I woke up minutes before the 6:15 alarm. I needed that extra time to eat leftovers. The two pieces of yam were frozen. I nibbled them a little before abandoning the effort. I ate all the kelewele (fried plantains), which had the added joy of groundnuts sprinkled throughout.

Groundnuts vs. Peanuts: groundnuts have three nuts to a shell instead of two. Whether cooked or not, groundnuts taste similar to raw peanuts.

We didn’t have a morning walk nor a formal breakfast since we traveled this morning. Staff passed out bags of breakfast that included mango juice, dragonfruit, pineapple and watermelon slices, an omelette, bread, onion/green bell pepper/ carrot mix, oatmeal, brown sugar packet, tea creamer packet, one slice of toast, cut diagonally.

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After a few minutes on the road, our tour guide received a call from the hotel, telling him that one of the guests had left their airpods. A hotel representative raced to rendezvous with the bus and return the property. Talk about above and beyond service.

Tour staff collected cedis for the lunch buffet in another time-saving effort.

Our first rest stop had a beautiful lawn with lizards. Next, the police stopped our bus at a checkpoint. No police boarded. Instead they inspected around the bus. We were on our way in under five minutes.

I definitely didn’t eat my money’s worth during the lunch buffet although I thoroughly enjoyed the fresh mango and pineapple. Most of the food was deliciously seasoned, but once again, I was one of the few who appreciated the spiciness. The small salad bar had the longest, slowest queue because servers only replenished enough for two-three people at a time despite the crowded dining room. The lamb involved a lot of work. If I were at home, I would’ve picked it up and cleaned the bone with my teeth.

Of course, the clean stocked bathroom was a big hit.

Next stop: Cape Coast Castle. How does one mentally prepare to visit the site where one’s enslaved ancestors departed from the African continent?

Captives were shaved, fed and treated with shea butter to make them look more attractive. Except for when they were branded with hot metal dipped in oil. The biggest dungeons were located underground. Enslaved Africans were held in crowded, claustrophobic conditions until they were murdered, died due to inhuman conditions or transported across the Atlantic Ocean.

The Portuguese constructed the Cabo Corso (Short Cape) in 1555 along with Elmina (The Mine) AKA St. George’s Castle in 1482 originally as trading posts in the gold trade. In 1653, the Swedish built the fort on the same site. The Danish and Dutch briefly had possession of the fort. Eventually the British corrupted the name “Cabo Corso” to “Cape Coast,” and used the site to greatly expand slavery in the 1660s.

Enslavers used five dungeons to groom Africans to see who was physically, psychologically and spiritually sound.

The Haitian rebellion (1791-1804) helped spur the abolition movement. The British ended slavery in 1833. Captain George Maclean blocked the tunnel at the end of legal slavery in 1834. In 1888, Brazil was the last country in the Western Hemisphere to abolish slavery. The last country in the world to abolish slavery was Mauritania in 1981.

After Ghana achieved independence from the British in 1957, part of the castle was used as a prison for Africans for 33 years, from 1959 until 1992. The British had converted the castle into a prison, but not in the same place as the dungeons.

As we stooped to enter a tomb/dungeon AKA the “Cell of No Return,” I thought of the irony that people also entered the pyramids at Giza the same way out of deference to a deceased pharaoh who was ritualistically buried.

However, there was no deference given to the captured Africans by enslavers. Although this room was called “Cell,” “Suffocation Chamber” would have been more appropriate.

Enslavers starved, dehydrated, and suffocated Africans who fought for their freedom. After 24-48 hours, their bodies were removed, then laid out as a deterrent for others.

I silently prayed while entering the male slave dungeon, which consisted of a few rooms. Each small chamber had held 100-200 people with only three small holes at the top of the high walls to allow cool, fresh air. The windows were far too high to see out of or escape through. Enslaved Africans spent one to three months in a dungeon.

A trench bisected the floor, which collected human waste that flowed into the sea.

Sand had been thrown on top of vomit, blood, and sweat. Stratified layers of compacted bodily fluids caked the dungeon floor.

An altar was built in 1973. Although deceased Africans were put to sea, some believed that their spirits lingered within the castle itself.

Africans lost their rights, identity, and name. They were insured as property. Some enslaved Africans had never seen the ocean before. If one jumped into the ocean, then others went with them because they were chained together.

A hole in the dungeon’s ceiling opened to a church, so enslaved Africans could hear the gospel service. Anglican church goers could hear the enslaved Africans as they entered and exited their place of worship. Elmina had a Catholic church above its dungeons.

I marveled at how any so-called Christian could walk past that gaping hole, knowing the egregious conditions and misery that humans at the other end of that opening suffered, and still think of themselves as good religious folk.

Fortunately, a Black sorority donated money to help repurpose the former Anglican church into a children’s library.

The governor’s place, located above ground, had windows, allowing natural light and breezes.

Palaver Hall used to be the marketplace.

The women’s dungeons were above ground, and used to rape African women for breeding. A trench lined around the walls. Women squatted, leaned, but not lie on the floor to sleep.

The Gate/Door of No Return was situated between the women’s dungeons.

So named because once enslaved people exited through that door, they never returned to the land of their birth.

Yet, with so many of us Black Americans visiting every year as we learn about our history before slavery, the other side of the Door of No Return had been named “The Door of Return.”

As we reentered, I experienced a sense of optimism. There was no undoing of the past, but we could share our experiences and encourage others to learn history and travel.

A seawall was built in 2022, so ocean isn’t as close as it used to be.

Finally, a reminder that we were always welcomed, Akwaaba.

This was the hardest destination to experience. Definitely wanted to capture the moment, but I wrestled with the appropriateness of smiling like a typical tourist. Would that disrespect the memory of what my enslaved ancestors endured?

Or was part of the healing and reclamation of the past found in celebrating Black Joy? There is joy in continued progress, even with setbacks along the way. Surely, as Maya Angelou once wrote, we are our enslaved ancestors’ hopes and dreams.

My head was still heavy from our visit when a black goat darted in front of the bus just minutes prior to reaching our hotel. I wondered if there were any superstition to a black goat, versus a black cat, crossed one’s path.

After filling out a registration form, we were escorted to dinner since no golf cart arrived to take us to our room, which was located across the sprawling hilly grounds. Dinner consisted of the usual local food, enhanced by treating myself to a shot of Bailey’s. Much after the fact, servers brought out a salad, which had to be replenished before I got any.

I never figured out how Ghanaians ate salad because there was always a question of salad dressing. Either mayonnaise was brought out or nothing ever arrived. Once I got some salad, without dressing, I combined fresh pineapple and mango with the salad to lively it up.

None of my hot water strategies worked: flipping the lit switch, turning the extra knob in the back of the shower, fiddling with the hot/cold knobs. Afterwards, I learned that the water heater took a LONG time to do its job. I still washed that Cape Coast visit out of my hair in an impressive-looking shower, using tepid water.

Par for course, we retired for the evening watching an old American movie while I twisted my locks.

After warming up enough to sleep, I dreamt that I was back in NC to inspect a newly installed ceiling fan. While home, I questioned why the kitchen counters had been covered. My sister said because Mom was finally converting the dishwasher area into a cabinet.

When I told Dr. Kofi my dream about returning home, he interrupted, telling me that Ghana was my home. I then restated that NC was my OTHER home.

Since Dr. Kofi wasn’t familiar with the area, he had three locals join us for our morning walk. They set a very fast pace.

This morning’s excursion was the first time I saw the rising sun during one of our walks.

The area was so quiet, we heard the buzzing electricity. Even so, no one was foolish enough to enter an unauthorized area.

Some knowledgeable walkers, both local and tourist, pointed out the nim tree. According to them, one boiled its leaves to support immunity.

Another medicinal plant, the soursop tree, grew near one of the hotel buildings. The leaves and fruit were used to treat high blood pressure, inflammation, and parasitic infections.

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When I received my waffles, I was initially excited to see that it had been garnished with strawberries, but upon closer inspection, I saw that the red fruit was watermelon. Still delicious, just an unusual choice for the average American palate.

I returned to the room for final freshening up after breakfast, which was perfect timing. As soon as I’d rolled my luggage to the building’s common area, a hotel van was about to leave. Both my luggage and I rode to the bus. During that short ride to the tour bus, I learned that the hotel was 30 years old, and had started out as a private residence.

Although the road was blocked because of construction, our tour guide knew a work around. Once again, communicative honking helped to negotiate through traffic. Safety triumphed. We Americans underutilize the horn for such purposes and become aggressive with excessive honking.

We freshened up at Yaa Nyarkoa Lodge, Prof. Kwesi Yankah’s place. The slow-moving bathroom queue allowed tour members to pose with Dr. Kofi who was dressed in his traditional attire as the Chief of Development.

