Well, it’s hard to believe, but tomorrow will mark a full two weeks since my “baby” went off to board at Achimota Senior Secondary School. I want to say that I miss him terribly – and I do, I really really do – but I have to admit I am enjoying some new found freedom (stick with me and I’ll explain).
Sean, my oldest at 15, is more Americanized than his siblings; after all, he was 8 years old when we moved here in January 2003. He doesn’t have a “true” Ghanaian accent (wholly unlike Alexandra who has now lived in Ghana most of her life) though it does intensify when he’s with his peers (and which he loses when he’s with me). He doesn’t really “appreciate” the local foods – kenkey and Keta school boys, grilled tilapia and banku, groundnut soup and fufu (light soup is fine, but not groundnuts due to a peanut allergy) – though he will eat them if he has no choice. He doesn’t know how to do the typical things that most Ghanaian children are taught to do from an early age – like hand washing his school uniform or using a cutlass (machete) for anything other than playing ninja (before I put a stop to it, that is). He doesn’t even know how to wear the traditional cloth or has spent more than an hour at any church service.
But none of that is his fault. It’s my fault… our fault. We’ve tried to shield our children from some of the “injustices” (that’s in quotes because I’m being facetious – before someone slams me) that this system tends to mete out on children.
So, two weeks ago Friday we brought Sean’s things to him at the school. The head of the dorm that he’s in (Guggisberg, for anyone curious) allowed us all to go on up into the dorm and see where he’d be sleeping. It was not at all what I expected – I guess I’m too Americanized, too, and used to seeing dorms portrayed in American television. It was very crowded, with easily 40 boys sharing the one room they were in, and there were several similar rooms in the building. Sean got a top bunk, right near a window – not sure if that’s good or bad seeing as how the screens were not intact, but he does have a mosquito net so hopefully he’ll remain malaria-free (though he does tend to get it a lot).
Fortunately, the head boy was very nice and seemed more than willing to show Sean the ropes – though I have to pray that that wasn’t just for my benefit and that he really is a nice boy. Then, without a hug or a kiss or a tear we left him and headed home. That was how Sean wanted it. I respect that. But stoicism is not my strong suit.
So, he’s at boarding school for nearly two weeks now.
In that time, I’ve seen him once for about 45 minutes during the first monthly visitation, and I’ve spoken to him on the phone for, oh, about 4 minutes. He told me that he wakes every day at 4:00 am so that he and the other Form 1 students can have their shower before the upperclassmen come down. He told me that he eats a lot of white rice and stew, and has learned to like Hausa cocoa. He told me that they must have a siesta every day, whether they’re tired or not. He told me that he had one mid-term exam and he thought he did well in it (but that’s what I expect – he is a brilliant kid, after all).
But, yeah, I miss him. Most of the time.
When I don’t miss him is when I see Alex and Mike playing nicely, with each other, with no one to instigate an argument that escalates into a fight. Teasing I can do without. It’s also really nice to have my laptop to myself, without anyone rushing me off so that he can play his pc games without lag (no clue what that really means, but that's what he always said). My argument that I’m “working” often fell on deaf ears. Now, I don’t have to worry about that. I also don’t have to worry about cooking for my American son; Alexandra and Michael are more than happy to be invited to dad’s dinner, whatever Ghanaian fare it may be. Sean always hated that I “didn’t eat,” as he put it – “Dad, she only eats like once a day!” So without someone nagging me to cook “real food” I can make myself a plate of French fries, or a tuna sandwich, or just drink Crystal Light all day long, and no one complains. That’s freedom.
Would I give it all up? You bet… in a heart beat. But I won’t because the sacrifice I am making now is for Sean’s benefit. Will he understand my sacrifice when he sits down to yet another bowl of white rice and stew wishing it were my meatloaf and baked macaroni instead? Will he acknowledge my heartache when I picture him with blisters on his hands from swinging a cutlass across too high grass? Will he admire the brave face I put on when people ask me how I think he’s doing (“Oh, I’m sure he’s doing great – loving every minute of it!”), even though I know he’s physically exhausted and emotionally drained. Will he even believe that I pray every single night that he finds inside himself the strength, resolve and determination to succeed? Probably not.
