Posted tagged ‘Accra’

“He was a bold man that first ate an oyster.”

January 20, 2013

One of the mouse traps in my bedroom has disappeared. I did a cursory hunt last night when I was going to bed, but I didn’t find it. My guess is the occupant scratched and pushed and moved it, but that’s just a guess, a good guess though as past occupants also managed to move it. Their exertions used to wake me up. The missing trap has to be near the bookcase on which I had been setting them (if you call putting in peanut butter setting them). Later, when it gets lighter, I’ll do a better hunt.

I haven’t caught a mouse in two days so my old record stands.

Tonight is Patriots’ football. I made chili yesterday and have put it on low this morning so it can finish cooking. I have corn bread and some toppings for the chili: cheese, chopped jalapeños, sour cream and Fritos. I’m thinking chili and football on a cold winter’s night are a perfect combination.

I wonder sometimes how food comes into our lives. I don’t mean the common every day sort of meal but different foods. My mother never made chili or any kind of Mexican food, but my sisters, my brother and I love it. I wonder where we first tasted it. Middle Eastern food is a favorite of mine: hummus, tabouleh, falafel and baba ghannoush, but that I can trace to Ghana. In Accra in those days there were many Lebanese restaurants, and they were cheap which is a great find for a Peace Corps volunteer in the big city on little money. Ghana was also where I first tasted Indian food. It was at the Maharaja, a restaurant compete with pillows on the floor for seating. I have no idea what prompted me to taste all that foreign food back then as some of it was not visually appealing, but I think it was my being a bit adventurous in another country. I have tried stuff which I really hated including blood sausage. It was probably the name which put me off even before the tasting. Thai food is among my favorites. I usually hit my favorite restaurant, a hole in the wall, at least once or twice a month. There used to be a Caribbean restaurant in Falmouth, and I’d make the trek just for the goat curry, but that restaurant closed a long time ago.

When I read about a restaurant serving different foreign foods, I make a note of the name and address and put it in a book. It is my I hope to eat there book. The list includes a Moroccan, Indonesian and Caribbean restaurant.

My taste buds would love some more exploration. It’s been a while.

“He is the happiest, be he king or peasant, who finds peace in his home”

September 18, 2012

I made it: I’m finally home! Gracie was crazy, and the cats head-bonked me and purred. I greeted them and then went upstairs to take a nap. I left my luggage in the middle of the floor and dragged my tired body upstairs. After, I came down to unpack a bit. Right now the laundry and two empty suitcases are sitting in front of the cellar door. I’m hoping the laundry elves will get busy and a pile of  clean, folded clothes will be there to surprise me.

The rides home were unspectacular: no missing flights, on-time arrival and departures and pure exhaustion after nearly eleven hours from Accra to New York. I then had to haul my bags through customs and down to the ongoing flight luggage counter. I waited three hours for my flight to Boston which felt like a minute long after the first flight. I got the bus and was home by 12:40, seventeen hours after the first take-off.

I need to tell you about my last few days in Ghana. I was back in Accra for one night then went down to Cape Coast. It is a beautiful city. Many of the buildings are old and have wooden second floors with shuttered windows. The houses are brightly colored with pink being popular. The streets are narrow and crowded with market stalls on each side which makes travel slow. As you approach Cape Coast you can see the ocean, the palm trees and fishing boats not far from shore. The easiest building to see is Cape Coast Castle on a buff right on the water. It is painted a brilliant white. The castle is on the Historic Register. It is where you’ll find the famous Door of No Return through which the slaves, chained together, walked on their way to the ships which were headed to the Caribbean and the coast of America. The tour guide was excellent. She took us to the male and female dungeons, the quarters of the British captain who ran the fort, the  punishment cell where slaves who resisted were left without food, water or light and finally to the ramparts where we saw the look-out tower across the way and the cannons lined up facing the ocean. Next to the male dungeon is a plaque commemorating the visit of the Obamas. Grace, my former student, asked if the Obamas had to pay. The guide laughed. It was hot and I had beads of sweat down my face, my constant condition in Ghana.

