After several false starts throughout the year in pursuit of a breakaway from the motherland, I finally travelled to the UK on Wednesday, which was also my birthday.
Leveraging the fact that it was my birthday, I flirted rather shamelessly and outrageously with the ladies at the check-in as I tried to persuade them to overlook the fact that one of my bags was over the weight limit.
I also managed to get my bags tagged as priority, meaning they would arrive rather early on the baggage carousel at the end of my journey.
There is nothing more annoying at an airport than waiting endlessly for one’s bags after a long trip, whilst other bags go round and round, seemingly without owners.
Sadly, my valiant efforts to get a free upgrade to business class on account of my birthday were met with a polite smile from the lovely lady and nothing more.
At least I tried. I was grateful for my two little victories.
As I eyed the spacious, luxurious business class seats with green eyes on my way towards the economy section at the back where the masses are consigned, huddled like cattle in a pen, I reminded myself that it was absurd to argue that whether economy or business, all passengers would arrive at the same time, just because one does not have the financial muscle to fly business.
There definitely is a difference.
Daddy Lumba’s ‘Sika’ hit song floated on my mind, as did Pat Thomas’ ‘Sika ye Mogya’ (money is blood).
Tourism deficit
Despite having lived in the UK for close to two decades before relocating to Ghana fourteen years ago, it struck me recently that I did not really know the UK. I suppose when one is busy working and/or studying in a foreign country, one has little time or inclination to do ‘touristy’ things.
Even back home, many Ghanaians only know other towns in the country primarily because they have attended funerals there - perhaps what one might aptly call ‘funeral tourism’.
Local tourism in the sense of, say, a relaxing weekend at Mole National Park or a visit to the Paga crocodile pond or Akosombo Dam is not quite a regular Ghanaian thing, and when one relocates abroad, the inclination to go on a tourism spree is not exactly top of the list.
Until I relocated to the UK and went back home on holiday in the early 2000s I had never been to the Cape Coast or Elmina castles, the Kakum National Park or several of the major tourist points in the country.
I was determined to make up for my UK tourism ‘sins’ of yesteryear. I decided to start by flying from Ghana into Edinburgh, Scotland, in the northern part of the country, where I am staying with a friend.
Edinburgh sights and sounds
Even though work took me to nearby Glasgow back in the day, and two of my brothers attended university in Edinburgh, I never quite got to make it here.
The city’s history dates back to the Mesolithic times, developing from the 7th century fort of Din Eidyn on Castle Rock. In 1130, King David I established the town as one of Scotland’s earliest burghs, protected by his royal fortress on the slope below the castle rock. The city became Scotland's capital somewhere in the mid-15th century.
As my host and I strolled leisurely through the shops in the city’s historic Royal Mile of the Old Town with its shops, public houses and other visitor attractions, I felt quite touristy, snapping away with my mobile phone whilst taking in the sights.
A vibrant pro-Palestinian demonstration was ongoing in one of the squares. I was tempted to join, and then reminded myself it was not the sort of thing tourists do.
In the early autumn weather, I could not believe I was shaking like a fetish priest possessed, much to the amusement of my host.
After all, I had braved 19 winters in the UK back in the day, but then I suppose I had lost my cold-weather resilience after almost a decade and a half in Ghana.
I suppose tea will be very much my portion over the next few weeks.
I am not particularly adventurous at trying new local foods, so I have yet to sample haggis, Scotland’s iconic national dish, a savoury, sausage-shaped pudding made from sheep’s heart, liver and lungs mixed with oatmeal, onions, suet and spices, and traditionally cooked inside a sheep’s stomach. I may be persuaded, who knows?
After all, ‘when in Rome…’
Talking of behaving like the locals, I was tempted to get myself a traditional Scottish kilt to wear as the Scots do, but I resisted.
Originally a practical garment for the harsh Highland weather, the kilt evolved into a symbol of Scottish pride and tradition, meant to celebrate their heritage, clan history and national identity.
In many ways, it is akin to the status the kente cloth enjoys back home as a symbol of identity and pride.
London beckons
This week, I head down to London, my old stomping grounds for close to two decades. It is familiar territory, but I still have deficits - I never visited the city’s Westminster Abbey, Tower of London, Madame Tussauds or the nearby Kew Botanical Gardens or Hampton Court Palace when I lived in that bustling city of 8.9 million souls. I must certainly atone for my ‘sins’.
Of course, beyond these redemptive visits will be a flurry of exciting ‘meet-and-greet’ sessions with old friends, former clients and work colleagues I have not seen in years to catch up on some gossip.
It promises to be a tight schedule, with several lunch and dinner offers thrown in, interspersed with pub appointments.
On the lunches and dinners, I intend to go fully British for a change, so help me God.
Writers email: rodboat@yahoo.com