A good friend offered me this quote, "Being a mother means spending your life with your heart outside your body." *sigh* Yeah, so I’m learning. But as Sean is now discovering, some lessons are just more painful than others. I know he will get through this, and I know I will get through this. But that doesn’t make it any easier.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Boarding school blues
Thursday, October 7, 2010
My son, the future Akora!
Here it is, October 7, 2010, approaching 10:00 a.m., and as I sit here typing this blog post, my 15 year old is sound asleep in my bed. While today he is not feeling all that well, this is the norm. And it has been since we arrived back in Ghana in early September.
Because, while Alexandra and Michael have been attending SOS School as dutiful, well-behaved (ha!) children should, slothful Sean has been practicing his metamorphosis act. You see Sean graduated from JSS this past July, and soon (hopefully very soon), he will join the ranks of past and present Akoras as a Form 1 student. For the non-Ghanaian, that is the nickname given a student who attends Achimota Secondary School, long considered one of the best high schools in the entire country. Several notable (and notorious) people (and not all are Ghanaians, by the way) are Achimota alumni including Kwame Nkrumah (the first democratically elected president of Ghana), John Evans Atta Mills (the current democratically elected president of Ghana), Jerry John (J.J.) Rawlings (ummm, eventually a democratically elected president of Ghana), and Robert Mugabe (past, present, eternal president of Zimbabwe, with questionable pedigree).
Yes, we are very proud that Sean got into his first choice school, in spite of his relatively sloppy study habits – testament, perhaps, to his gene pool?
But I digress… as I said before, it is October 7th and he is NOT in school. Why is that? I haven’t a freaking clue.
When we learned in mid-September that Sean was admitted to Achimota, we took a drive to the school. It was deserted. Not a soul in sight, except for the guards at the gate and a single groundskeeper (who, apparently, will be spending the rest of his life trying to tame the huge Achimota campus with only a single cutlass – we can only hope that the blade was sharp!).
Entering the administration building, we found the office of the Headmistress. A woman working in the office (and no, I don’t believe it was the headmistress) could not help us. She didn’t know when school was going to be started. They didn’t even have the enrollment list from the Ghana Education Service. We were advised just to come back (come back?!) once a week (once a week!) and inquire. She wouldn’t even give us a phone number to call. I so wanted to say something about this being the information age. You know, making appropriate and effective use of technology… telephone, website, Facebook, tweeting, something…. but I held my tongue (I know you’re proud of me – it was not easy).
I blame it on the Ghana Education Service, since the buck can’t be passed higher than that. They have postponed and postponed secondary school opening day so many times that we will be fortunate if our kids are sitting behind a desk by the end of this month.
And what will happen then, I have to wonder. Will the school year be lengthened at the end? Will they shorten the between-break holidays? Will an extra hour be added on to the school day? Will students have to forgo their Saturday leisure time? Will teachers zip through the lesson plans with disregard, in the hope that students will learn through osmosis?
In the meantime, Sean is home. We’re steadily accumulating all of the things we think he will need for boarding school life – obligatory red and black metal footlocker, wooden chop box, towels, student mattress and pillows, bed sheets, buckets, cutlery and dishware, iron, etc., etc., etc. We’re not entirely sure we’ve remembered everything – Sly is trying to recall it all from his boarding school days, but as that was generations ago it may be things have changed. Who am I kidding? This is Ghana. Boarding school is a tradition, and tradition does not change.
Sean is home; he is sleeping, eating, playing video games, eating, arguing with his siblings, watching the Mexican telenovela Storm over Paradise and America’s Next Top Model (cycle 5, I think), eating some more. Essentially, driving me nuts. What Sean is not doing that he should be doing is studying the Form 1 books that we bought for him so that he will be ready for the start of school, regardless of when that is and how they attempt to squish five missed weeks into the lesson plan. Essentially, driving Sly nuts.
When will the madness end? Only the Ghana Education Service knows the answer… and they’re not talking.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
The Whirlwind, Part 2
Part 1 of my blog covered all the things that made our trip a good one. In Part 2 you’ll understand why I consider it was a great one!