We stayed at a guesthouse on a hill overlooking the city. It was the most expensive of any lodgings I had had in Ghana. Each room was fifty cedis ($25.00), and I had to pay for three: mine, Grace’s and the driver’s, but the room were enormous and Grace was overwhelmed. She wanted pictures of the room. Breakfast was part of the room price. It was the usual breakfast: eggs cooked as almost an omelet but browned rather than fluffy usually with onions and sometimes also green peppers. It is eaten in a toast sandwich. Those egg sandwiches are delicious and available all over Ghana. This breakfast also included pieces of sweet paw paw (papaya) and bananas.

We hit the road after breakfast and went further down coast to the village of Beyin. The road was mostly unpaved, but the scenery was gorgeous with the ocean not far off. The waves had white caps and the beaches were crowded with palm trees. We stayed at the Beyin Beach Resort, a fancy name for the thatched roofed bungalows and two chalets. The bungalows had two single beds, each covered my mosquito netting, and shared bathrooms. The hot water was welcomed. Breakfast was extra but worth it. I had real brewed coffee and real milk. I also got a chocolate croissant and shared with Grace and Tankwo, the driver. They loved the chocolate.

We left right after breakfast and drove next door to get tickets to see the stilt village of Nzueleo. We then walked down the street to where we took the boats, more like canoes. Each had two paddlers, one at each end. Grace had never been on a boat before. She and the driver wore life jackets. The woman who gave us the tickets said non-Ghanaians never take the jackets but Ghanaians always do. Few of them know how to swim. Unless they live by the ocean, there are few safe places to swim without the threat of  schistosomiasis (bilharzia), trypanosomiasis (sleeping sickness), onchocerciasis (river blindness), and, until recently, dracontiasis (guinea worm) which Ghana feels has been eradicated.

The guides paddled us through marshland to Nzulezo. The trip took about 45 minutes and was beautiful. We saw all sorts of birds and flowers. We reached the village which is on stilts and located on one side of Lake Tadane. We left the boat for the wooden walkway through the village. The houses are wooden and most have thatched roofs. We were told that the number in the village is somewhere between 300-500 but no one is sure. I couldn’t take pictures of adults without permission, but I could snap the children. The village has a bar, two churches and a school. Most houses had a TV. When I asked why they lived in that village, I was told that their ancestors were fleeing from enemies and were guided to this spot by a snail. The villagers make money by brewing and selling akpateshie, a local gin. They load containers on boats and paddle to the village to sell their Akpateshie. We stayed in the village for a small while, had a cold drink then went back to the boat for the return trip. Two other boats were paddled by us, both filled with “obrunis” or white people. They waved. We got to the car and drove most of the day to Accra and my last two nights in Ghana.

I spent Saturday doing last-minute shopping and packing. My bags were really heavy, especially the carry-on as it had two pieces of pottery, heavy thick pottery bowls in which to grind things like ginger, peppers or even onions. One bowl was for me and the other a gift. On Sunday Grace and her husband took me out to a farewell lunch. They chose a Chinese restaurant which I had pointed out to Grace while we were shopping. Neither had ever eaten Chinese food before. They both liked my choices and Grace thought she would bring her son there in October for his birthday. Her husband was surprised the bill was not too large but we had shared the dishes: curried chicken fried rice, vegetable tempura and beef with cashews. The vegetables weren’t hot so both Grace and her husband used the hot sauce brought with the meal. I tried just a bit and even my lips were burning.

I went to the airport early and hugged Grace and her husband good-bye. Grace says she’ll come here for a visit and we’ll see each other soon. I checked in early and went to the Adinkra lounge with its free drinks, food and wi-fi. I had a three-hour wait but in the comfort of air-conditioning. At 9:30 I boarded my flight, which left at 10:10 and arrived in NY at 5:30. My flight for Boston left at 8:30; I took the 10:45 bus from Logan to Hyannis and was home by one. My friends had me to dinner. I came home and went to bed around 10, which was 2am my body time. This morning I woke up at 4:30 which is why you are reading this extended travelog.

