I fumbled with my luggage in the steamy, crowded airport in Abidjan, finally reaching the information
desk of Air Afrique to get some guidance on my connecting flight to Ghana from Niger. As I patiently
waited for the attendant to finish her conversation with a local jewelry salesman, my thoughts turned
anxiously to my arrival in Accra and the beginning of my first "long" FAO in-country (ICT) trip: a 12 day
tour of Ghana, Togo, and Benin, with emphasis on Ghana.
I thought that I was well prepared. The already well-worn copy of Lonely Planet's Africa on a Shoestring
was tucked away in my travel bag, along with plane tickets, maps, passport, and a mixture of CFAs and
dollars, all carefully organized into separate, zippered pockets within easy reach. I even had new laces on
my hiking boots.
Unfortunately, one of the first lessons that the ICT FAO in Sub-Saharan Africa must grasp is that plans
seldom come to fruition in this part of the world with the precision and timing of a French train schedule.
This lesson would be reinforced several times with me during the coming days . . .
I met the acting DATT in Accra (CW2 Smith) on that same Friday night over a beer at the Labadi Beach
Resort, and we talked about some changes to a well conceived itinerary she had graciously composed for
me. She would not be able to show me around Ghana that weekend, but could loan me a beat-up Peugeot
for a trip up-country to a tiny village named Hwediem. There, Nana (Chief) Anarfi had prepared a
fabulous harvest festival celebration for some TDY guests of the American Embassy, complete with a hired
brass band and a freshly slaughtered goat. Unfortunately, these guests could not attend the event and I was
asked to fill in for them. So, we found a map the next morning at the embassy, found Hwediem on the
map, and I set out on a day trip to Kumasi, prepared to leave the following morning from there for
Hwediem.
I checked in late at my hotel in Kumasi after a sweltering drive with no air conditioning and no fan. Just
after getting checked in, CW2 Smith phoned with some last minute cultural tips and advice that I needed to
bring along a bottle of schnapps for the ceremony. I quickly found the hotel clerk (Andrew) and he agreed
to bring a bottle of schnapps to my room the next morning around 8 a.m. This cost a lot of cedis.
After a sleepless night (a calypso band at a nearby bar played Peter Gabriel music until midnight and a
drunk tried to break into my room at 2 a.m.), I waited for Andrew to bring by the shnapps. Nine O'clock
came and went, and still no Andrew! Searching for some new options, I searched out another clerk (Steven
-- Andrew's brother) and made the same request to him, but with a little more urgency. We hopped in a
car and he took me on a wild ride down the backstreets of Kumasi, passing crumbling colonial era
buildings and crashing through clouds of scurrying chickens, while he recounted his recent bad luck at
losing his art school scholarship. Finally, we came across a small tin shack patched with Coca-Cola signs,
and Steve jumps out of the car and disappears behind a tattered curtain door.
I waited for quite a while, slapping mosquitoes and chugging down the last warm bottle of water.
Eventually he emerged with a bottle of Ghanaian schnapps in a beautifully printed box. After another
twenty careening back through the streets and back alleys, and Steve's second story (why he really needed
a visa to go to Aemrica), I got back at the hotel and finally set off for Hwediem -- late, of course.
The map was flawless and I made amazingly good time, arriving in Hwediem at about half-past noon. I
wasted no time in my search for Nana Anarfi, questioning taxi drivers and gas station attendants at every
corner of the town, until some puzzled children decided that they should take me to the "palace," which
turned out to be a Spanish-styled house in the middle of the town, where the regional chiefs' council was
just getting underway.
I was led into the middle courtyard of this square structure, before an old man -- the regional chief --
adorned in a colorful toga-like gown and pounds of gold chains and bracelets.
He sat quietly for a moment on his throne, in the middle of a raised platform surrounded by a dozen
town chiefs from the local hamlets;
after a long drawn out silence, he asked me to "state my mission."
I slowly and carefully explained that I was there to attend their harvest festival on behalf of the U.S.
Ambassador. He replied that no harvest festival was going on, but handed my a printed brochure of their
last festival that had taken place several weeks before. After much discussion and a consultation with the
other chiefs as they poured over the map that I had brought with me, the regional chief announced that I
must be in the wrong Hwediem. Apparently, there was another Hwediem on the other side of the country -
- it, as you might guess -- was no where to be found on my embassy map. Embarrassed, I offered him the
schnapps anyway and got a Star beer in return. While we drank, we talked casually about New York City
(he had visited there as a young man) and about our families and backgrounds. We took several pictures of
each other with our cameras and he had one of the local chiefs take me on a tour of some of the self-
development projects in the area, including a school and a new road. After that it was a friendly goodbye
and a request that I send him copies of my pictures.
Although my day in Hwediem was unexpected and prevented me from attending another cultural
experience, it an incredibly unique adventure in Ashanti culture, and an unforgettable memory that I will
cherish for a lifetime. Someday, I will tell my grandchildren about Hwediem, along with the tale of my car
accident, trip to an African rural health clinic, and arrest at Saltpond, Ghana, a few days later -- but that is
another tale . . .