Family! (Bride's side)
The best part of the trip was seeing family from far and wide that I haven’t seen in many (sadly, too many) years. Thanks to a family reunion (my side) we fortunately got to see almost everyone including…
Mom and her significant other, Harry
Uncle Ray and his wife, Karen
Bob and Pattie, with their kids Jason and Joshua, and their kids, Logan and Lilliana
Jim and Maggie, with Jim’s daughter Chelsea
Christine and Jerry, with their kids, Rebecca, Patrick and Elizabeth
John and Heather, with their kids, Tyler, Hunter and Kailey
The whole gang
Christine, Mom and me
Jim, Bob and John, with Christine, Mom and me**BTW, for anyone curious, I'm the oldest -- hard to believe, huh?
Pattie and Bob
Jim and Maggie
And cousins…
Sallieann and her husband, Ralph, with their son Nicholas
Darleen and her husband, Christopher, with their son Murphy
Susan, who flew in from Bermuda
Allison, with her daughter Samantha, who came in from upstate New York
Tara, who could only stay a little while but managed to find time to snag a little sangria
Susan and me
Sallieann and Ralph
And people who we consider family, like Joan and Nick, my mom's oldest and dearest friends.
Nick and Joan
Joan and MomThe weather was gorgeous, the food was amazing and the happiness and love was simply overflowing. These are the people with whom I share some of the most wonderful memories.
Family! (Groom's side)
On two separate occasions (including the 60th birthday celebration for my sister-in-law, Judy), we also got to see the side of my husband’s family that almost all now live in Maryland, including many nieces and nephews who have grown into lovely young women and men.
The birthday party took place the first weekend after we’d arrived, and with a lot of planning and a little deviousness on the part of my nephew-in-law, we made sure we were available for it. It took place at a Chinese restaurant in Silver Spring, not far from our old stomping grounds. Harriette and Augie were the only ones who knew we were coming, and I’m pretty sure my sisters-in-law were all pretty shocked that we were there. It was a heartwarming feeling to see how happy we made Judy by sharing her special day. It had been a long time since we’d last seen Sly’s side of the family – in some cases more than 7 years – so it was lovely being able to catch up with…
Sisters-in-law Stella and Paulina (the matriarchs of the clan)
Judy and her husband, Sark, and their daughters, Harriette and Serwah
Lucy and her husband, Osei, with their children, Nana Yaw, Akuamwuah and Obiniwah (who have all become quite Americanized – it was weird hearing their friends refer to Akuamwuah as Edwin, and Obiniwah as Stella – or maybe we’re too Ghanaianized?)
All of the people who love Judy.
Serwaah, Judy and Harriette
Last, but certainly not least, we were lucky enough to catch up with Sly’s son, Jules, and spend at least a couple of hours with him. We haven’t seen Jules for many (too many) years; he has grown into nothing less than I ever expected him to be.
Friends!
Old friends (and older friends), and new cyber friends – we saw as many as we could.
I reminisced with Fran and Lori (separately) about our days in Lloyds Bank (could that really have been 25 years ago?!). Neither have changed much, and they are both still the same amazing funny women I came to know and love way back when.
Me and FranWe also stayed with Leslie (whom I met in Ghana nearly two years ago) in Maryland for a few days and we had a blast! My kids count the trip to Dave and Busters as the second best day of their lives (and I can't download the pix I took as someone took them in high definition!). I liked the fact that her house was so livable, and not a museum – my kids felt right at home (though, maybe a little too at home). Many, many thanks to Pam, Eric and Adam for putting up with us all.
We also paid a visit to (and had a delicious Jamaican jerk chicken) Tracy-Ann’s house (which is in our old Maryland neighborhood – how’s that for a coincidence!).
We also met some of our CWD cyber friends.
Amanda and Rosemary!
Our first meet up with CWD friends was at McDonald’s Play Place in Leonardo, NJ with Rosemary and Amanda. Rosemary is a typical Jersey girl (and likely why we got on so well together) and Amanda is a cutie par excellence. Despite the age difference, she and Alex had so much fun!
Jenny and Caro!
Then, early on a Sunday morning, we rode the train into New York’s Penn Station to stay a few days with Caro, her husband Hans, and their amazing, talented and vivacious daughter, Jenny Mollet!
(Oh, funny story, we got a little lost in Manhattan – not really lost, just couldn’t find the street I wanted and thought I was headed in the wrong direction – so I stop a man on the street who was directing people to a tour of the Empire State Building to ask for help. He’s got a familiar accent so I ask him where he’s from. “Ghana,” he says. “So are we,” I reply. Small world, eh?)
