Escape From Accra

So the final day arrived. To most of us who had been in Ghana since August, it was like Christmas in May. In usual fashion, I awoke to men yelling loudly in Twi outside my door. For the last time. For sure.

My last day in Accra was relaxed. I went to Shiashie market for souvenirs and got out in record time, I packed up all of my worldly belongings (leaving things for Babadoo and Muhammad the tailor) and entertained visitors - probably more than I've had all semester. (But my place was such a bachelor pad...!)

As the countdown neared, the obligatory goodbyes were said and I got kinda somewhat sort of just a bit halfway sad. I didn't get to make as many friends this time around as I did first semester, but that doesn't mean that there weren't awesome people. To name them all would be impossible and I'd be insulting those whom I had forgotten, so let me just say this:

If you were there, you know you were. And if we had good times, you know we did. And that's all that matters.

Jon had left earlier, looking rather snappily-dressed, to try and weasel his way into first-class. Lisa and I, having our seats booked next to each other on the same flight to Amsterdam (thanks to the incredibly lax and probably illegal privacy policies of KLM Accra... they printed off my flight itinerary and gave it to Lisa!) took our final cab ride to Kotoka International Airport. Laura, whose boyfriend was arriving on the plane we would be leaving on, came with. Interesting juxtaposing of us, no?

So we arrived at the airport. After nine months of watching the planes take off and land from my balcony and one flight of my own, I was finally going home. Home. The faded dream that it had been for so long would be the reality that I would trade those last nine months for. Would I let go of Ghana easily, or would I be dragged away from it kicking and screaming? What followed next was probably the least-expected chain of events possible...

In the end, I didn't have the option of either. At check-in, we were made painfully aware of KLM's new baggage policy. Long story short: my giant suitcase that I brought with me was now obsolete because it's contents needed to be split into two to be accepted. But I didn't HAVE an extra bag. I tried to disperse the weight amongst different bags (and since my djembe and guitar's body were stuffed with clothes, I was running low on options). Finally after almost an hour, the security guard helped me buy a crappy bag (at double the market price), filled it and I was let through.

Hurdle #2: Everyone had checked in by this point and there was little time for dawdling. But what's this? Apparently I was not on the passenger list! After watching the ladies talk at each other worriedly in Twi, whilst periodically looking at me with unencouraging looks, I tried to figure out what was happening. Check-in had ended and I was going to be stuck for another day because the print-out that I was given by the KLM office was NOT valid for me to be given my boarding pass (liar!). I was likely screwed and minutes away from tears. When I pulled out my old ticket from before I changed my flight, suddenly everything made sense to them and I was issued my ticket! As we ran with the rest of my luggage to the next point, the security guard laughed and yelled at me...

"I WILL BEAT YOU! GET ON THAT PLANE!"
(in the most lighthearted and comical way possible, of course)

Hurdle #3: By this point, I was passing through customs quickly, due to my plane taking off in less than half an hour. I pushed ahead through the line to the lugubrious customs officers. Eventually, I got my stamp. Lisa was being quite a good sport for not killing me throughout this episode, since she didn't have any of my problems. She made her way to the plane.

Hurdle #4: Though I had checked my bags, apparently my guitar case and djembe (filled with clothes and a bottle of Ghanaian homebrew) were too heavy to be taken to the cabin. This was a pain in the ass, filling out forms and such, but at least I only had one bag remaining (that's right, five bags in total).

Hurdle #5: There was a drunk guy at the gate. He was so not getting on that flight. I however, was getting on that plane if I had to run across the runway (which the transport bus did for me, thankfully).

Finally, with 10 minutes before take-off, I climbed the stairs to the plane, turned around for one last look at Africa, and got on the plane. I was officially no longer on land and had entered a different world: one of modern technology, multicultural society - and free booze.

Let the games begin.