From the "there's a light in your cat's ass" dept.

Saturday Feb. 17th, 2007
Somewhere in Accra, Ghana

I learned a new lesson today at the University of Africa: the concept of African time. It is really no different than Belize time, something with which I have much experience.

The story picks up from my previous post this morning. Asamoah and I were informed that we would be fetched from our overpriced Accra "hotel" around 9 a.m. We decided to throw caution to the wind and attempt to grab a quick breakfast first.

It was 9:15 by the time my eggs, toast and Nescafe arrived. Asamoah's rice and chicken arrived at 9:23 -- precisely the same time as our ride. I wolfed my food down; Asamoah had his packaged to go.

We loaded up the car, barely squeezing our luggage into the trunk and five of us (three people were apparently needed to fetch Asamoah and me) into the passenger compartment. The weight was too much for the ancient Opel. The suspension bottomed out and the rear tires squealed as they rubbed against the undercarriage.

We sped down Accra's expressways towards the Freedom Flame office. The noises from under the car worried me. It felt like it was going to fall apart or burst into flames. If our car didn't do us in, surely the crazed Saturday morning drivers would. In a short frame of time we had many close calls.

I've become so acclimatized to living in Ghana that it didn't surprise me that there was no power -- and no air conditioning -- when we walked into the blast furnace otherwise known as an office.

We were under the impression that we would be heading out shortly. As it turned out, it was time for more practice in the concept of elastic time concept. We'll leave when we leave. (h/t to Bob Geldof for this description)

We were greeted and asked to have a seat. It turned out that the Land Cruiser that would be taking us around the country was an hour away in Winneba getting decaled with sponsors logos. "It should be done by 11 a.m.," one of the organizers said.

For a short time someone singing outside the window serenaded us. A few tunes later a radio was brought out to entertain us.

The radio was in the shape of a white cat, preparing to pounce on some unlucky prey. It had knobs along one side, speaker holes in its belly and an antenna in place of a tail.

The cat radio had another feature: it was a flashlight, with the bulb precisely located in the approximate area of the cat's ass. How inventive!

We listened to the BBC on the cat with the light-for-an-arse-radio until we were weakened by hunger. A light-bulb-in-the-cat's-ass-radio can only entertain for so long.

It was noon by the time Asamoah and I decided to exit the sauna of an office in an attempt to find food. A tiny street vendor opposite the office sold loaves of bread and sachet water (water in a plastic bag). A good start, but hardly what we were looking for.

We finally found overpriced rice and chicken a few blocks away. After a couple of meals, hotel and transportation my personal tab for this adventure that hadn't even started was already at more than 1,000,000 cedis. That's in excess of a $100.

When we returned to the office, there was much discussion about money (none) and the route (changed). None of this involved Asamoah or me, so I tuned it out. Much of the discussions were in Fanti, which I couldn't understand anyway.

Sometime in the mid-afternoon we heard a vehicle pull up out front. I'd long since given up on ever starting the adventure and assumed this was the second coming of Jesus Christ.

Nope. It was our driver in a big Toyota Land Yacht containing a large and heavy cement bust of arms breaking free from the shackles of colonialism. The hands clutch a torch that will be lit at the start and end of the Freedom Flame's journey.

The cement sculpture took up most of the Toyota's cargo space. This presented a small problem, as we had to load five people, tons of promotional gak and boxes of booze into the vehicle.

Much of the promotional gak (t-shirts and caps) and booze was destined for regional politicos and chiefs. And there was a lot of it.

This began the next delay. And we waited in the powerless office for a solution to be found.

After another eternity, Asamoah and I headed towards the nearby beach. The filthy swine, hungry goats and garbage detracted from the seaside beauty -- but the air was still fresh, cool and salty.

Back at the office, the power had come on. When we arrived, we discovered that the organizers had all sorts of new duties for us: mainly that I, along with my $250 video camera, would be the pool camera of the event.

I mentioned that my camera operated on a North American standard and that all footage would have to be converted first. Suddenly I was no longer the pool camera.

There was good news, too: the concrete bust had been loaded in a second Land Yacht and sent north. We would meet in Tamale, the capital of the Northern Region.

As the clock ticked past six we finally began our journey. We made quick time out of the driveway and down the street until we hit the thick traffic of Accra. It took at least an hour to leave the grip of the sprawling metropolis.

It was a surreal scene: there were no streetlights, but thousands of hawkers along the side of the road were backlit by oncoming headlights. It was as beautiful as it was dangerous.

We headed north, on a highway clogged with slow moving and safety-impaired big rigs coming from and heading to Burkina-Faso.

Our driver was aggressive in trying to make up for the daylong delay. My knuckles were white as he passed on hills and curves. I was a prayer away from becoming born again.

The highway was not good. In many places it was filled with holes. And in the places it wasn't filled with holes, it was under construction.

Around 9 p.m. we stopped at a roadside diner for dinner. It was good, if expensive. But the organizers paid for it. A welcome relief after my hemorrhaging of cash the day before.

Back on the road and headed north, I sat crammed in the back with two others. Tired of my visions of oncoming death, I tried to sleep. This worked for a few minutes until I awoke from either neck pain or a headache from my noggin bouncing on the window.

Around midnight I awoke to the sight of banks. In every direction a bank. I discovered we had arrived in Kumasi, the financial heart of Ghana.

Our mission: to find a room for the night. The organizers left our Land Yacht and set off on foot in search of a place to sleep. After several attempts, they returned with bad news. There were no rooms at the various inns.

We drove around town in search of somewhere, anywhere, to crash. Eventually we found a guesthouse. Asamoah and I shared a room while the others slept on couches in the lobby.

I stayed up late washing the clothes I'd been wearing all day. The wash water turned an unbelievable dark shade of brown.

After scrubbing the night away I discovered I was too tired for a shower. It was time to hit the sack.

I struggled with my mosquito net and after it became caught up in the ceiling fan, I decided a better option was to spray myself with chemicals and fall into a deep DEET induced sleep.

The adventure of a lifetime had begun!

Cheers!