Friday, May 20, 2011

Zack in Amsterdam

10 degrees Celsius is 50 degrees Fahrenheit, a fact lost entirely upon me when I picked out my clothing to wear last night. Five months of a fairly standard 80 degrees has distorted my sense of temperature. I assumed Europe would be enjoying summer when late spring is more like it. I surely stick out like a sore thumb much more than usual with hiking boots, tan shorts and a worn tropical, button-up shirt.

First impressions, more English translations would help but people are friendly enough. I was quickly redirected to another platform by a kindly trash collector, barely catching the train to Amsterdam Centraal. For breakfast, I order something vaguely similar to a favorite of Coffee Cue, a chocolate waffle with banana, corresponding roughly to pancakes with Nutella, of which I am reminded of as it sits just behind the counter. With the exception of Hotel Le Galion in Lome, Togo, I had not had a really breakfast in months so it was rather top notch.

Also interesting, the area I am in just off Centraal station does not seem terribly busy for being in the middle of the morning commute although the train in was relatively empty as well. Of course, there are people on bicycle, plenty of them compared to what I am accustomed too. I would guess that this particular district has turned itself into a Disneyland of sorts, catering to tourists as I walked by a deserted casino and several shops selling unmentionables. It may be an indication of the tourist economy there or the Dutch work ethic.

Wandering further in the neighborhood, HotelScooter offered three hour bicycle rentals for 8.50€ so I explored the city that way. I rode up and down endless kilometers of canalside streets, past the Anne Frank House, and up still more narrow streets. Amsterdam has got to be one of the most friendly bicycle cities in the world as new streets are without dedicated bicycle lanes and drivers are rather kind to bikers. Pedestrians also provide a grudging respect. At some of the traffic lights, there are even lights similar to walk/don’t walk signs but with outlines of bicycles. Plus, I was in the company of a great many other cyclists which is a refreshing change from both Ghana and the US where that is rarer. While I was helmetless, no one really speeds as most of the bikes are not really made for it, leisurely paced rides are the name of the game. There were even specially built bikes with from compartments which can be used to house kids, dogs or both. I wonder if the occasional significant other must ride there too.

By the time I got to Dam Square, the rear tire gave out on me, giving me my 11th flat tire in as many months. Luckily, wheeling my bike back to the shop was not far as I had been much further than that. He gave me a new one and extra time if I so desired. I decided that my last stop on the new bike was Vondel Park, the Central Park or Boston Commons of Amsterdam. As Amsterdam is a rather elderly city, it was small but a refreshing change of pace compared to Amsterdam.

I had lox over sliced bread and a blueberry smoothie just across from Amsterdam Centraal Station. I wandered historical neighborhood and the Chinatown just nearby before climbing back on the train Schiphol airport. Unlike the US, the Dutch installed a train station below the floor of their terminal so it was easy to do. If anyone hopes that I smoked unmentionables or saw the unmentionables district, they will be sorely disappointed as neither terribly appealed. There were very few people smoking unmentionables and the unmentionables district had little appeal as well.

Going Home

At times, I never thought this day would arrive (or by now it has fallen behind). It was surreal, flagging a cab and driving to the airport, taking the route I have done countless times on my bike, in a tro-tro or in another taxi. It seems I was teased as it took a full 45 minutes instead of what should have taken a mere quarter hour. My arrival at Kotoka Airport, named for a certain general of the same name who was shot there in the 70’s, was to a quiet place with the other BA passengers on a half full flight looking for their bags. Leaving tonight, not only was my flight full but there were half a dozen other widebody planes filling up to. Thus, chaos reigned although security was quick and boarding was relatively easy to.

And where I am headed? Amsterdam of course which I sure was the first place that popped into your head. Of course, it is only for a mere 11 hours or less if my debit card fails to perform. In order to come home as early as I did, I had to use Delta miles which got me on KLM which has been rather top notch so far. I have a suggestion or two in my pocket for to do in Amsterdam although it will revolve around a café with a decent breakfast, non-instant coffee, and a free walking tour. Of course, all of that will be in Euro prices but still, a nice change from too salty egg sandwiches and instant Nescafé. I may even get in a little more blogging. And I have never set foot on Netherlandish soil so for me, this is a real treat, right down to added to my passport’s stamp collection.