I am enjoying my second cup of coffee and will go shortly to the drive-way for my papers, the first ones in over three weeks. It seems so strange to be wearing a sweatshirt as the morning is cold. Where are the roosters?

Greetings from Accra

September 12, 2012

Sunday morning I was awakened at 4 when the air-conditioner went back on  with all its rumbles. I hadn’t heard it go off, but the sound of its return was loud enough to roust me. During the night, the electricity in Bolga and the surrounding villages was turned off at different times for two hours. I suppose it was to conserve electricity but no one knew for certain. “It is what they do,” was the answer to why. Later, around 11, the electricity for the whole country went off. It came back slowly with Bolga being the last around 8 that night.

Well, after I was up so early, I finally stopped reading and got dressed around 6, made my disgusting coffee and went to the roof which is begging to be a patio. All it needs is a table, chairs, an umbrella and mosquito netting. From my perch on high, I watched the morning. I could see and smell the smoke from morning fires. From the compound beside the house I heard a baby cry. Roosters were greeting the day, one to each side of the house, but I couldn’t see them.  On the road I could see a man carrying a table on his head. I wondered about that table. A woman came out of the house, walked into the tall grass and returned in a bit with some eggs. Small girls carried empty then full buckets to and from the bore hole. The air was clear and there was a morning breeze. It was too early yet for the sun to grab the day. Mornings in the village are a joy to watch.

Part II  Meet the Mother of Chiefs

Sunday afternoon I was told to be at the chief’s house at 1:30. As I had met him before, I didn’t know why. When I arrived, four of my students were there. The chief was waiting and explained to me that I would be thanked for teaching these women and for returning to Ghana by a traditional ceremony. I was to become the mother of chiefs and I would be given a new Ghanaian name. I sat in a chair in the middle of the room then was told to stand up and raise my hands over my head. Lillian, a student and one of the wives of the chief, then took a fan on which was cloth, sandals and jewelery.  She passed it around me 4 times then took it and moved it back and forth in front of me 4 times as well. Then she and one of the elders started dressing me in Ghanaian cloth, 3 pieces. First came the skirt, then the top and finally a headpiece of cloth. All of my clothes were now covered by the Ghanaian cloth, the same cloth from which fugus or smocks are made. The chief announced my new name was (phonetically) an a Mah, mother of chiefs.  During all of this, a  photographer had been taking his own pictures and some with my camera. My students were going to order copies. After all of the festivities were finished, the elders accompanied me to my house (substitute car here as the village is too far). They took pictures of me walking to the car and getting in with the help of the elders. The ceremony was finished.

It was amazing. My students had planned it with Lillian and the chief. They had bought the cloth and all the accessories.  I was told that I would always be called by my new name by any FraFras. I couldn’t have been more honored.

On Monday we left late and made it only to Tamale (tam, as in rhymes with arm, a lay). On Tuesday we made it to all the way Accra with only one stop- to see the monkeys. Today we are traveling to Cape Coast and Elimina.

Next journal entry: the monkeys!

“Celebrate the happiness that friends are always giving, make every day a holiday and celebrate just living.”

August 18, 2012

Some time during the night the thunder woke me up. It was house shaking, but I didn’t care. I just rolled over and went back to sleep. When I woke up just before 9, it was to a dark, damp morning. It had rained, and I missed it. Outside looks a bit lighter than it had so maybe a bit of sun is on the way though the prediction is for showers.

