Except for Cuba and Ghana
by Loreli We made it! I’m writing this from the Baptist Mission House in Accra, Ghana. We're in our shorts and our swollen feet have happily exchanged runners for flip flops. My computer is actually wet from the condensation… so are we. Here are just a few entries I wrote while in transit, to give you a taste of the first leg of our trip – crossing the ocean – no less exhausting or exhilarating each time I do it.
So we’re at the airport in Toronto about to check in. Becky is excited about this trip because, as she has told me a few times already, she hasn’t really been anywhere… except for Cuba. There’s even the pause each time she says “except for Cuba.” I’m not sure why. Perhaps she doesn’t feel Cuba is a real destination. I wonder if she has a set amount of miles or time zones one has to cross before it counts? I should ask her. The irony, in my opinion, is that her trip to Cuba was a real as it gets. She did a mission project where she entered the culture, ate strange food, and built relationships with Cubans. We check our bags and Becky has to throw out all her jumbo-sized creams, soaps, washes. It is apparent she’s Costco’s most valuable customer, but none of these will be allowed on in her carry on where liquids must come in contains of 100 mL or less. “What do I know?” she says, “I’ve never really travelled… except to Cuba.” On the plane sitting next to us is a young Canadian-Nigerian man. He was born and raised in Nigeria, but has lived in Canada for the past 10 years and is just returning for the first time today. He’s a very polite gentleman and helps us hoist our carry-ons (Becky’s much lighter now) into the overhead compartments. We exchange Ghana/Nigeria stories, as they are very similar, sibling countries if you will, not unlike Canada and USA. I, the supposedly more seasoned traveller (I’ve been to Cuba), had told Becky to hardly bother packing books or magazines. Just zone out to the mini TVs at each seat. But WHAT? Now that we’re on the plane, where are the mini TVs? This throws me right off. Oh, there it is! See that mini TV, way up there, three rows ahead for all of us to share? And me, I forgot to pack the glasses I never wear! I am somewhat relieved because Becky influenced me to purchase a magazine at the airport. I selected this particular one, The Walrus, because of the cover, “Why Canadians Say We’re Sorry.” I apologize to my Canadian-Nigerian friend because now I have to get my magazine from my carry-on in the overhead compartment. While I’m getting the magazine, Becky tells him she’s very excited because she’s never been anywhere… except to Cuba. Poor Cuba! Take off is uneventful. Canadian-Nigeria friend is offered whole row to himself by flight attendant, and he refuses! I don’t know how to politely tell him to reconsider because I think the only reason he could have said no is that he might be appreciating the company. Not to flatter ourselves, but why would anyone refuse that? It distresses me because he’s in the aisle, and Becky’s got the window and I’m already feeling claustrophobic and uncomfortable without any elbow room. I try to settle in, and read from my magazine how Canada is Cuba’s second largest trading partner! Hey, Becky, you've been there!
7-hour layover in Amsterdam. Schipol is torturous. Totally forgot about that in flight. But upon arrival, that feeling of extreme fatigue came flooding back, as if carried over from the last trip. Every flat surface looks heavenly to the weary traveller, but barriers like hand rails and partitions keep you from lying prostrate and catching up on your sleep. We prop ourselves up with our luggage and wriggle around to find the least uncomfortable way to rest. Sleep hits us like a brick. We wake just as suddenly. Time to board? Did you say something? Huh? Only 15 minutes has passed and only my foot won’t wake up.
Finally boarding plane. We're corralled in line with Ghanaians returning or visiting home. A familiar aroma of moth balls and vanilla musk fills my nostrils. These strangers are making me very happy and they don’t even know it.
So happy to see mini TVs for each seat. Such luxury to watch movies for 6 hours I would otherwise never watch. We make a new seat friend, a young woman from Vancouver fresh out of nursing school doing a mission in the “rural, rural part of Ghana.” She will be staying in Accra for one night and then travelling to the village for three weeks. She tells us, they will only get to eat twice a day for the next three weeks. Really, I say? You should visit the nice Lebanese grocery store in Osu and stock up with snacks for your stay. Nah, she wants to live as much like the nationals as she can and, besides, she’d probably give away all of the food she buys. Noble, I think, but I wonder if the Ghanaians she’s visiting will realize how much thought she’s put into this self-denial, and whether they would want her to. She falls asleep, we watch our movies, time flies by. We arrive at Kotoka airport exhausted, giddy, and a little frightened. This is the first time Becky’s done this, except for Cuba you’ll remember, and this is my first time without John-Mark. The air is rich and warm, just like my friends who are here to greet us. Charles, Fred, George, Seth, Isaac, Kassim and Isabella and their sweet baby, Maame. There’s total chaos as they try to get all 10 of us and our luggage packed into two cars. I can’t stop smiling.
Tomorrow’s agenda: visit tourist district, Osu, to get credits for cell phone and US dollars exchanged into Cedis. Then off to TK Beads! Stay tuned! | 
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