Fortunately, Caro found us and herded us downtown to watch Jenny who was performing in the musical Aida, along with a very talented group of young men and women (Jenny was cast as one of the Nubian singers!). I wasn’t sure how the kids were going to like it – the boys are more into action and maiming and killing than a love story (even if there is killing involved), and I didn’t know if Alex would sit still long enough. Alex kept asking me during every ovation, “is it over?” And then when I’d reply, no, she’d start clapping with glee. Guess she liked it. The boys, too, kept asking when it would be over, but that was because they were hungry. Boys. Gotta love ‘em.
Alex and one of the cast from AidaAfter some pizza, we rode the subway up to Harlem. Caro had generously offered us a place to stay in her home (which, by the way, was only about two blocks from where my husband used to live and the site of our humble beginnings as a couple – and boy, has Harlem ever changed! For the better! Back then, I was the only white person for blocks and blocks – hmmm, I am beginning to see a pattern here).
On our second day in the Big Apple, we rode the bus down to Central Park. Caro and I enjoyed the beautiful weather and yakking it up (she is so easy to talk to!) as we tried to keep an eye on the girls who were running through the sprinklers and swinging on the swings. After a while, Caro went to look for the girls and was gone only a single minute when I spotted Alex kind of dragging Jenny toward us. Jenny had that washed-out look that Alex (usually) gets when she’s low, so I pointed Caro out to Alex and told her to run and bring her back. When Alex came back with Caro, I made her stop and check herself, too. She was also low (an ugly 2.3 mmol or 50 mg if you're keeping track). Then I felt bad that I had sent Alex off running like that, but she certainly didn’t seem to be acting low. (I hate that, by the way; I’d rather that she acts low as Jenny did, so I am prepared for the number on the meter. Alex’s low came as a complete surprise.) Fortunately, we were well stocked with juice boxes and glucose tabs and it didn’t take too long for the girls to perk back up. (And the nearby hot dog stand helped a lot, too. There was no way I could resist the temptation – I admit, I had 3 – with the works!)
Alex and Jenny, wet, but happyLater we took a little walk down 6th Avenue, passing by the very cool Jekyll and Hyde Club.
Jenny and Alex
Mike outside Jekyll and Hyde Club with a new friend
Then we did some shopping at the American Girl Doll Store (never again) and the Nintendo Store (also, never again), before stopping to eat at the absolutely bone-chilling Applebee’s restaurant – Caro had to run out and buy a sweatshirt for Jenny who was freezing, and Alex threw the pajamas top that I’d bought for her at the American Girl Doll store over her clothes. I am thinking that the frigid temps in there are merely a ploy to force patrons to eat quickly and get out!
Alex and SpongeBob (cost $1)
Alex and her new American Girl Doll (cost? Waaaay more than $1)Maddie and Sarah!
On Tuesday, we met Sarah and Maddie who came down from Connecticut, and we all rode the Staten Island ferry to Staten Island (duh) and back, then roamed around downtown a bit (where the smells of the gyro truck were just too mouth-watering to bypass – I hadn’t had a gyro in more than 7 years! Yum-O!). Then we headed down to the South Street Seaport. There, we watched some street performers (who were kind of crappy in comparison to Jenny’s troupe of friends), and enjoyed Haagen Dazs ice cream.
We left for home on Wednesday with wonderful memories of a great time and even greater new friends.
The CWD Moms!
Toward the end of August we had a planned outing with a group of CWD moms in Virginia. The weather was really threatening, but we figured we were there more for the camaraderie than the swimming so onward we charged (this was just Alex and me at this point).
It was like meeting old friends. And so it was.
So, there you have it. The most amazing trip ever.
Monday, September 20, 2010
The Whirlwind, Part 1
As I sit here reflecting on our vacation, I took a look back over my “bucket list” (as some of you called it, though at the time I wasn’t entirely sure why), and I am gratified to say that, with only a single exception, I fulfilled all of my desires. And then some. What an amazing whirlwind (yes, despite the fact that we were there for amazing 42 days, it was still a whirlwind) trip we had to the states.
The flight out of Accra was uneventful (thank God), and the children and I touched down at Philadelphia Airport right on time and walked out to find our stretch limo (the best part of the trip so far) waiting to take us to my mother’s house. The limo pick-up was a gift from my lovely mom who couldn’t wait to see her favorite (just kidding, sweet sister!) daughter and her ready-to-be-spoiled-even-more-than-they-already-are grandchildren.