Originally , I was supposed to meander on home early. However, I got lucky with the exam schedule and unlucky with bad chicken so I decided that getting into Western New York ten days early would be better than sticking around. Sure, I could have gone up to Mole National Park or one of the great national parks in Benin but after my last hurrah to Benin, my funds petered out. Coming home early also allows me to get a week extra of work in for the summer.

More importantly than any of those reasons, I have to see dear Ruth whom I have not laid eyes on since January. While she said distance makes the heart grow fonder, my heart said that shrinking that distance earlier is a great thing indeed. On the home front, we added a new member of the family. No, we did not upgrade one of my sisters but simply added a cat to what had been a two dog mix. The last cat we had made a one-way trip to the farm due to a coping with death mechanism that failed to involve the litter box. Apparently, Zoe can deal with Ginny without a problem which should not be too difficult a task given that Ginny is afraid of little kids. I wonder if they all sleep on my parent’s bed.

Monday, May 16, 2011

Talking about the Foreign Service

Those of you who know me well know that I harbor diplomatic ambitions. My dream career at present is to become a Foreign Service Officer (FSO), political cone, at the Department of State. I have been exceedingly lucky to meet people who can help me achieve this. My mentor served with a political officer who currently works at Embassy Accra and was kind enough to introduce me for a meeting. After meeting a fellow FSO wannabe while signing up for classes, I invited her along after confirming a meeting. Wannabes should stick together after all.

He began with talking about his position. One of the best aspects of his job is to simply provide results. That is what Main State (State Department headquarters in Washington) and Washington (Capitol Hill and the White House) care most about, and not so much about how those results were achieved as long as the Embassy remains productive and efficient. The “unless otherwise directed” phrase best describes this as often times, a mission will simply tell Washington that this is what they are going to do unless otherwise directed and if no one responds, it is off to the races. In the course of his job, he has dealt with explaining why the US is invading Iraq and why the host government should be supportive of this, assisted American businesses such as Kosmos and Exxon Mobil navigate the burgeoning Ghanaian oil bureaucracy, and at mission higher-ups discretion, represented the U.S. at a women’s trade fair along with the diplomats of a few other countries, and a host of other duties. He told us that there is not a moment he has ever regretted joining the Foreign Service (FS).

He talked about lifestyle of an FSO, saying to my colleague and I that one must embrace the lifestyle or else you’ll never be happy. What is the lifestyle? Moving is important. Most FS jobs last about three years, transitioning to another post mainly during the summer. Most of the Iraq, Afghanistan, and Pakistan jobs are about one year and junior officers spend their first two two-year posts processing visas. Over a 26 year career, this diplomat lived in nine different countries including Washington D.C. That appeals greatly to me as I think that that transition to a new job with new people will break up things perfectly for me. I think that doing that is a great idea and is one of the main reasons why the FS carries so much weight in my mind.

When asked about his favorite post, he said that every post had its ups and downs. While he enjoyed most aspects of Kenya, thirty-five of his friends were killed in the 1998 Embassy bombings. A close friend was violently murdered. Nairobi is significantly more dangerous than Accra as violent crime is very rare here while it is more commonplace there. While serving in Suriname under an Ambassador that he did not get along with at all made him dread going to work, he learned to fly-fish there through some native guides, learning on waters that had seen few white faces and with some of the best fishing worldwide. When one remarked that a road would eventually be constructed through his homeland and that he was told that it would bring jobs, schools and tourists, he dismissed the development as ultimately not being good for his people. When serving at a hardship, unaccompanied post in the horn of Africa, he said that his colleagues were life-long friends. Apparently getting shot at can do that to a group of people. In conclusion, he noted that if we were happy with Ghana on balance, we would probably be cut out for the Foreign Service.

