Ghana -- A Preflight Check

I would like to begin with a picture.

This is the last piece of American culture we saw before we boarded our flight for Accra.  Yes, a giant carrot with what appears to be a bean on top.  It can be found adjacent to Gate E16 at Hartsfield-Jackson in Atlanta.

This undoubtedly says something, though I'm not sure what.  Bad art knows no bounds?  A monument to American excess?  I should have taken that left turn at Albuquerque?  Not exactly what I want to remember the homeland by.

We had allowed for a six hour layover which the Airline of Broken Dreams (my pet name for Delta going back many years) whittled to four by being late getting us out of Kansas City -- still plenty of time to get something to eat, get accosted by the power-hungry clerk in the duty-free shop and just hang out and eat jelly beans.

I think we were both excited when we reached Atlanta.  We found our gate and then went to choose our last meal on American soil.  Tanya chose shitty Mexican.  I chose shitty Chinese (an inferior choice as we would later find out when the airline served us shittier Chinese as the in flight meal.)

Here is Tanya standing at the gate.  The smile is genuine.

Our excitement turned to fascination as the gate area began to fill with fellow travelers.  Note:  If you are white and traveling to Africa and not a missionary, you are in a minority.  The missionaries on our flight were all wearing bright red T-shirts to identify themselves.

More interesting than the missionaries were the Ghanaians.  Most of the Ghanaians on the flight were well-dressed, some in more traditional African apparel and others in suits.  A family sat adjacent to us.  They consisted of an elderly grandmother in a wheelchair, and a younger woman who had several young children with her.  The grandmother had an elegant if not regal look to her wearing a green traditional gown -- she commanded respect and had the air of being a formidable presence every where she went.  The younger woman looked to be more assimilated into American society with braided hair and jeans.  She carried the youngest, a boy of about 18 months, in the traditional African way though.

We watched in fascination as the woman lifted the boy onto her hip, while he balanced there she quickly swung her arms around him and slid him onto her back.  While he lay there with her bending over, she picked up a large piece of cloth and draped it over him, brought it around her front and tied it at her breasts.  She then flipped the bottom of the she under his butt and brought it around and tied it at her waste.

Later we would see hundreds over children toted in this manner.  It seemed so easy and comfortable.  Later in the trip when we would see someone selling baby strollers by the side of the road, we wondered who would buy one.  The terrain isn't really conducive to strollers and their traditional method just seemed better.

Overall, the Ghanaians appear to be experts at carrying all manner of things, be it babies on their backs or nearly anything else on their heads.