Ghana

Off to Meet the Family

July 10^th 2002 I was off to the other side of the world. My trip would take me through South Africa then onto Ghana West Africa. I was going to meet Francis’s 92 year old mother and his family.

After a one day layover in South Africa my last leg of my journey was up the coast of Africa to Ghana.  The one thing I remember of that flight was the first sign I saw. No sleeping in the Isle.  My eyes widened I looked around my god where was I heading.

We arrived in Ghana six hours later to a very broken down airport.  New experiences for me began immediately. Being transported from the plane to the terminal standing in a bus. No seats just standing, this was a new experience for me. Francis and his friend a fellow Detective met me at the airport.  The long trip had exhausted me. Francis was so excited I had arrived he insisted we drive all over Accra greeting his friends. I had been secretly hoping Accra would be better than it was. The back streets were nothing but rutted potholed dirt tracks. My first impression was astonishment. The Ghana Francis had been describing to me over two years did not exist. Fine buildings, fine roads, clean.

The Welcoming Party

 After a few hours we finally we arrived at Francis’s cousins home. Our cousin had arranged a welcoming party. Exhaustion had taken hold, that mixed with cheap wine and I was finding it very hard to stay awake. She had invited every neighbor she could to meet me. Exhaustion mixed with a very cheap sparkly wine was almost my undoing on day one. Sleep could not come fast enough.

Our cousins enthusiasm for introducing me continued for weeks. She would suggest that we just go for a walk.  There we would just happen to run into people she knew.  Oh My God I can still hear her “Oh come and meet my brothers WHITE wife from AUSTRALIA She is staying with me”.  I soon had to tell Francis I was not a side show and found it embarrassing every time she introduced me.
It all came to a head one Sunday when our cousin decided I should go to church with her.  Being Muslim, Francis declined her invitation. I was not keen and should have taken his lead.

Church

Sunday arrived. As did her friend all dressed up AND a photographer.  Then a one hour session began of taking photos of our cousin and her party of three. Francis drove us to the so called church. As per usual in Ghana the church was a brick shed tucked away in a suburb.  I was led inside by a very proud cousin who stopped to introduce me, “the white wife of her brother, to everyone we passed.  We sat near the front, only because I did not want to sit in the front row. I have never been to a charismatic church before and was not at all impressed.  I was and still am a lover of quiet church services.  The Pastor was prancing up and down the isle on his toes continually wiping his brow with a white handkerchief then swinging it around screeching out his service. 

Dancing in the Isles

When the first jaunty hymn began our cousin grabbed my arm and in as loud a voice as she could find said “we must  go up the front now and dance. If you the white wife dances up front you will bring blessings to our family”. Not on your nelly was I going to make a fool of myself in front of all these people.  There we were she was pulling me with all her might, I was pulling back saying sorry I do not want to dance.  I was so embarrassed. Seeing the problem her friend grabbed her and pulled her up to the front of the church. I gratefully sat down.  When we walked out of the church and met Francis he knew immediately things were not right.

Yes when we got home he understood NEVER to force me to do anything against my wishes again.