Maria Booker
Today, I arrived at Accra International Airport at 115pm local time. The flight was long and uncomfortable, but I was able to sleep. From the air, Ghana is greener than I expected. Upon arrival, I am concerned that they don’t even ask me for my yellow fever certificate at customs; I wonder how they can eradicate such a huge pubic health issue when the airport staff isn’t trained to check for immunization records.
My first encounter with a Ghanaian is my taxi driver. He is from the Volta region, and has seen wild hippos before; I would very much like to visit the Volta while I am here. He tells me his son’s name is Sean when I tell him that I am from Scotland, yet he doesn’t share his name, and doesn’t ask me mine. I don’t think that this is a cultural trait, I think I am simply overwhelmed with all the new sights and smells, and he is eager for me to see his country.
Upon arrival at the guesthouse, the staff is very friendly. Nicholas shows me to my room and shows me how to operate the air conditioning and television. He wants to be my pen pal, and has lots of questions about the United States. I am jet lagged and feel absolutely clueless as to what to tell him about the US.
My room is very nice. There is no bed net; thankfully I brought one with me. I have a toilet, shower, and a fridge supplied with some bottled water. My immediate concern is where to exchange cash, and where to buy more bottled water. One of the front desk staff actually walks me to the main street where I find a Barclays bank, and can change some traveler’s checks.
The street is overflowing with cars and people and stalls. Ladies walk with trays of fruit on their heads and try to get me to buy. Men are hawking art, necklaces, shoes, shirts, and a variety of other things. I feel immediately intimidated, and after an unsuccessful attempt to cash my checks, I return straight to my hotel – getting lost along the way only makes me feel ten times worse.
Badly in need of something to eat, I stop by the restaurant next door to the guesthouse, and order myself some chicken, plantains, and palava sauce. It looks delicious, but shortly after being served, I see a gentlemen carrying tomorrow night’s chicken into the kitchen – the birds are flapping in a panic, and I am suddenly no longer hungry. The plantains and palava sauce are delicious though.