Los Angeles to Accra, Ghana, Day 187-188

After an all too brief layover in Los Angeles, Christi and I are back on the road, beginning with a long haul flight to Accra, Ghana in West Africa. South America was but a primer for the adventures to come. Traveling through Africa will be a whole lot tougher with far fewer creature comforts. It’s going to be very hot, geopolitically very unpredictable, and the opportunities for health-related problems virtually unlimited (from the things that you can’t see to those large roaring predators which you might only see as a gigantic teeth-filled mouth envelops your head). Christi and I had no health-related issues in South America whatsoever, but I think we will be very lucky indeed to survive Africa without some mishap. Although we’re bringing the UV water sterilizer that served us well in South America, I think a shotgun or a baseball bat might be more useful for purifying tap water in Africa. Just to be on the safe side, we will be drinking bottled water from now on. Although Christi and I have had every vaccination known to mankind, I’m still appalled when I read the health section of Lonely Planet guidebook to West Africa. I even inch a little further away from Christi on our Royal Air Maroc flight from London to Casablanca in Morocco. (The flight from Los Angeles to London on Virgin Atlantic was reassuringly dull and uneventful, which is exactly how I like my flights to be). It’s a surprisingly quick 3-hour flight from London to Casablanca (with no time change), while all flight information is repeated in Arabic, French, and then English. The limited Spanish we did learn in South America will be of little use to us in Africa. Our long travel day is not done either as Christi and I still have one more flight that will take us on to Accra, the capital of Ghana, but first we have to endure a 3-hour layover in Casablanca. The time passes quite quickly though, because we are surrounded by an eclectic mix of passengers, including Arab, Black, and White wearing and eclectic palette of colors and styles (from the simple white Arab djellaba robes to the brightly colored tops and skirts worn by black women, while Caucasians are often dressed in boring, conventional suits). The flight departure board is equally exotic with destinations like Ouagadougou, Nouakchott, Bamako, and Timbuktu. And Christi and I will see them all before we’re done.

Christi and I land in Accra airport at 3.30 am (some 4.5 hours after leaving Casablanca) and it is incredibly humid as we cross the tarmac to the terminal building and blissful air conditioning. The scenes at immigration and customs are chaotic. Christi and I are tired, but Africa never sleeps and neither shall we – at least not yet. Our Ghanaian visas are US$100 each, but this minor torment aside we sail through customs and immigration. As we pass through the Arrivals Lounge we’re on the lookout for our courtesy ride to the Niagara Plus Hotel. Our Lonely Planet guide warned us against taking a taxi from the airport – and especially at night – because of ‘incidents’ involving Western tourists. Of course these same taxi drivers don’t give you a moment to breathe. They smother Christi and me with unrelenting offers to help – something we are in dire need of, but I can’t shake that uneasy feeling that danger lurks behind their easy smiles. Can we trust these people? We have little choice, although as our excited suitor zooms off into the night he could be taking us anywhere…and for any reason. Fortunately we arrive safely at the Niagara Plus Hotel, which is…rather basic. After waking up the desk clerk, he can at least confirm that we have a room reserved. Christi and I collapse into bed, absolutely shattered at 6 am.

We sleep for 6 hours, waking at noon. Despite still feeling jet-lagged we have very limited time in the Ghanaian capital so it’s now or never. We’re a little nervous about what to expect in this new city so we confine ourselves to the Osu neighborhood of Accra. Supposedly this is the nicer part of town, but the dilapidated roads and open sewers are not appealing. The main drag is Cantonments road, which has a busy and buzzing street vibe; everything is hustle and bustle. We try to remain inconspicuous, but since we’re the only white people walking about we attract a lot of attention, much of it unwanted as the locals try hard to sell us things we don’t want. It’s hot, loud, and we’re very disoriented by our new and unfamiliar surroundings. We stumble upon a restaurant specializing in local Ghanaian food called Akwamufie Spot and escape the heat and the attention of the hawkers for a while, although they prowl around outside as if stalking Christi and I. The owner of the restaurant, Eben, is a very friendly guy who suggests some local delicacies. We attempt fufu (mashed cassava – really a sticky paste, dull yellow in color) with light soup and Tilapia (fish). The light soup is made of egg and tomato sauce with some spice thrown in, which is rather tasty. However, I have to exchange my fufu for Christi’s banku (cooked fermented maize) because the fufu has a dubious texture. And I am very texture-challenged when it comes to food. The way my brain works is that if the texture resembles a dead fly, then I’m probably eating a dead fly (even if I’m truly eating a raisin). Christi, of course, thinks I’m pathetic, but even she had to admit that the goat in okra stew is a tad disturbing. It has a revolting slimy, snotty texture…well you get the picture. And let’s be clear about one thing: lips that touch snot don’t touch mine. So welcome to Africa. It’s going to be different here, although perhaps not that different as we eat Chinese food for dinner!