Testing my driving abilities

 Dear diary, hectic is the word! Hahaha! I failed to say that I got my license, at least the temporary one for now, until I pick up my actual copy from the DVLA in Weija. Ha, and they say the system does not work. So with a little persistence at the DVLA at thirty seven, my questioning self-popped up, and I found out I could transfer my unexpired license from the United States. So per the advice of a kind gentleman at the DVLA, I went to the DVLA head office in Cantonment, met a kind lady who advised me to obtain my driving records from the United States for approval. I did that, received the approval letter the next day, then two days later received my temporary license. Freedom! Now when the police stop me, I can confidently say I am legal to drive, not to say that they will not give stress about other things but…

So now that I can legally move around, I have also decided to heed the advice of people who have been there and done that. Go with the flow, they say, this is Africa. Things happen at their own pace. So here I am going with the flow, driving on the George Walker Bush high way, aka N1 looking for Barclays Bank in La Pas, thinking there will be an exit aside from what I saw and found out that there was only one exit to the side of the street I was on and I should have taken it. Wow, like seriously! These engineers could not think of the fact that there should be other exits other than the very first one at Abof0, and I am supposed to go with the flow, ok Adel, calm down, TIA remember?

So I drive all the way to the Odokor traffic light, and make a U-turn to go way back to my starting point, make another U, and then come back and made sure I did not miss the exit. Yeah!!! Sounds stupid to celebrate, but I have learnt to celebrate the little victories, because TIA. You have to factor in the traffic I went through just to make a U-turn, the pedestrians, hawkers, trotros, taxis etc that I had to meander through to get to the bank, you will know that the applause are well deserved, in fact confetti is what I need because parking was another test to my driving abilities. OMG!

Open the flood gates

Dear diary, long time no see! Ha, Accra wahala (problem)! Am fine I guess. We have not talked in a while. It’s a jungle out here. I went to a funeral this weekend, and broke down. Having been gone for so long, it never dawned on me the number of loved ones that have passed during my stay outside. I saw this beautiful woman in her fifties laid in state lifeless, and it hit me. It was like someone finally opened the flood gates.

This weekend I cried for all the funerals I could not attend, I counted eight in total. That is what leaving outside does, you return and the family structure has completely evolved. I am not using evolution in a good sense in this case. Things have massively changed, several new additions via marriage, births and deaths. Even the physical structures have changed.

I’ve missed weddings, outdooring ceremonies, graduations, and I have become the stranger. These kids are being forced to call me Aunty and are wondering why. I understand them, after all where did I just appear from.

Diary dear, depression is slowing kicking in. I have to find a way to nip it. I am driving but unable to find my way around, so I need a “chaperone” everywhere I go. Talk about driving, so I go to obtain a driver’s license and that in itself is  a wahala. So the Driver and Vehicle Licensing Authority (DVLA) is telling me that I need to go through the entire process from A to Z in order to be issued a license. I have been told that the process could take a few months even to a year. That makes absolutely no sense, am trying to do the right thing, but the “system” would rather I do it the illegal way. What kind of world is this? Has it always been this way? So now the issue becomes, how to obtain a driver’s license the legal way, in the shortest possible time. There has to be a method to this madness, and I am determined to figure it out if it kills me. Tomorrow is another day, I will wake up early, get to the DVLA office and go from there.

Cock-a-doodle-doo

 Good morning Accra! Dear diary, I find myself waking up to the sound of a rooster crowing, “cock-a-doodle-doo”. Ha! I definitely know am home. The house is awake before 5am, obviously am the late riser. I know I will be pardoned, heck, I can blame it on the travel.

I hear the sound of activities, people going back and forth, the sound of broom sweeping the compound, mom yelling at someone about something and instead of getting up, I roll over, pull the cloth over my head and go back to sleep. Am sleeping in today, why not? Am home am I not? After all, I am unemployed so there is no reason to wake up.

Breakfast of Hausa koko, roasted groundnuts, bread and margarine. Wow, not bad, not bad at all! Original idea was kenkey and fish with pepper, but that changed, mom said. Aside from taking a shower, which I should have done before sitting here for breakfast, I have nothing else planned for today, except to find a way to bond with my girls.

The day seem to be inching along well. The girls are not screaming and crying when they see me. They have actually come close, with a bit of hesitation. Hey, let’s go see what mommy bought for you, as I pull out a bag of candy and a Nabi tablet each. Omg, it works, here they come. My hubby laughs and its feels like my first victory, although I have to buy their love, I will take it any which way.

Lunch is served. I sit at the table, and its beans and zomi, fried ripe plantains (red-red), with gari and fried fish. Boy o boy, this looks good. This is the life! This is how life should be. Eat up, and let’s go greet your uncles I hear mom say. The voice in my head goes (welcome home Adel). Here comes the uncles, aunties, cousins etc. Mom, you do understand that I am here to stay, right? So what is the hurry, can this not wait? No my daughter, it cannot wait I hear her say. Ok. I dig into my red-red and say a silent prayer, please let this day end smoothly.

Dear diary, I get to see my girls!

  Dear diary, after looking around for so long, seeming like I had been abandoned at the airport, here comes the potters (kaya), offering their services of carrying my luggage, and finding me a taxi. They put so much pressure in the name of “helping”. Here I am confused, my husband is late in picking me up for one reason or another and I have a number of kayas already on my neck. I just want to scream, leave me alone.

After saying no several times, and being firm about it, I master courage, aka vim, gather my things, move aside, take a deep breath and gather my thoughts. Relax, I say to myself, there has to be a good reason for his lateness.

