The plan seemed simple enough, yet I should have expected the complications that would soon render it impossible. We were to board the bus at twelve o’clock midnight and drive to Benin for the Ghana vs. Benin soccer match. A student group on campus organized the trip, and the person in charge fittingly referred to himself as Obama. Ironic right. It’s not easy to round up sixty or so odd people and transport them across two borders, especially when you’re talking about West Africa. Frankly, I was impressed.
The first sign of trouble came when we received a text message informing us that we wouldn’t be leaving until 3:00 AM. Ok fine. I’ll just stay up until then and sleep on the ride to the game. We show up at the central cafeteria, it’s about 3:15 and the majority of people already there are white. Not surprised in the slightest. Only one bus is there and I know there are supposed to be at least two. About a half hour passes while we wait outside in the dark no sign of Obama or any of his representatives. Eventually they load us onto the bus now it’s about 3:45 or so. I sit down and pass out in my seat. When I wake up the sun is beginning to rise and we haven’t moved an inch. The second bus hasn’t arrived yet and people are still waiting outside, although I think a few have given up and gone back to their comfortable and welcoming beds. At this point I am beginning to seriously doubt whether or not we are even going to leave the university. By about 5:30 AM the bus is fully loaded and the driver starts up the big diesel engine and we leave, two and half hours behind schedule and leaving about half the group behind still waiting for the second bus. I’m frustrated and slightly angry, but way too tired and incoherent to do much of anything so I just continue to get some kind of sleep while the bus bounces down the pothole strewn highways of Ghana. The funny thing is that I still don’t even know for sure what time the game is starting. I’ve heard 2:30, 3:00, and 4:30 from a number of different people. Oh Ghana.
After driving for about three hours we reached Aflao, a border town between Ghana and Togo. The driver pulls into the main station and we unload without every actually being told what is going on. I get off, stretch my legs, exchange some money (cedis for cifa), and find a place to piss. Everyone is just kind of walking around looking slightly confused or just sitting on the bus waiting to leave or hear any bit of information. Finally, we pull out of the station and I beginning to think we might just make it. Not five minutes later we are stopped again, this time at the actual border and I am told we are dealing with immigration services. Uh oh. All I was told to bring was my student ID card because the immigration details were all being taken care of for us. I brought a copy of my passport and birth certificate just in case (my real passport is with immigration in Ghana, which is a whole different story). Someone collects our identification and returns with immigration forms, which I am told to fill out. Ok, I wasn’t expecting to have to deal with this and I can feel things beginning to fall apart. Oh by the way, the other bus of people still hasn’t arrived in Aflao and we’ve been there for close to two hours. Before the forms are collected one of the event organizers makes an announcement which I gather to say something like, we had a ministry escort to take us across the border who has left because we are too late and now if you want to go to Benin you will have to purchase single entry visas across both borders. The cost will be close to one hundred cedi in total. Deep breathe. Should have been expected. Seemed too good to be true. Fuck.
For the first time I take a look around me and realize we are parked about two hundred feet from the beach. I look out the window and see white sand and turquoise blue water. It’s a beautiful day and I am in the midst of a place worlds apart from anything I could have ever imagined three months ago. Some people want to go check out the beach swim and hang out so I get down from the bus to join them. We start to walk over, but even these plans are soon foiled. Everyone keeps warning us the beach is unsafe, Aflao is a border town riddled with crime and theft. You should just stay on the bus. Don’t go to the beach. I think of Tijuana. Well, I’m going to at least have a look. It’s fairly crowded with people swimming, pulling in massive fishing nets, sleeping, hustling, or just looking sketchy. The sweet smell of urine is floating in the breeze and I decide to leave my sandals on. We are quickly ushered back to the bus and told we are leaving to go back to campus. About 30 minutes out we meet the second bus and segregate ourselves. Obrunis on one and Obibinis on the other, and off we go once again bouncing down the broken road music blasting the entire way.
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