While my main reason for coming to Accra was to go see a doctor, I did not plan on going to see one until Monday. From what I had heard, the better doctors don’t work on weekends. Being that I had arrived on a Friday, I would wait until Monday to deal with my health issues.

So, on Saturday morning Denis and I decided to go over to the local gym that he attends. It is a beautiful home turned into a work out facility by a woman from Barrie, Ontario. The house is made up of wood and is a very dark grain giving an antique air to the place. The is an aerobics room, showering facilities for men and for women, a weight room, a children’s play room, and a lounge/café.

I had not planned on working out in Accra, so I did not bring running shoes with me from Tamale. All I had with me was a sturdy pair of sandals and dress shoes for church. So, I went with the sandals. Feeling a real need to get back into shape (since my arrival, I have not done much in the way of running or sports which usually takes up a few hours a couple of days a week for me), I hit the gym. While there, I ran on the tread mill for 20 minutes (in my sandals, which held out quite well - though I did get two blisters on my left foot). I then went down to the weight room and was there for another 40 minutes or so. Near the end of my workout I began to feel a little dizzy, which I thought was due to the light breakfast of Milo that we had before coming to the gym.

I then enjoyed a nice warm (not hot at by any means, but warm) shower. Upon leaving Denis to continue his work out, I began to walk home. As I walked, the cramp returned. I was a bit confused because I had just run for twenty minutes at a high intensity with no pain, and one hour later, walking was giving me a cramp.

I also got lost on the way home (though I was walking in the right direction, I wasn’t sure and did not want to get even more lost). I called Joseph who works in the JHR house and he came to meet me. We then went to the bank and got some lunch (some red red which is fried plantain and beans) from a local roadside spot. Joseph recommended it, and it tasted pretty good. Such choices, I would come to see would be a mistake.

Anyway, after lunch, I was picked up by Emmanuel and Kwaku. They are family of a good friend from Toronto, Melezia. Emmanuel works for the major cell phone network in Ghana, Areeba which was holding a beach party somewhere just outside of Accra. With some ice cream and a reggae show hosted by a guy named Black Rasta, we alternated between racing through the city, and standing in traffic, solicited by hawkers. One highlight in the radio commentary from this Ghanian rasta, was his insistence that part of showing a woman you love her is buying her new under-garments every Friday. I never thought of the idea before-hand, but everybody likes to feel fresh. Jury is still out, but I guess it depends on the person.

When we got to the beach, we had to take a gondola across a salt water river to an inlet where the festivities were taking place. That was a surprise because I had just watched a news piece on a German broadcast about gondolas in England and I had hoped to take one to tour the universities in London when I go there, God willing, in March. The experience had come early in Ghana. However, it was pretty shaky and had to be bailed out as there was a leak in it.

Across the river, on the beach, there was a DJ playing reggae and hip life, there was people playing volleyball, a soccer match near the water, swimming, dancing, kebobs on a grill, and a bar. The day was slightly warm, but was overcast and windy. Still in the rainy season, we have not seen the real equatorial heat yet.

My priority upon arriving was soccer. I soon joined the match in the sand where I scored a pretty goal and also blasted a shot at a woman that decided she wanted to be goalie (it was in fun and no one was hurt). While playing was fun, I had done so after taking a Guiness and a kebob the Emmanuel bought for me. Not long into the game, I got very dizzy and felt nauseous. The Guiness and the kebob were not sitting well in my system. I stopped to collect myself and continued the mathc (though I was more relaxed in my play). While the game was going well, someone decided to send the ball into the water causing everyone to leave the match and begin swimming.

Eventually, Kwaku and I would brave the fairly strong waves and go “bath in the water”. The rest of the afternoon was spent playing keep-ups with the soccer ball, listening to music, and walking in the water. Grown men in the jeans and shirts falling in the sand and playing in the water was a sight to remember. For me, just walking in the sand and watching the waves gave me a feeling of being so grateful to be alive and grateful to be there. I felt so highly favoured, and that this was a gift. Life just seemed more than I could comprehend.

As the sun began to set, it began to cool down and people headed back across the river. We got back in the car and headed to Sakomono where Emmanual and the Ackerson family stay. The traffic on the way home was terrible, but afforded me the chance to get all of the sand out of my hair and ears.

The plan was to go back to Sakomono, eat and chill, then go out to a spot called Aphrodesia (it's a popular night club). The plan was to go there, then I would stay at the house in Sakomono and then go to one of the mega-churches (Action Faith Christian Ministries) the next morning. On the ride home, I started feeling exhausted. I wanted to go out with Emmanuel and Kwaku who wanted to show me around, but I was not up to it. After a warm greeting from the Ackerson’s (and being grilled about my life story by Irene who I had not met the first time), I went to sleep.

Just as a refresher, when I first visited the Ackerson’s, it was Mr and Mrs Ackerson, Anita, Emmanuel, Micheal, and their neighbour, friend and driver Kwaku. This time Anita was away at Cape Coast University, and Irene and Francis (who had been at away at school) were at home. It was funny to be in the same house with the same family, but with different people!

The next morning, Irene got up for church (which I hear is a miracle) and Kwaku came with us to Action Faith. The church is a big building that could house a factory. There are a few thousand plastic chairs in the church and some very loud speakers throughout the building. The ground are nice, with green lawns and a huge bronze statue of hands in prayer. The praise was a mixture of Fante and English, and was led by a choir of about forty members. The message was good and reminded me of a lot of things that I had heard Pastor Meikle teach. One thing that I noted was an apology on behalf of all pastors (specifically pastors with Black congregations) for preaching so much about giving money and not teaching how to make money. After giving what could have been three messages in one, I thought he was closing. My mistake.

For over an hour they continued with one activity after another. They presented an award that had been presented to the church for a reason that the pastor did not even know. They brought some new committee (all thirty of its members) in front of the church to announce this committee; then they explained why this committee is not favoured above the others, and that members of other committees should not feel slighted for not being called up. They blessed a couple that is to be married soon. They called up all of the August born people, who the pastor prayed for and serenaded with a ‘special birthday song that he wrote himself’. The August birthday committee presented the church with a communion table cover with some writing on it that caused them to unfold all thirty feet of it for the congregation to see (as they unfolded it, the pastor noted that next year, he hoped they would present the church with an executive bus). They took communion for all three thousand people in the church. They took another offering. They had seven babies to dedicate and bless. That was where I started laughing. This one man whose baby was being dedicated had a testimony…a very long and detailed testimony. He named every doctor that he had seen and detailed his health conditions, pointing out the parts of his anatomy that were not working. He described the efforts that he and his wife had made to conceive. The pastor kept signaling to him to wrap-up; he would smile, acknowledge him, and continue. He kept on talking and talking. Applause would rise, as the crowd thought he was done, and then he would continue. Even after he was finished – this was too much – he took the mic out of the pastors hand and added a few more minutes to his story. Then another pastor came to pray and he contradicted the message that I enjoyed from the first pastor. And then they sang another song. When it was done, it was hard to believe.

I had wanted to go to the bookstore, but at that point, we just got out of there and went back to Sakomono. The rest of the day was spent relaxing and eating.

The next day, I would head to Osu visit the hospital.