After saying goodbye to my parents and Christian at Logan, I flew to DC where I waited 4 hours and boarded. After boarding, we sat on the runway for an hour before we were told there was an issue with the windshield and if it couldn’t be fixed the flight would be cancelled. It was fixed within the next hour, and I was able to text Simon and tell him I’d be arriving late. 10 sleepless hours later, due to the icy blast of too much AC we were landing in Accra, the capital of Ghana.
I was astonished by how read the earth was, and the dark green of the foliage. The heat when getting off the plane was almost enough to smother you. I made it through customs without a problem and met Charles in the terminal. I was under the impression that Charles had a car and would be my driver, as that was the case with Melissa, but I was mistaken. Charles is a middle-aged man with a thick accent and no car. He had a sign that said “Kiley Welkins” and once he’d taken one of my bags, he hailed us a cab. We traveled maybe 500 feet and were stopped by brutish looking police officers. One of which had a spiked metal club in his hand. The cabbie and Charles were speaking rapidly in a dialect I couldn’t decipher. The officers wouldn’t let us go. The officer with the spiked club put it in front of the wheel of the cab. Apparently it is illegal for non-designated cab drivers to pick up people outside of the airport. Charles and the cabbie pitched in and bribed the officers. We were once again on our way. The driver took us to a street teeming with vendors. On the drive Charles explained the plan for the day and tomorrow, but I only half-understood him. Simon called and was overjoyed that I was in Africa. I wish Simon was close-by because he seems genuinely nice. Charles is ok, but more like a grumpy old man than anyone you’d want to rely on. Charles made a phone call and arranged for a man to meet us at the “station” to exchange “a small amount” of money. When we were at the “station” on the busy vendor infested street, we got out of the cab and into a rusty pile of tin that resembled a van.
The van is a sort of shuttle that goes from Accra through Ghana on the main highway that goes all the way to Nigeria. The van was rickety and we couldn’t leave until all the seats were filled. This took an hour. We started off, and I was enjoying myself, looking out the window at the farmland, full of free-range goats and chickens. About 30 minutes into the drive I asked how much longer, and Charles told me 4 hours. I wanted to cry, but I just continued to look out the window and admire the people getting on and off at various stops. The ride was cramped, 14 people in the van at all times, but it wasn’t so bad until the last hour, when the road was no longer paved. There were ravines in the road that had to be avoided, potholes the size of ponds…finally we were in Aflao, a village on the coast bordering Togo. This was like any of the other villages I’d seen on the way. Dusty, with small storefronts and tons of people. We got out and walked through one store-area. The store and the house are owned by the mother of Madame Philo. The host family situation isn’t so bad, it’s a tenant house and I have my own room on the third floor. I go downstairs to shower and share meals. There’s an indoor (still bucket) shower and toilet. There are four small children, a boy Junior, and girls, Gifti, Stacy and the little girl with an M name that I can’t make out. Tomorrow I will give them flashlights and headlamps. The mother, Mme Philo and her 15ish daughter will get t-shirts and the baby will get Mickey.
I live on the third floor with a sketchy man. He helped me figure out the lock on my door, then came into my room and insisted on washing the dust off the surfaces and sweeping even though I made it evident that I wanted him to leave. Charles left as soon as he’d dropped me off, and I came back downstairs after my encounter with my neighbor to shower and eat. They served me spicy brown rice which I had a few spoonfuls of, and a chicken wing that I didn’t touch. I had my malaria pill and a bag of water. The small children then came to paw at me. They are fascinated with my skin and hair. I told them they can play with my hair when it’s dry. I excused myself and retreated back upstairs. When I arrived, the guy was hanging out outside on the balcony in just boxers and tried talking to me. I gave one word answers and locked myself in my room. I have been here ever since, listening to cicadas and bullfrogs (that sound like they’re as big as Shark!) I am blessed to have my own pillow and a sleepsack. Tomorrow I am being introduced to the leaders of the orphanage/school which is literally a stone’s throw from my room. I am also being introduced to the husband of one of the departed volunteers, who owns the internet café. He will be my contact while Charles goes and attends to family business. Before he leaves he is bringing me to get a phone and some minutes so I can call home. My phone doesn’t work in Africa. I cannot wait to talk to my family and loved ones. I was definitely not prepared for this. The culture shock has been intense, but I am hopeful about tomorrow.
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