At the naming ceremony, the linguist (okyeame) served as an intermediate between the chief and the people. One can’t look or speak directly to the chief in order to prevent spiritual or psychological attack. The linguist sat with a staff adorned with two eagles atop, symbolizing the balance between the physical and spiritual worlds. One of the duties of the linguist was to shake hands with people. The position can be inherited or appointed.

I was randomly chosen to be in chief’s lineage, but everyone was named after good people.

Drummers provided music for the two dancers. Then for the opening of the ceremony, an elder poured of schnapps on the ground as blessing.

Everyone received a new name. Traditionally, the father provides the surname and mother provides the first name. Elder mothers performed the ceremony, using a leaf of wisdom, the water of purity, and spirits for strength. All of us had to taste both water and schnapps to know the difference.

My Ghanaian name: Nana Adwoa Akyene [nah-nah ah-JUWAH ah-CHEE-nay]. “Nana” is an optional honorific title to denote being named after a chief. “Adwoa” is the name given to girls born on a Monday. Finally, the chief’s surname, “Akyene,” means sensitivity to the arts, especially drums. My family reacted as if that last name suited me well although my artistic talents lie in writing and performing.

The precious beads, made of glass, formed the necklace and bracelet. They were heavy and noiseless as one moved, which allowed the wearer to introduce themselves rather than the sound of the jewelry.

More drumming and dancing followed after the ceremony. The dancers invited us to join in. Several of us jumped up to dance with Dr. Kofi and remained much longer after he sat back down.

When we returned to Prof. Yankah’s place, the Kwesi Yankah youth band, consisting of high school marching band instruments and an African bass drum, played a song which had a refrain that sounded like the opening bars of “Joy to the World.” One of our tour guide support staff also played a trumpet in the youth band.

We received fresh coconut water, which had a slight sweetness. Our light early dinner included Ghanaian-styled doughnuts, pineapple, mango, watermelon, bananas, strawberry and vanilla ice cream. We ate under a rectangular pergola with tiled floor while youth band played on.

Later, we rolled up to our hotel, which had overflow rooms across the street. RC threw a sour look in the direction of the narrow spiral staircase to the second floor where our room was located.

Before the hotel employee left our room, we asked him about the hot water strategy. He entered the bathroom, looked into the shower stall and informed us there was no hot water. Instead, he brought us an electric tea kettle.

A bucket with a dipper were already in the shower stall.

I practically danced around the room, getting ready for my bucket bath. RC was amazed by how happy I was.

And why not? I’d spent two and a half years as a Peace Corps Volunteer taking bucket baths, so I knew exactly what to do. I poured the heated water into the bucket, mixed in cool water from the shower faucet until it reached the desired temperature.

First, I washed and rinsed my face while allowing water to drizzle down my body. After wetting the rest of my body, I lathered, shaved my legs and underarms. Then rinsed off.

As wonderful as my bucket bath was, closing/opening the bathroom door was a harrowing experience.

We could only close the bathroom door if the person outside the bathroom pushed against door while person inside the bathroom turned the hook knob. We did that once. I made too many attempts for my personal comfort to unhook door. RC wouldn’t dare try it.

We found an easier way to close the door without the risk of accidentally imprisoning oneself. The person on the outside of the bathroom pushed the door closed and secured it with a piece of carry-on luggage. The person inside the bathroom could easily push the door open.

I found a bonafide movie channel with sound and watched “Ironman” as a disco across the street raged on. RC requested that I turn down the TV. I advised that she could either hear the movie or disco, muting the TV for her to compare. She chose the TV. I was tempted to wear earplugs except I wouldn’t hear the 5:15 alarm for our morning walk.

While we had our bucket bath adventure, which RC admitted was far more enjoyable than she originally thought it would be, other tour members were at the restaurant with the raging disco. Apparently, those with specialized diets, like my sister, brother-in-law and niece, just wanted food. Not sure if anyone actually danced.

Nonetheless, I didn’t mind going to bed early, given the early wake up time. I stared up at the decorated ceiling until I drifted off to sleep to the sounds of the disco.

We experienced a slight drizzle during this morning’s walk. I used my umbrella for the first time, which I referred to as my “anti-rain stick” since I had carried it before and it had not rained. Had the rain made it easier for the chickens to find food? Maybe just a coincidence we saw them out and about on a rainy day.

During our walk, I confirmed that no one had danced at the disco last night, but everyone ate at the restaurant, especially the pescatarians, vegans and anyone who generally found the traditional food too spicy.

The disco was over much earlier than the one in Accra; so, no walk of shame.

Flipping through the TV channels, I enjoyed the gospel performances. Then, I landed on a Charlie Chaplin movie. Of all things.

For the first time since vacationing in Ghana, the breakfast had no fruit, but there was bacon. Service started off slower than usual because there were no place settings. Once the tea bags and hot water were brought out, some of us started to enjoy breakfast. Others who had requested butter for their bread were baffled at the bowl of frozen butter the server brought.

At least the hotel provided my top three creature comforts: hot water, a movie channel with sound and soft mattress.

Our first stop of the day was the Methodist Basic School in Agona Duakwa, which consisted of a primary and junior high schools. The school started in 1987 with kindergarten, which grew to include older students as well in 2010. Overall, the school staff numbered at 20 with 690 students.

Dr. Kofi’s food taster, who started when she was six, met us at the school.

Dr. Kofi had visited the school since 1992. The restroom facility was one of the many gifts that he, donors and other tour members had given the school.

In the middle of the school courtyard, they had lined up five teachers’ desks, which members of my tour group covered with soccer balls, backpacks, folders, 3-ring binders, candy, hand sanitizer, glue sticks, glue, highlighters, pencils, pens, loose-leaf paper, notebooks, reading books, scissors, clips, crayons, colored pencils and black socks.

In addition to the donated items, we gifted a cash donation, which the head teacher accepted.

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Student drummers and a dancer from naming the ceremony performed, followed by an opening prayer.

During the primary girls’ dance, I recognized the familiar drum breaks, signaling to change repeated dance moves. Some of the dance moves we had learned days ago. We lost it when the girls put their hands on their hips and started shaking their hips in such a grown up way.

The head teacher welcomed us.

Kindergarteners performed a Fanti dance while older girls sang. Someone captured the beauty and innocence of two of the little girls after their performance in the picture below.

Of course, the school invited us to join them dancing. We did our best to follow along.

I loved the juxtaposition traditional with contemporary. After all, why not chill out in between dance performances?

The students performed a skit about the naming ceremony. The real ceremony uses water and alcohol in the Fanti naming ceremony. The person for whom the child was named after gifted two thousand cedis wrapped in blue cloth. The rest gave money to the baby.

A multi-age battle dance ensued where the rhythm kept speeding up.

I joined the naming ceremony dancer from yesterday. I barely kept up with what she was doing. At one point, she left the courtyard to encourage other tour members to dance and I broke into a samba, which was a big hit while attempting to mimic her arm movements. When in doubt, samba it out!

The drummer, who used the fat red drum, had recently graduated and awaited test scores. The naming ceremony dancer had also recently graduated.

We shook hands with the staff, along with the head teacher, and took a picture with her. A student took the initiative to shake hands with me as I was leaving.

One of my nieces learned the hard way about how to use a squatter stall: first raise your pant legs closer to your knees, then lower your pants to squat. Initially, she was preoccupied with not urinating on herself rather than getting another’s pee on her pant legs. Fortunately, our luggage was on the bus. She placed her soiled pants into plastic bag and put on clean pants.

En route from the school to a restaurant, I snapped a picture of an interesting work of art, which was under an overpass. In the States, a sizeable area like that would have been used as a makeshift camp for an unhoused population.

We ate a delicious lunch in a private dining room on the second floor of a building. Of course many of us got ice cream afterwards since we had to enter through an ice cream parlor on the first floor. Very good marketing ploy.

I made the astute observation that strawberry ice cream was widely available, but I’d never seen fresh strawberries anywhere on the street or offered as part of a fresh fruit plate.

Another thing I FINALLY paid attention to was that The Big Six were on the money. During one of the lectures, where I was sleep-notetaking, I missed the Ghanaian founding fathers’ names. I later corrected my notes when I happened to look at a cedi note while waiting to pay for lunch. I took a picture, enlarged it and jotted down their names.

Now, could I have looked up the six leaders from the United Gold Coast Convention (UGCC) whose combined actions helped the country achieve independence from British colonizers in 1957? Of course, since Ghana had wi-fi and I had a smartphone. Yet I liked the moment when I discovered the answer on the money.

Upon arriving at the Labadi beach hotel, I needed my passport. I irritated one of the bellhops who wanted to gather all of the luggage and get it sorted out as efficiently as possible. I, of all people, appreciated his effort, but I had not caught on by then that posh places required a passport.

I dug through my luggage, which I partially opened because I knew that the passport was inside the zipper compartment. One hotel desk employee photocopied my passport. Then, I should’ve signed the registration form underneath RC’s signature, but another hotel clerk snatched the paper away from me and confused things by having another tour member sign. All of this was such a blur of confusion at what turned out to be the nicest hotel we stayed at.