Mom and her significant other, Harry, and their little (and hyper!) Boston Terrier, Buddy, waited for us on the porch and rushed (well, as much as a septuagenarian and her octogenarian partner could rush) down to meet us at the curb. The homecoming was the one of my dreams, and I didn’t even try not to cry. You can’t stop the tides, can you? Our first day involved a lot of hugging, eating, talking and laughing. Maybe even a little bit more crying. As far as I'm concerned, it was the perfect first day, one that I ended with the hug and kiss I'd wanted to give so badly.
Now, I don't want to give you a blow-by-blow of the events (you do have a life, elsewhere, don’t you?), here are some (Part 1) of the Bucket List highlights of our trip.
Fast food! I am somewhat chagrined to admit that we indulged in fast food more than once (truth be told waaayyyy more than once). Why, we hadn’t even left Dulles Airport and we’d eaten at Wendy’s twice that very first day (breakfast and lunch)! Suffice to say that I clearly understand why I weigh 20 lbs less in Ghana than I do in the U.S. By the end of the trip, we’d visited (in no particular order of favoritism) Burger King, Taco Bell, Wendy’s, McDonald’s, Chick-Fil-A, White Castle and Pizza Hut; some of them more than once (waaayyyy more than once).
Coffee! Oh, did I ever enjoy real coffee, in every way, shape and form (caffeinated, half-caff, with milk, with flavored cream, hot and iced). I now know how to operate nearly every brand coffee maker in the U.S. – a skill I had to learn as the early riser in nearly every home we visited overnight. Besides regularly ingesting fresh brews at mom’s house, Christine’s house, Pattie’s house, Heather’s house, Fran’s house (and Frannie, that is a really cool coffee maker you’ve got there!), I grande-ed at Starbucks, 7-11 and Dunkin Donuts (naturally, I had to buy some donuts while we were there... doest that count as fast food?).
Diet Coke! If I ever see another can of Diet Coke again I will throw up. Just kidding! I have to admit I drank through many, many cases of Diet Coke. But, hey, when you can buy four 12 packs for only $10, how could I resist?
Gasoline! Pumping my own gas is totally over-rated. And so is buying gas in gallons, for that matter. We were fortunate enough to have the use of my brother’s amazing Ford Excursion while in the states, and it was a dream to drive and easily held us and all of our junk. But that car sucks down gas like a diabetic with a high blood sugar drinks water (sorry, my CWD friends, I couldn’t resist). I was constantly stopping to fill or top off the tank, to the tune of nearly $600 worth. Still cheaper than a rental, right?
Pizza! We indulged in pizza more than once (including on the first day), and it was kind of interesting to note that it didn’t really matter where we bought the pizza from – it was always still better than Ghana pizza. Except for Pizza Hut – that was gross – my pizza is better than Pizza Hut.
Mail Delivery! Every day (except Sunday, of course) there was mail delivery. And more often than not there was Debbie, a sweet lady and my mom’s personal mail courier (just kidding, she really does work for USPS), who was bringing boxes and mail for us, either from stuff we ordered or diabetic supplies being donated.
Credit Cards! Better I should have buried them in a block of ice… Target, Walmart, BestBuy, Game Stop, RiteAid, PayLess Shoes, American Girl Store, Nintendo World, etc., etc. Need I say more?
To be continued…
Monday, July 19, 2010
When we get to America
In exactly one week’s time – give or take an hour or so – my children and I will be touching down at Dulles International Airport in Virginia for the start of a long-awaited, well-deserved 6 week vacation.
Now, I’ve said time and time again to visitors and travelers that are thinking about coming here that Ghana has everything you could possibly want, albeit at a price. But some things, well, some things just don’t have a price, if ya know what I mean.
So here for your reading pleasure (and maybe some food for thought) I give you some 25 of the things that I will relish when we arrive in the United States next week, after not being home for more than 3½ years.
- Drinking Diet Coke, icy cold straight from the can, one right after another simply because they’re so cheap, and because I can.
- Lighting the stove with the mere turn of a dial, and not the turn of a dial and the pfffft of a wooden match.
- Waking up to the sound of a lawn mover cutting the grass instead of the scree, scree, scree of a straw broom sweeping up the previous day’s rubbish.
