ASSumptions

When traveling abroad, being naive can get yourself robbed, sick, deported or even killed. On the bright side, believing the best in people can save you from being an "assuming ass."


For the past month our Ghanaian staff member Lawrence has been rummaging through Cape Coast for a new guesthouse for our volunteer groups to use during their program. As an organization we are growing rapidly at our Ghana site - we are hosting about half a dozen student groups in 2011 - therefore, we will need a bigger and hopefully cheaper guesthouse than what we’ve used previously.

Lawrence found “the one” a couple days ago and showed Kirsty, who was surprised to agree with Lawrence that it is “the one,” after visiting several “the one”s over the past month. Kirsty and I will be living in a separate wing of the guesthouse; as such, both of us need to approve of the place as a guesthouse as well as a new home. It was my turn to visit the guesthouse. I was to meet Lawrence in Abura at Tina Tavern and from there we would set out to the guesthouse.

It was a few minutes past three, the sun ablazing, and no Lawrence in sight. I walked up the cement stairs and stood under the red tent. Two Ghanaian women were sitting at a table, as hard at work as you could be mid-afternoon on a week day, staring at me like they’ve never before had a customer. I told them I was meeting a friend. They nodded so I sat in a plastic chair at a plastic table where the sun couldn’t reach me and waited. After a couple minutes I called Lawrence to see where he was, not out of frustration but out of courtesy of the two women staring at me wondering if I was going to use their shade and chair and not order anything. He said he is in town and I couldn’t hear the rest of what he said. Something about the guesthouse owner. “Ok, see you soon,” I said.

One the women got up from her seat and meandered to the bar. The other woman, plumper and younger, called out to me from her chair across the patio, “Is your friend close?” “No,” I replied airily. “He said he’s on his way coming.”

If the woman was a foreigner who had been in Ghana a while, she probably would have laughed at the tone of my voice. When working with Ghanaians, about 70 percent of the time they are either coming (20-45 minutes away) or on their way coming (haven’t left their house yet). Some foreigners find this cultural norm irritating, especially if they don’t bring a book to read while they wait, but I don’t mind. Too many things to notice, to observe, to question, to ponder - too many things to do instead of being bored or impatient or annoyed.

“Will you take a drink?” she pressed. A drink would refresh me in this heat, but I wondered whether I’d have enough time to down it before Lawrence arrived. A taxi from town to Abura should only take 5-7 minutes but knowing Ghana and Lawrence, it’d be more like 15-20 minutes. “Sure, I’ll have a Sprite.” She disappeared and returned with my drink, popped open the lid for me, and I paid her 2 cedis. She lingered at my table and asked for my name.

“Michaela.”

“Michaela,” she repeated slowly. “I like your name. It’s very beautiful. How do you spell it?”

“It's Michael with an ‘a.’ M-I-C-H-A-E-L-A.”

“Ah, okey okey okey, Michael with an ‘a,’” she stared out at the street and then back at me. "It's a very beautiful name!"

“Thank you, and what’s your name?”

“Essi.”

“Ah, Sunday born. I am Ekuwa.”

“You are Wednesday born.”

“Yes.” I noticed she didn’t want to be done talking. She was about my age and I figured she probably had children so for the sake of small talk, I asked.

She beamed, “I have one child.”

“That’s wonderful. Boy or girl?”

“Girl.”

“And what’s her name?”

She smiled shyly, “She doesn’t have a Christian name.” I shrugged and she continued, “Her name is Adwoa.”

“That’s my favorite Fante name,” I replied. “Which day is that again? I forgot.”

“Monday.”

“Ah, yes. Monday,” I took a swig from my glass bottle. “Well, if you have another child and it is a girl, maybe you can name her Michaela.”

“That is why I asked how you spell it!”

We laughed.

A man had parked his taxi on the side of the road in front of Tina Tavern and was walking up the stairs. He said something in Fante to Essi and sat down at the table behind me. Essi went to the bar.

My back was to the man and he was facing the wall to my left. “Are you waiting for someone?” he asked.

I turned to my right toward the street and sun, “Yes.”

“I am the one you are waiting for,” he said, smiling.

“Ha, I don’t think so,” I took a drink from my Sprite and stared out at the street.

“You will come to think so,” he said.

I looked at him and laughed and then looked out at the street again. “You are very forward.”

He laughed at me. I was grateful for the silence that followed. Lawrence should be here any minute, I thought.

The man spoke again, “I think you are meeting to see a guesthouse.”

I turned and looked at him suspiciously. “What? How did you know that?”

“I am the owner of the guesthouse."
"Ohhh!" I laughed, relieved to be humbly reminded that not all Ghanaian men are after the white ladies. That’s what I get for living in West Africa for five months and becoming jaded to getting hit on incessantly.

"Mr. Lawrence told me to meet him and you at Tina Tavern. He is coming.”
"You!" I said jokingly shaking my finger at him. "Nice one, thank you for the laugh."
He chuckled. "See? I told you I am the one you are waiting for! I am driving us to the guesthouse," he pointed at his taxi.

Just then, Lawrence sprinted up the steps and threw his right arm in the air and left arm at his side to capitalize his grand entrance. "I'm here!" he exclaimed. The guesthouse owner hoisted himself out of his chair, walked over to Lawrence who was taking a seat at my table and briefly replayed our meeting to Lawrence in Fante. Lawrence looked at me and threw his head back and laughed at the ceiling of the red tent. The guesthouse owner, Kofi as he later told me, giggled to himself and at me and went back to his chair. We continued laughing until I realized they were waiting for me to finish my drink so we could leave to see the guesthouse.


Lesson learned: Look before you leap. It's smart to have your guard up in a foreign country, but it should never be up too high.