This Time Is Not Like Last Time

Last summer, my first, and scariest, memory of Ghana was its airport. An assault on the senses that left me weary and concerned about what I'd signed myself up for. This is also what i told the newcomers on the trip. Be prepared. Get psyched up. Take deep breaths because the terminal is madness.

Imagine my surprise when we were met with orderly yellow fever checks, a roped off calmly winding passport queue and revamped luggage conveyor belts.  The exit out of international arrivals was wide and easily passable. And on the other side, last year's drivers, Clement and Ellis, awaited us like old friends. 

But I wasn't fooled; the worst part was yet to come. Men, tall, short and fat, trying to grab at your luggage to 'help' you carry it to your vehicle. They were on us immediately upon exiting into humid city air last July. So I stepped out, gear strapped to my back, suitcase handle firmly in hand and was greeted by...no one. In the place of leery touts stood a set of picnic tables, a series of outdoor food establishments and a fence hemming in the car park. Progress. Way to up the game, Ghana.

Winding our way through Accra, I was also surprised to find that I knew the way to our accommodation. And that it kind of felt like I never left. That's a nice feeling when you're somewhere as far away from your norm like Africa.

That quickly changed when the cluster of disorganization happened upon arrival at Yiri Lodge. Rooms weren't ready. The staff seemed to know nothing about what was going on. When I finally opened the door to room 14, I was greeted with a series of 14 damp towels strewn across the bed, desk and chair, a wall stained with brown such and such and bloodstained sheets. The lock didn't really lock. A hooded man-cum-security guard lurked around the courtyard with his face covered. 

In typical Western fashion, I complained and was moved rooms, only to be moved again a day later. 

It appears the management here has changed and everything has lost last summer's shiny veneer.  One of the girls got shouted at: 'move your laundry from your balcony! It's an eyesore!' music pumps late into the evening and there's a general sense of unease. Nothing huge, but a definite shift.

Above all of this, I feel a shift in the group dynamics as well. Nothing bad. Just different, very different. We're a group of 10 women meeting a team of summer school teachers who have already been here for a week. And there's some very strong personalities that make me feel less inclined to show the real me. I feel somehow old. Not in age but mentality. 

I am aware that this trip is nothing about our accommodation or the airport or the dynamics of the group.  But it has set me up for an uneasy start. And that's not fair to my very lovely group whose only failing is that they are not the Beth, Charley, Charlotte, Dora, Ian, Jen, Juliet, Paul, Meryl, Wendy powerhouse combination of last year. 

But if  Ghana's taught me anything it's to be flexible and resilient because change comes barreling down your door whether you like it or not. 

With this in mind, I forge into the next two weeks of adventures in teaching.