The Ride

On Tuesday, March 17, 2009 I wrote this:

What a long night, and I’m sorry to drag you through it. It was a horrifying experience. I will briefly describe it here. Sorry, I couldn’t tell you more last night. Last night, David a friend of the Prof. came to pick us up to go to dinner. Now, keep in mind this was around 6 pm. David, a gangly, giraffe like figure with sharp chin and nose, aged 49 who has smoked for 40 of those years and has had 40 cigarettes on a daily basis was the David who came to get us. David is British and wild. His veins protrude like tape worms on his extra thin (maybe 110 lbs. at 6 feet tall) body. When he speaks, he rasps, and one can barely understand his rasps. He is a friendly guy, though. I rode in the back of his racecar yellow, tin cup car. I reluctantly climbed in and sat with a door that didn’t open from the inside, and a window that wouldn’t roll down. I was nervous at the start. This car was literally the smallest car that I have been prey to. The stench coming from the back seat glued itself to my nostrils and my clothing within moments of contact. The fresh smell of dog urine came to rest where I sat, and David’s highly stifling cigarette fumes replaced any clean air that may have been about me. There were unidentifiable photos taped to the ceiling interior. It was soon dark and the drive was long, scary, and I felt my heart was left back in the driveway. I was suffocating with the heat and smells. On top of that, I felt as if at any moment we would come crashing into a large truck and fly into flames. All along the dirt highway were the charred carcasses of vehicles that had blown up upon contact. The cars here drive about 80 mph, passing each other and missing head on collisions by just a few feet. Keep in mind that all along the highways are large potholes and swarms of people filed like ants and going about their business with no worry of being struck. We flew around corners in the thick dark air like Cruella De Ville minus the nice car. We ate, I had fish that was rotten; so, I stopped eating. My stomach churned for the next 6 hours. After dinner, we went for a dessert in a fishing town called Elmina. I just listened. The conversation was focused on how Mr. David needed to get his money out of the country without being caught. He also mentioned that he needed to see a doctor in England about his throat, pick up a new car from Germany or Italy, and then make his way back to Ghana to care for his dogs. In Elmina, the air didn’t stir; the stench of human waste was wafting about me. I was nauseous to say the least. Upon returning, the Professor told me how pleasant David had been and that his usual demeanor is quite hostile. Thanking God that I was alive as I stepped foot on my porch that midnight was a serious moment. I unlocked the front door, scrambled in and tried to breath. My throat was closing, but I was determined not to fall into a breathing dilemma. I went in to the wash room and splashed myself with water. I was sick. I talked out loud to myself and tried to stay calm. I just wanted to feel any bit of safety. What if I couldn’t breathe? I prayed some more. I wanted to feel safe. I had to make some plans. I’m sorry for the scare. I was really frightened. Love, Abigail