The countdown to my trip has officially begun. I will be winging my way to Ghana one week from today. The pre-flight list has been activated. Today I will get to cross off two of the items. I know Zoey likes to follow my progress across the world so here are my flight numbers:

Boston to New York, August 25th: Delta Flight 1091 leaving at 5:55pm and arriving at Kennedy at 7:35.   New York to Accra: Delta Flight 26 leaving at 8:30 and arriving at Kotoka at 11:30 am on Sunday, August 26th. There is a four-hour difference between here and Ghana so the flight is close to 11 hours long. My return trip begins on September 17th: Delta 27 leaving Accra at 10:10pm and arriving at Kennedy at 5:05 am. A few cups of coffee and a newspaper later, Delta flight 867 leaves at 8:20am and will wing its way to Logan Airport where I’ll land at 9:44. I’ll grab my bags and then wait for the bus to take me to the Cape, arrival time unknown as I have yet to buy my bus ticket or check the schedule.

My birthday was a wonder. First, my friends and I waited for nearly an hour for the trip that wasn’t. The lobster cruise had been cancelled, and the call announcing that had been made after we’d left so we didn’t know. Neither did the other people waiting. My friend called and was told the news while someone else checked her home phone and found the call had been made at 3:10: boarding was at 3:30 so we all missed the call. We left the marina and tried to figure an alternative. On our summer to do list is the Lighthouse Inn for drinks so we headed to West Dennis. My friends had never been there, but right away they loved the outside tables right on the water. It was so breezy all of the table umbrellas were spinning, and the beach grass was swaying almost to the ground. We ordered drinks and appetizers and watched some people learn to drive their jet skis. Most got the hang of it but one woman was going in circles. The ocean was rough with small white caps, and they were moving her and she let them. She looked afraid to give the jet ski gas. She finally did and went forward a bit then must have panicked as she stopped and went in circles again. She amused us by doing that several times. Finally we lost interest and ordered another round then ordered dinner which was delicious. Our alternative to the boat had been wonderful, and we decided that the boat ride would have been quite choppy given the wind and the size of the waves so we were content on land watching the ocean, the gulls and the woman go in circles.

After dinner we left and went to my friends’ house. They brought out a cake and sang Happy Birthday. I blew out the candles and opened my gift, a calendar filled with pictures of our visit to Fenway Park. To end the evening we played Phase 10, our favorite card game, and I lost. It was the only loss of the night!

What’s right is beautiful: what’s beautiful breeds joy: what breeds joy is goodness.”

June 29, 2012

I can feel the warmth coming. It’s that sort of a morning, a morning still and dark, a humid morning. Sounds seem louder: a dog barking from down the street, cars going by the house and the clicking of Gracie’s collar when she runs around the yard. Every now and then she comes into the house usually panting from her run. Gracie just wants a pat and the assurance I’m still here then she goes back outside.

Tonight is a play and that’s it for my weekend dance card, but I’m just fine with indolence. I figure the deck is as fine a place as any to spend my time.

I seldom watch TV in the daytime, but today I made an exception. The Brink’s Job is offered On Demand. I love that movie because it takes place in Boston and a couple of scenes are in the town where I grew up. They chose it because the uptown was frozen in time, a perfect 50’s time. Since then, however, uptown has changed, but in the movie I get to see my town, the one I remember from my childhood.

I need to get a couple of passport pictures so I can send for my Ghanaian visa. Last year the visa ran out before I left, but, just as I expected, no one noticed when I was leaving. Ghana takes a lackadaisical approach to both entires and departures. No one checked my yellow shot record when I arrived, and they took only a cursory look at my passport. All of that reminded me of a re-entry when I was in the Peace Corps and returning to Ghana after traveling. I was at Kotoka International and was denied re-entry despite my resident’s visa and my re-entry permit. A cholera epidemic had started while I was gone and without a shot I couldn’t enter. I explained I wasn’t a casual visitor: I lived in Ghana and wanted to go home. No was the answer. I then asked the official if he’d let me in if I raised my right hand and swore to God to get a shot. He said yes so I swore to get a shot and off I went right to Peace Corps where I got the shot just as I promised.

“Life is like a B-movie. You don’t want to leave in the middle of it but you don’t want to see it again.”

