Going, going . . . Ghana!

First things first I guess. Wendy and I made it safe and sound.

I know some of you have probably been worried but this is the first time that we have had access to the internet since leaving home. As an added bonus, all of our luggage also made it safe and sound: every piece, and not a item broken or missing!

So we are all good, healthy and happy.

The flight was uneventful as all good flights should be. It is a very strange experience traveling that far by plane. It is being nowhere and nobody. We checked in through American customs and immediately lost ourselves in the movement of people and luggage. You take your shoes off and follow along as instructed, moving along with everyone except for that brown-skinned guy who has to wait a bit longer while they swab his laptop for explosive residue.

Being between places is the same as being nowhere. And being nowhere makes you a no one. No one is interested in you, who you are, where you’re from or where you’re going. Five hundred people packed into a plane thousands of feet in the air and not enough room to rest your arms comfortably and you never even learn the name of the guy who’s fallen asleep on your shoulder, or the Russian guy who’s standing in the aisle to talk to his friend and is bent over to hear better, putting his ass right in your face. I’m glad for bony elbows.

We managed to sleep a few hours on the flight to Amsterdam and vowed to stay awake on the flight to Accra. We almost made it.

A couple of hours of sleep was not enough to take away the exhaustion of traveling for twenty-four. We were awake for the flight over Africa. We both had window seats about five rows apart – but Wendy’s seat was behind the wing, so for most of Africa we switched spots so she could check out the landscape.

What I saw of Africa was mostly clouds. Wendy said that what she saw was pretty damn magnificent: what looked like endless sand dunes, with a few lakes and rivers and one very long straight line that might have been a road or a pipeline in Mali or Algeria.

The landing and airport in Accra were something else. The next time some civic booster in Winnipeg complains about the impression visitors get when they arrive by plane, please laugh in his or her face for me.

As we landed, we passed through the cloud cover over the city, and I was able to see dirt roads, the dust even more red then in P.E.I. There were buildings without roofs, buildings without windows and green everywhere. The gray of the clouds and setting sun made the colours even more alive.

The landing itself was okay, a little harder than I like but no big deal. Along the runway, we barreled past field from our runway with an old helicopter sitting in it: no doors, no windows, no propellers. I looked hard but could see no signs of fire and felt a little bit of relief.

The pilot’s final announcement before we touched down was a warning to beware of airport greeters and guides and to never leave our luggage unattended. The plane landed quite a ways away from the terminal, and we got to deplane using roll-up stairs, like heads of state on television. It seemed an illustrious start.

Our plane landed in daylight around 6, but by the time we took the bus to the terminal and got in line for immigration (about half an hour), it was dark. We stood in an hour-long but uneventful line to clear immigrations and customs. Then we picked up our luggage -- all of it in a row, with not a one missing or damaged piece -- and were on our way.

We traveled down a ramp and around a corner. Security stood around looking bored and a couple of guys asked us if we needed a cab. No thanks and we pushed on to the exit.

We stood outside the doors feeling the heat and humidity and stared at several hundred strangers who all stared back from behind metal barricades. Some held signs with names of passengers, others with names of hotels. Some yelled out “taxi!” and it seemed like everyone was trying to get our attention.

We walked along the barricade pushing our luggage and looking for someone with a sign indicating our organization. But we didn’t see anything but a sandwich board that read, “PASSENGERS BEWARE FRAUDSTERS AND” the rest was obscured by dozens of people standing in front of it.

A security guard came up and asked us if we needed a cab. We told him no, someone was supposed to pick us up. He asked who and then went off looking for our ride.

A few moments later the guard reappeared with our organization's guide, who apologized, saying his sign was too small for us to see.

Eventually we got to our guide’s car, but not without the unsolicited “help” of a half-dozen men, who separated our luggage onto two carts, I think so they could fit all their hands on it to push. They helped load the luggage into the car, and then demanded ten American dollars for their effort. I gave them everything I had -- one American dollar -- and off we went, leaving them shouting in our wake (possibly fighting over how to split the cash).

We had a whirlwind ride through the dark to our new home at a house in Osu, which is considered a sort of “trendy,” ex-pat type neighbourhood in southern Accra where you can buy Western food at ridiculous prices at the grocery store and there are numerous restaurants, especially Indian and Chinese. Yesterday we went out for Chinese food and balked at paying the equivalent of $1.60 for a 625-ml Star beer – the price at our corner bar is only 80 cents or so.

The sprawling two-storey house is not like anything you’ve ever seen in Canada. The windows are all sort of venetian-blind style tiered layers that don’t really close (although they are screened) and everything is tile or stone. We had our choice of two bedrooms so we took one on the second floor -- with a balcony!

Our bed is somewhere around a double size, and Wendy says it’s romantic to sleep under the mosquito net. We haven’t seen all that many mosquitoes, though. Winnipeg usually has more mosquitoes in the summer than we’ve seen so far. In fact, we’ve seen far fewer and smaller bugs than we expected. Perhaps there’s a humungous bug season coming up.

Also, although we’ve heard water and electrical service are sometimes intermittent, we’re pleased to report a constant supply of both since we’ve arrived, although apparently the “hot water” taps on any faucet in the house are just quaint reminders of their British manufacture, since there is no water heater.

Not that you’d want to have a hot shower in any case, with the temperature in the high 20s or low 30s with high humidity. We’re trying to slow down when we walk (someone inform Wendy) and have taken to mopping our foreheads and necks with handkerchiefs like the locals.

Anyway, that’s what we’ll report for now until the next time we get to the internet café.

Take care everyone and send us email. We miss you all!