For dinner, we enjoyed a beautiful buffet spread by a swimming pool at another place. Some of us shared a bottle of merlot with Dr. Kofi.

Back at the hotel, I apparently bought the last bottle of malbec, which we split among six of us. We sat under a covered area near the pool due to the rain.

While sipping wine, I spied across the way, my sister who had said that she was too tired to hang out with us for a small happy hour. Obviously, not too tired for some nighttime shopping. Looking obvious in a bright yellow shirt.

I took a glorious hot shower with added bonus of a washcloth. As much as I enjoyed the experience, one would’ve thought that I hadn’t done that in a long time. I had only been out of the States nine days.

Since I’d slept in my bathing suit last night, I put on a cover up shirt and skirt once I woke up. I shared with RC that I came to rock the beach, not walk the beach.

Tiny off-white sand crabs scurried along the beach. We took a longer walk than normal because we had a free morning.

As if in a surreal dream, a man approached us on horseback. None of us took him up on his offer to ride along the beach, but this was the first time I’d seen such a thing out of all the beaches I’ve ever visited.

We posed by a rock formation before walking back to the resort.

By far, this was my favorite morning since all I had to do was rinse the sand off my sandals and feet, then enter the dining room for breakfast. The fruit buffet included pears and a prune compote. The “pancake station” actually served up crepes. Coffee drinkers boasted about sipping the real thing.

Didn’t expect to see a table full of US military wearing fatigues at breakfast. I wanted to ask them if they were stationed in Ghana since they were in their casual uniform, familiar to me since I grew up as a military brat. Yet, I wasn’t ready to suspend my vacation away from the US as such an encounter might have done.

While at breakfast, one tour member stated that he could’ve done all of our past excursions from that current luxurious accommodations. I countered that if we’d only remained there, we wouldn’t have appreciated staying there as much as we did. I then added: when he told others about this trip, he’d recount things we did the first week, including our hotels. “War stories” were the best.

Since a touristy day was planned, RC and I wanted to wear sandals, but her ankle brace was still wet. I suggested using the blow dryer to speed along the evaporation process rather than not taking it at all.

The search was on. After not finding the blow dryer in the bathroom nor in the closet, we went on an easter egg hunt. RC finally discovered it in a drawer already plugged in, underneath the coffee machine. Go figure.

Once reunited with SF, she told me about her horse ride. As she was about to mount the horse, the guy attempted to help. She was apprehensive. He reassured her, “I’m strong,” then he hoisted her onto the horse in one swoop.

“Here’s your 100 cedis.” She promptly handed him the money. She confessed that it had been a long time since a man had done that.

Since this was a five-star resort, I wanted to make the most of the accommodations, including the balcony. I turned a blind eye to the parking lot that peeked between the lush foliage. Not too hard to do since I spent most of my balcony time writing in my journal.

Of course, that didn’t last too long since my sister, who believe she’s my mother, called, inviting/ordering me to join her and her family poolside.

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Soon as I rolled up poolside, my sister told me that another light-skinned woman of color was mistaken for me. Truly a compliment to me since that other woman was at least 20 years younger.

The infinity pool was surrounded by literal lounge lizards, which scurried in between and around the lounge seats. Some people were wary of them, but I welcomed anything that helped keep the bug population in check.

I wasn’t in the mood to join the impromptu water aerobics led by another tour member, but they looked as if they had a fun work out.

Soon, we ordered food. I thought “chicken shawarma” with fries and coleslaw would be a light lunch. I was mistaken.

Another bug-repellent strategy was placed on our table in the form of a burning candle.

Afterwards, we visited the Artists Alliance Gallery at Omanye House. Although the gallery had a very interesting collection, I didn’t buy anything because I wasn’t a homeowner. My souvenirs were in the form of pictures.

Our tour guide was so excited to escort me to the postcards, which unfortunately were damp and overpriced. I’d searched for postcards since day one, but there was truly no market.

I beat all the tour staff back to the bus for a nap while listening to my audiobook. Other tour members stayed so long, I worried perhaps I was missing some demo about an artistic skill such as printmaking. Not at all. Just the usual slowness of the group who enjoy shopping/browsing. Had I known how close the gallery was to the resort, I would have walked back.

I immediately decked out in cover up and headed for pool. I did several leg exercises that felt especially good on my low back. I contemplated getting an hour long massage at the resort spa, which was just $60.

The decor of our dinner restaurant reminded me of an Austin art gallery exhibit.

The restaurant had the food ready as soon as we sat down. Platters upon platters of food. The platters were huge; our individual plates were small. An embarrassment of food that potentially went to waste because we slowed down, then stopped eating altogether. Servers packed up the leftovers at tour members’ request. I think the food was given to the bus driver, his attendant and perhaps other staff.

Rain Goddess had splurged at the mall. Although I don’t care for sweet wines, I chalked it up as liquid dessert. I retrieved the wine from her room and went upstairs to host a small happy hour in my room.

When I changed into my pajamas, RC said that my attire signalled, “Hurry up and leave before you get here!”

We sipped both red and a bottle of the pink blush, which was even sweeter. RC provided pumpkin seeds to go along with the wine. An unusual pairing that worked.

We took the first of several “Strange Happy Hour” group pictures. My great grandfather, Jesse Strange, was emancipated at age 13, had married twice and fathered a total of 12 children.

We Jesse Strange descendants, out of nearly 1000 living relatives, were blessed in so many ways. Too bad all the laughter wasn’t captured in our group picture.

Ever have one of those days where it seems as if the universe itself conspired against you? As if the same sour note keeps being replayed throughout the day. This was that day.

We all got a bonus shower during our morning walk, leading me to found a new superstition: “Rain Goddess.” Anytime a certain cousin joined us for a walk, it rained. I vowed to carry an umbrella as part of my walking gear, especially when she joined us.

We walked in the opposite direction, which had more hotels and trash, than yesterday. At the turnaround point, we took our group picture at a boat. That miserable look on my face turned out to be an accurate predictor of how the rest of the day would unfold, but I was still optimistic then.

I made a complete clothing change, down to my underwear. The second attire worked out better since the prayer beads looked MUCH better with a solid blue shirt.

We received our name bracelet once we boarded the bus. The honorific title “Nana” for all the women had been dropped, but the title had been retained for the men. Someone explained that the title was optional, but couldn’t explain why the option wasn’t retained for all of us women. When I asked a staff member if the “N” could be added, he gave me an exasperated “woman, please” look. I accepted my bracelet, thinking that I’d add the “N” with a permanent marker.

The sankota charm on the bracelet meant “to retrieve” and was associated with the proverb: “It’s not wrong to go back for that which you have forgotten.” I appreciated its appropriateness since I’d been taking notes religiously, knowing that I’d lose so many details over time.

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Our tour guide stated that the bus ride would take an hour to our destination. Dr. Kofi said 90 minutes. I said two hours. In actuality, I didn’t note the time. It didn’t matter. Like everything else, things would happen when they did.

Visiting the Ancestral Wall did the trick as far as motivating me to learn more about ancient history and the resistance against the colonization machine. From the first pharaoh, Menes, the first doctor, Imhotep, to more modern figures such as MLK, Ali, and Winnie Mandela. American expat Jerry Johnson and his wife, Abomah, had started this educational art exhibit.

(I failed to write down her name during my visit. I had a challenging time finding her name during my research. An article that mentioned her, only stated that she was “Jerry Johnson’s Ghanaian wife.” Fortunately, I was still in contact with our resourceful tour guide who provided her name.)

While waiting in line for the bathroom, I originally thought the nori fruit, shown below, was a frog.

Ghanaians and Black expats, who kept referring to the States as “the plantation,” maintained the The Ancestral Wall. The expats from the States boasted about being deprogrammed from the plantation to being treated like a person. The plantation’s negative narrative led people to believe that African countries had no positive aspects. The plantation used people like cogs in a machine to keep it running.

At the time of our visit, Jerry had returned to the States for a visit. In his place, Abomah and another guy gave us the tour of the exhibit. She, of course, knew a lot about the establishment and the on-going progress of the exhibit, but the man, who had only relocated from the States three weeks prior, took the lead.

He explained only a few paintings, which were done by seven different artists, since it would have been be virtually impossible to give the highlights of all the works. Besides, his strong suit was Ancient Egypt and Biblical figures. Yet, he still annoyed me when he either skipped over or glossed over some of the women depicted on the wall.

I spoke up for Hatshepsut, the only woman to crown herself pharaoh, for having a hieroglyphic of herself pregnant.

I also told people about the Carver museum in Austin when he got to George Washington Carver.

I kept reminding myself throughout the tour that he’d been put on the spot to guide us. So, I took deep breaths when he skipped over voting/women’s rights activist Fannie Lou Hamer and investigative journalist Ida B. Wells. I figured he’d probably received a similar sparse public school education as I had when it came to Black American contributions to history. More erasure so we wouldn’t take pride in ourselves.

