Out Of Africa

My fan requested more photos of Accra and I don’t want to disappoint. The first one is the beach alongside the city just before a toe dip.

The second is a photo just before my team went to visit the President of Ghana at a building called “The Castle.” It got its name because it was once a Dutch slave castle and has now been converted to something like a White House. Appologies for the poor quality of the photo, but there was a severe penalty for taking photographs of the building -- a point my partner views as only a suggestion. Please note the sharp new jacket and slacks I'm wearing.

The final photo is a shot of the only white guys for miles attempting to bargain with the pros. We’re essentially in a shanty town that sells all kinds of trinkets and clothing and we drew a crowd of sellers hoping to engineer a transfer of relative wealth. I left owing money to one of my fellow travelers that I had to make up with Euros after we landed in Amsterdam.

There were a total of three of us on the trip and I think we were all moved in some way. My partner Greg, who was born with wanderlust, has been in some of the world’s worst shitholes and thoroughly enjoyed the discomfort our Texas partner was having being touched and grabbed at the shanty village. Of course he also took great pleasure in teasing me about my lost luggage so he may be more of a Sadist than originally thought. Tables were later turned on him when the hotel ran out of Diet Coke and he suffered aspartame withdrawal. He was later found sucking on empty packets of Sweet N' Low.

There were two memorable moments for me. One occurred just before we were departing Accra and I was walking around the airport looking for a responsible KLM representative because KLM – not surprisingly – was checking my bags only as far as Amsterdam despite the fact my ticket said Sacramento (fyi – the bag was the first off the luggage belt at Minneapolis and I was first out of customs so I could wait five hours for my connecting flight). As my now best friend airport employee took me from a worthless VIP lounge to the main part of the airport, we meandered through a throng of Ghanaians waiting for friends and relatives to arrive from their travel. While passing one family, a young girl, maybe six years old, reached her hand out and grabbed my forearm and held it for a moment. I stopped, partly out of surprise and partly because I think she was truly curious what a white man felt like and I didn’t want to ruin her science experiment by abruptly pulling back. Her parents scolded her but she didn’t let go for a while. A few seconds later, a young boy did the same thing, also with a curious look in his eye.

I have never been such a curiosity before and it was both humbling and revealing about the differences that exist because of skin color. There were no prejudice or racist motivations involved; just wonder and an honest view of diversity. I was very moved by the moment.

The second memory is the opposite of innocence. My partner and I were intended victims of a live version of the Nigerian e-mail scams. We actually got calls in our hotel rooms from a man telling us, quite convincingly, that we were highly recommended by a reputable person (unnamed, of course) to help him move millions of dollars safely to the U.S. I was fairly curt with him and didn’t let the call go too far, but my partner played along a little and got the guy to agree to come to the hotel and meet with him. Then he waited in the lobby restaurant to see if he showed up. But because the Diet Coke had run out, he soon lost interest. We later found out that someone in the hotel was telling people on the outside where the foreigners were staying and they would just ring our rooms. We asked the hotel to hold our calls.

It looks like I will get to travel to Ghana often and I want to visit a major game reserve to photograph lions, elephants, zebras, hippos, and other assorted African beasts that come in a box of Animal Crackers. I also want to get some traditional West African business attire because I want to go to work in silk pajamas. Hopefully this is something that will catch on in the States and I’m willing to do my part to bring it about.

A Reunion With Clean Shorts

Now I know how Bill Murray’s character felt at the end of the movie Groundhog Day. After realizing he would not have to repeat the day again, he simply tells Andie McDowell, “It was the end of a very long day.” Well, my bag arrived tonight and it seems like the end of a very, very long day.

I left Sacramento on Friday, July 21 and my bag caught up with me on July 27. I am not sure if it ever would have happened had the entire government of Ghana not been on the case. The bag was personally delivered to my hotel by the airport administrator who apologized profusely. And this is what makes my blood boil. In all my dealings with Northwest and KLM, I never got an apology, just excuses and the blame passed on to the airport in Accra. I even had one agent explain that the bag was likely stolen in Accra “because, you know, it’s a Third World country.” Maybe she just could have said that it was stolen because everyone in the country is black and let her true feelings be known.

The fact is: the only airport that stayed with this was Accra while Northwest and KLM argued about where the bag was. I was told it was in New York JFK, Minneapolis, Amsterdam on several occasions, and, of course in the trunk of a car in Accra with the driver wearing one of my ties.

But it feels good to be reacquainted with my possessions. I have my razor back, and clean shirts for sleep, socks that match, dress shoes, and, of course, clean shorts. I think it would be simpler if, in the future, Brad and Angelina want to adopt another African baby, they should fly on Northwest/KLM and have their bag lost. When it finally arrives, they will be so happy to see their bag that it will feel like they have a new member of their weird little family. They could even name it Sam, short for Samsonite.

Well, just wanted to say I love my luggage and since Mrs. Laz is far, far away, I think I will sleep with my luggage and hold it tight all night.

Still in Africa; Luggage Elsewhere

I may have had the time to write more if I wasn’t spending my spare moments at the airport in a futile search for my missing luggage (technically it’s just delayed). We are entering The Great Luggage Crisis of 2006, Day 6.

