Where's our luggage?

A relatively hassle free plane trip, via London, U.K., landed myself, and my five fellow JHR trainers (Hannah, Alison, Brennan, Indica and Nick - a native Ghanaian) safely in Accra, Ghana on Tuesday, October 2 at about 9pm (Ghanaian time - four hours ahead of Toronto). According to Indica, from leaving our homes or hotels in Toronto we were 32 hours in transit, including a three hour stopover at Heathrow airport. One other JHR trainer, Nichole, and her boyfriend, Sean, took an earlier flight over landing in Accra a couple hours before us.

Stepping off the plane, the soupy, campfire scented air was my very first of endless observations acquired over the last five days in Accra, Ghana. We quickly boarded a crammed shuttle bus - a mix of Ghanaians and obrunis (as white folk are called here) to take us to the terminal. A banner with Akwaaba! across it welcomed us. Akwaaba means welcome in Twi - the main indigenous language spoken here, though there are many others. In a sleepy, disorientated state, Hannah and I joined the Ghanaian national lineup at immigration instead of the visitors. Stares, chuckles (including our own once we we realized what we had done) followed suite.

After passing through immigration - where the officer I approached simply checked and stamped my passport and sent me on my way - we arrived at the luggage claim. The airport itself is nothing like those we just came from - much smaller, of course, resembling a church hall (as Hannah pointed out) instead of a major transportation hub. Ads with smiling children, beautiful Ghanaian women selling phone cards, other destination points etc. lined the walls. The luggage claim area included two carousals and a lost and found luggage area - a desk all of us, except Alison, were about to get to know well.

Yes all of us were missing a piece of luggage. Me, my main backpack with all my clothes. My claimed suitcase contained bathroom products, a mosquito net and a few other non-essentials. Luckily, Hannah had an eight month supply of Malaria medication to share! Our next challenge was filling out the lost luggage claim forms and finding Ato, our JHR country director, who was meant to meet us at the airport and take us to a guesthouse, where we would be staying until we found more permanent accommodation. While Hannah waited in the luggage claim line-up (14 flights and 100 passengers were apparently affected that day), Alison watched the luggage we did have. Brennan, Indica and I took turns traveling in and out of the airport, passed security, into a sea of black faces awaiting to greet there own friends and family coming off flights. How were we going to find Ato? We tried his cellphone, borrowing a security guards phone to text message, without any luck. Finally he arrived and after two hours at the airport - our first taste of Ghanaian time - we were on our way.

Joseph, a native Ghanaian, 28 years old, and Ato's right hand man (who has become Alison and my first local friend and very own personal tour guide), had apparently been waiting for us in the crowd of people outside the entire time. He had even seen Brennan and I but assumed we were not JHR people as we did not recognize his JHR t-shirt. Ha! Recognition is not the word I would use to describe anything I have experienced the last five days.

After traveling about 20 minutes in our own personal tro-tro (like a mini van that locals are crammed into to get them from place to place - much cheaper than taxis), we arrived at Dot's guesthouse and this is where I stayed for the next three nights.

Our luggage was reclaimed 48 hours later (Thursday) after visiting the airport luggage reclaim office two days in a row, searching through a backroom full of suitcases, backpacks and and signing several different forms. Hannah unfortunately waited an extra day for hers.

A fresh pair of underwear and shirt was very appreciated after two days in intense heat. Funny though how those situations that are such a big deal back home, became instantly tolerable miles away...