When we questioned why Nelson Mandela wasn’t represented, Abomah explained that while Nelson was imprisoned, Winnie had done a tremendous amount of work, but hadn’t received the credit she deserves. Yet another overlooked woman.

The library/reception area was still under construction. Two sisters had donated most of the furniture and African art that decorated the space.

After our tour of the wall and library, we enjoyed the most delicious buffet, including potato salad and guacamole along with traditional food and sobolo with powerful ginger.

During our lunch, the expat shared with us how much more affordable life was in Ghana. As a matter of fact, their quality of life was also higher and they felt much safer without the proliferation of guns, commonly associated with life in the States. About the only thing that one person admitted that they missed was the smoothness of the average road back in the States.

Speaking of driving, after traveling around Ghana for days, I had not yet seen a car accident. The driving may have looked chaotic, but apparently was very efficient. Everyone knew the rules, especially how to communicate through honking. The varying qualities of road meant that drivers had no choice but to slow down. Also, there was a cultural attitude of right of way with no one behaving overly aggressive as if any one individual owned the road.

In the souvenir shop, I finally bought a pair of quality earrings in shape of my favorite adinkra symbol, which means “God is Supreme.”

For the second time, we ate dinner at La Villa, but instead of being poolside, we dined inside a beautiful conference room, decorated with African carvings, masks and other decorative 3D art.

I had fun with the server since I had to order homemade ginger ale three times because he kept forgetting to bring it. Yet, when it came time to pay, I saw the drink on the bill.

“NOW, you remember that I ordered ginger ale?” The server just smiled and I paid up.

Dr. Kofi held a debriefing about the overall trip. For the most part, reviews were positive. Although I was the lone person who enjoyed taking a bucket bath, most expressed that there should have been more warning about the range of hotel conditions. Dr. Kofi spoke of how hotels/restaurants had inconsistent quality, if they were still open the following year.

Again, I was the lone voice about all the shopping and no chocolate tour.

Most agreed that a big dinner wasn’t needed, given the huge, late lunches.

Many praised how the driver’s assistant had done a fabulous job cleaning the bus on the inside and out. My cousin’s husband especially praised how the assistant always helped with my cousin who mostly used a scooter to get around.

Tour members volunteered to collect tip money for all six support staff.

As conscious as I was about always having bottled water, I made a point to marry the bottles. I hadn’t noticed until that night that RC had kept a collection of partially-filled water bottles.

After returning to the resort, RC and I hosted another Strange happy hour. This time both nieces attended. We finished the two wine bottles we’d started the previous night. Again, many shared laughs.

Here’s an alphabetized list of the people who I photographed on the Ancestral Wall (superficially researched online; *thanks to Jerry Johnson for his help to identify some of the hard-to-find people.):

