Hey.
Short stop in this time. Today marks one full week of breathing African air and my head is still spinning too fast for me to make much sense of any of what’s tumbling around in there. I’m used to a 15 kph movement of around 100 km per day – and the (barely existent) speed of change that comes with it. I’m used to moving from one village or town to the next.
Last week the screen in front of my airplane seat showed speeds hovering around 1000 kph and I found myself on three continents within 24 hours. Though that’s not what makes me feel like I’ve fallen into a tumble drier on steroids.
That is Africa.
I’m finally here. On this massive continent surrounded by more contradictions than any other. The one I’ve been told, not-at-all-told and warned about since before I could even spell it. One week in, mentioned contradictions seem endlessly bigger than they ever have before. And I can’t seem to wrap my head around a single piece what I’ve so far found waiting for me here. Though let’s talk about than another time.
The million impressions and future campfire anecdotes that have constituted the last week led me to Accra and the capital of Ghana. Showing up at the Togo-Ghana border without a visa was probably up there on the list of most-stupid-stunts I’ve pulled on this journey – and a gamble to say the least. Needless to say I’m surprised as anyone that it actually worked out. Just as needless to say is that I am equally grateful, happy and relieved that it did. Probably more than anything, since none of us now have to find out just how much of a catastrophe my Plan B actually was.
Writing this I’m on Day 3 of who knows who many, in the chaotic capital Accra. The one mission here is to acquire necessary visas for the onward journeying through West Africa. A mission that so far is moving along perfectly. The full page visa sticker for Ivory Coast is already in my passport and after the weekend the one for Guinea hopefully won’t be far off.
Meaning that this final and biggest adventure is just about ready to take off for real.
Just now I don’t have time nor energy to try and properly put the overwhelming feelings inside me to words. Though sitting under the cool A/C in the shiny upscale apartment of lovely French expat Lorraine it seems absurd not to. The evening of my arrival Lorraine took me for a burger and beer. We both agreed on that the meal was delicious. But didn’t mention the fact that it had cost almost half a Ghanian monthly salary.
Tapping on my laptop I’m now zipping cool pineapple juice and snacking away on imported Swiss chocolate. I’m looking down through the big windows, passed the guards on duty and across the barbed wire fence surrounding the building. A constant stream of people are passing by, balancing everything from fruit and peanuts for sale, to massive quantities of water or big bags of trash on their heads. I have no idea where any of them are going. I just know that it’s Saturday in Accra, and that normal people are spending it doing normal things.
Right here on this website you can still find the words of 22-year-old me. The girl with the big dreams, who was still back in her hometown merely getting ready to make this journey reality:
‘Brilliant sunshine and pouring rain. Lush rain forests and bone-dry deserts. Privileged people with the world beneath their feet and people who can’t even put a pair of shoes on theirs. This is a ride with the goal of experiencing it all.’
Three years later I’m more grateful than ever to not only have gotten to experience all of that – but also all those things way beyond my wildest imagination. The ignorance in my own words though, makes me absolutely sick to my stomach. It’s been long since I realised it, but never before has the fact been so disgustingly obvious.
That the ‘privileged person with the world beneath her feet’ – has been me all along.
There will be only one photo today, taken at 6.30 am somewhere in southern Ghana. One of 3 beautiful sisters walking to school in the neighbouring village.
I think that if you take the time to actually look at it – this one might be just enough.
Until next time,
Fredrika