Start of the End

        The day is spent slowly but surely making our way home. We leave Kwawu Dah’s small-village charm for a brief stop at the Cocoa Research Institute. Some play gold while others walk behind stage of a funeral that sounds more like a celebration to finish up installing our upgrades to the lab.
        A few hours and weird bugs later, we’re back on the road. Cujo drives well even while saying “Luke, you crazy 67,” I guess meaning I’m crazy times 67.
        A long drive later, we arrive at our last supper in Ghana at the the colonel’s house in Accra. It’s definitely an example of going out with a bang: his wife’s prepared us a feast of Ghanaian foods that far outclasses any 2 other meals we’ve had here combined.
        It would be a gross omission for me not to note one of the major downsides to traveling. However, it’s also gross if I include a detailed explanation. Suffice it to say that the ride to the airport involved a painfully large amount of self-control on my part. Barely controlling desires to insist that we pull over to the side of the highway, I regret not having taken some preemptive Imodium this morning. It’s a close call and I’m sweating when we finally arrive, but I make it to the airport (and more importantly the bathroom) in one piece.
        No security is an overstatement: Accra International Airport is an incident waiting to happen. I carry a bulging backpack onto my British Airways flight without anything more probing than walking past a small sign declaring it illegal to carry firearms aboard. And we’re a few hours from Tamale, a major city with a curfew after violence to the point that a chief was beheaded! But we make it onboard without incident or goodbye tears. We end the day with me dozing off mid-flight, content to be en route to the First World after a good adventure that’s definitely been different than all my past excursions.
        As Cujo would say, “me like-a this trip.”

<links> <pictures> <writings> <me>