• Chinua Achebe: prominent Nigerian writer and a key figure in modern African literature, best known for his groundbreaking novel, Things Fall Apart, published in 1958.
• Sergeant Cornelius Francis Adjetey: Ghanaians mark the anniversary of the 28 February 1948 shooting deaths of St. Adjetey and two other veterans who were unarmed while protesting peacefully against the British colonizers.
• Akhenaten (Kemet): a 14^th century BCE pharaoh who introduced a monotheistic religion centered on the sun god, Aten. 
• Queen Amina (Zaria/Nigeria): warrior and ruler of Zaria, a Hausa city-state in what is now Northern Nigeria, Queen Amina built walls around the territories she conquered, many of which still stand today. She ruled for 34 years from 1576 until she died in 1610.
• Muhammad Ali (US): professional boxer and activist, known by the nickname “the Greatest”, and often regarded as the greatest heavyweight boxer of all time.
• Sonni Alli (Songhai Empire): monarch who initiated the imperial expansion of the western Sudanese kingdom of Songhai, leading Sudanese trading cities established the basis for future prosperity and expansion.
• Amanirenas (Kush): queen regnant of the Kingdom of Kush from mid to late 1st century BCE, known for invading Roman occupied Egypt and successfully negotiating the end of Roman retaliation, retaining Kushite independence.
• Ephraim Amu (Ghana): composer, musicologist and teacher. 
• Yaa Asantewa: Queen Mother of Ejisu in the Ashanti Empire, now part of modern-day Ghana, who commanded the Ashanti Kings in the War of the Golden Stool, against British colonial rule, to defend and protect the sovereign independence of the Golden Stool.
• Behanzin (Dahomey): the eleventh King of Dahomey, modern-day Republic of Benin, who led the resistance to French colonization of his kingdom, during the Dahomey Wars.
• Yosef Ben-Jochannan (Ethiopia – US): author of 49 books, primarily on ancient Nile Valley civilizations and their influence on Western cultures.
• Steve Biko (South Africa): prominent South African civil rights activist, known for his leadership in the Black Consciousness Movement (BCM) during the apartheid era in the 1960s and 1970s.
• Maurice Bishop (Grenada): revolutionary politician and the leader of the New JEWEL Movement – a party that sought to prioritize socio-economic development, education and true black liberation.
• Edward Wilmot Blyden (St. Thomas-Liberia): educator, writer, diplomat, and politician who was primarily active in West Africa and known for pan-Africanism. 
• Bai Bureh (Sierra Leone): ruler, military strategist, and Muslim cleric, who led the Temne and Loko uprising against British rule in 1898 in Northern Sierra Leone.
• Amilcar Cabral (Guinea Bissau): agricultural engineer, political organizer, and diplomat, was one of Africa’s foremost anti-colonial leaders, pan-Africanist and intellectual nationalist revolutionary poet.
• *Jonas Carboo (Sierra Leone): one of the founders of the New Ningo districts, one of 29 in the Greater Accra region.
• George Washington Carver (US): agricultural scientist and inventor, particularly for developing hundreds of uses for peanuts, sweet potatoes, and soybeans. 
• Aime Cesaire (Martinique): poet, playwright, and politician, who cofounded Negritude, an influential movement to restore the cultural identity of black Africans.
• Cetshwayo (South Africa): the king of the Zulu Kingdom from 1873 to 1884 and its Commander in Chief during the Anglo-Zulu War of 1879. 
• John Chilembwe (Malawi): early figure in the resistance to colonialism in Nyasaland, opposing both the treatment of Africans working in agriculture on European-owned plantations and the colonial government’s failure to promote the social and political advancement of Africans.
• John Henrik Clarke (US): African-American historian, professor, prominent Afrocentrist, and pioneer of Pan-African and Africana studies and professional institutions in academia starting in the late 1960s.
• J. J. Dessalines (Haiti): the first Haitian Emperor, leader of the Haitian Revolution, and the first ruler of an independent Haiti under the 1805 constitution.
• Cheikh Anta Diop (Senegal): historian, anthropologist, physicist, and politician who studied the human race’s origins and pre-colonial African culture, whose work is considered foundational to the theory of Afrocentricity.
• Lat Dior Diop (Senegal): The Warrior King Who Defied France.
• *Teye Djangmah I (Ghana): one of the founders of the New Ningo districts, one of 29 in the Greater Accra region.
• Eve, Mother of Humanity: the biblical Eve, the first woman and mother of the human race in the Book of Genesis, and “Mitochondrial Eve,” the scientific term for the most recent common matrilineal ancestor of all living humans.
• Frantz Fanon (Martinique): French West Indian psychiatrist, and political philosopher, whose works have become influential in the fields of post-colonial studies, and critical theory.
• Marcus Garvey: political activist who founded the Universal Negro Improvement Association and African Communities League, through which he declared himself the Provisional President of Africa.
• Naa Gbewaa (Ghana): the founder of the Kingdoms of Mamprugu, Dagbon, and Nanug, in present-day northern Ghana, which established a stable and prosperous kingdom.
• Fannie Lou Hamer (US): voting and women’s rights activist, community organizer, and leader of the civil rights movement, she was the vice-chair of the Freedom Democratic Party, which she represented at the 1964 Democratic National Convention.
• Fred Hampton (US): activist and revolutionary socialist, he came to prominence in his late teens and early 20s in Chicago as deputy chairman of the national Black Panther Party and chair of the Illinois chapter.
• Hatshepsut (Kemet): her successful reign as one of Egypt’s few female pharaohs, a period marked by a focus on trade, monumental building projects, and economic prosperity, best known for sponsoring a major trading expedition to the land of Punt, which brought back valuable goods like gold, ebony, and incense. 
• Asa Hilliard (US-Ghana): also known as Nana Baffour Amankwatia II, was an African-American professor of educational psychology who worked on indigenous ancient African history, culture, education and society.
• Imhotep (Kemet): polymath who served as a vizier and high priest for Pharaoh Djoser, who designed the Step Pyramid at Saqqara, worked as a physician, where he is credited with pioneering medical texts like the Ebers Papyrus and was later deified as a god of medicine. 
• Apoka Karenyane (Ghana): Warrior Queen who fought and rebelled against European enslavers.
• Dedan Kimathi (Kenya): leader of the Kenya Land and Freedom Army during the Mau Mau Uprising against the British colonial rule in Kenya in the 1950s.
• B. B. King (US): blues singer, guitarist, songwriter, and record producer who influenced many electric guitar blues players, who’s often called the “King of the Blues” and credited with inventing the modern blues/rock guitar style that uses whole tone string bends. 
• Martin Luther King, Jr. (US): Baptist minister, civil rights activist and political philosopher who was a leader of the civil rights movement from 1955 until his assassination in 1968.
• Fela Kuti (Nigeria): musician and political activist, who is regarded as the principal innovator of Afrobeat, a Nigerian music genre that combines West African music with American funk and jazz.
• Toussaint Louverture (Haiti): general and the most prominent leader of the Haitian Revolution.
• Patrice Lumumba (Congo): politician and independence leader who served as the first prime minister of the Democratic Republic of the Congo from June until September 1960, following the May 1960 election.
• Wangari Maathai (Kenya): social, environmental, and political activist who founded the Green Belt Movement, an environmental non-governmental organization focused on planting trees, environmental conservation, and women’s rights, who became the first African woman to win the Nobel Peace Prize in 2004.
• Antonio Maceo (Cuba): second-in-command of the Cuban army of independence and commonly known as “the Titan of Bronze,” he was one of the outstanding guerrilla leaders in nineteenth century Latin America.
• Samora Machel (Mozambique): socialist politician and revolutionary who served as the first President of Mozambique from the country’s independence in 1975 until his death in 1986.
• Samuel Maharero (Namibia): paramount chief of the Herero people in German South West Africa (today Namibia) during their revolts and in connection with the events surrounding the Herero and Nama genocide.
• Miriam Makeba (South Africa): nicknamed Mama Africa, she was a South African singer, songwriter, actress, and civil rights activist, associated with musical genres including Afropop, jazz, and world music, and she was an advocate against apartheid and white-minority government in South Africa.
• Winnie Mandela (South Africa): prominent anti-apartheid activist and a political figure who became a symbol of resistance, often called the “Mother of the Nation.”
• Bob Marley (US): reggae pioneer, who blended elements of ska, rocksteady, and reggae into a rock-influenced style whose music gave voice to the struggles of Jamaica’s poor and oppressed. 
• Nzinga Mbande (Angola): paramount ruler who ruled as a warrior queen of the Ambundu Kingdoms of Ndongo and Matamba, located in present-day northern Angola, who led her people in a 30-year resistance against Portuguese colonization and the slave trade.
• Mkwavinyika (Tanzania): renown for his remarkable victory over German colonial forces at the Battle of Lugalo on August 17, 1891and for seven years following this triumph, he continued to lead a steadfast resistance against the Germans until his death by suicide in June 1898 to avoid capture.
• Eduardo Mondlane (Mozambique): revolutionary and anthropologist who was the founder of the Mozambican Liberation Front and served as the FRELIMO’s first leader.
• Garrett Morgan (US): inventor, businessman, and community leader whose most notable inventions were the three-position traffic signal and the gas mask (also called the safety hood).
• Felix Moumie (Cameroon): anti-colonialist Cameroon’s People Union leader
• Robert Mugabe (Zimbabwe): revolutionary and politician who served as the leader of Zimbabwe from 1980 until he was deposed in a coup in 2017.
• Elijah Muhammad (US): religious leader, black separatist, and self-proclaimed Messenger of Allah who led the Nation of Islam from 1933 until his death in 1975, who mentored Malcolm X, Louis Farrakhan, Muhammad Ali, and his son, Warith Deen Mohammed.
• Nanny of the Maroons (Ghana-Jamaica 1686-1755): also known as Queen Nanny, was a leader of the Jamaican Maroons, who escaped slavery and led resistance against the British in the 18th century, freeing over 800 enslaved people.
• Menelik II (Ethiopia): king of Shewa from 1866 to 1889 and Emperor of Ethiopia from 1889 to his death in 1913, who expanded the Ethiopian Empire to its greatest historical extent and defeated Italian colonial forces at the Battle of Adwa in 1896.
• Menes (Kemet): first pharaoh of ancient Egypt, credited with unifying Upper and Lower Egypt around 3100 B.C.
• Nehanda (Zimbabwe):  spiritual leader, along with Kaguvi, were who inspired the Zimbabwean revolution against the British colonial rule where under their guidance and leadership, united local ethnic groups to fight in the first Chimurenga (War of Liberation) during 1896-1897.
• Agostinho Neto (Angola): politician and poet who served as the first president of Angola from 1975 to 1979, having led the Popular Movement for the Liberation of Angola in the war for independence.
• Kwame Nkrumah (Ghana): politician, political theorist, and revolutionary who served as Prime Minister of the Gold Coast from 1952 until 1957, when it gained independence from Britain, then served as the first prime minister and then the president of Ghana, from 1957 until 1966.
• N’nonmiton Amazon Warriors (Dahomey): elite all-female military unit was a powerful fighting force in West Africa from the 17th to the late 19th century, known for their discipline, bravery, and ferocity in battle where their name means “our mothers” in the Fon language. 
• Julius Nyerere (Tanzania): politician, anti-colonial activist, and political theorist who governed Tanganyika as prime minister from 1961 to 1962 and then as president from 1962 to 1964, after which he led its successor state, Tanzania, as president from 1964 to 1985.
• John Okello (Zanzibar): leader of the Zanzibar Revolution in 1964 where this revolution overthrew Sultan Jamshid bin Abdullah and led to the proclamation of Zanzibar as a republic.
• Piankhi [Piye] (Kemet): Kushite king and founder of the Twenty-fifth Dynasty of Egypt, who ruled Egypt from 744–714 BC after leading a successful military campaign against the fragmented Egyptian city-states, asserting control over Upper and Lower Egypt. 
• Sengbe Pieh [Cinqué] (Sierra Leone): led a revolt of many enslaved Africans on the Spanish slave ship La Amistad in July 1839. 
• Qalidurat (Nubia): king of the Makuria, a 7th century Nubian kingdom, who is known for successfully leading his forces against the Rashidun Caliphate in the First and Second Battles of Dongola, which led to a treaty rather than a surrender.
• Walter Rodney (Guyana): historian, political activist and academic whose notable works include How Europe Underdeveloped Africa, first published in 1972.
• Thomas Sankara (Burkina Faso): military officer, Marxist and Pan-Africanist revolutionary who served as the President of Burkina Faso from 1983 until his assassination in 1987.
• Sekhukhune (South Africa): paramount king of the Bapedi people in the 19th century known for his resistance against Boer and British expansion.
• Haile Selassie (Ethiopia): Emperor of Ethiopia from 1930 to 1974 famous for his role in African unification, modernizing Ethiopia, resisting the Italian invasion, establishing the Organization of African Unity (OAU) and his deification by Rastafarians.
• Shaka (South Africa): king of the Zulu Kingdom from 1816 to 1828 who was one of the most influential monarchs that ordered wide-reaching reforms that reorganized the military into a formidable force.
• Togbui Sri I (Togo – Ghana): first king of the Anlo state credited with uniting the people.
• Oliver Tambo (South Africa): anti-apartheid politician and activist who served as President of the African National Congress from 1967 to 1991.
• King Tackie Tawiah I (Ghana): reigned during the “Golden Years” of Accra (1862-1902) and praised for being progressive and enterprising.
• Queen Tiye (Kemet): a powerful and influential Egyptian queen who was the Great Royal Wife of Pharaoh Amenhotep III, the mother of Pharaoh Akhenaten, and the grandmother of Tutankhamun who was known for her intelligence and political acumen, she wielded significant influence in court and in foreign affairs, even being addressed directly by foreign rulers.
• Samory Toure (Guinea): established a Muslim empire in western Africa, from Sierra Leone to the Ivory Coast region who conquered and enslaved African enemies to finance his military resistance to French colonial expansion and defend the territory he acquired.
• Sekou Toure (Guinea): political leader and African statesman who was among the primary nationalists involved in gaining independence and was the first president of Guinea from 1958 until his death in 1984.
• Harriet Tubman (US): abolitionist and social activist who escaped slavery, who made around 13 missions to rescue approximately 70 enslaved people, using the network of antislavery activists and safe houses known collectively as the Underground Railroad.
• Kwame Ture (Trinidad – Guinea): activist who played a major role in the civil rights movement in the United States and the global pan-African movement.
• Osei Tutu I (Ghana): one of the founders of the Ashanti Empire, who led an alliance of Asante states against Denkyira, defeating them at the 1701 Battle of Feyiase.
• Booker T. Washington (US): leading African American voice, author, orator, and founder of the Tuskegee Institute, which emphasized vocational education for African Americans, who believed economic self-sufficiency and industrial skills were key to racial advancement, though his “accommodationist” approach.
• Ida B. Wells (US): investigative journalist, sociologist, educator, and early leader in the civil rights movement, who was one of the founders of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People.
• Frances Cress Welsing (US): psychiatrist well-known for her 1970 essay, “The Cress Theory of Color-Confrontation and Racism,” which theorized the origins of white supremacy culture.
• Malcolm X (US): charismatic leader and human rights activist who founded Muslim Mosque, Inc. and the Organization of Afro-American Unity who advocated for Black empowerment “by any means necessary.”
• *Zabeth (Haiti): courageous enslaved woman who inspired others for daring to escape numerous times despite the physically painful consequences.
• Zumbi (Brazil): quilombola leader and one of the pioneers of resistance to enslavement of Africans by the Portuguese in colonial Brazil.