Why must one embrace the lifestyle? FSOs must spend a significant chunk of time overseas. Breaking down the diplomatic corps, two-thirds of the jobs are located overseas and about one third in Washington, reporting to Main State. Therefore, he told us to expect to spend about two thirds of our career abroad. While there are some 5,000 FSOs, recall that there are five cones or jobs, political, public diplomacy, management, economic, and consular. Then, there are various grades or rankings. Language training requirements, medical clearances, hardship posts, and unaccompanied posts all bring that 5,000 job number to about 50 that one would be immediate eligible for. Out of that 50, you are tasked to list six on your bid list as jobs that you immediately qualify for.

On the bid list, he suggested that as a political officer, one should seek to build a relationship with a bureau as he has done with the Africa Bureau. If they know your work and you put decent job in Nairobi at the top of your list, your chances at getting that position, fighting out three or four others while everyone else quarrels over the cushy posts in the European Union are significantly better. While bid lists seem a faraway dream right now, I am sure I will be contending with them before long. This diplomat will certainly be getting a call from me as his mastery of them along with their attached jobs propelled him to the top of his career.

He also discussed the job of political officer as I was most curious about this. A dearth of specific day to day job information stems from the unprofessionalness of blogging about a job that has classified material and State’s monitoring of blogs prevents this. However, he provided as much light as he could. Fundamentally, political officers are reporters, sending back those now famous (and eloquently written) diplomatic cables to Washington describing situations with plenty of details. He provided an excellent theoretical example. While Washington can discover on the internet that Ghana’s official HIV rate could be 1.7%, it may not be a true reflection of the actual number. A political officer would dig deeper, calling his contact who runs the main hospital to inquire his opinion on the rate, talking to friends at the Ministry of Health, those who provided that number in addition to sex workers, homosexuals, and other high risk groups that may have been excluded from that 1.7% as those groups are not well regarded by broader Ghanaian society. That is a political officer’s fundamental position, reporting on events such as elections, protests, and running down intelligence, sending to Washington what he or she thinks Main State needs to know.

Political officers also serve as sort of catch all operatives. If a job needs doing and no one else it on it, it may fall into the lap of an unsuspecting political officer. If the post lacks a military liaison, the political officer may liaison with the military to oversee a military training program as USG (U.S. Government) does a lot of that sort of work. Political officers might clear their plates to assist a Co-Del (Congressional Delegation) or to prepare for a President visit as these are often communicated in the manner of the White House telling the Embassy that the President is coming to town in July. That wide, always changing portfolio appeals to me greatly. Parts of the job such as writing and networking have come more easily than anticipated. Ultimately, it comes down to being a job in which dull moments are rare, a perfect career path for me.

Internships were another topic. He reminded me that an FS job offer is ultimately a measure of how well one does in the Foreign Service written test and oral examination, and while previous experience is important, passing the test outweighs most everything else. In his own experience, State told him that he was unqualified for an internship due to the GPA requirement at the time but made him an FSO a year later. After reading my last internship rejection email earlier that morning, I felt a lot better about that.

Speaking of the test, he shared with us the best strategy for passing. After seeing the Yahoo group dedicated to passing the FSOT, he said that most of what they discuss is nitty-gritty and largely unimportant. While I was not a passionate member of the group to begin with, it was certainly good to hear that from someone of his experience and rank. He told us that State fundamentally wants to know that you can write well, analyze and report on information, and have some basic knowledge. During the oral exam, they want to know whether you are the pushy jerk whom no one wants to work with or the quiet but effective result getter. He gave a specific hypothetical example in that many of the positions the test asks you to argue are fundamentally loser positions with flaws, saying that the goal is not to win but to stand by the best policy. He said a good strategy is the present your assigned position as best you can but conclude by being honest and saying that Cindy’s position is a better one. That tidbit will certainly stick in my mind. Talking to someone who just passed the test was his best suggestion, especially if they are in the A100 or close to being in the A100 job training class (diplomacy 101 for FSOs). He encouraged us to contact him should we ever have difficulty finding a recent pass-ee.

