Sylvia's Journal

An ADRA driver picked us up and took us up to Dodowa, in principle a ride of one hour that took us closer to 2 hours. We kept turning right, and then right again, and again, and again. I expected to find ourselves back at where we started. I find the layout of Accra and its outer roads very confusing and disorienting. There are some cities, like New York City or Washington, where I can quickly orient myself, even without a map. Accra is the opposite, together with Conakry, two places I never figured out despite multiple visits.

The start of the retreat was as tentative as the 9 months of stop and go preparation. Of the 30+ invitees only 4 were present at the appointed (lunch) time, 11 people showed up an hour later, still working on their lunch when we were supposed to have started. More people straggled in over the next few hours. Nevertheless, by dinner time we had caught up with our planned program and everyone was deeply involved reflecting about leadership, their own and others’.

After dinner we lost people as fast as we had gained them. Some went home even though we already paid for their hotel room. We are apparently still too close to Accra. Still, many are intrigued with the methodology and the approach we are taking and fourteen people showed up for the after dinner session on work climate. Our lead facilitator was stuck in the rush hour traffic leaving Accra for hours and Diane, bless her heart, jumped in with only seconds notice and ran a good session in his stead.

We are staying in a hotel that was designed, I think, by a builder who doesn’t believe in architects and who cheaped out on materials. It is a veritable accident waiting to happen with shiny tiled stairs that could kill you in the rain and levels up and down everywhere, gratuitous steps without a purpose other than to trip you. Tripping would be a disaster for me as I cannot catch myself with two arms. Thus I walk slowly and very mindfully through the long death trap hallways, up and down levels that are hardly noticeable because the tiles fool you into believing all is level.

When I went to check out the hotel on Monday, straight off the plane, a gathering of traditional rulers was in session. Each ruler was decked out in magnificent cloth, loosely draped over one shoulder, with spectacular staffs, thick gold necklaces and head bands with fur from powerful wild animals. It was a photographer’s dream but I was too timid to snatch the opportunity until invited to pose with two of them. I was promptly addressed as ‘wife’ by one – apparently spouses can be acquired easily by a traditional ruler. I smiled and then we parted ways – divorce being just as easy.

At the end of the day I retreated to my enormous, gaudy pink and gold room. Outside the hotel, thousands of noisy bullfrogs, who live in the blue-tiled moat that traverses the grounds, make any conversation impossible. They make such a racket that neither the airco nor music could drown them out. It is a deafening cacophony of ribbits and croaks that went on all through the night. According to my faithful medicine cards, the frog stands for cleansing, new beginnings, or maybe simply a good start.