I awoke with a thought: either the spices, the amount of food consumed, or brushing my teeth with tap water throughout this trip had kept me regulated. Sometimes twice a day, but not diarrhea. Supposedly, a healthy digestive track is SUPPOSED to eliminate after every meal. Could it be that even down to my bowels, I know I’m free? No longer having to hustle and bustle as a cog in the plantation wheel of the States. No contorting my body and entire lifestyle to keep the economic machine afloat.

I brought my umbrella for this morning’s walk. No Rain Goddess, no rain. We walked the rained-out route to see it without squinting. Another member caught up with us after we’d left, stating that she’d been with us the whole time.

My brother-in-law and I both rushed to pick up what looked like one-cedi coins. As soon as our fingers felt the plastic, we immediately dropped the trash.

As we passed the shell of a resort, Dr. Kofi explained that the funding for the project had run out about 20 years ago.

Dr. Kofi suggested that Ghanaians still associated the ocean with slavery, which was why they didn’t visit or spend leisure time there.

We witnessed trash wash up on the beach via the waves. One tour member stooped over a pile of washed up trash, hoping to find some writing that gave her a clue as to where it was from. An intriguing endeavor, given the network of ocean currents.

Even if the source of the trash could be traced back to the country of origin, could the Ghanaian government charge the culprits to clean it up? Realistically, pollution was a worldwide problem when other people’s trash harmed another country.

A Ghanaian man working on the beach greeted my sister, niece and me, asking us if we were Americans. We agreed. He asked what we were going to do to help Africa. I kept walking. They stopped to engage with him. If he couldn’t see the connection between our tourist dollars helping the country, then surely I couldn’t explain the complicated story of how our consumer dollars helped when we were back in the States. As a matter of fact, being in Ghana meant more of my money compensated workers versus the importers when we purchase products in the States.

Instead, I spoke with another tour member about the benefits of self-selection. Of all the things for two women to talk about while rinsing the sand off our feet. I proposed that explicitly telling people they may have to take a bucket bath at some places, but may take a hot shower at other places would help manage expectations.

The other member cautioned that some people would opt out of a wonderful experience over something like that where the overall benefits outweighed any temporary inconvenience.

I thought I had to eat breakfast alone, but three other members joined me later. Another member sat by himself, relishing his alone time. He wanted coffee and a muffin before heading back to his room. He had been the first one at reception, ready to walk.

We met the Ghanaian mother-in-law of a cousin who wasn’t vacationing with us. She was fabulous and referred to my cousin’s mother as “Mama BJ.” We visited with her for a few hours. Fortunately, one of the tour support staff joined us. He took our group pictures.

Also, he and the Ghanaian mother-in-law advised my two cousins, RC and Rain Goddess, and me about where to buy locally-made chocolate. I was a little disappointed to discover that the best place to buy local chocolate was at a regular grocery store where expats shopped. On the other hand, I didn’t want to tour the chocolate factory because it seemed too time-consuming and pricey.

Then the support staff member suggested going to a high-end grocery store. Both his and the Ghanaian mother-in-law’s eyes lit up as they spoke of it. RC downloaded an Uber app and our ride was just a minute away. The support staff member rode with us.

Being in a small sedan versus a large bus made the whole experience 3D. I shared traffic videos with one of my sisters back home. She was blown away by all the near misses and no traffic lights in sight.

We thanked our support staff member for escorting us there and back since that was better than him being part of the rescue team.

Before shopping for chocolate, we first ate at a restaurant that was on par with Hard Rock Cafe with a lot of pictures of famous musicians. After eating a lot of local Ghanaian food, I broke down at this place and ordered a burger and fries. Contrary to popular belief, not all Americans love ketchup. I asked the server for hot sauce before the food even hit the table. Besides, it’s never a good idea to go grocery shopping hungry. We treated our support staff member to his meal of a very spicy medium-sized pizza.

(Please click on individual pictures to see the full view, then click on the browser back arrow to return to blog view.)

Properly sated, we entered the grocery store that was a combination of Whole Foods and the Sears appliance section. I steered my two cousins past the appliances. No browsing for irrelevant things. This shopping trip was dedicated to three things: wine, chocolate and other wine snacks. We hit the motherlode all the way in the back, the direct opposite of where we’d entered.

And wouldn’t you know it, the wine section was beside the chocolate area. Someone was truly thinking.

For the first time ever, I saw fresh strawberries. Cost nearly a whopping $12 a carton. A picture was all I took, but someone must be wealthy enough to enjoy that luxury fruit.

For years, my dessert at home was a piece of dark chocolate and malbec. So, I confined my selection to that.

On the other hand, my sister had given me $80 to stock up on a variety of chocolate for her family. I chose at least one of every kind I saw, especially the vegan chocolate. I bought several of those bars for my niece. I knew that everyone would want to sample it, so I bought enough for her to share.

Once we were ready to go, our support staff member had us wait on the sidewalk nearest to the grocery store while he went outside the gate to the main street to hail a taxi. As fate would have it, my seat was the only one that didn’t have an “oh shit” bar to hang onto like my cousins.

We returned to Lizori’s Place for dinner. Our appetizer consisted of spicy sweet groundnuts. Yet, the atadwe milk (tigernut pudding) was the intriguing dish of the evening. Made with tigernuts, dates and rice, the pudding straddled the line between a sweet and a savory.

One member had requested a singer en route to the restaurant. So, another member started singing a bad rendition of “Do-Re-Mi.” Returning to the hotel, several members broke out with an even worse “Wheels on the Bus” singalong with the wrong lyrics.

Then, for the umpteenth time we heard the song, “Countryside,” by Sarkodie, featuring Black Sherif, where that word was repeated many times during the chorus. We finally had a decent singalong.

While at dinner, many spoke of local chocolates and were invited to our room to sample some. The enticement of chocolate scored us a non-Strange to join us for happy hour.

We tried five different chocolates with malbec and Rain Goddess bought a sweet white for my sister. Again, lots of laughs as we swapped stories, viewed new earrings and discussed caring for aging parents.

Adding to the night’s entertainment was my sister and me trying to figure out how to open the mini fridge. I wish I could say that it was the alcohol.

Lord have mercy! I actually slept well on my penultimate night in Ghana.

I took pictures of European and African dignitaries, and Al Gore, in the hotel hall of fame prior to walking.

(Please click on individual pictures to see the full view, then click on the browser back arrow to return to blog view.)

For the second time during a walk, the sky was clear enough to see the sunrise.

We walked upon a soccer team playing catch while in waist-deep water. One player had dug a hole, buried one of his feet and worked out his free leg, using resistance.

Our tour guide finally joined us, late, but walked back with us.

“You’re done!” RC said to her sneakers as she laid them out on the balcony to donate. I did the same with my blown-out shoes.

I’d collected shells for my other sister although they were not too impressive. I hardly enjoyed the beachcombing experience due to all the trash washing up. I couldn’t even use the ocean waves to rinse off the shells well because of the presence of plastic bags.

I changed into my new tailored shirt, which looked better than the original. My motivation came from our tour guide who said that he always wore traditional fabric on Fridays. Sounded appropriate for my last full day in Ghana.

I exchanged $150 to pay for a book, Proudly Ghanaian, by Prof Kwesi Yankah, which had been described to me as “social satire at its best,” and to tip out our six support staff. I gave money to three of the six other members who were collecting money for support staff since they were conveniently poolside.

I entered the spa to get a massage, but there was no availability until 3 PM. As I stood, looking forlornly at the reservation book, the front desk woman stated that I could get a 30-min massage for just my neck, shoulders and back. I agreed. After waiting for a bit, the front desk woman consulted with a massage therapist who agreed to work on me for an hour.

The massage therapist was AMAZING. At one point, she worked over my back with her forearms, then like magic, went over my back with hot stones. Every little bit helped. Both my right hip flexor and low back were tight. Good to loosen up everything just in time for contorting myself on that Accra to NY flight. At least the wine would be free and I’ll be able to watch movies.

Don’t know why I thought I could have two amazing experiences in a row, but I parked myself in a poolside lounge chair and ordered what I thought was a simple samosa appetizer, which didn’t come after an hour. Not sure whether it was the actual heat, hunger or anger that overheated me, but I couldn’t stand it any longer.

