The following is from Road Scholar Meghan and her series of updates about her recent humanitarian aid trip to Ghana. It appears here edited for content and length.
I met Barbara, the other RN from Boston Medical, at the ER on the 30th of October to head off to Logan…at 10:30am. Our flight wasn't until 2:30pm but we had a huge autoclave that we needed to be rid of ASAP via check-in luggage and the awesome crew at EasCare ambulance arranged to drive us to Logan. So, once again, I got a ride in an ambulance without being sick. Nice.
We checked in, had breakfast, and tooled around a bit. When I arrived at the gate to board the plane, the flight attendant said, "I'm sorry, but you will have to gate-check that bag. It's too large."
This bag had all--and I mean all--my personal belongings in it, including medication for the communities, all my scrubs, all my personal clothing…you get the picture. And we had a very quick layover in JFK before going to Accra, Ghana.
I replied, "No, it's not too big. I really can't gate check this. It will fit."
"Miss, it is a very full flight. Your bag will follow you to your final destination, but you need to check it."
Like hell it will. I'm going to Ghana, not Georgia.
I was already putting together a rough draft of a nasty letter I was going to publish to Delta when my bag did not make it to Ghana. But I figured, "whatever", and dropped the bag at the gate. I turned to Barbara as we were boarding the plane and said "that bag is so not making it to Ghana." She smiled, probably knowing I was right, and we buckled our seats and set off.
With a quick layover at JFK and an immediate boarding to Accra, we were off. I noticed a few people on the flight from the orientation the month prior, but I was tired and figured I had two weeks to get to know them and passed out for the majority of the flight. When the captain announced our landing in 20 minutes, I opened up the window and glanced outside for a peek.
Wow. Beautiful, rolling, green hills with tall trees all around. A light haze covered the area but it wasn't anything close to smog, it was probably the result of the humidity. At the bottom of the hills, small villages with dirt roads and small concrete houses no more than a single story high. Only the main roads were paved, most of the roads were dirt (as I would soon find out, with major potholes). No skyscrapers, nothing modern that stood out; but beautiful.
We got off the plane to a bright sun and it all started right there. The heat, the humidity, the "oh my God I need a shower" feeling. The airport was not air conditioned...anywhere. We went to immigration and met Emma, one of the other RN's, who is some kind of big shot in Accra (and with airport security conviently). We breezed through customs, all medical supplies and medications in hand. At baggage claim the two large red suitcases I checked in arrived, all filled with medical supplies and extra scrubs. I saw a cute little Mickey Mouse bag go around and smiled. Then I saw it again, and again, and again. Curiously, I didn't see my gate-checked bag going around. Ever.
I was shocked, obviously. Several of the team members told me, "let's just wait a bit, it might show up." I then told them I gate-checked it and they quickly got the point. Off to lost and found. I informed the desk that I would not have access to a car and they would need to deliver my bag to my address in Swedru. They took down the info and miscellaneous phone numbers and we were all off to Cape Coast for an orientation before starting work in Swedru.
We stopped briefly in the city center for money exchanging and lunch. If you thought taxi drivers were nuts in Boston and NYC, you haven't been to Ghana. I would love to see what the driving test is like over there, if they even have one. Overcrowded streets, congestion and confusion like you can't imagine and in the 8 inch space between cars, people trying to sell you random products and tourist stuff. They knock on the window with baskets on the head filled with products, produce, water, candy, cell phone cards--everything. And they're stubborn little things too. They'll stare you down, hoping to break you and you'll buy something. They were not mean in any way, just extremely pushy. Then you get out of the car and it doubles.
You'll be totally surprised to find this out but in Africa, we sort of stood out...just a tad. People were yelling "Abrunee! Sista! Here! Come here! Free to look at my things! Take a look!"
Abrunee, I quickly learned, is what I was: a white person, not in a derogatory sense, just a title. Sista, meaning sister, is somewhat a term of affection.
I had men coming up to me saying "Hello. How are you. What is your name?"
They held their hands out to shake and I accepted. "Meghan, you?" I asked.
They would give me their name, I would respond with a nice to meet you and they would then ask me to look at their products.
"No, medassi" ( meaning, thank you).
They would ask again. I would smile and say no. They would say OK, see you later.
Right. Bye.
Yet sure enough the people I gave my name to, I would see again. As we headed back to the van that stood out amongst everything else, they would have a product for me...with my name on it. Dammit, tricky little bastards.
"Here, I made this for you! Free, no charge, you are my new American friend. What is your email address.?"
Oh hell no. So, just like I did in college, I gave them a fake email address, smiled and said goodbye. The suckers of the group wouldn't have a chance in hell and would cave in and buy. Me, not so much. I threw them off by asking if they sold underwear since I didn't have any. And they would give me a funny look and walk away.
Crazy American.