Papa Samo Goes Home: Part III

Road Killers

After leaving the immigration area, we went to the baggage part of the arrival hall only to find that most of our luggages were not on the conveyer. After what seemed an eternity, we all got our bags. There were a lot of people at the so-called “customs area”. I thought that was strange. But strange things always produce interesting occurrences in Ghana. This time, it was a poor US-based Ghanaian who happened to have in his possession, about twelve cell/mobile phones. He claimed he had twelve, but I believe the corrupt customs officer knew better. So he told him to “do something”. The brother produced a ten-dollar bill. The officer collected it, and still asked him to open his luggage. Another ten-dollar bill went to the officer. He gleefully allowed him to move on. The next stop was an elderly female customs officer. She also got “something”-five dollars from the poor guy. Then there were two other two guys who after the fellow dished out another five-dollar bill, complained that it was not enough for two officers. No wonder everybody in Ghana wants to get into the Customs, Excise, and Preventive Services. That place is a gold mine.

While waiting our turn, Damien, aka D, one of the African American guys in my entourage asked whether the “Dude who just skipped” was a celebrity.

I said no he was not. He said; is he rich or something? I said I did not know. Why was he doling out dem dollar bills to those folks? He wanted them to stay of his tail. I said. The mention of “tail” may have shut Damien up, but he had one more question. Are we going to sleep in a real house? And am I going to get my own room?

If it were not the fact that D was way taller, bigger, stronger, and younger than me, I would have kicked his butt. Instead, I told him to give himself the chance to be my guest instead of a hotel room. We passed through customs without any mishap. By the time we left the arrival hall and got to where people meet their relatives/visitors/acquaintances returning from outside, my ride had waited for over an hour and left. This was after an airport employee gave them wrong information about KLM not touching down until very late that night. By the way, why do the airport authorities allow people at the arrival area to view on the T.V screen all departures, but not arrival flights? The T.V showing all arrival flights has been turned away from the public.

My friend Francis, who has had enough with “abrokyire” living, and has now settled permanently in Ghana, was there to meet me too. I tried in vain to call my ride, but I kept on getting the all too familiar message: “The Spacefone number you are calling is either switched off or out of service area. Blah, blah, blah, blah.” Damien and I went with Francis. The rest of the crew boarded a chartered bus to their hotel. As Francis' BMW left the airport, made a right turn, and another right turn towards the Tetteh Quarshie interchange, D was very amazed and surprised. He was looking at all the expensive cars and SUV's weaving through traffic, and honking their horns at each other. He probably thought Africa is all about starvation, AIDS, and war. He probably was expecting to see trees upon trees with monkeys, lions, and wildlife. He could not take it anymore after he saw Shangri La on the right, and the other beautiful buildings (including of course the now famous Hotel Kuffour) on the left. He exclaimed: I am still in the West. I started laughing.

We got to our destination, got out of the car, and went into the house. D could not stop being amazed. The house sits in the middle of a typical East Legon neighborhood. The part of East Legon whose residents have been blessed enough to have the roads tarred, and as such, do not have to deal with all the mud and dust that cars, wind, and rain impose on other inhabitants. D still was dazed from what he was seeing. I believe he was telling himself: This could not possibly be Africa! Deep down within him, he knew that back in the states, one has to be a sports personality, celebrity, or hold a very good job to live in a house like this. It was very interesting to see him checking the architectural finesse of Africans.

We ate a supper of boiled Yams, plantains, eggs, and a very delicious gravy stew. D did not have a problem at all with this diet. That boy has attended more West African parties in Atlanta than most native West Africans. Eating yams is no problem to him. There is something about the food in Ghana that the “abrokyire” cooks cannot match. I don't know what it is, but the bottom line is that, anytime I come to Ghana, I realize that Fufuo tastes better, rice tastes better, soup tastes better, and Ampesie tastes much better. I consumed a great quantity. After supper, I took my bath and went to sleep. I was so tired. Who would not be? It was almost twenty-three hours to the time since I left Atlanta GA!

The next morning, the crew that stayed at the hotel was scheduled to visit the Aburi and Akuapem mountains. D, a cousin, and I set forth to Kumasi. My cousin was the designated driver, while the two of us were just travelers. At the Pokuase barrier, the police officers picked my car out like cat in the midst of birds. You see, that car had left the Tema harbor just a few days before my arrival. It still had the trial number so the police force saw manna in motion heading towards them. One skinny dark skinned officer signaled us to stop. I was at the front passenger seat. The officer walked towards me. He gave one of the biggest, widest, and whitest smiles I have ever seen.

Akwaaba my brother, and where are you heading towards today? We are on our way to Kumasi. I said I can smell dollars in this car. Said the policeman. What! Oh, I mean you guys don't live here with us. You live abroad don't you? What has that got to do with anything? Boss, I just don't want to waste your time here or later on the road. Just make sure your driver does not over speed. Thank you very much. I knew you don't live here. Your skin and clothes say so.

At this time, a second policeman approached the car.

Bemma (man), why are you wasting their time? He said to his colleague. Boss, just give us some 5,000 to buy some lunch. He turned to me.

I shook my head in astonishment. He pulled the first officer and beckoned him to leave us alone. He came back to the car and told us to go ahead and continue with our journey, but on our return, we should remember them and realize that a little something will go a long way to help them. He is being cooperative with us because he knows that we are tired after the long flight. He visited his daughter in Texas, and knows how long it takes to fly from Yankee to Kotoka. Long live Ghana.

We took off and did not stop until Nkawkaw for breakfast. My cousin ordered an omelet meal with hot Milo. It was supposed to have caused 10,000 cedis each, yet the elderly operator changed his mind as soon as it dawned on him that some “abrokyire” people were in his facility. The breakfast eventually cost twice as much as the original price. Who said Ghanaian businessmen are not capitalistic? The trip to Kumasi after breakfast was uneventful, except the fact that I had forgotten how out of whack most drivers are in Ghana. Driving rules are not adhered to though, what is left as roads serve as a perfect death trap for occupants of vehicles, even when they are being careful. The worst culprits were the Ghanaian articulated truck drivers, and the ford van drivers, those who have succeeded the one pound one pound drivers. They overtake like children playing hide and seek. Julius Caesar once said cowards die many times before their death, I am no coward yet I died about sixty times. The articulated truck drivers act like their fathers, mothers, or car owners built the roads for their private use. They all have these flashing lights on top of their cars. When they turn it on, it means all cars going in the opposite direction should shift to the lane on their right. With a one-lane road, that means you have to use the grass, shrubs, and trees until they pass. Why have our dear politicians not bothered to widen the road for us? You would think that for a country that boasts itself as the gateway to Africa, our leaders would have followed the footsteps of Kwame Nkrumah, and by now constructed at least a two-lane road to connect all the capital cities. No wonder more lives are lost through avoidable accidents each year.

In spite of all the gloomy picture I have painted so far, the individuals in the country. The citizens, those who really matter, are taking wide strides to better themselves. There is private development everywhere. The people have started thinking big, and thanks to the free press, information overload is perfectly at work. There was even a debate to allow individuals to finance and build our depilated roads. These private ventures want to charge toll fee to recoup their investment and also make a profit. If the politicians cannot secure a loan or grant to make the roads safer, they should please let the businessmen do it.

For once in a long time, the people seem to hold politicians accountable. A politician cannot sneeze without a journalist asking why that politician did not hold his/her in a certain way.

Kwaku Duah Berchie Atlanta, GA