a start....

Here's a start at least. Part of a day in Ghana. Apologies if it sounds like amateur porn.
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The wind was sharp and cool, and I was glad of the scarf that tied my hair back as we rushed along the gravel path. I tipped my head back to marvel at the brightness of the stars, drunk on the wind and my own fatigue from the past 24 hours, something that seems cliche only now as I write this, at the time it was breathtaking. I was seated behind 15 year old Ramon on his rickety but astonishingly fast moped and we were speeding through the woods at 70 kilometers an hour, the headlight from the bike the only light visible aside from the stars.

Ramon's left hand left the grip on the handlebar and snaked back to settle on my thigh. "I have a boyfriend." I announced. Silence. No movement. "We're getting married." Ramon wordlessly returned his hand to the handlebar.

I thought of the events of the previous day and the endlessly rotating cast of characters. 24 hours earlier I was on a bus heading from Bobo Diolasso in Burkina Faso to Hamale, just over the Ghanaian border. I had spent the previous 2 weeks almost entirely alone, in a fog of my own thoughts surrounded by swirling unfamiliar people and languages, so I was thrilled to see the two obviously American tourists boarding the bus in front of me. Somebody was trying to load a rusty stove onto the coach roof (yes, really) and it fell on the foot of one of the Americans. I made my move. "Get your Tetanus shot?" "Ha ha. You're American?!" They appeared as relieved as I to have company so we squeezed into a 3 seat row and set about speaking as much English as possible. They were fraternity brothers at Northwestern, on a 4 month graduation-gift trip around the world. They were smart, attractive, and friendly in an incredibly disconcerting way that seems to come too naturally to those born of wealth and status.

At the border we shuffled on and off the bus at various checkpoints on both sides, until the last stop, immigration. It turns out that one of the frat boys didn't have a visa for Ghana, and since, in Africa, All White People Are Relatives or at least traveling together, the immigration officials took all three of our passports and sat us down together. They told us the boss was home sleeping, so we would have to wait until he arrived. The boys tried unsuccessfully again to explain that I wasn't traveling with them. After 30 or 40 uncomfortable minutes, the boss came in, looking wild-eyed like someone had woken him to tell him about the discovery of a new species of humans. "Americans!!" he yelled to us. "I want to go to America!" After round after absurd round of pleasantries, he finally told us that we could get our passports back the next morning, but we'd all have to take the 5am bus to Wa, 4 hours away, so Mike, the visa-less fraternity brother could get a visa at the immigration office there. We would be accompanied by an armed border patrol officer to make sure we didn't try to escape. And we'd have to buy the officer's bus ticket and lunch. Deal.


(okay just posting this because it's taking too goddamn long! more soon...)