On Saturday morning, the three day For Men Only conference hosted by TD Jakes was over, and we had a day and a half to finally leave the resort in Grapevine and experience downtown Dallas. Luckily for us, we had a friend drive up from Austin and another who flew in from Pheonix to keep us company these last couple of days of our time in Texas. And on Saturday it was all about shopping! Well, it was after we had stuffed ourselves silly at the Cheesecake Factory. I am usually a twice-a-year only-out-of-necessity shopper, but recently, I’ve discovered why our female counterparts absolutely adore this exercise that I had only once considered as a rigorous chore (unpleasant memories of spending hours wandering around stores on Oxford Street as a child while my mum shopped spring to mind). I had gone shopping and enlisted the help of a lady friend in making some good picks, and I was intrigued to find that her impatience grew the more I shopped and the longer I lingered in each shop as I worked my way through the mall. When it finally hit me, it was an epiphany – ladies love shopping so much because its always for themselves! But the moment you flip the script, they start to exhibit men-like tendencies – irritability, impatience and disinterest….I also discovered that shopping can be therapeutic – I’m sure I’ve heard ladies say this for the longest time without ever truly appreciating what they meant. Anyway, I digress. Luckily, being on holiday in Dallas, our friends were more than happy for the shopping to be all about us. Unfortunately, on the only full day we had to catch the stores in Dallas, someone had to insist on getting an American fade before they left the US! Anyway, after a “brief” two hour or so interlude at “The Fade Shop”, we returned to the mall and crammed in as much last minute shopping as we could before they closed.
After the mall shut, we went back to our hotel room to get ready for a night out on the town! This was truly the highlight of our trip…After being recommended several joints by our friends and also getting lost for a while, we eventually ended up at a Latino club call Blue. We only managed to get there fifteen minutes from the end and judging by what we met when we got in there, we might as well have not bothered at all. Even when I used to go clubbing, you would never have found me in a place like that. Grimy, slimy, “durrty south” are some adjectives that readily spring to mind. Women dancing on tabletops akin to strip clubs you’d see in the movies - being in that environment reminded me exactly what I don’t like about the clubbing scene; the smoke, the lasciviousness, half the club downing themselves into a drunken stupor, and the other half (not mutually exclusive) seemingly in a trance as they bump their heads hypnotically to a “phat beat” that admittedly many times I would describe as infectious. In Club Blue’s case, the music had a monotonous “dirty south rap” backdrop (connoisseurs of hip hop music will know what I mean) that left you begging for the exit after just about ten minutes. And we were heading for the exit soon enough. There was however enough time for one of our friends to be approached by a dodgy looking guy (heck they all looked dodgy). As he opened his mouth to speak, you could see his teeth fitted with pale metal which looked anything but precious, and you could also tell that whatever he was saying to her would be nothing but crude. After a few moments of his advances being entirely ignored, he turns to me with a drunken stench in his breath and asks, “yo, is that your girl?” I respond affirmatively to his question to get rid of him, and although I didn’t quite catch his response as he walked off, it sounded something like, “well all the girls here are fair game, but if you say she’s yours, man whatever, I’ll leave her alone!”
It’s fair to say that on leaving Club Blue, we headed straight for the car and sped off, thanking God that we weren’t robbed, stabbed or shot at. The experience did make me marvel at why people (especially women) would subject themselves to the meat-market type treatment that is the meted out in such clubs. I was also grateful to God for the grace to be able to see beyond the lie that clubbing for a young person was a necessity when in reality it creates shackles of bondage that we unwittingly impose on ourselves by the seemingly harmless act of frequenting night clubs every Friday and Saturday night. Also, when people go on holiday it’s not unusual for them to want to have a taste of the night life in the city they visit, however recently I’ve been more interested in what the church life is like in the cities I visit. It’s fair to say that there was no way we were going to be in Dallas without paying a visit to the Potter’s House, Bishop T.D. Jakes’ 28,000 member church. And that’s exactly what we did on Sunday morning before catching our flight back to the UK later that day. We got there for the first service at 8.30am, to give ourselves enough time to do some last minute shopping before heading for the airport. As you approach on the highway, the monumental structure of the Potter’s House is the only building that can be seen in its vicinity – its presence as part of the scenery is unmistakeable. With acres and acres of land surrounding the church dedicated to the dozens of parking lots servicing church members, and bearing in mind that hardly anything in America is accessible by public transport, we’re talking about tens of thousands of parking spaces. In fact after parking, we still needed a ten minute walk to get into the building! As you can imagine a set up this massive requires an equally impressive team of traffic wardens to regulate the flow of traffic and that is exactly what they had. And if you think that Jesus House has a traffic problem then picture this – on leaving at the end of the first service, the traffic pile up to get into what I’d imagine is a more heavily attended second service (just like in JH) at 11am was overwhelming to say the least. A queue on the interstate highway stretching back for at least 45 minutes was an incredible sight which could leave no observer in doubt as to the indelible footprint this church has left on the landscape.
