Arrival

[Danté]

Arrival

A jolt and the sound of rubber buffed on the runway nudges me from a light sleep as the plane touches down. It manoeuvres and then comes to rest, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, while everyone on board gathers their hand luggage. The door now open, a clamour for the door becomes a little push and shove. Eventually everyone is out on the tarmac in early morning darkness, but heat rises and is a real contrast to the two degrees below at Heathrow nine hours earlier. Walking a hundred yards or so to the airport building, I follow everyone else, I am sticking out like the proverbial, wearing the only white skin in this party. We are all directed to queue at passport control, well I assume that is what we are doing and follow the tide. An official gestures me to hold my passport up, he sees the maroon cover and waves me through, to the deregulated side of the airport. A favour not wanted or expected, but one which allows me a little space in which to evaluate and remove the unnecessary outer clothing I had put on in the cold of an English winter. Exiting the building, I find the whole of the foyer packed solid with cab drivers, all grabbing at my rucksack, desperate to take my fare when all I want to do is walk and find somewhere quiet to gather my thoughts and decide on my next move. It suddenly dawns on me that I am more alone, than at probably any time in my life, and yet there are people everywhere, staring at my pale insecurities wandering, uncertain and reflective.

Walking along the unmade road, I pass all kinds of shacks and sheds with trading signs above them. It seems unbelievable that these are businesses connected by some really dodgy looking electrics, which traverse the air between each. A young man standing at the front, of the one closest to the muddy road, stares into my eyes. I feel very self conscious and force a smile, which is returned by the man as he puts his head inside the building and gestures to his children to come and look at the white man outside. In moments the whole family are standing laughing amongst themselves and chattering Akan with fast tongues. Akwaba(Welcome) as another man I assume to be a family elder reaches out his hand, and shakes mine very firmly and snaps his finger against mine as his grip is released. The heat is now intense as the sun hangs above the horizon, shimmering haze, and a sea breeze like a fan heater at full tilt, which reminds me to apply the maximum factor from the applicator in my rucksack. An act which seems to generate more amusement amongst the ever increasing group of locals. I continue my walking and a mile or so along the road, arrive at a bigger complex of dwellings and shops, and decide to take a cab a few miles, to the outskirts of Accra.

Bumping along various combinations of mud, rock and tarmac; for the first time it really dawns on me how different the trees are. Palms and acacias line the road in places, some having fruit-bats hanging off of them like giant black dates. Fortunately the man driving the cab speaks a reasonable amount English, and suggests I find a hotel where I can get myself sorted out and decide my movements from there. It was never my intention to spend any time in a hotel, but somehow it suddenly dawns on me, it would probably be wise. The buildings get bigger and the road becomes more like the roads back home, we reach our first set of lights. The car is surrounded by people who appear to be selling everything from sunglasses to bags of ice cubes. I feel compelled to buy something, but the driver refuses to open a window and pulls away sharply just as the lights change. Arriving at the hotel, I am surprised to see a building which looks like a run down block of flats. The owner looks worryingly chuffed to see my arrival, and ushers me into the building with his broken English. He shows me around the place, indicates that each floor has a toilet and a bath, then shows me to a room, hands me a key and departs. Inside the room there is a bed and one chair, the walls look to have been sprayed recently with some kind of chemical. I close the door behind me and sit on the bed wondering what I have gotten myself into. The heat is now stifling as I go through my bag, double checking my malaria tablets and camera, amongst the light weight cotton clothing. I find myself feeling apprehensive and excited as I lay back on the bed gathering my thoughts. A brightly coloured lizard basks on the windowsill as I re pack my rucksack. I don’t know where I will go from here, but while the sun, still climbing, scorches by, I know this is Africa and I have most definitely arrived.

[Oskar]

Dante

Well, I read all the way to the end and was interested and absorbed throughout. I'd be glad to read more of your adventure, although I suppose you have already shared other aspects of your visit in some of the poems you have posted elsewhere on PG.

I particularly enjoyed the second paragraph, which described effectively a number of small awkward moments shared with some of the locals.

On the down side, it felt a bit like I was being led through your story with my nose and ears plugged. You have lots of pleasing visuals, but some reference to the sounds and smells of the place would have enhanced the impact of your descriptions. In such a different setting, I found this to be a surprising omission.

There were, however, more than enough small details in this to hold my attention.

Thanks for the read. Enjoyed.