Strangers in the Night ( Frank Sinatra)

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Accra airport has no more to recommend it than Heathrow or any other. We felt a sense of relief when all our bags appeared. Neither Gloria nor I permitted ourselves the luxury of panicking but it was a close run thing as we were virtually the last to retrieve our possessions.

Now you must understand that I sweat a good deal. I sweat when I walk, I sweat when I talk, I sweat when I eat and for goodness sake I even sweat when I think. So ninety-six percent humidity and a temperature of twenty-six degrees Celsius at eleven o’clock at night are going to present me with a challenge. I did not feel up to the challenge but tried hard to be a man about it. I think I failed.

“Hey, Obruni (white man). You struggling there?”
“You talking to me? “, I replied. I immediately realised that this was not the correct response. I sounded like Robert de Niro in one of those gangster movies, or was it Al Pacino. I always get the two mixed up. I should have been more respectful.
I tried again. “I apologise for being rude. Thank you for asking”.
“It is fine. After all these years we are used to rude Obruni.”
I felt quite small.
“I am just a bit hot and tired”, I said.
“What do you expect, you are in equatorial Africa?”
Reasonable point I thought.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“My name is David. What is your name?”
“Kwami and this is Ame.” He acknowledged a young woman next to him.” We are here to help you during your stay.”
“And I suppose you want to be my friend?” with a sarcastic emphasis on the word friend
I could tell by his expression that I had said the wrong thing again.
“It is up to you whether or not you come to consider us as friends. We are your ouna, your brother and your sister”
Weakly I replied, “I do not understand”
“Why should you?” he said. “We believe that we are all family. Ame is not of my blood line but she is still my sister, just as you are my brother. That is why I am here to look after you.”

The explanation not only made perfect sense but made me feel that Ghana may be a damn good place to be if everybody was like Kwami. I asked him if everybody felt the same way.
“No.”, he answered sadly. “That is why I am here to look after you”.
With that he disappeared.

The immigration officer’s name was Gloria. That amused her a good deal but she still only gave us a stamp for sixty days when we had a visa for ninety days. Common practice I believe. We were the last out of the airport and the VSO driver looked happy to see us. His name is Frank and he appears to know everything about everything. I think that is good.

All the other volunteers were waiting for us outside the airport guarding their luggage carefully as Frank had told them and us to do. It struck me that there should be a collective noun for a group of VSO volunteers. Yes I know that VSO uses cohort or cycle for administrative purposes but I should like to be something more than part of a cohort. It does not appeal to me. Now I do not want to get philosophical about this but first I thought of a “Searching of Volunteers “but that seems somewhat desperate. So I have settled on a “Seeking of Volunteers “. It seems to me to be more open-minded somehow. If anybody does read this, perhaps you will let me have your ideas. In the meantime I shall refer to a “Seeking”.

Bye for now.

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Comments

[Janina]

No, a 'seeking' is not a good collective noun - what about a...can't think - leave it with me! Loads of love J x