June 23, 2012

 

Today is cloudy and only 71°. I’ve put the screens in the doors and opened the windows. After three days of the AC and isolation, the world is back all around me. I can hear the neighbors next door chatting on their deck, lawnmowers, cars and voices from down the street. The breeze from the windows is a delight and welcomed after the horrific heat of the last three days. It will be in the 60’s tonight and by Tuesday down to the 50’s. Gracie isn’t even panting.

The world is in danger of a new ice age on syfi because of volcanic eruptions in Iceland, but an ice age mightn’t be all that bad an idea as alien insects will be by later, and the cold might deter them from world domination. Today is disaster/bug day on syfi all leading up to an earthquake unleashing monstrous spiders on New Orleans in tonight’s movie. Where’s the popcorn?

It won’t be long before the deck movies start. My friends have never seen Ferris Bueller so it will be the first movie. After that, I’m in a quandary. My taste is different, and I have no ideas as to which movies they’d find entertaining. I struck out last year a few times, but I do have some musicals, not to my liking, but I can sit through most movies as long as I have popcorn and nonpareils. I’m thinking West Side Story which is the one musical I actually like.

In Ghana, the Hotel d’Bull in Bolga, used to show movies on the white wall in the courtyard. I always bought super seats for about a quarter and sat on roof  which had patio chairs and tables. I ate kabobs, mostly beef but a few liver, and saw really old movies: American westerns and Indian movies, pre-Bollywood but still filled with singing. When I went to Accra, I’d always go to the movies. West Side Story was one of the films I saw. Is Paris Burning and The Thomas Crown Affair were a couple more. They too were old but at least were in color. The theaters had seats you placed wherever you wanted, and the screen was outside. If it rained, you picked up your seat, moved to the overhang  and continued watching.

When I traveled in other countries during school vacations, most American embassies had a movie night. I remember being eaten alive by mosquitoes in Niamey, Niger while I was watching a really bad WWII movie, but my standards back then were pretty different based on the rarity of movies. I’d watch just about anything.

Now that I’m thinking about it, my taste hasn’t really changed all that much.  Nothing better than a B movie to while away the day!

 

” I love the rain. I want the feeling of it on my face.”

June 19, 2012

The weather is the same as it’s been. The paper calls today partly cloudy. I always think of that forecast as a half-full or half-empty sort of weather observation. Why can’t it be partly sunny? For tomorrow, the first day of summer, Mother Nature is doing herself proud. She’s bringing on the sun and the heat, maybe even into the 80’s. Finally I get to shed this sweatshirt!

I have the Weather Channel app on this computer. It is set to give me the weather in South Dennis and in Accra. If I were in Accra, I’d be writing about the weather being the same every day: highs in the low-80’s, lows in the mid-70’s and the possibility (60%) of thunder showers every day. It is, after all, the rainy season. I loved the rainy season and the fierce thunder storms which came after winds strong enough to blow furniture over and whip trees. Where I lived was savannah grassland. Most of the year it is brown and dead, but when the rains come, the grass is green and tall. Millet grows in all the fields, and the market stalls are filled with fresh produce. That is why I have chosen to go back to Ghana and Bolgatanga in August again this year. The rains will still come every day. Some will be drenching while others will be misty and cooling. We always went about our business  in the rain. We never had umbrellas. I don’t even remember seeing any. We knew when the rain stopped the sun would return and dry us, but I remember well the feeling of being wet and cool while walking in the rain.

When I was a kid, nothing was better than a summer rain. We’d run and play and get soaked doing it.  We’d kick water at each other from the rivers roaring through the gutters on the street. I remember my hair soaken wet and plastered to my head. I remember my arms stretched out to the sides as I stood in the rain, and I remember laughing from sheer joy.

“I went to the museum where they had all the heads and arms from the statues that are in all the other museums.”

May 4, 2012

We’ll still in the damp, chilly day mode. It’s in the low 50’s and nothing outside my window looks inviting. Earlier, Gracie was frantically barking so I went outside to check. There it was, the rabbit, just sitting where Gracie could see it. That beast has been hanging around my yard for days and driving Gracie crazy. The dog keeps trying to jump the 6 foot fence, but she’s older now and far more muscular so when her paws reach the top of the fence, she can’t pull herself over any more. For that I’m thankful. As for the rabbit, I’m thinking a traditional paella.

