The shortest chapter
Chapter 5
Setting Foot in Africa
As the Terracotta Army of Qin Shi Huang was discovered at Xi’an, China, I stepped off the plane at Accra in overpowering humidity.
It was as if I had walked into a baker’s oven. I was soon glad to find myself in the air-conditioned terminal to await my internal flight to Tamale. Itinerant sellers strolled by with offerings of sour kenkey dough, fried plantain and fresh oranges, many still in their green skins. I bought one.
It was as I peeled an orange that a young American man came to sit beside me.
‘First time in Ghana?’ he asked with no reserve.
‘Yes, it probably shows,’ I said before I offered the back of my sticky hand.
‘Hi, I’m Bob Drown. American Peace Corps. Bit like your Voluntary Services Overseas, right? You British?’
God what was I? Russian? Scottish? British? ‘From Glasgow, Scotland,’ I replied. ‘But not with VSO. I’m going to manage a peanut factory in the north,’ I informed him with a degree of pride. ‘And you?’
He pointed to a satchel sitting between his feet. ‘I teach at Navrongo Secondary School on the border with Upper Volta. Math is my subject. Well, in fact math and music.’ Then he surprised me by saying, ‘You going to Tamale?
I squinted.
‘Yes, how did you know that?’
‘The big factories are in Tamale. It’s the largest town in the upper region.’
Soon we were called to gate number 3 for Tamale. The Ghana Airways plane shone in the hot sunshine of the day and we felt the oppressive humidity once more as we boarded.
‘Let’s sit over there,’ Bob said, and I knew I’d get no respite from his enquiries. I had no option but to agree.
There was no delay in getting off the ground.
‘Just under an hour, this flight, but what a difference. You get sweaty in the south and as dry as a pretzel in the north. Gotta drink a lot.’
‘Perhaps dry heat is the better option? Is fresh water freely available?’
He gave a paternal smile. He knew the ropes. I didn’t.
‘The market in town has bottled water. It’s best to drink that. Anything else and you might get the galloping guts.’
‘Hmm—not worth thinking about that,’ I said.
‘This is the white man’s grave you know?’ he laughed. ‘Not really true,’ he continued. ‘It was the amount of gin the colonials took with their quinine that gave rise to the name. Cirrhosis of the liver killed many of them, not only the female mosquito.’
I absorbed his insights, wondering if they might be outdated. ‘Don’t you think the colonial times are well behind us now, I mean, progress is being made all the time?’
He seemed to nod in agreement. ‘Just don’t forget one thing. When you are defeated in achieving something, as you sure will in Ghana from time to time, just recognise one word.’
My eyebrows raised in curiosity. ‘And that word is?’ I eagerly asked.
‘WAWA,’ he said laughing, at my expense.
‘WAWA?’ I repeated.
‘Yes, a truism if ever there was. West Africa Wins Again, WAWA.’
Then we both laughed.
Just as we landed Bob hit me with a bombshell.
‘About that groundnut factory, isn’t that where the drunken Russian works?’
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Ron
More next time! Enjoy the narrative to date.
Never Stop Writing!
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