His advice on languages was also a particular help to me. He said that he has always had difficult learning languages and that while there are a few lucky people with a gift for them (Lucky for me, I have fallen rather hard for one of those people!), he was not one of them. Inquiring as to whether I had a dog and then asking if I had a stupid one (in my case two of both), he said that with persistence and hard work, you can train that dog to do something such as learn a new, difficult language. This comes after 20 months of slogging through Arabic in Tunis (and being able to fluently tell me so). He said that self-study for languages is difficult for those without the language gift. While I think I will continue with Arabic in the fall, his advice does provide me some perspective as I don’t actually need Arabic to join the FS, passing the test is the ultimate decider, outweighing all else.

In all, this was one of the highlights of my trip. It is not often that one meets a practitioner, let alone someone who is in the same cone that I am most interested in. I am very grateful and look forward to keeping in touch.

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

The Last Hurrah: Benin Part III

After a less than restive night sleep, we arose, had a quick breakfast, and made for the taxi station. The ride to the taxi station took some negotiation but we finally ended up there. Quickly, I found a taxi that would take us to Cotonou. While only 1,000 CFA per person, we sat four across in the back seat and one half of me sat on an uncomfortable metal bar. The girls crammed in the back seat where I later found out there was little air. Like the taxi the day before, this taxi was similarly dilapidated, requiring a literal running start as two guys pushed the car until the driver put it into gear.

Riding through Cotonou, we saw a city very different from any we had seen. While it was as poor as Lomé, there seemed to be a lot more life. The entire scene was visually rewarding. A plethora of motorcycle dealers, fewer sellers of the usual roadside items whom were less well stocked than their Ghanaian counterparts (indication of wealth), and far too many vehicles and motorcycles on the road at once. As the taxi slowly emptied out, we negotiated to be taken all the way to Porto Novo and our hotel. Approaching a toll booth, our driver ignored the line of vehicles and proceeded to cut in front of the bulk of the line. It turned out that this was common practice although the constant blare of horns reminded us that not everyone accepted this practice. Not long after exiting the toll, the taxi ran out of gas and the driver had to run down the street to find some. After restarting the car using wires instead of the key, the driver had someone push the car in order to get back into gear.

Upon our arrival after a long ride, we checked into the Hotel Songhai in Porto Novo. I have always been curious why no African nation has adopted this ancient name Songhai, after the ancient Songhai empire, as Ghana did with the ancient Ghanaian empire. After about ten minutes in the air conditioned goodness, my roommate and I left our other two travel mates to relax while we took the opportunity to visit a stilt village.

A large lagoon/lake sits behind Cotonou, the commercial capital of Benin, and Porto Novo, the political capital. Home to endless fishermen and women, an entire village built on stilts, and numerous crab traps and fishing apparatus, we negotiated an expensive boat ride with the wrong people. While we got an extended tour of the marshland and talked the price down from 40,000 CFA to 18,000 CFA for the two of us, my roommate figured that not one of the people in the boat on the way back paid anywhere near that much.

Riding the boat was relaxing. I wonder if one can take the boat all the way to Cotonou. We rode through the swamp grass, stopping every now and then to clear the propeller of weeds or to get the motor working again. After passing numerous fishermen and women, we arrived at the stilt village. Since the rainy season has only just begun, the water was a few feet below the village’s level as there was a sandy bar below most of the homes. The Japanese development agency built outhouses some years which has no doubt helped water quality. At the village bank, several women loaded their day’s catch into our boat for the trip to the market. Most of the fisherwomen had what I hoped were their children as their first mates, helping them load the fish and then taking charge of bringing their small canoes home. I say hope as it is sadly not uncommon for people to purchase children as slaves to work in their fishing boats.

One last side note: While writing this in my hotel room, CNN is talking about human trafficking. I wonder if any of the children we saw fishing were slaves.

The Last Hurrah: Benin Part II


Exiting (sorté) Le Galion, we took moto-taxis to Grand Marché and quickly found a tro-tro that could not only take us to the Beninois-Togo border but to our final destination, Comé, Benin. Differing slightly from Ghanaian tro-tros, the Togolese cram four people across a seat where Ghanaians would cram no more than three (smaller tro-tro). While my roommate and I shared the relative comfort of the front seat, our travel mates shared a cramped seat further back with two others.
Upon our eventual arrival in Comé, we took the most dilapidated taxi I have even seen to Hotel Chez Théo on the shores of Lake Ahéné. Scared in the front seat, I reached down for the seat belt to find only a sharp edge. Looking up in slight pain, two people began to push the ancient Nissan backwards as it appeared the reverse gear was no longer in working condition. While we arrived at the hotel safe and sound, the ride was more memorable than I would care to recall.


While the room was standard enough, the hotel has a restaurant on stilts. While the kitchen is on shore, the tables and bar are on a variety of platforms, seemingly built ad hoc. Breakfast was French bread, still heavenly warm, with real coffee and fruit although my first placemat was inhabited by a colony of ants. Upon finishing breakfast, we decided to take a trip to view some of the local sights.

Riding moto-taxis, our first stop was the python temple in Comé. The Beninese are about 60% traditional religion and the reminder French Catholic (contrast dually noted).The python temple was simply that. There were small half size huts that would house the priests for seven days in preparation for some sort of festival. We were ushered into an odd shaped temple that housed some forty pythons. They all appeared rather lethargic and one was passed around my travel mates necked. While I had no problem with the snakes, putting one around my neck was never considered.

An English speaking guide from the local tourist office was provided to take us around on moto-taxis (zemi-johns) to view the local sights dedicated towards reminding people of the slave trade. Benin was known formerly as the Slave Coast. We saw a tree in front of the slave market, originally constructed by a Brazilian slaver. We then stopped at a variety of traditional religious symbols marking each aspect of the slave trade. The Tree of Forgetfulness required slaves to walk around it three times in order to forget every aspect of their lives in Africa, all at the request of the Dahomey (Benin’s colonial name) king.

The last stop on this depressing moto-taxi ride was the memorial at the ocean. Built by the government, it was a simple arch that framed the sea. Slaves would be rowed out to the slaving ships for the trip to Brazil and Haiti. We snapped some photos, ignored the many purveyors of tourist junk, and made for the hotel.

Riding back on moto-taxis, it almost immediately began to rain. And rain it did, in fact it bucketed at one point. Luckily, I had put my camera under my raincoat along with our photo copied guide of where we would stay. The next day, my only boots were still wet.

The Last Hurrah: Benin Part I

After my meeting with the diplomat, three of my friends and I hopped a tro-tro to Aflao, the Ghanaian border town next to Lomé, Togo. Our ultimate goal was Comé, Benin but my meeting lasted longer than I thought and we had to drop by the Beninese embassy to pick up our visas. What a simple process, doing this ahead of time as the Beninese consular office was very nice and efficient, processing our visas in less than 24 hours.

After a bumpy but largely comfortable tro-tro ride to Aflao, the last bit with only a few people inside (and a whole row to myself), we arrived at the border, crossed without too much of an issue although purchasing the Togolese visa was a bit costly and before I knew it we arrived at Hotel Le Galion, my favorite in all of West Africa thus far. The next morning, we would travel to Comé, Benin and onwards to our hotel.

Why is the Hotel Le Galion my favorite? The atmosphere is irreplaceable. That begins with the clientele. Both poorly aged French men and their hookers, along with students from both France and ISH, make the hotel their base. All mix and mingle in the courtyard of the hotel, under huge old trees and safely behind a medium height wall. There are tables under umbrellas with the hotel looking down and in. Just inside there is a large bar that also serves as the front desk. The staff and service is very good as a few of the women even speak small-small English or enough to understand non-Francois’s such as me. On some nights, a band plays in the far side, masquerading the diners in sounds of electric guitar, piano and the soft Togolese vocals.

Par the former French colonial Africa tradition, Le Galion also has a full service restaurant serving excellent food. From ham sandwiches (on a toasted baguette with melted cheese and ham),omelets that are yellow, tasty and with real cheese, and coffee that isn’t instant, Le Galion knows how to do French West African food. Drinks include a variety of beers (well beyond the big Ghanaian five) including Flag, the best macro-lager I have had below the Tropic of Cancer. Wine is expensive but decent enough. Dessert includes top notch ice cream and chocolate mousse. All of this is at good prices and right in the hotel courtyard. One realized quickly why Hotel Le Galion is my favorite.

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

My frustration is palpable!

Studying Arabic in Ghana has not gone as well as I hoped. Finding the class turned out to be an immense challenge only to resolve itself at the very last minute. Next, acquiring the course pack was a minor hurtle due as the class had met without the professor to take orders for the course pack. I acquired it eventually. Other hurdles included trying to read the professor’s handwriting, difficult in class assessments, and hard to get right homework assignments. While the professor commented that I do my own work, he did so by implying that my low grades on it indicated such as some students simply pay older students to do their homework for them.

What did I learn? Well, not much. The professor is a nice guy but his teaching methods are difficult to “get.” By the time I understood the structure of the class, I only had about three more classes left in the semester. Language courses require more time but the University of Ghana only allocates a single two hour lecture per week. The department also provides a relatively unstructured tutorial class, kind of in the spirit of a discussion section but with much less structure and lacking the quality of the TA’s of my own university exhibit. My other issue is that language books should contain more English to promote self-study. The Arabic books my mother provided halfway through the semester have this down but UG does not.

The straw that has almost broken my back was the oral examination. When I checked Friday on the language department noticeboard to see when my examination would occur, I discovered my name was not on the list nor were any of the other three obrunis. Therefore, I knocked on doors until I found one with a person behind it. The TA told me that our names had not been added to the list but showed me where my name should appear, Tuesday at 2p. I passed this along to the other obrunis.

Today, I show up, anxious as could be. I have trouble memorizing things but this test required recitation of a passage. I had this down but would have to read an existing passage first and answer questions in Arabic. While I learned the basics of answering questions last semester, in essence matching one string of words to the one in the question and copying that down word for word, this was also taught this semester although mentioned might be a better word than taught. Before our first in class assessment (held on a Saturday), we were told what I had learned last semester and to learn the Arabic words for what and when. Once the test actually arrived, I saw that my memorization of the words what and when were not helpful as only a few questions contained that word, the professor’s test contradicting what he had said would be the case. He also asked about moon/sun letters despite failing to mention that in class, replacing the section that we would have all done well on.

Back to today, our names are still not on the list despite one of my colleagues strongly asking the professor to make sure that they were there in the last class. That meant that we would either wait for all 62 people in front of us to take the oral despite only three being present or we could wait until tomorrow. Since I was still unfamiliar with Arabic question words and how to respond to them, I decided to wait until tomorrow despite the greater grief it will cause. One benefit is that it takes place at 9am which is a slight improvement as I won’t have to wait all day.

What I do not understand is that the University of Ghana has been dealing with obrunis (international students) since its inception when we constituted a full 12% of the student body (currently at 4%). Yet, the Arabic department does not seem to understand this despite pleas prior to the oral exam schedule. Yes indeed, my frustration is palpable!

Sunday, May 1, 2011

My new BFF, King Menelik II

Why don’t they just say they will buy Abyssinia!
King Menelik II in 1902, referring to a proposed agreement

Tasked with my first paper, I picked the most interesting sounding name on the topic list, Menelik II. Much to my horror, the World Wide Web failed to provide its usual plethora of information. What to do? Thinking back to the distant past, some twenty years ago, I thought about what my parents and others had done. Of course, the Library is where they would have gone.

I marched off to the Balme Library to find something out about Menelik II. After all, I had three pages to fill. The Bradt Guide had a blurb on the Balme Library as a place not to be missed. Since the University of Ghana was founded in 1948 as the University College associated with the University of London and is the eldest University in Ghana, the Balme library is home to an excess of books unrivaled in both Ghana and probably all of West Africa.

