Home Again Home Again Jiggity Jig

We (Paul Shumpert and Doug Johnson and I) left Nalerigu at 5:30 AM on Tuesday the 12^th last. We drove thru the night to Tamale (TAM-a-lee), dodging donkeys, chickens, goats and cattle who had taken over the road and its residual warmth at night. We arrived at the newly refurbished airport and got through security with little problem. I have failed to mention in these proceedings that the entire backdrop for this mission trip has been the African National Cup games which started a few days after I arrived and continued until the Sunday before I left. Ghana was the host for these biennial football (read “soccer” if N American) games. Ghana was in contention for the entire time until a loss to the Cameroons on the 7^th February. There was no joy in Mudville, on that occasion. However by now the solace of a 3^rd place, consolation victory had turned people’s spirits around from mayhem to “wait 'til next time.” The upside was a number of public work projects, including the Tamale airport.

Our flight to Accra (Ah KHRA) was uneventful but the humidity on arrival was a shock. We had gotten used to the extremely dry conditions in Nalerigu. A sopping wet towel, rung dry, would be bone dry in a half hour. Mirrors fail to fog over during a shower. In Accra, in contrast, sweating occurs with no effort at all, under a ceiling fan. Shirts once dry show a “high tide” line of salt.

We are staying n the “Cantonments” section of Accra at the Baptist guest house, very comfortable, cheap housing. The added advantage is that we get transport to and from the airport reliably. I retrieved some souvenirs I had left, dozed a bit and then the three of us took a cab to “Jimmy’s” the in-spot for ex-pats and natives alike. Jimmy’s is a hotel-restaurant near the waterfront and features such exotic fare as hamburgers, hummus, shawarma (a Levantine form of “gyros”) and a British mixed grill. The ice is safe and the service is slow, allowing for people watching and conversation.

We spent exorbitantly to about 35USD for the 3 of us. We then walked from there to the “African Market,” just a couple of blocks from the Gulf of Guinea, sweating in the heat and the humidity. The African Market is a prix fixe market of African crafts. We looked we considered and we did not buy. We then took a cab to the Cultural Center all the way over on the west side of town. This is a dusty hot sprawling complex of shops and kiosks also selling crafts, cheap souvenirs, expensive and authentic tribal masks and kente cloth. Haggling is considered a required protocol. I had been here during my trip into Nalerigu and sort of knew my way around.

Rules for the “Cultural Centre” 1) Don’t stop if someone calls you “Papa,” 2) Don’t stop if someone says “Just look for a second” 3) Never tell anyone what you have to spend. 4) Wear dark-glasses 5) Always hear the sellers price first 6) Act dismayed at the avariousness of mankind and this particular example thereof 7) Quote a price one fourth to a third what was quoted and no more than half what you are willing to spend. 8) Always be willing to walk away unless the price quotes move down in proportion to your moving up 9) the negotiations belong to the guy who cares the least.

I made a few small purchases (an enameled pin and a koooshwa, a rattle) for a few cedi apiece and Paul and Doug made similar small purchases. The cultural center must be taken in small amounts. If you are once identified as a “buyer” people materialize from everywhere to have you see their wares (many of which are quite fine and a goodly number are dreck). We westerners are probably too polite by half and it takes a good deal of time to extricate ourselves.

The rest of the afternoon is spent trying to stay cool and checking our mail. Dinner at the Baptist Guest house is chicken parmesan, the same as I had going out as it happens, the menu is not extensive and it is Tuesday again. I meet and start talking to Andrew who sports the lilting tongue of an Ulsterman from Belfast. He is a career missionary working in Ghana for several decades. We are both of an age, sweating and white-haired. We share stories of our wives (one each) children (he 3, me 2), the faux pas of US doctors presented with tropical medicine problems and our impressions of missions in Ghana. By the time I get back to our rooms, Paul has crashed and Doug is about ready for bed. We have decided to splurge tonight and turn on the air conditioning, my first since my arrival.

We sleep like the dead and awake at 5AM to be sure to get to the airport to check in. What we learn today is not good, however. The Monday flight had been cancelled due to a bird strike hitting a jet engine (seagull flambé?) and all those passengers have been carried over into today’s flight. Delta has booked another flight to Atlanta and we harbor hopes of going directly to ATL and avoiding JFK entirely. Nonetheless, both flights are delayed and we are to return at 1130AM. On returning, we find that the waiting room for both flights is cramped hot and humid. We did not make the Atlanta flight.

The Atlanta flight leaves about and hour and a half before we do. The mostly silent crowd shuffles forward until an American with a Rastafarian hair-do loudly claims that the Ghanaians are bigoted because his girlfriend has been bumped to the JFK flight at the last moment. He goes on for about ten minutes until he is escorted to the plane by security. It is sort of nice to know that all “ugly Americans” are not Europeans.

We finally get on and situated. The flight is about 12 hours long during which I saw some little bit of West Africa, several movies of dubious significance, several meals of indifferent flavor and a good deal of the inside of my eyelids. Our connecting flight is scheduled for 8:30 PM. We do not arrive until about then and still have to go through customs and immigration. We have no hope of making our connecting flight, the last of the night. We go to get our bags only to discover that a large number of bags are waiting to be claimed and a large number of passengers are also waiting for their bags. It appears that most of the JFK bags got on the ATL flight and vice-versa. After a long tine to get our new flight, hotel vouchers and directions. We dash between buildings in short-sleeves (what jacket I did have was in my suitcase) until we can get a shuttle to a local hotel. I spend until 1 AM trying to find a limo home as all previous plans have been scotched by the delays.

I meet Paul for the shuttle the next morning and we check-in with little trouble. Not surprisingly, the flight leaves an hour late, but we are assigned to first class in a Boeing 777. I notice on sitting down that the man next to me has a New Testament and I strike up a conversation with Pastor Rucker of Pickens County Georgia. He is returning after a mission trip to his adopted ministry in Accra. We trade information, phone numbers and emails.

On arrival we find our bags and Paul sprints off to get his shuttle, Doug has a plane to catch and I still have no way home. After about an hour, I get a one-way rental to Montgomery and arrive about 90 hours after I started from Nalerigu.

I thank all of you for your prayers and concern.