Akwawba. My name is Samuel, and a Mr. Weston Belkot
gave me this website in order to stay in touch with him. I don’t have any pictures, but here is our
story. My first encounter with Weston
was physical, not verbal. He sat down
next to me in the back seat of a crowded taxi cab on the way to Mallam
Station. He told the driver Mallam Junction,
to which the driver responded, “Mallam Station?” Weston’s nodded his head in agreed yet
contorted his face in question.
Fifty pesewas
later we pulled up to the taxi station at about 5:30pm. My suspicion that he was suspicious was
confirmed when he asked me, “Excuse me, but where can I catch a bus to Cape
Coast?” Clearly this bruni was out of his element so I had
pity on him. Even though I was only
about a five minute walk from my house, I told him, “I’ll take you there,” I
said. I know that Ghanaians are known to
be hospitable, but the level of trust Weston put in me was flattering even when
I took him through the back alleys and cut-throughs on our way to the
station. He seemed to enjoy being the
only foreigner in a sea of bibinyi. I
hope I didn’t ruin his experience when I cautioned him not to walk through this
same way again if he is alone. He seemed
to follow more closely after that.
Around 5:42pm we arrived at Mallam Junction and tried to
hail a 15 passenger van on its way to Cape Coast, but since it was rush hour
everything was full. I do recall Weston
humming to the song “Let It Rain” by Michael W. Smith that was blaring directly
behind us. After several unsuccessful
attempts at acquiring a vehicle, I decided it would be better to cross the
street and catch a van finishing its run into the bus station in the capital
city of Accra about 20 minutes away. He
could then easily find a van to Cape Coast from there. I am 32 years old and Weston is 25 years old,
but I still held his hand as we crossed the street because that’s what we do
here.
I quickly found a van for Weston and he handed me five cedis as the van started to pull
away. I reluctantly took the
money-Americans are persistent-and then entered the van with him. I wasn’t going to let this walking dollar
sign travel into Accra alone at night. Everything
was going according to plan until nothing.
“Nothing” meaning stand still.
Travel is bad in Accra with the new Bush road being built, but even this
was unlike Africa. Even though it was
dark out and I’m from Ghana, sweat started making its typical way down my face
and back. We finally began moving enough
to discover that a tractor trailer had flipped over in the intersection ahead
of us. As we drove by the opposing
traffic now taking their turn sitting in a standstill I told Weston, “This is
the way we have to come back.”
At approximately 7:00pm we arrived in Accra. Weston, acting like an inexperienced
traveler, started to put his back pack on his back. I directed him to carry his belongings in front
of his person. Advice he quickly
heeded. After walking through the
bustling streets we found a bus headed for Cape Coast. He gave me his cell phone number and tried to
offer more money my way, but my services were not done with the expectation of
payment. He pulled out of the station at
7:10pm and I caught a ride back to my house to walk through my front door about
two hours later than I would have anticipated earlier that day. Mosquitos and the heat can keep most anyone
up at night, but my thoughts kept churning the question, “Did Weston make it
home safely?”
I called him the next day.
He explained that he did make it back safely around 10:30pm. After maneuvering side streets to avoid the
accident induced traffic it was smooth sailing to Cape Coast. Too smooth, apparently, because the van drove
straight by the University of Cape Coast, which is near where he was
headed. We don’t really have bus stops
in Africa, so a few kilometers down the road Weston was dropped off with some
policemen during traffic stops on the side of the road. After chilling in a plastic lawn chair for
about ten minutes with the Ghanaian police on a dark, lonely road he hailed a
taxi back to his place of residence. I’m
sure he’ll remember this evening of adventure.
I’ll be sure to revisit this blog in case you have any comments for me.
Sincerely, Samuel
Akwawba: Welcome
pesewas: their currency for “cents”
brunyi: white man
bibinyi: black man
cedis: their currency for “dollars” 1 Cedi 40 pesewas = $1
From the Desk of Weston Belkot:
The situation was that I traveled about two hours from Cape
Coast into Gbawe earlier that morning to drop off visa forms and passports with
our logistics team. (Note: Basically, individual travel on the World
Race is extremely rare is limited to Logistic or Squad Leader purposes.) Since it was an easy commute on the way in, I
expected the same for the return. I’m
undoubtedly grateful for Samuel’s kindness in going more than the proverbial
extra mile to help a bruni find his way home.
The night was memorable, but Samuel’s character has been embedded into
my memory far deeper than the adventure.
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