After close to seven weeks away from this beautiful republic, I slid back home quietly last week.
The World Cup tournament, the raison d’etre of my trip, had long been wrapped up and I left the US right after Ghana’s last group match.
But on my way back home, I decided it would be a good idea to hang around for a few more weeks in London, my old stomping grounds for close to two decades at some point in my life.
Several of my friends were beginning to wonder whether I would ever return to Ghana.
A young friend who has been dreaming of relocating abroad for the past decade or so seemed quite irritated that I would be returning.
Another actually labelled me a UK refugee for my long absence and literally taunted me!
Perhaps he was wondering whether I had got wind that some surly national security operatives were camped on the tarmac at the Accra International Airport waiting for me, for whatever reason.
Whilst the British summer was quite enjoyable and it was great to catch up with old friends, I was already beginning to get bored with the lack of a clear daily routine. It was time to end my self-imposed ‘exile’ and go home to some authentic soul food, especially with my palate being tired of all those fancy foods out there.
‘Drinking malt’
At the back of my mind on my way home was an expectation that an airport worker — whether at Port Health, Immigration or Customs — would definitely ask me what I brought for him or her from abroad — a question even my own family members never ask me.
On my way out, I had on two occasions been asked at various points at the airport what parting gift I was leaving them with.
One couched in the most interesting language — ‘your daughter will drink malt oh!’ She seemed friendly and offered me an expectant smile.
This was not the first ‘malt’ conversation I had had with an airport official on my way out of town, so no surprises there.
I was momentarily tempted to look around for a shop to buy her a can of malt just to mock her but I had better things to do with my time. Instead,
I offered her a thin, polite smile and said ‘next time’. Of course, I had no such future intentions of generosity. She smiled back, disappointed.
I am sure she bagged a generous passenger and got her proverbial bottle of chilled malt after several tries.
If prospective travellers were being harassed for ‘malt’ on their way out, it only stood to reason that travellers into Ghana, bearing US dollars, British Pounds, Euros and large suitcases groaning under the weight of various goodies and literally bursting at the seams, were even juicier pickings.
Perhaps for some officials at the arrival hall, a gourmet buffet breakfast, rather than a mere can of malt, is the gold standard for begging.
For travellers who have endured long flights home and are anxious to get out of the airport, it can be quite irritating when officials seek to extort them in a subtle and sometimes not-too-subtle manner.
Again, on several occasions I have experienced this on my way back home - a slow deliberate ‘threat’ to search one’s bags, looking for God-knows-what, which could push a weary traveller to part with a precious foreign bank note or two, just to be on their way.
It is an unsightly, appalling and quite embarrassing spectacle.
With three large suitcases, a rucksack and some duty-free shopping, I braced myself for this before boarding my flight home.
Pleasant surprise
I was quite pleasantly surprised when, on arrival, all the officials I encountered - from port health to immigration to Customs- showed me utmost professional courtesies without asking for malt or a full breakfast. I cruised through smoothly.
