Getting here...

I've never considered myself a terrorist, but then again, British Airways does have more experience with that sort of thing, so perhaps I should consider adjustments to my self-perception... I arrived at the London-Heathrow airport three and a half hours before my departure time yesterday, something I never do, yet I still managed to only just make the flight by running through the terminal with my rolly suitcase and being the last one through the gate.

Why?

Well, first I had to spend two hours at the ticket counter and $1,000 on a faux ticket to return to London on January 10, as proof that I would leave the country (fully refunded, and completely unnecessary as I found out upon arrival - although a life of international crime does sound fun, I don't think that would quite resonate with the mission statement of the Christian charity organization that I'm representing). I was then "randomly" selected for "special" security searching involving various acrobatic poses in an X-ray machine, spent half an hour trying to work the pay phone to figure out how to avoid said life of international crime (pay phones! they're complicated!), and by the time I made it to my gate the plane was ready to leave - but it couldn't until I had enlisted five other passengers to help stuff my oversized carry-on into the overhead bin (another 10-15 minutes) and narrowly avoided an altercation with a staunch Ghanaian who insisted that he was NOT sitting in my seat (he was).

Anyways... I made it, and I'm here on the ship in Tema, which is a port city about 30 minutes from Accra. I haven't really done much other than sleep as it's Sunday, but what I have seen has excited me for the weeks to come. The people are fascinating, from all over the world, and friendly - there is a definite sense of solidarity in a common faith and mission, and an attitude that everyone's gifts and services are valuable and needed, from the head surgeon to the newest housekeeper. I've befriended a fellow child of the Greek diaspora, Eleftheria from South Africa, on whom I'm determined to practice my Greek (HER parents taught HER Greek...). We went for a short jog/walk (emphasis on walk) around the port today and I got to explore a bit. The most notable thing about the port, aside from the other boats and mountains of crates, is the ubiquitous haze. They have a name for it that I can't remember, but apparently this time of year the sand from the Sahara desert floats into town and hangs around for a while, giving the impression of a lingering fog and covering everything in a film of dust. It also supposedly cools things down a bit, which is nice...

I'll finally start my job (I keep wanting to say 'sanitation' for some reason, but I'm really in the 'sterilization' department) bright and early tomorrow - can't wait to get to work!