I returned to my room to eat some of RC’s snacks. Since the room was being cleaned, I gobbled a few snacks and returned to the lobby to give my appetizers one last try.

I approached a woman who looked like a supervisor and explained the situation. Within five minutes, a server delivered a hot order of samosas to the table. Lord only knows how long they’d been ready.

Crisis averted.

I immediately asked for the bill and a to-go box. Once the supervisor brought the change, I handed all of it to her while shaking her hand, thanking her for her quick problem-solving actions. She had a big beautiful smile. I’m sure some butts got chewed out. I shared with her that I was quite angry before and she had turned my attitude around.

We looked like a Ghanaian fashion show, riding to the early dinner, which also included a recognition ceremony where the support staff had voted which one of us tour members were “the most” in various categories.

The categories that I won were: most athletic, most African and most intellectual. One cousin with mobility challenges won the most adventurous category.

The six tour members who had collected money to tip the staff made short, heartfelt speeches, praising the good works of the six staff members before presenting them with their envelope of money.

At one point, I offered Money Man some chocolate. Apparently, I’d miscommunicated because he took the whole bag and put it in his bag, thanking me for the chocolate. Hopefully, he wasn’t offended that all of the chocolate bars had been opened.

Rain Goddess got the ball rolling with the table and four chair donations for the school we’d visited by pledging five sets. On the bus, others pledged to donate money for the remaining table and chairs until the requested 33 sets had been met. We all applauded the generosity.

Once we returned to the resort, we took pictures by the waterfall.

The final Strange happy hour started when I messaged my niece about an unopened malbec and half a bottle of sweet white. Most arrived while I was in the shower, but I told them to open the malbec. As usual, Rain Goddess came about an hour later with ANOTHER partially filled bottle of sweet blush. That got the party going again.

If the calm happens before the storm, then the nightmare unfolds after a day like today.

At 2:20 AM, the airline emailed that my flight to JFK had been cancelled due to air traffic control safety concerns. Fortunately, I’d slept well. Better to deal with the emotional toll.

I’d celebrated coming under budget while on vacation. Now that would be put to the test. Another tour member had been the first to sound the alarm in the group chat. Dr. Kofi scrambled to rebook those of us who were on the cancelled flight.

One of the biggest challenges was waiting. Looked like I wasn’t leaving until Monday. Since it was very early in the morning in the States, I didn’t message anyone until after breakfast. In the meantime, I contemplated asking Dr. Kofi about a homestay or other cheaper accommodations.

The drama continued with every waking hour. My sister called to let me know that another couple who were on my original NY flight had rebooked on my sister’s DC flight. When I checked, the flight had sold out. The cheapest flight was a three-stop adventure, starting in Brussels. As soon as I’d leave Ghana at 6:40 PM, I’d arrive in Brussels at 5:35 AM to depart six hours later. Not too bad, followed by a two and a half hour layover in DC.

I was the only one on this itinerary. At least one person expressed concern over me flying solo. I must admit, traveling as part of a group had been nice, but at the same time, I was happy to go home.

After breakfast, I attended an impromptu meeting off of the reception area. The plan was to have someone take me to the airport by 3 PM.

Around noon, I messaged my supervisor back in the States about getting flextime for Monday, along with three pictures from the trip. I managed to log into the work platform to make an official time-off request for Monday.

I thought about intermittent fasting. I had too many cedis to spend all at the airport, but was motivated to give it the ol’ college try. I still didn’t want to use my credit card until I returned to the States.

Even though I’d be the first to leave Ghana , I’d arrive home hours after the second group who would depart Ghana around 10:20 PM.

Rumor had it that JFK workers were on strike, so rebooking for Monday may not work out either. I should’ve known that the source of the JFK workers’ strike rumor were two of the New Yorkers in our tour group themselves. They were cynical about the situation, but there was also an IT issue. Adding to the confusion, one member posted an article written on July 24th that an airline worker strike may occur today. Another article, another vote for weather-induced cancellations.

Although some people’s final destination was NY, those who had other final destinations, could rebook on another airline and get a refund. Only three of us did that. Another couple were booked through Amsterdam.

One of the worst things, the repeated good-byes. Yet I looked forward to posting my updates via our group chat.

Nonetheless, I was still in a weird mood. I didn’t want to leave the hotel room. I made a mental note to spend all those cedis at the airport. My mood had me thinking that I didn’t want to spend US dollars in Brussels nor use my credit card. If I had to put a name to my mood, I would have called it “stubborn.”

After landing in Accra, I’d wished that my medium-sized gray luggage had had a distinct marking, so I could pick it out from all the others. I rummaged through my suitcase and rediscovered hanger loops on my silky pajama pants. I pulled them off and tied those pale yellow pieces to the handles. Now, I could distinguish my common-looking suitcase, providing it didn’t get lost.

I called the credit card company to make sure I didn’t embarrass myself when in Brussels and attempt to use my card. I was definitely going to buy something, but I didn’t want their currency. Thinking about my immediate future help me escape my foul mood.

A resort employee picked up the suitcase on time. So, just pool servers who, for some reason, were the inefficient ones.

I had a last-minute interesting discussion with the tour guide while he drove me to the airport: “funeral terrorism.” He explained how aggressive mourners “celebrate” the death of someone, which was big business with billboards, a lot of people, food, drink and so on.

I captured one more traffic scene before we entered the airport area.

As soon as I walked in, I checked the departure board. A friendly woman told me that I’d arrived too early to check in. She escorted me to a seating area, saying she’d help me check in later, then escort me to a lounge where I could wait comfortably and eat all for $60.

So, I waited and read for about 30 minutes when the A/C caused me to use bathroom. I walked around afterwards, mainly to stretch my legs. I checked the departure board again. I saw that that friendly woman had pointed out the incorrect row where I needed to check in. As a matter of fact, other passengers were already in line.

We weighed our luggage first, then proceeded to another airline worker to show our passport. In the slowest part of the line, we checked our luggage. As I stood in that slow line, I replayed my conversation with that woman. I’d mistakenly told her that I was going to “Amsterdam” instead of “Brussels.” All was well since I’d caught my error in time.

When I finally checked my luggage, I did a double-take because one of the employees looked as if he could’ve been related to one of my parents’ longtime friends. I wish I could have taken a picture, but I didn’t dare just in case that part of the airport was considered a sensitive area.

An even slower-moving security line provided some entertainment, witnessing other impatient travellers bumrush one of the two lines. Not everyone was late for boarding. Some were merely self-important.

That line allowed me plenty of time to study the row of duty free shops. Once I cleared security, I made a beeline to purchase $60’s worth of chocolate. I saved one small dark chocolate bar for my flight with free wine.

My airport dinner was 200 cedis ($20). Good thing I had enough money for a selection of chocolate and food with a shot of Baileys. I spent the last 30 pesewas on a large chocolate lollipop with four pesewas remaining.

Good thing I was already squatting over a toilet when I read the warning sign on the back of the door. Perhaps such signage would better serve the public if it was displayed on the customs cubicle when passengers landed in Accra.

First stop: Cotonou, Benin. DRY flight. Still ate some chocolate. I shared chocolate with the woman who sat beside me, who liked it because it wasn’t too sweet at 60%.

After the 44-minute flight from Accra to Cotonou, we were both directed to change seats. I went from an aisle seat to window seat in a row just forward of the bathroom. I risked using it. Not too bad for an airplane toilet.

I clarified with a flight attendant that the next flight served wine and pre-ordered a dry red, which was the right kind of “dry” to pair with dark chocolate.

That airline’s plane had more leg room. Just as I’d become comfortable in my new seat, another flight attendant asked me to move. Back to my original seat. Since the window seat was open, I upgraded myself. A third airline worker checked my ticket and stated that the guy beside me was in the wrong seat. I’d moved from my second seat because a little girl sat in the aisle seat; therefore, I should not have been moved in the first place since families needed to be seated together.

My wine was overdue. I felt like crying like one of those babies on the plane.

After landing in Brussels, I reunited briefly with the woman who had been my original seat mate. They had also wanted her to return our original row 44. She’d refused.

We walked for a long time together since the terminal wasn’t near anything. All those morning walks with Dr. Kofi had conditioned me for this. Thank goodness I didn’t have to use the bathroom because the nearest one was very busy and I didn’t see another until after clearing security.

The Brussels airport didn’t give a damn if the water bottle you carried was airline-issued. Anything over a certain amount of milliliters, they’d throw it out unless you wanted to go back through security. I would’ve chugged that bad boy on the plane had I known.

The departure board only went to 11:20 AM, not noon; so, I sat down, not knowing my gate number prior to security.

Another long walk. At 6:30 AM local time, I reached my gate with only five and half hours to spare. Luckily, there were nearby USB-C ports to charge phones and airpods while listening to audiobook.

