Ghana Journal - First Impressions

After such a long time away from my blog and such a plenitude of thoughts and feelings about my visit to Ghana, I've decided to describe my experiences by publishing my journal in small doses,hoping that you'll read what interests you and quit when you feel bored and perhaps return to my blog whenever you like.

What follows is an abbreviated description of our non-stop flight from JFK to Accra, which turned out not to be non-stop after all.

Sunday/Monday, July 22 and 23

Our trip at JFK began with the dismaying discovery that Rosie did not have the proper stamp in her passport; the check-in manager said we might have to purchase a second visa upon our arrival in Ghana.

Travelers to North American airlines are permitted two pieces of checked luggage each. I had agreed to take a 65-pound box of medical supplies and Rosie carried medical journals in one of her suitcases. The MAP packs, as they are called, were the result of some serious fund-raising by a student group at Mount St. Joseph Academy, which has an affiliation with students in a high school in Cape Coast, not far from where we’ll be living. Sarah Collier, who is currently leading this group, is a quilting friend of mine, and her enthusiasm for Ghana rivals my own.

We had little trouble getting the MAP International Package through check-in, and we bid farewell to Mary and Richard and got in the security line. Departure time was set for 3pm, but boarding was delayed because of a passenger on our flight who had a medical emergency. Once we boarded, we sat idle for 3 hours, until the medical team determined that the passenger wasn’t fit to fly and loaded him into an ambulance. We left the ground at 5:30pm.

The passengers were elegantly dressed in such colorful Ghanaian clothing that it was like being treated to a fashion show. Some of the men wore white shirts, suits and ties; others were clad in batik shirts. A young mother sitting to the right of us had three children; the oldest was about 4, and she was traveling alone.
The planeload might have been called the Day Care Express; there were so many infants and toddlers

In the middle of the night, the captain announced that, due to unusual weather conditions and contrary winds, we needed to make a landing at Cape Verde Islands for refueling. We set down on Sal, a tiny island near the westernmost tip of Africa. The detour added another hour to our flight time, 16 hours in all.

We arrived in Accra at 10:30am. The immigration officer saw that Rose’s passport lacked a proper stamp, so we were taken to a supervisory office and questioned. After what seemed like a long time, the official wrote down the visa application receipt number and stamped her passport – good for 24 days.

Melissa and her lifelong friend Greta were waiting for us, and we loaded all our luggage into a taxi and set off for Ajumako, the village where the guesthouse is located. The taxi’s windshield was cracked in three places, a tattered American flag air freshener dangled from the rear-view mirror, and a small Bible lay on the dashboard. It was immediately apparent that emissions controls are non-existent in Ghana; diesel smells were overwhelming.

I can’t begin to describe the sights along the highway that runs along the coast. Women and men carrying enormous bundles on their heads – one man had two auto tires on his head, arms swinging free – and the merchants offered an assortment of merchandise that would boggle the mind: crates of apples; sunglasses, unskinned animals that we later learned are rodents weighing 8 to 10 pounds, commonly known as “grasscutters”, plastic lawn chairs, great iron gates, carved wooden doors, all manner of foodstuffs, clothing, kitchenware and pottery -- and elaborately-designed caskets.

Most of the rough-hewn shops bore religious names: above a Mercedes logo were the words “God First Auto Repair.”

Billboards and signs advertised various sorts of private schools, and we saw many children walking along the highway in their school uniforms – brightly colored and beautiful to see. It was apparent that education is a priority in Ghanaian culture.

Closer to our destination, we caused a sensation; as we drove through the small villages, children waved and shouted: “obroni, obroni!” The word means “white person,” and we were to hear it so often in the weeks ahead that we soon became oblivious to it.

The architecture of our guest house reminds me of a Spanish hacienda, with a small indoor courtyard where laundry is hung, and rambling hallways, all on one floor. Our room is furnished with two queen-size beds and one night stand. Incredibly, there is a television set, sitting atop an unopened apartment-sized refrigerator. No closets or hooks; we will be living out of our suitcases. Down the hall is a small room with a toilet and trash can, where all toilet paper is deposited. The adjacent room contains a shower (cold water only); there is no sink, so teeth are brushed in the shower room.

We took a walk to the house next door, where Melissa’s mother-in-law lives with Kwesi’s sister Dora and her toddler twin sisters. Dora was sickly as a child, so she never went to school. Greta remarked that Melissa has the best of all possible family relationships: a mother in law who loves her even though neither can understand a word the other says!

In the front yard, a mother goat had given birth to two kids – the placenta was fresh in the pen, yet the little black babies were frisking all about.

Rose and I took a walk down the road toward the village of Ajumako, waving to passing cars; nearly everyone tooted their horns. Children tagged along with us; one little girl gave Rose a “high five.”

We turned back at the church, where boys were practicing their hymns under their music master’s direction. He invited us in and I took their pictures. Everyone smiled.

Now it is nearly 6:30pm; I have been awake for more than 24 hours, but I don’t feel one bit tired. What a magical day!