- Flipping the channel and finding a baseball game on it instead of a soccer match.
- Hearing the children cry out that they want pizza for dinner and ordering one or two for delivery, instead of groaning about how long it will take for me to make them from scratch (that’s if I have all of the ingredients in the first place).
- Buying gasoline in gallons instead of petrol in liters and having the ability to pump it myself if I want.
- Drinking real coffee and not instant.
- Walking into an air conditioned room and needing a sweater instead of turning on the ceiling fan and removing yet another item of clothing.
- Eating pasta with a sauce from a jar of Ragu rather than homemade (you really do get sick of homemade after a while).
- Having mail delivery come right to the house and not having to go retrieve it from the post office weeks after it’s been mailed.
- Eating fast food that really is fast as opposed to waiting 30 minutes for fried chicken and chips at a local “fast food” restaurant.
- Dialing an 800 number at any time of the day or night, even if I get a recording, and knowing that my call is important to them and it will eventually be answered.
- Working on my tan with people who are doing exactly the same thing and no one raises an eyebrow or questions my sanity.
- Speaking in my normal cadence with my New Jersey accent and everyone will understand me.
- Being called Barbara or “miss” or “lady” as opposed to “obroni.”
- Scarfing down a sack full of White Castle hamburgers instead of the single burger that I cooked and which the boys didn’t eat (only because I hid it).
- Not worrying about coming home to a defrosting fridge or freezer because the power is out or because my prepaid meter ran out of money.
- Enjoying the night air and the dance of fireflies instead of running inside as quickly as possible to avoid the mosquitoes.
- Having access to a clothes dryer and not just a clothes line.
- Listening to rock and roll or oldies music instead of gospel or high-life.
- Paying with a credit card if I want to and not worrying that someone has just copied down the number to try to buy a computer online later.
- Relaxing on beautiful sandy clean beaches instead of ones used mainly as a latrine.
- Having my choice from among dozens of magazines bought for a few dollars rather than just Oprah magazine for $25.
- Visiting my friends and family in the real world and not just the cyber one.
- Saying goodnight to my mom with a hug and a kiss rather than a whispered prayer.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Power tripping
Wondering where I've been? Let me just say (before I start rolling with my next diatribe) that I am the type of person who doesn't talk (or write) just to fill up an uncomfortable silence. There really wasn't anything that I hadn't already said. :D
But today, today is different. I'm still a little ticked off from the experience we had yesterday at the U.S. Embassy in Accra. Up until a few years ago, the Embassy was located in an ugly little building within a tiny run down compound in Osu R.E.; there was no air conditioning, no waiting room, an abundance of supercilious security personnel and the usual bureaucratic inefficiency.
Well, it's different now. The U.S. Embassy is now located in Cantonments, in a big ugly building (or as my friend Leanne calls it, "U.S. penitentiary in Accra) on a huge compound with cold, conditioned air, and a fairly large waiting room. There's even a working television broadcasting VOA. That's the good news. Unfortunately, there remains an abundance (even more so, now) of supercilious, arrogant security personnel who apparently are contagious to the point that even the groundskeepers have serious attitudinal issues.
We needed to do the passport renewal thing, me and Mike, and as a minor, it is a requirement that both parents be present to "swear an oath" so poor Sly had to take time off from work to come with us. Naturally, Alexandra had to tag along for the ride (not that I could have or would have let her stay home alone, nor would she have permitted it). Hours for consulate related activities for American citizens are 8:30 am to 12:30 pm. Now, I was familiar with how it used to be at the old embassy, so I made sure that we got there at 7:30. There was already a long, long line of Ghanaians waiting to enter the consulate for their visa appointments. We whipped out our American passports and showed them to the security guard at the front. With hardly a glance, he responded simply, "8:30," and turned his back on us.
We walked away a little and huddled. Should we go to the car? Find a place to sit? What? And do we come back and have to stand in that line? Sly suggested I go over and ask the other security guard, the one who was guarding the entrance door. So, I walked along the cordon (you didn't think I'd be able to get that close, did ya) and yelled out to him, "Excuse me!" He glanced my way, frowned and gesticulated that I should see the other guard (the one who couldn't be bothered from before). I shouted out, "I only want to know do we have to wait in that line at 8:30 or should we just go to the front?" Again, he pointed at the other guard. "No, I don't want to see him, he couldn't be bothered with me... I just want to know where do we go at 8:30? Do we have to wait in that line?" Finally, finally... "No line. Just come to this door." Seven friggin words. Could he spare 'em?