I remember car rides with my family. My brother and I each had a back window, his behind my father, mine behind my mother, our sister Sheila was stuck between us, and Moe was in the front with my parents. Poor Sheila had to rest her feet on the big lump in the middle of the backseat floor. The car was always hot in the summer even with all the windows open. Back then, we never had sleek highways, but that was just fine with us. The roads my father took had stuff to look at. I remember seeing red barns and cows in the fields, and I’d yell and point so no one would miss them. The horses we’d see always seemed to have their heads down munching on grass. Once in a while we’d see a deer, and that was the most exciting of all. Usually the car was filled with suitcases and boxes of food as we headed to Maine for the week. We always went to Maine because my father’s friend had a cabin, and we could vacation cheaply. When I was young, I liked it there, but as I got older, I found it boring. By the time I was fourteen, I was begging my parents to leave me at home with friends. They never did.

My dad invented the staycation though he never received due credit. When I was young and money was especially tight, my father and mother planned something for us to do almost every day of my dad’s two-week vacation. We visited museums, went to the lake, the beach, zoos and into Boston to walk the Freedom Trail and ride on the swan boats. Once I remember going to Lexington and Concord. Those were my favorite vacations of all, and from them, I received the most wonderful gifts which have stayed with me all my life. I love museums and visit them everywhere I go. I can’t pass up a historical site and lots of times I stop the car to read the plaques on the rocks along the sides of the road.

On my first weekend in Accra, during training when we were in Koforidua, I went to the National Museum of Ghana. It seemed like the best place to start to learn about my new country.

“The desire to reach for the sky runs deep in our human psyche.”

October 8, 2011

The weather is absolutely gorgeous. I haven’t seen Gracie all morning. She’s been on the deck and roaming the back yard. The cats are in the sun. I’m the only one holed up in a dark room in the back of the house. Soon enough I’ll remedy that!

An article in the Boston Globe this morning mentioned that the Pan Am World Wing International congress is in Boston this year. It’s a reunion of women who flew as PanAm flight attendants. The article mentioned that the women think the new show PanAm gets everything right except the pilots who weren’t young but rather mostly in their 40’s and 50’s, veterans of WWII. They said girdle and weight checks were done regularly so they could fit into the tight skirts which were part of the uniform.

I flew PanAm several times including back from Africa. That was the flight which had a buffet under the stars, tables set up in the back of the plane with meats, cheeses, salads, breads and  rolls. At one point the pilot asked people to sit down and take turns at the table as the tail of the plane was dragging from the weight.

I always thought of PanAm as a modern magic carpet which could take you anywhere. I flew on it when few people flew to Europe or any exotic destinations. I remember going to the back of the plane, putting up the seat arms and lying down to sleep across a row of empty seats. Back then it was the only US airline which flew to Africa. The flight started in East Africa then made its way to West Africa with stops in Lagos, Accra, Monrovia and Dakar. We could get off at each stop and stretch our legs. I remember walking around on the tarmac in both Monrovia and Dakar.

I know I’ve mentioned before that if I could go back in time I’d ride the PanAm Clipper. I’d go to Singapore and have a drink or two at Raffles Hotel. I’d fly all over the PanAm world; of course, I’d also be rich enough to do that. It is, after all, my dream!

“When you are sitting in your own house, you don’t learn anything. You must get out of your house to learn.”

September 19, 2011

Ahoy, me maties. Today is International Talk Like a Pirate Day. The sea is ruffled and the sails are billowed. Tis’ a great, grand ship and ye are all welcome aboard. Grab a flask of grog and hear me story.