Luckily, the catalog is digitalized so a quick search directed me upstairs to the Africana Room. Modern Abyssinia was published in 1901 by British Vice Consul Augustus B. Wylde. Vice Consul is British diplomatic rank dating from the colonial era. He visited the main battle site in Adowa in researching his book. I discovered two other books detailing exactly the focus of my paper.

Essentially, I set out to prove that King Menelik II’s use of diplomacy was the main reason why Ethiopia was the only African country to successfully resist colonization by the Europeans (in this case, the Italians). He used diplomatic notes in the same format and manner that the Europeans used in to communicate to them in a language they understood. After soundly defeating the invading Italian army at Adowa, he negotiated a treaty with the Italians that recognized Ethiopia’s sovereignty and territorial boundaries. Other European powers did the same and send numerous commercial and diplomatic envoys to his capital, Addis Abeba, in attempts to sway this man to do one thing or another. I will try to post the full paper in a new side bar.

It was very interesting to see Menelik do what no other African leader was able to do at the time. Below is a funny anecdote highlighting the man’s character.

After the Italian emissary, Count Antonelli left in a huff after failing to convince King Menelik and Queen Taitu that Ethiopia was unwise to repudiate the treaty, Menelik sent a mule so that the man did not have to walk to his Legation. In anger, Antonelli gave the servant who delivered the mule 100 thalers as he did not want to owe anything to Menelik. When the servant told Menelik the tale and offered him the money, Menelik was supposed to have said. “As a tip it is too much! But as the price of an Imperial mule it is really too little!” Menelik laughed, “It is a tip” he told the servant, “keep it.”

The End is Nigh

Here it is, the end of the semester. After a long spring, the end is in sight. In fact, I moved that sight up by 10 days. The hospital was the straw that broke this camel’s back. This is not defeat but rather an acknowledgement of the circumstances. Even in Cedis, my bank balance appears tiny. Furthermore, I must get back to the love of my life as we are getting together Memorial Day weekend. The food is beginning to become repetitive, particularly after. One can only eat some many egg sandwiches and there is always the worry in the back of my head about getting sick off it again. Thanks to my dad, I have about ¾ of a pound of Starbucks French Roast left but I really want to use my free drink coupon on the new trenta size! Icy coffee drinks would sell so well here.

Coming home early proved to be more trouble than I thought. Searching the web last fall, I found a wicked cheap fare at a ticket bucket company called Student Universe whose attempts at legitimization include checking that its patrons are actually students. Customer service is outsourced to India. I was very happy with it right up until I went to change my ticket to an earlier date. I know that this costs money, a change fee plus the different in fare. However calls to both India and United yielded no availability in my fare class. At United, I inquired as to paying the difference in fare class as there were plenty of seats available. In a gross disservice to United’s shareholders, he refused to do it, saying that it was not possible. Suddenly, my attempts to get home early were in dire jeopardy! I was going to have to mope around Ghana for an extra 10 days with little to do but think about being at home.

Luckily, I have a dad who is more than generous with his frequent flier miles. With just enough miles, I was able to book a flight using Delta miles on their best friend KLM through Amsterdam to New York JFK. The tiny leg to Buffalo required double the miles so I booked a JetBlue flight for less than a hundred bucks. After exams, nothing more matters than leaving as soon as humanly possible afterwards so my flight leaves at 10:05p from Accra on the balmy evening of May 19th, not long after my last exam finishes at 1p. After an 11h layover in Amsterdam, I arrive in western New York shortly after midnight in the early morn of the 21st.

I have enjoyed my time here thoroughly. Before I leave, I am planning one last trip to Mole National Park in the north to take in some of Ghana’s wildlife. This coming week, I have a meeting with a high ranking diplomat to take about the Foreign Service. Tomorrow morning at the ripe hour of 6:30a, I have my dance class final exam. Tuesday at 2p, my Arabic oral will hopefully be at least a passing grade. After that, my next exam is on the 13th at 7:30a.m giving me plenty of time to study. All of which should be lovely!