Welcome to Accra, Ghana!

After an eleven hour direct flight from New York's JFK airport, I arrived safely at Kotoka International airport in Accra, Ghana.  Tired, yet, excited at the opportunity to deplane and stretch my legs, I entered the airport ready to battle the custom lines.  To my surprise there was a guard with a sign that had my name on it.  I was expecting my friend Horatia to meet me at the airport.  Had something happened?  I slowly approached the guard and stated:  I'm Gianina Lockley.  He asked for my passport.  I immediately became concerned.  My passport? Why do you need my passport?  Who are you really? I asked him for his identification.  He gave me a quizzical look as I returned his glance.  He showed me his official badge.  I hesitated before handing over my passport.  He then asked me to follow him.  I followed the guard to a small room in the back where he told me to take a seat before walking away with the very thing that proved my existence as a US citizen.  You idiot.  What are you going to do if he just stole your damn passport?  After five minutes the man returned with passport in hand and asked me to once again, follow him.  He then escorted me pass the long lines and ushered me to baggage claim.  He then gave me a smile and said: Akwaaba (welcome).  I smiled and replied: thank you.  I then looked through my passport and noticed that he had taken care of customs and that I had a stamp of arrival in my passport.  Nothing to do now but wait on the luggage.  

I  jokingly told a friend of mine that I no longer go to baggage claim when I'm on an international trip, I just go straight to lost luggage.  He told me that I needed to abandon that negative thinking and embrace positive thoughts that all of my luggage would actually arrive.  I told him I would as I thought back to my previous experiences.  Nigeria: no luggage for 3/4 my trip.  India: only one bag arrived.  Japan: only half of my luggage allowed to go. Perhaps this would be different.  However, I had learned from those experiences that your carry on is more than just a holding case for equipment and books to read on the plane.  I had enough clothes and toiletries to last me a week.  I was good either way.  Once the belt began and the luggage slowly began to disperse I was surprised at the extremely friendly, communal and helpful nature of the people.  Everyone helping each other lift luggage.  There were many excuse me and thank you's.  With the exception of Japan, this was the first country that everyone was so helpful to each other.  I thought to myself: this is going to be a good trip.  Shortly after, my luggage came.  A man helped me lift my bag as I walked through the gate, hoping that Horatia would be waiting for me. 

I smile as I saw her wave to me.  I'd met Horatia a few years earlier when I was working at a lab after undergraduate school.  She was working in the lab as an intern and was one of the five people of color within the laboratory department.  She was a fun, blunt and honest.  I had not seen Horatia in over a year but she remembered that I'd told her that whenever she returned home to Ghana that I wanted to accompany her.  She called me up earlier this year and said: Sistah Gurl, I'm going home for Christmas.  You game?  I hoped that financially, I would be.

I greeted Horatia with a big hug as the driver relieved me of my bags as we walked to the truck.  I had previously informed Horatia that I was due in on Saturday.  As such, she had planned a bus trip to a neighboring city, Kumasi.  The trip would take five to six hours.   "Sistah Gurl, our bus leave in three hours, so you have just enough time to take a shower then we gotta go."  I told her it was cool, as I tried not to show my jet-lag fatigue.  Off to Kumasi!