This is the last of my Ghanaian saga. I spent five days in Bolga and three nights sitting and laughing with my students. One day three of them took me shopping in the market. I just sat while they haggled for my baskets and for the smock I bought. We then visited craft places, and I watched the making of the leather goods. At the dress shop, I picked out the one I wanted and Florence bought it. I protested and she just ignored me. Afterwards, I suggested lunch, and we went to The Diplomat where we all had goat and fried rice. It seems fried rice has become a Ghanaian staple. I treated the bargainers to lunch in thanks for all the money I knew I’d saved. They promised to be back that night, my last night in Bolga.

Six of my students came that night. They drank beer and malt and the table beside us gave us a half bottle of champagne they hadn’t finished. The students brought kelewele, my favorite dish and one I suspect I have mentioned many times. They ordered Guinea fowl without pepper so I could eat it. We all ate with our hands and shared the meal. I didn’t eat the bones, and my students couldn’t understand why. I explained we only ate the meat, and they lectured me about wasting food and they finished off the bones. It was a grand night, and we all shared memories. They did imitations of me in the classroom which were right on target. They were me frustrated about what I was trying to teach, and they repeated exactly what I used to say then roared laughing. They told me how the watchman wasn’t really asleep when I’d come to the school at night and find the gate locked. He was just ignoring me and he told the students how funny he thought it was that the white lady kept yelling, “Watchman, watchman,” and he just didn’t move. Most times I ended up climbing the gate, so much for the security of the watchman. I never did understand how he couldn’t hear me as his dog was barking and barking as I yelled. They remembered the one time I walked out of class as they were not prepared, and how they crammed then begged me to return. I did. They sang me a song they had learned from one of the cassettes I had brought with me. I cried when they sang Leaving on a Jet Plane perfectly. One of them told me she often sings it and always thinks of me when she does. That did me in.

We hugged and kissed and exchanged addresses and phone numbers. Three of them have called me already, and I have called a couple. This time we will not lose touch with one another.

I left Bolga the next morning. Thomas and I made it to Kumasi and we stayed there for the night. When we arrived, one of the students who had completed school before I arrived in Bolga was waiting for us as the principal of my old school lived in Kumasi. The talking drums of cell phones had found her through that graduate who was kind enough to meet us and take us to Madame Intsiful’s school. It was named St. George’s, after her she told me. Her name is Georgina. When I walked into the room, she looked at me and said, “I know you,” but she didn’t remember my name. She is quite old now so I understood and reintroduced myself. We chatted a short while and then she walked us to the car.

My hotel room was on a noisy street, but it was clean and had a shower and air-conditioning and was pretty cheap. I didn’t roam Kumasi as I didn’t know it in my day and certainly didn’t know the large city it had become. When I lived in Ghana, I went there just to visit Ralph and Michelle. I was country mouse visiting city mice.

Thomas and I left the next morning, and I arrived back at the Triple Crown in the early afternoon, welcomed by the staff. For dinner that night, I had Lebanese food. It was in Ghana where I first tasted hummos as Accra used to be filled with small Lebanese restaurants. Tahal’s was a Peace Corps favorite spot. I watched some of the Nigerian soap opera then took a shower, a hot shower, and fell asleep early.

On Friday, my last full day in Ghana, I hired the van and Isaac and I did a bit of riding around Accra while I picked up a few last-minute gifts. I had him take me through Adabraca, the section of Ghana where the PC hostel used to be, but I couldn’t remember where. That night I met another former volunteer for dinner. She was staying on Ghana a bit longer.

The next day I packed and then mostly sat around until it was time to go to the airport. I was sad to leave and wished I had planned a three-week trip instead of a two, but I suppose at the end of three weeks I would have been wishing for a month.

The flight was amazing as I went home first class and had one of those sleeping pods which make you feel a bit like an astronaut. I decided I had been substituted at birth. My real family had money and always traveled first class.

My trip back to Ghana was everything and more than I had hoped. I found my Ghana then met the new one, no less wonderful but a lot bigger and noisier and filled with far more people. The Ghanaians are warm and welcoming. I was greeted everywhere and waved at when we were on the road. I fell in love all over again with what I have always called my other country. I had always promised myself I would go back to Ghana. I finally fulfilled that promise.