A guide book on Ghana said to bring bug spray but I didn’t think it was in anticipation of six days without clean shorts -- although the stench is now beginning to drive the flies away so I don’t really need the bug spray anymore. The only remaining interest I have in my miss-directed luggage is whether or not it will arrive before I leave. The over/under in Ghana is tilting toward my bag arriving after my departure. However, bets on it not arriving at all are picking up steam.

The calls with Northwest Airlines – tell you friends and family not to fly them – are so far beyond frustrating that they are comical. My missing bag has become folklore here as people in various government departments start their conversation by asking if I have found it yet. I am not kidding. I had one minister who had read the pleading e-mail I had sent to Northwest to have them help me find my bag. I think I wouldn’t have whined so much if I knew the letter was going to be spread around.

Despite my one-trick-pony of attire, we are making good progress here and I actually like the country. The people are incredibly friendly and are very kind to each other. Crime is virtually non-existent in Accra and you would be hard-pressed to find a piece of trash along the road. People take great pride in their country and have a very personal respect for everyone, including refugees from their warring neighbors and us white folk.

Much of the population is strongly Christian; almost evangelical. You see many public busses with essentially “Praise the Lord” stickers on them. I did see one that carried a bit stronger message than the others, but it would nevertheless be difficult to argue its point. It simply said “God is God.” The author may have been vowel-challenged or he may have thought he really figured something out, like when you first learn that "Dog" spelled backwards is "God."

Ghana is a combination of many tribes and although they all think of themselves as Ghanaians, they still tend to speak tribal languages and maintain ancient customs. One such custom that is very charming is how they greet old friends. They will reach out for a traditional handshake and then walk off holding hands for 20 or 30 seconds. I asked one of my many new friends at the airport why they do this and he just said, “It is their way.”

I met the Ghanaian president here yesterday; a most impressive man. He exudes what one might think is ancient African tribal wisdom. He is known here as the “Gentle Giant,” in part because he is at least 6’5” and has a booming, deep voice. And, for you ladies, he wears shoes the size of canoes. He is going to the U.S. on Tuesday to accept $547 million of your hard-earned tax dollars as part of the first grant given out in a new program called the Millennium Fund.

The purpose is to give it to countries that have demonstrated the responsibility to spend the money on something other than numbered bank accounts and they actually apply for the money with minute specifics on where and how it will be spent. Ghana is the first to get these funds and it is an interesting experiment as the grant seeks to cut out the U.S. bureaucrats that eat up more than 50 percent of all foreign aid. It says a lot about the president of Ghana that he has earned such trust, especially when you consider that Kofi Annan is Ghanaian and the likely winner of the largest Swiss Bank Account of Other People’s Money Award.

We went to a restaurant at the beach today and stuck our toes in the water. It seems weird to know that we were on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. I think I once dipped a toe off the coast of Galway, Ireland but it didn’t seem to be as much of a big deal as it does here in Africa. Maybe it’s because, and I am paraphrasing Dave Chappelle here, that Africa is the cradle of m….fing Civilization. Just a guess.

Into Africa

A couple of interesting twists and turns and I have ended up in Accra, Ghana. Can’t say the same for my luggage as my bag seems determined to find more twists and turns than one could imagine. I am on Day Three of The Great Luggage Crisis of 2006. I am beginning to attract a few flies, but the upside is I am able to get a table all to myself for dinner.

Accra is not what I expected. I guess my only thoughts about Africa are from shows featuring Safaris, movies about the French Foreign Legion crawling through the Sahara gasping for water, Zulu warriors with huge spears, or thinking in terms of a vast jungle.

Accra has about 6 million people and I am a bit surprised by the apparent wealth of many here. Huge houses are throughout the city as are Mercedes and Land Cruisers. There is also terrible poverty and shanty towns which, strangely enough, are along the beaches of the Atlantic. One suspects they have not realized the value of ocean front property here. The weather is a lot like San Diego, low 80s with a slightly more tropical breeze.

Everyone speaks English as this was a British Colony until 1957. It is a highly-educated country with many headed off to Oxford for university training. They just received $547 million from our taxpayers as part of the Millennium Challenge funds to help poverty and education throughout the world. I believe Ghana is the first country to receive this money.

Back to my luggage and itchy shorts. As a demonstration of the kindness (and wealth) of my clients, they have felt badly that I have been put out by the airline and sent a driver to take me shopping. The driver gave me an envelope with $500 in it – one would assume more than ample to cover the cost of a sports jacket, slacks, and a dress shirt and tie in Ghana. However, the driver took me to an Italian shop and I couldn’t find a jacket that was less than the money in my pocket. I was already felling guilty about someone giving me $500 for what should be a one-day solution.

So I called my benefactor and he said to pick out what I wanted and he would make up the difference. I pleaded (really I did) that it was not necessary and I would pay the difference, only I did not have the cash on me and the shop did not accept credit cards. I also suggested that maybe there was a different shop I could be taken to, something like a Men’s Warehouse of Accra. He insisted that this was the best shop and, $1,400 later, I have what I needed. It’s crazy.

The people I am traveling with will need to discuss this because my values don’t allow me to accept such a gift but it seems it would be an insult to pay the money back. I really don’t know what to do other than offer the airlines a few $100 bills every time I come here to ensure they lose my luggage. I could use a new Italian suit.

More later.

P.S. There really are men and women who walk along the street with huge baskets on their heads that carry fruit or other goods to sell. I did have this part in mind about Africa.