Ok, I need a phone to call him. I look around, and no phone booths, not even one at an international airport. But I need to make a phone call, so, I do a visual scouting, and notice a nice gentleman staring at my obvious frustration and holding a phone. There we go, I said with an inner smile of satisfaction. I plaster a smile on my face and I go over to ask if I could use it.

The thing with Ghanaian men is they have difficulty saying no to a lady. The damsel in distress act almost always works with them. This gentleman is God sent, he allows me to use his phone. I dial hubby’s number which I’ve memorized not by choice but by constant dialling. Most Africans leaving outside will attest to this. There are certain phone numbers that we’ve dialled so much so that we can recite in our sleep.

Then here comes the computerized voice of the automated machine “the number you have dialled, cannot be reached at this moment, please try again later”. Ok, Ghana networks, I guess they have to welcome me too. I hang up and try again, and then instead of the same message or the call going through, this time I get “the number you have dialled has been switched off”. Ok people, this is not funny. Third time is a charm. The call went through, and I get to find out that traffic is bad and he is on his way. I hang up, give my sincere thanks to the man, and hold a conversation with him for a few minutes while I wait for my ride.

There he comes, I could not hold my excitement. I say good bye to my airport phone buddy, while my bags are being packed into the trunk (boot), of the car and off we go. The traffic is indeed bad, but I am too excited to be bothered. It is late, but due to the time difference, I am very much awake, and cannot wait to see my kids, whom I have not seen for over a year. I just cannot wait! Somewhere deep in that excitement is some amount of nervousness. I have mix feelings and emotions. Butterflies are having a ball in my tummy. Will they remember me, or am I the lady that calls and shows up on the computer every Saturday. Thank God for Skype!

Here we are at the gate, now the butterflies are definitely having a party. He honks, the gates open, and he drives in and parks. I quickly get out, hug my mom all excited and there they are, standing and staring at me, all I want to do is pick these two little previous girls up and give them the biggest hugs and kisses, but when I get closer to them, they scream. Omg! This is not a movie, this is my life. I did not plan for this, or imagine this in any way, shape or form. They both turn around and run for dear life, and hide behind grandma. Stranger danger! I feel a rush of sadness come over me. My own children do not know me, I’ve become a stranger to them. What have I done? I feel arms holding me and saying “don’t worry, it will all work out” but in my head confusion increases, fear increases, what next? How am I going to do this? Do I have to learn to be a mom again? How? Tomorrow is another day, let’s see what it brings.

I’m coming home, tell the world …

Dear diary, my 360 degree journey. Back in the day, I was thought that a circle was 360 degrees, interesting how a lot of non-mathematical things can be 360 degree as well. The thought of returning home, finally, a chance not to feel homesick, to be with family and friends, people who love and care about you. A chance to be home, where I belong and fit in and feel welcomed. Finally after several years of being gone, it’s time to pack up and go home. J. Cole’s I’m coming home, comes to mind and I begin to sing. I’m coming home, I’m coming home, tell the world am coming home…

 

I arrived in Accra via London Heathrow from Chicago but original flight point of Omaha Nebraska. Long flight. I changed continents and as I did I noticed the change in little things that depending on where you are on planet earth, might be important. For instance, TSA in the USA is nicer than security in Britain. I call them Simon Cowell people. They are not nice one bit. Mean son of ****’s.

Another observation I made was that free Wi-Fi in the USA means free, however in London where the pound is more powerful than the dollar, there is no such thing as free Wi-Fi. 45 minutes free then you have to pay or coverage is lost. Of course you know I used the free 45 and sat my ass on a bench and waited for my flight out of there.

Airports are interesting places. When travelling, I sit during transit at my assigned gate and just watch people go and come. A lot happens at the airport I saw people with latches on their children like dogs. Seriously, how did we as humans get to the point where we have to put latches on our kids. Unable to control them in public. Wow!

Then there is the airline desk people that suffer through their job daily, I wonder how much they make? Probably not enough to deal with all our craziness. Anyway, I digress. Back to the issue if there is even any issue. The airline desk workers that make the announcements, a lady just announced that there was something wrong with the plane and they were trying to find out what it was. Lol, really, what if what they find out is wrong, happens not to be what was really wrong? What if they focus on the wrong problem and identify the actual one while we are air bound? God have mercy!

Have you noticed how the lanes at the airports to board the plane is the same but separated by a glorified rope for first class and the rest of us? I thought that was always funny, if I am paying a boat load of cash for first class, I better be walking on air when I board that plane. I must give it to the airlines however, because the first class seats on the jumbo international airlines are nice. The smaller planes however, I reserve my comments!

After more than several hours of flight, I find myself in Accra. Welcome to Africa I told myself. Said a prayer thanking God for safe travels and asked that this land produced for me. This land shall produce for me, I said, in Jesus name, Amen.

Getting out of the airport was another story. I can write an entire mini book on it called navigating the arrival halls of Kotoka. In one sentence, know someone who knows someone, and have loads of patience because you will be there for hours.

Thanks to a good friend, I managed to get out of the airport in one piece. That is one great thing about Africa, friends are usually forever, and come to your aid when you need them. Dear diary, please note the word “usually” as opposed to “always”, and do not quote me on this, I might have to eat my words later, who knows.

Finally, am outside in the dark with so many people, amidst the yelling of people welcoming and those saying goodbyes. A mixture of excitement and sadness, but mine was of excitement. I am home I said to myself, with a smile and a feeling of contentment. I stretched my neck to try and locate my hubby who was picking me up, and slowly a feeling of panic creeps in, where is he?