Sen Sen? Thirty, Thirty five Ghana? Keith asked?  The driver, obviously a little shaken from his deep slumber talked to his mate after shaking his head.  Oh dabbi dabbi.  Fifty.  I looked at Keith and shook my head, just as the driver did with his mate.  Silence punctuated each exchange.  Dabbi.  Me pawa chow, te so, forty five, we dash you some, ye ko, Keith said.  Silence and another stare down.  Ok.  Ye Ko.

            We hopped in the front, drove down to the lodge, loaded the bags, and headed to the airport.  The ride was quick and the atmosphere was jovial.  The students were excited to be heading home, Dave was talking about his upcoming vacation to Hawaii, and I was excited to head on another adventure, still deliberately sucking in the most of Ghana I could before I left.  

            The rest of the waiting passed quickly.  We dropped our bags off at the British Airways flight terminal, ate dinner across the street at the Obruni restaurant, and Made our way to our gate.  I peeled off from the group to make a conference call back to the states.  Back at Pitzer College, the Green Bike Program where I’m the treasurer is undergoing a relocation process.  The Student Involvement Coordinator, Drew Herbert, and my friend Yeyo and I all talked details of the move as if we were sitting at the same table.  It’s remarkable, and sometimes scary how connected we can all be. 

            I had one last beer with Dave and Keith at the airport bar, blowing the last 5 Cidi bill I had.  Then came the ceremonious exit our of Ghana, just as it was coming in.  I handed the employee my ticket, walked down a staircase, and was let onto the tarmac, unhindered by ropes or vigilant airport security.  Truly Ghanaian, I just made my path to the plane, walked up the staircase, and turned around to say a final goodbye to Accra.  Next Stop – London.