When I was much younger and almost supremely naive, I assumed that the US state of Virginia was inhabited only by virgins.
Of course, as I became older and more sensible, I got to know better.
However, soon after I arrived in Stafford, Virginia, last week, I almost caught myself trying to figure out virgins as I strolled through town.
My host Kofi laughed his head off when I told him about my childhood impressions.
But then almost every vehicle number plate from the state bears the inscription ‘Virginia is for Lovers’.
Well, maybe my guess was not that ignorant.
I arrived in Virginia last Wednesday, when Ghana played Panama in Toronto, Canada.
Of course, Kofi’s friends in the sleepy little town had gathered in his home to watch the game together on TV, and I had no choice but to join in.
Apparently, football is best enjoyed as a communal activity - a rollercoaster of emotions, with ice-cold beer as a staple for company.
It is a very versatile drink, handy both for celebrations and despair.
I actually enjoyed the game and found myself caught up in its last-minute drama, with Ghana barely managing to snatch a desperately needed goal as the match limped towards the final whistle.
The collective relief was palpable, but many were not impressed by the boys’ performance.
Exploration time
After a couple of days’ rest, trying to recover from the effects of jet lag, and with the Ghana-England match still a few days away in faraway Boston, it was exploration time.
There were a few people my travel companion and I had to see in the region.
From the vast woodlands of Virginia through the quaint, charming countryside of Delaware, where life seems to move at its own snail pace, through Connecticut’s compact, diverse landscape, all the way to Massachusetts, perhaps the two things that struck were the ubiquitous car culture that makes it literally impossible and almost criminal not to drive and further, the wide multi-lane roads that seemed to stretch endlessly into the distance.
I thought of our Accra-Kumasi road, which seems to be perpetually under construction and subjected to political bickering since God knows when, and then I sighed.
Then there was New York City. Ah!
The Big Apple. A different story altogether. A city with an estimated population of 8.5 million, which never sleeps.
I have been there a few times, but it blows me away every time with sheer force. New York City exudes a certain warm vibrancy, from its old and new parts, through the rumbling subway trains and distinct yellow cabs, all the way to the bright lights and densely packed skyscrapers jutting into the skies.
It suggests a ‘no man’s land’ where everyone is a ‘hustler’ - typical of many large cities - and then takes it a step further with an ‘X factor’ - what the French call ‘je ne sais quoi’- that puts it in a unique category.
I am prepared to bet that the city houses immigrants from every single country in the world. No wonder it hosts the United Nations.
It is, in every sense, a truly gigantic, charming melting pot that reeks of rich history, evolving from a small 17th-century Dutch fur trading post and originally known as New Amsterdam as far back as 1624.
With a 24-hour economy hinged not on lofty promises but an organic beehive of activity stretching as far as one can see, the city screams at you in a way that suggests that sleep is for the weak, with the bright neon lights of Times Square as its heartbeat.
If I were young all over again and wanted to spend time somewhere in the US to sow my wild oats before getting serious with life, I am sure I would have chosen New York City, just as Eddie Murphy did in the hilarious 1988 movie ‘Coming to America’.
After one incredible but clearly inadequate night in the city, it was time to move on. I reckon the city needs a full week to explore it properly.
Cometh the World Cup hour
With our match with England near, it was time to roll into Massachusetts, and on Sunday afternoon, we did just that, settling down at a place called Foxborough, about 15-minutes’ drive from the Gillette Stadium where we are to lock horns with England.
Apparently, the stadium is known as the Boston Stadium for the World Cup, even though it is actually close to an hour’s drive from Boston.
Before the match, I hope I can find some time to visit the Boston Harbour, scene of the infamous Boston Tea Party in December 1773, when some men threw about 340 chests of tea into Boston Harbour as an act of protest against the British government over taxation without representation.
I might even grab a cup of tea nearby.
It is Sunday night as I write, and earlier this evening, we yearned for some authentic Ghanaian food after days of surviving on strange foods that do nothing for the soul.
After some research and enquiries, we set off for Worcester, a Ghanaian hub in the state of Massachusetts, about an hour’s drive away.
The venue was ‘Anokye Krom’ restaurant.
The music was good, and the food went down very well.
I tried hard not to compute the Ghana Cedi equivalent of the cost of the food and drinks.
The Egypt-New Zealand match was on, and of course, we joined some Ghanaians who had come to get some food and to hang out to enjoy the match together over some beer.
The idea is to get some rest on Monday and then to storm Gillette Stadium on Tuesday in the company of other Ghanaians, armed with anything and everything branded in Ghanaian colours and ready to make some noise towards demolishing England’s Three Lions national team.
A few friends I have not seen in a while have promised to be there, and I am sure we will all have a good time.
Dear reader, please do say a quiet prayer for Ghana ahead of the match. !
The writer is a former CEO, African Peace Support Trainers Association, Nairobi, Kenya and Council Chairman, Family Health University, Teshie, Accra. E-mail:
