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.