Our van is parked around the corner and down a bit. The building is surrounded by an ocean of grass, and I begin to tromp across it to get to our van. A groundskeeper is yelling at us to get off the grass. A couple of things crossed my brain just then: 1) Had he never heard of the Pythagorean theorem? (which I actually yelled out, much to Sly's chagrin -- and, in retrospect, he's a groundskeeper, of course he hadn't heard of the Pythagorean theorem); 2) there were no "Keep Off the Grass" signs anywhere; 3) How hard would it be to put a couple of paving stones from the building to the street; and 4) It.Is.Only.Freaking.Grass (and pretty pathetic looking grass, at that)!!!
So 8:20 arrives (I am anal about punctuality -- that' s the American in me, I guess) and we're at the entrance door; there are a group of Ghanaians in front of us, all bearing American passports. He let's them in and signs to us that we should wait (cannot figure out this no-talking rule of his -- maybe he's aspiring to become a Queen's Guard!). After a few minutes, he opens the door and waves (!) us in.
Here's where it gets fun... we sign in, indicate we have no phones on us and walk through the metal detector. Sly and I get to put our jacket and bag on the x-ray machine. My bag sets off all kinds of concerns. Despite the signage that says no phones or cameras, now, all electronic stuff is banned inside the consulate. So into a little pouch go the Nintendo DS consoles I brought for the kids, as well as Mike's MP4 player. My bag goes for another ride through the x-ray machine.
"Madam, you have a pen drive in your bag." Um, no, I don't. I do have Alexandra's glucose meter and insulin pens, but other than that, nothing electronic. I pull out her glucose kit and show him. He shakes his head, "that cannot go into the consulate" he says. I say, "it has to go, I don't know how long I will be in there (understatement of the year!) and I have to be able to check her blood sugar if she feels low." He refuses, and tells me I need to put it in the pouch.
Momma bear's hackles are up at this point. "No," I insist, "I want to speak with your supervisor." Eyebrows raise here, but that's my right (as is bringing Alexandra's glucose kit into the Embassy itself). A few minutes later and I'm talking to Carol, an American who claims she is familiar with type 1 diabetes and knows that the meter is important, but she's got to defend the stance on the electronic ban so she'll have someone come and "inspect it." I was really ready to whip out the Americans with Disabilities Act, if necessary... I mean, an Embassy is American soil isn't it?
We're directed to sit and wait, though one guard tells Sly he should proceed and Sly basically scoffed at him and sat down. Truth be told, I had expected Sly to suggest I give them the meter (he's really not big on confrontation in situations like this), so I was very (happily) surprised when he backed me 100%.
A few minutes later, another Ghanaian security agent comes through the door -- I'm pretty sure he's in charge, because everyone hops to attention and yells out, "Good morning, sir" to this guy. The security agent at the desk, in a local tongue, must be telling him about the "machine" and how it "measures sugar pressure." I assume this means Alex's glucose meter.
I indicate that it is for Alexandra, and he wants her to use it so he can see. No problem, she does this nearly a dozen times a day so what's another, even for an audience. Everyone is watching. She does her thing in about 10 seconds and the meter reads a 9.7 mmol (not good, but she did just eat granola and apparently the insulin hadn't kicked in yet). Even though he sees what the meter is for, he still has to ask, "Do you really need to bring this in?" (Can you picture me rolling my eyes -- well, I didn't -- but, oh, how I wanted to!) I can't even imagine what would happen if Alex were on an insulin pump.
I relinquished Alex's juice boxes to the pouch (no liquid inside, either -- I wasn't gonna argue), and once inside the consulate it was a relatively smooth process, in air conditioned bliss. And within an hour we were on our way home.
Ghanaians are generally the most pleasant, helpful, friendly people you'd ever want to meet. What's the saying? "Absolute power corrupts absolutely?" Yeah. Yeah, it really does. But here's the thing -- I can board a plane (of course, only once I've dealt with the ineptitude and attitude of the Kotoka Airport security agents over the same glucose meter and insulin) and fly to America. And those Ghanaian embassy guys, can't.
