Dag 46: Lomé na Accra, Ghana

(English Translation Below)

Dag 46: Lomé na Accra, Ghana
 
Dis 500m se ry vanaf die Seaside Hotel waar ons geslaap het, tot by die grens. Ons parkeer reg voor die deur van die klein geboutjie waar ons moet paspoorte en motorfietspapiere wys. Buite drom die geldwisssellaars en self-aangestelde grensposhelpers rondom die motorfietse saam. Een of twee hang rond op die deurtrappies. 'Sir I can see you're a good person, please let me help you through the border.' Ons is nou al deur genoeg grensposte om te weet dat blote oogkontak genoeg is om, vanuit hulle perspektief, 'n bindende kontrak daar te stel waarvolgens jy moet betaal vir die feit dat hulle met jou gesels het, vir jou gewys het waar die doane-kantoor is, na jou motorfiets gekyk het. En betaal jy een van hulle, verskyn daar nog 43 wat ook help kyk het.
 
Ons paspoorte word gestempel en ons saal op. Daar is twee toutjies gespan om te keer dat mens nie oorry Ghana se kant toe nie. Hulle laat sak die eerste een. Ons ry stadig tot by die volgende een. Die toutjie bly styfgespan. Die toutjie-laat-sakker spring vinnig op, loer by 'n venster in agter hom, roep iets. Wys vir ons om te wag - iemand wil met ons praat. Ons weet wat dit beteken: Iemand daarbinne wil geld hê.
 
Net toe kom drie netjies-ge-uniformde Ghanese polisiemanne aangestap. Are you Dr. Cooper and Dr. Oosthuizen? Ja, sê ons. Hulle stap die Togo-kantoorjie binne, sê iets vir iemand, en die toutjie sak.
 
Ons is 'n paar weke gelede deur Ghana se Adjunk-minister van Onderwys genooi om oor ons reis en wedervaringe te praat by 'n hoërskool in Accra. Hy het vir ons polisiebegeleiding gereel vanaf die grens. So vir vier ure lank ry ons tot by ons blyplek in Accra, begelei deur 'n Polisie-Toyota met vier gewapende polisiemanne agterop, en twee voor! Karre en vragmotors gee links en regs pad, die blou en rooi ligte flits, en ons ry soos twee prinse op pakmuile die stad in.
 
Day 46: Lomé to Accra, Ghana
 
It's only 500 meters from the Seaside Hotel where we stayed to the border. We park right in front of the small building where we need to show our passports and motorcycle papers. Outside, money changers and self-proclaimed border helpers surround the motorcycles. One or two loiter around the doorsteps. "Sir, I can see you're a good person, please let me help you through the border." We've been through enough border crossings to know that mere eye contact is enough, from their perspective, to establish a binding contract where you have to pay for the fact that they talked to you, showed you where the customs office is, or watched your motorcycle. If you pay one of them, another 43 appear who also claim to have helped.
 
Our passports are stamped, and we mount. Two ropes are stretched across the road to prevent us from crossing into Ghana. They lower the first one. We drive slowly to the next one. The rope stays taut. The rope-lowerer quickly jumps up, peers through a window behind him, and shouts something. He signals for us to wait. We know what this means: Someone inside wants money.
 
Just then, three neatly-uniformed Ghanaian policemen approach. "Are you Dr. Cooper and Dr. Oosthuizen?" Yes, we say. They enter the Togo office, say something to someone, and the rope is lowered.
 
We were invited a few weeks ago by Ghana's Deputy Minister of Education to talk about our journey and experiences at a high school in Accra. He arranged police escort from the border for us. So, for four hours, we ride to friends of ours' house in Accra, escorted by a police Toyota with four armed officers in the back, and two in front! Cars and trucks give way on both sides, the blue and red lights flash, and we ride into the city like two princes on pack mules.

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