Schiphol Airport, Amsterdam. To give the impression that I too am a city man, I walked proudly and with confidence toward the door. Suddenly the door opened automatically. Frightened, I jumped backward, my other hand-carried bag dangling at my back. I looked around and saw people laughing and I nodded to them, apologizing with a smile, “Forgive the bush man from Africa.”
Twice my malaria sent me to two hospitals. At first hospital run by Medical Sisters, a group of Protestant Charismatic, unaware that I was a Catholic Priest, came to pray over me. After them came the Catholic Charismatic group. I got well but the problem was I did not know whose prayer made me well.
Eight Miles from Here...
Watching a group of women carrying water. I asked casually of my guide. “How far away do they get the water?” About eight miles from here. Water is really a problem here father. When those women arrive in the village, they will be so tired and so thirsty that they will drink all the water they carried.” And they will go back again?” I asked. “Yes”, said the concerned guide.
I like Fufu
Fufu is Ghana’s staple food. It is made of mashed yam and cassava and plantain and eaten with stew. On my way back from home leave, inside the plane, I was seated between two Ghanaians. Before our meal was served, I casually told my Ghanaian seatmate to my left, “I like Fufu you know?” it caught him so much that he leaned over to me, looked at my skin and exploded: “no wonder we have the same color.”