On The Road Again
We leave KO-SA in the morning and sit for a three-hour wait at the bus stop, heading to the Capital city of Accra. Everybody tells us to get in and out of Accra as soon as possible, but it is the only place to conduct travel business, such as acquiring visas.
“Hey! Come join me.” A blonde man yells.
We look at each other, and try to ignore him.
“C’mon, I’ll buy you a beer.”
I nod to Mare, (We’re easy) and we go sit down at a table with, Dennis. He explains that he’s from Holland, but has been living six miles in the “bush” for the past six years, starting a monkey preserve.
“I don’t like Americans. I don’t like black women either.” He looks me the eyes. “I believe in telling it the way it is, like the straight shooter I am.”
I want to say that “at least I’m not a black woman from America,” but I don’t. Actually, Dennis doesn’t give us much of chance to say anything. He talks nonstop, and we are happy to see our bus arrive. Have fun with your monkeys, dude. Maybe you could learn from them.
After a three-hour bus ride, we hop a taxi to a $20(US) hotel. The room is located in a damp basement, and offers a soggy mattress. At least the rusty, air conditioner window unit blows cold air, and water drips from it onto the floor. (I wonder whatever happened to Legionnaire’s Disease) The bathroom offers a “bucket shower” where you stand in the tub, and fill up a bucket of water to rinse. We must leave the bathroom door closed, to keep out the stench of moldy, wet rags. However, the cool air soothes Mare’s rash covered legs.
When we walk down the street for dinner, Mare realizes that the hotel is not the one recommended by the folks at KO-SA, but has a similar name, so no fault to the taxi driver. At a local restaurant we order Ghanaian fare. I eat the “Omo Tu,” which is ground nut soup with goat meat. Just like a local, I ball-up rice in my right hand, and dip it into the soup. Meat is eaten with the right hand also. Every table comes with a bottle of liquid soap, next to other condiments, along with a water dish to clean your hand after dinner. Mare uses a spoon to eat her “Banku with Okra Stew, a spicier dish with a rice ball and goat meat. The meals are wonderful, although goat meat can be a tad grisly, and we eat all of it, along with some beer, for about $3(US).
I am surprised to not get a case of heartburn. However, we cannot sleep. So I write most of the night, while Mare lets her legs cool, figuring out a way to escape our dungeon of a room.
She decides that after breakfast, we will splurge on a $100(US) room at the Paloma Hotel. Since tomorrow is Sunday, we will not be able to cop our visas for the country of Benin, so will lounge in welcome luxury. Thank you, Mare.