Thanks to homeland security, I showed my passport again, along with the boarding pass, to two different people. The first person merely confirmed that the name matched. The second person at the desk was very friendly, asking questions like a customs agent. Inquired about my Ghana visit. I volunteered that I’d taught in both Tanzania and Egypt. Passed that hurdle with flying colors. Glad I didn’t have the other guy. He seemed business as usual, asking people sterile questions such as US address.

Promptly at 10 AM, the sign for IAD popped up. Once past customs and security, I was immersed into the world of duty free with pathways, reminding me of IKEA. I, of course, ignored all the shopping and focused on getting to the gate.

Rain started moments prior to boarding. I stood in a winding amusement park boarding line. Fortunately, I walked past a group who hadn’t gone through homeland security. I was happy to see a neck pillow and blanket waiting in my seat. Made up for the fact that I had a middle seat.

Lunch choices for rows up to 53 were beef, chicken or mushroom pasta. For rows 54 and higher, the flight attendants asked with a big smile, “Would you like pasta?” To which I replied, “Well, it’s better than nothing.”

My attempt to haggle with the cute flight attendant for a free Bailey’s failed. That brother wasn’t in the mood although I’d perfectly argued that since they had run out of two meal choices, I should get a free Bailey’s. He reiterated that the only free alcohol was beer and wine. I was no longer in the land of everything being negotiable.

Descending into DC, turbulence rocked us like a rollercoaster. A nearby baby started crying. The woman, who sat in the window seat, finally needed to use the toilet, but it was too late.

I announced that I’d start crying if turbulence didn’t calm down. I led my section of the plane in applause once we touched down. Then I stated that we all needed to put our feet down to help slow the plane down “Flintstone” style.

I happily ate a spicy poké bowl with a mango flavored lemonade. For once, I didn’t want alcohol, bread nor chocolate. The vacation was truly over.

Like a bad omen, my original gate was A1C. Too on the nose for someone who was pre-diabetic. I changed flights because my original flight was overbooked by one. I switched since I traveled alone. Plus, I received a $300 voucher, good for a year.

With all these changing time zones, I remembered to take a malaria pill after 6 PM local time. I walked to the water fountain, then entered the nearest bathroom. As soon as I questioned to myself, “What are all these men doing in the women’s restroom,” I immediately turned around and entered the correct bathroom.

Delay. Delay. Delay. Delay. Cancelled. That had truly been the most rotten ending to a fabulous vacation. I still hadn’t reached my final destination. At least the plane hadn’t crashed.

With my flight cancelled, I devised a new plan: pick up my luggage and rent a car. I went to baggage claim. I avoided a long, seemingly unmoving line. Instead, I asked an employee who stood off from a distance. She told me that no luggage, even for a cancelled flight, would be on the baggage claim conveyor belt. It would go to its destination on the next available flight. Had I not had travel brain, I would’ve figured that part out without having to ask.

I declined a courtesy hotel voucher for earliest flight on TUESDAY.

Since there was no car rental place at the airport, I hopped on first shuttle. I had no idea if any cars were available. I’d already told sister that there was no need for my nephew to pick me up if he wasn’t going to drive me to NC.

The first rental place had no available cars. I fast-walked across the full length of the parking lot around 10 PM by myself on the outer perimeter of a high fence to a second place only to be told that they would not rent me a car if I didn’t bring it back to their location when I was done.

All day long, I had been annoyed at myself because I had worn my neck fan. In the dead of night with all that power-walking, I enjoyed the cool breeze from the fan.

I was in such a mood, I would’ve whupped any ass who wrongly crossed my path if they’d mistakenly thought that a lone woman walking at night was helpless.

Instead, I received a team of angels.

The first was in the form of a soldier who had been scheduled on the same flight to RDU as me. My plan at the second rental place was to pay another person renting a car for a ride to RDU. The soldier stepped forward, stating that he was in the same situation.

Instead of getting a lift, we both fast-walked to a third car rental, which was a good clip away, just like the distance of the second place from the first. That place had the longest line of them all. Plus, without a reservation, there was a slim chance of availability.

Reluctantly, I called my sister again. Time had ticked past midnight, yet she picked up the phone. My pitch: have her son pick me up from the airport, I’d drop him back home, then borrow his car. They had a few cars at home and could be without one until the weekend when they attended her in-law’s family reunion.

My nephew was dead asleep. Instead, two more angels joined my cause: my sister and her husband. They drove separate cars to the airport, so I didn’t have to drive anyone back to their house. Meanwhile, the soldier and I took a shuttle back. On the way to the airport, I asked him for his driver’s license. He readily gave me both his license and military ID. I took a picture and texted it to my sisters and mother.

He was 22, and gave off good vibes, but I believed in both trusting and verifying.

He had flown to DC to rendezvous with his girlfriend and her family for the weekend. He also had not taken advantage of the Tuesday rebooking with hotel and meal vouchers since he had to attend an Army-sponsored class at 7:30 AM on Monday.

He could hardly believe the solution I’d pitched to my sister.

Once my sister and her husband arrived with their son’s car, two bottles of water and a rather large snack bag, the soldier shook his head in disbelief at his good fortune that we’d met.

My family took off in their car as we’d left in my nephew’s car. The soldier noticed that the remote key indicator light was on. He called my sister because I was still on the longest hold for the airline since I’d chosen not to stand in that nonmoving, long-ass line at the airport.

Fortunately my family wasn’t too far away. They pulled over on a highway shoulder and I parked behind them. My brother-in-law gave us a key and they took off.

Again, the soldier noticed that the indicator hadn’t turned off with the presence of the key. I’d been too distracted on the phone since an airline agent had FINALLY picked up. I’d not left the roadside shoulder since I was arranging the delivery of my luggage to the house or to the nearest airport.

The soldier inspected the key and discovered it was the wrong make. My brother-in-law had given us the spare key for the car he and my sister were driving. So, I still had to go to their house. His key to the car that we’d borrowed had fallen out of his pocket. Nonetheless, I enjoyed the opportunity to use their bathroom. The soldier received another bottle of water.

FINALLY on our way, we made brief stop at a fast food drive-thru for coffee. I wasn’t a coffee drinker, but on rare occasions, when I needed to stay awake, I’d use it for the drug it was.

To simplify things, we both ordered two iced coffees with a french vanilla shot. Just like the beginning of my Ghanaian journey, service wasn’t fast and had us questioning if anyone was working. I did myself a favor by ordering a small.

In retrospect, I should’ve done myself an additional favor of ordering plain black coffee. No prediabetic, such as myself, needed a high dose of sugar, which made me incredibly sleepy. I hadn’t originally wanted him to drive, but we would’ve lost time if he had to wait for me to nap.

After a power nap, I needed to use the bathroom and the car needed gas. The soldier exited for a gas station in a podunk town. Although the station was closed, we still gassed up.

In that eerily quiet atmosphere, we kept warning each other not to speak into existence the horror movie ambiance of the gas station. We skedaddled after filling up.

He drove to a nearby truck stop, bustling with activity. I was so focused on getting to the bathroom, I didn’t notice the strong marijuana smell the soldier had detected.

I felt refreshed enough to drive. Not only were we both careful drivers, but we believed in going at least five mph above speed limit to keep up with the the flow of traffic. I was determined that he would make it to class on time.

After dropping him off at long-term parking, I got a large water and canned coffee with 12g of sugar. That was the lowest sugar content out of all the canned coffees. I paced myself, sipping a little every five to ten minutes.

I cruise controlled while singing along with the radio. Two things my 16-year-old car didn’t have.

The good things about not having my suitcase were not unpacking and starting a big laundry job. Of course, I still had plenty of things to do as the day unfolded after arriving home at 6:38 AM.

The airline luggage delivery links didn’t work. Then, I had to do some extra bullshit to get a refund for the last leg of the flight. Once I actually spoke to a live person, I fumed that they weren’t going to deliver my suitcase to my house for free. I had to pay $75 COD.

I knew there was no way I’d return to Raleigh for my suitcase. Plus, I had to work the next day. I didn’t feel like hitting the road after work. I counted out the $75 in cash, cursing the whole time.

At that point, my other angelic sister stepped up. She stated that she’d pick up my suitcase, then reached over, took $20 and told me to save the rest of my money.

More than fair. She’d been visiting with a friend in Raleigh on Sunday while waiting to pick me up at the airport. I’d texted her every two hours or so when my last flight kept getting delayed. She was still on that glorious summer vacation that was so long, most teachers forgot what they dreaded about being in the classroom.

On Tuesday morning, while I zombied my way through work, my sister traveled to Raleigh, went to the baggage claim area with a vague description, including the pale yellow cloth that was tied around each handle, and found my suitcase.

Not only did she text me a picture, so I could make a positive ID, but she also posed with the fifth angel: the airline worker who had patiently sorted through some additional bureaucratic gymnastics to locate my luggage.

Note to self: next time I fly anywhere, take a picture of the luggage in addition to tying cloth around the handles. Also, keep praying because God will send angels.