January 14, 2002--
Beans, toast, jam and pineapple, plus the eternally instant, Nescafe describe the breakfast this morning. It’s off to the Harbor Post Office on top of the hill above the new harbor... the same new harbor which has relegated Sekondi to a low place on a Ghanaian scale of city size. Yes, Sekondi used to be the 2nd largest city in the country... not so in 2002. This post office is a relic from the British Empire days and resembles its creaky-floored and rapidly disappearing counterparts in the U.S.A. Air Mail letters to the U.S. are ¢1800* each (26 cents, U.S.). This is really a bargain as the clerk moistens and applies the stamps as part of the service. For only ¢200 more a post card including the stamp can be purchased. Harold and Doug purchase special issue stamps and are ushered to a desk behind the front line of clerk positions. It is as serious as applying for a visa or mortgage or filing for candidacy in the political arena; information is taken, processed and noted. Almost every transaction in Ghana involving tax or the government is recorded in triplicate, and this is no exception.
Being addicted to email has its drawbacks, but not in Ghana. Here the “Internet Café” has reached institutional status and they are abundant. The group settles on one near the cathedral, because a lunch option awaits within walking distance. Internet access points, while numerous, are slow—slower than any dial-up back home. Doug’s son, Chris, wants him to bring back Ghanaian highlife music and thinks Ellen (Chris’ sister-in-law who is a member of this travel group) should be carrying all the luggage for the old folks! The “Quilters” back at St. Mary’s in Willmar are anxious to hear from Harold and Jo and so receive a short report.
Doug never listens to directions and is the slowest emailer, so he has no idea where the rest are eating lunch. While waiting, he is approached by several polytechnic students on assignment from a photography class. They want to take pictures of “obroni” standing next to themselves so skin colors can be compared and optimized for final printing. Doug understands this as the pictures from his first trip in 2000 required reprinting because photo services in the U.S.A. are so unskilled in printing black and white skin in the same picture. The photo-shoot is hilarious and Doug passes his business card out freely. Ralph is sure Doug will be a local celebrity and receive multiple letters, email, marriage proposals and adoption requests.
Lunch was happening at the Ahenfe Hotel, just north of the cathedral complex and internet café. Onyameba comes to fetch Doug with looks of, “Where the hell were you?” and returns him to the fold. He orders a club sandwich after the others have started eating, but it turns out to be more of a club salad than anything resembling a sandwich.
Fr. Francis has returned from Asankrangwa and seems to have forgotten the group’s tardiness two days earlier. Plans are made and the little entourage heads for Takoradi’s central market in the heat of the day. It is but a few blocks from the cathedral and is circular with a street all the way around and spokes coming off in eight directions. This market is wondrous, beautiful, eye-popping, full of sights, smells and sounds most Americans only read about. Harold and Jo compare it to Tangiers, but enjoy the freedom of exploring it on their own instead of with a large organized tour group. F. H. Williams fabric shop is amazing with its walls of color jumping out into the street. These Americans have seen nothing like it—a fabriholic’s dream!
A labyrinth of inner passages is discovered in the interior domains of the central market—they are waiting to be probed. It surpasses Doug’s memories of a Tema market two years prior when he purchased a duffel bag for travel back to the U.S. The maze at Takoradi’s market seemed endless and was a good 15 degrees cooler than the outer ring.
A return is eventually made to Star of the Sea Cathedral for a meeting with a tailor/parishioner and consumption of Star Beer with Fr. Francis. Tailor measures everyone, and the yard goods from F. H. Williams are handed over to him accompanied by instructions for making shirts and dresses.
Back at St. Kizito’s dinner consists of rice, pasta salad, vegetables and two large fish with their heads still attached. (Harold doesn’t care to look fish in the eye when he eats them, but chews them up anyway with his eyes closed.) Fan-Milk is enjoyed for dessert. Fan-Milk is Ghana’s version of ice cream on a stick, and is very tasty. Fr. Francis comes out to Apowa to take down the measurements of Doug’s sons and all the white folk have a chat with him in the mess hall. He educates Harold, Jo, Ralph and Ellen about Catholic procedure in Ghana, scoffing at the idea of women priests because, “What would they do once a month when their period came! They certainly could not celebrate Mass in an “unclean” state!” This idea is gently compared to western thought, as well as other matters of cultural diversity discussed that evening.
Fr. Francis leaves after it is decided to pack up this evening to get an early start tomorrow morning. He will join us on the trip out to Ankobra, but can only spare a short time—he works entirely too hard.
After Fr. Francis departs, Ralph, Ellen, Onyameba, Amos and Doug return to the city to try more phone calls. The only workable connection is by using the Ghana-Telecom phone card and dialing 001 direct. Mary of Minneapolis answers, but Mary of Willmar does not—she is out working.
Returning to Apowa, Amos turns into a side street in an attempt to purchase some “Nilly-Willy” or something that sounds like that. It is for Aggie at St. Kizito’s but not for the tourists—the true identity of this product is never learned. Unsuspecting, mild-mannered Amos the driver does not know he has turned into a one-way street going the wrong way! About a minute into this route, insults and accusations are shouted at the van and driver which are seemingly lead by a gun-toting policeman with a drunken military figure dressed in camouflage head to toe. As Amos gingerly ventures out to buy the product, he is harassed and hassled once again, with little pushes and shoves to his short frame. Fire erupts in Onyameba’s eyes and he bolts from the van to Amos’ rescue, leaving three obronis wondering what the hell is happening! There is shouting, pushing and shoving with insults being hurled back and forth. A large crowd gathers and the noise level increases. Video tape of cars being rocked, tipped and set afire by street mobs is replayed in the white skinned brains of those left inside the big old Ford. Is mob rule about to break out? Will this group of Minnesota travelers make the 6:00 news back home?
No. It doesn’t. They don’t. In what seemed like an hour of hostility, but was likely 10 minutes at the most, small, stuttering Amos, whom the Americans already love, four days into the trip, is whisked to the rear of the van and out of harm’s way. This growing crowd, unreadable by the van prisoners, has protected Amos by moving him out of the picture. They have returned to watch the spectacle unfolding between Onyameba, the policeman and his drunken military friend. O. is tall and big and understands that if he can humiliate the instigators, he will gain the crowd’s respect, causing them to slink off with tails between their legs. He accomplishes just that, returns to the van with trembling limbs and departure is begun. The crowd disperses, but dirty looks and a couple of menacing gestures from two lowly, defeated jackals are hurled at the van as it leaves.
Doug is shaken. Onyameba senses this and comes to Doug’s room for a talk before the night ends. They discuss alternatives to violence and non-confrontational interaction. O. says this type of social interchange might work in more stable societies like the United States, but not here. He says that obroni has now seen the dark side of Ghana, but Doug is worried that he has only seen the dark side of Onyameba! Tears well up in Onyameba’s eyes over this as he leaves Doug’s room, and he hopes understanding is possible. But if it doesn’t, he believes he did what he had to do, when and where he had to do it. Did he? Or is he just a “hot-headed” young Ghanaian with a large ego?
Sleep is a difficult state to achieve, and once it comes it is uneasy and fitful.
Doug’s fright is not so much about this incident as it is about the future of the trip. Had Harold and Jo been in the van to witness tonight’s little scene, they might have... well... who knows. Will we be subject to this kind of thing again? Could it have been avoided? It never happened while touring with Fr. Francis or Dave 18 months ago. What is to come?
* ¢ = cedis, Ghanaian currency
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