Okay, enough about architecture and geography, I suppose you want to hear about the Word, the message, the sermon?? As we came into the building, I tried to use the “I’m from London” card which had already worked so many times on my trip to get us front row seats, but unfortunately we hadn’t arrived early enough so these seats had already been taken by the score of men who had also been in town for the just concluded men’s conference. As we were ushered to our front row seats on the upper balcony (great view, I must say), Bishop Joseph Garlington, the Senior Pastor of Covenant Church in Pittsburgh, was taking the pulpit to deliver the message for the day. Any initial disappointment that may have stemmed from the realisation that Bishop Jakes wasn’t about to deliver another heavy, inspiring message was alleviated as Bishop Garlington instantly captured the hearts of the crowd, breaking into a series of breathtaking worship songs which the likes of Byron Cage and Donnie McClurkin would have been proud of. After about five minutes of this, I was thinking that this guy just needed to sing the whole sermon and we would go home happy. His theme melody for the day was short and catchy, it went “Tomorrow, about this time, things are gonna change” – then he went on to explain what was keeping us from getting to our brighter, better tomorrows. Using Job 22:28-30 in several different versions (KJV,The Message, NLT) for emphasis, he explained how nothing happens in the Kingdom of God until something is said. If we have the power to make a decree, then it’s time to say something. Many times, we’re waiting for God to say something, when He is waiting for us to say something. From verse 28, we can see that although we have to do the decreeing, it is God that does the establishing, and then light shines. When we make a final decision on a matter, then God will stand with us in that decision as long as it is in line with His word. In verses 29 and 30 we see that we have the power to decree things in the lives of others who don’t understand what it means to receive things. God didn’t just save us so that we could be blessed, He saved us so that we could also bless others, and there ought to be something within us that gives us the desire to help someone else. He gives us a perfect illustration of this using the story of the Shunammite woman who Elisha decreed would have a son within a year (2 Kings 4:8-17) and then later restored the same son to life after he had died (verses 18-37).
I could go on an on about this message but mere words would not really be able to articulate or capture the uniqueness of this experience. How Bishop Garlington seemed to burst into a catchy melody to drive home every point he made lit up the atmosphere in a special way – you’d be forgiven for thinking you were watching a show on Broadway. I’d recommend getting hold of the CD or DVD to really get a taste of what I mean. At the end of the service, as people poured out of the church into the parking lots, you could sense the blissfulness in the air. The community and family feel was undeniable with everyone making wisecracks about the humorous yet truly inspiring and uplifting message. Even the marshals sang along to the tune of “tomorrow, you’re only a day away!” as we walked towards the car to make our way to the airport via some more last minute shopping. There’s a movie called “Stranger than Fiction” I saw on the plane to Dallas in which Will Ferrell pays a man who begins to hear a narration of his everyday life in his head and soon realises that he is merely a character in a book being written about his life. He soon has to figure out what type of story he is in – a tragedy (in which he meets his untimely imminent demise) or a comedy (where he finds love and lives happily ever after). Well, as we left the Potter’s House, I couldn’t help but feel that we were in a musical with all singing and all dancing characters that were permanently in a state of euphoria. It was what you could describe as a “kodak moment”, a moment in time you just wanted to take home and frame so you could walk into your living room and behold the sight each day. The Potter’s House experience was truly an icing on the cake on a truly memorable time in Texas, including a few days in Houston and three days at the For Men Only conference in Dallas. Not the most popular tourist destination, a few people have told me they would never have thought of visiting Texas, but it turned out to be a fantastic choice!
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
A Tale Of Two Cities Part I (originally sent Apr07)
Hi people! I hope everyone is doing good? I just wanted to share with you my journal from my latest trip to Texas! Hope you enjoy it!
Live and Direct from Houston Texas!
Up until now I had never been beyond the East coast of the United States of America. NY, NJ and DC were the limits of my sojourns in the land of stars and stripes. But my world was about to get bigger – a whole lot bigger! I got home from work on Thursday night knowing that despite not having packed and not having had time to really plan my trip, I had to be on a plane at Gatwick at 10am on Friday morning…such was my exhaustion from yet another whirlwind week at work that I went to bed half packed, setting my alarm to get me up at 5am to finish packing and make my way to the airport.
I lazily dragged myself out of bed at the sound of my alarm to get ready, but despite my unprepared-ness, I had a distinct lack of any sense of urgency. At 5.30am I sat and watched Creflo Dollar, as I leisurely threw clothes which I deemed holiday worthy into my suitcase. Creflo, the senior pastor of World Changers Church in Atlanta, was one of many preachers on the Christian TV networks that I had become familiar with. Another was Marcus Witt, senior pastor of the Spanish congregation of Lakewood Church in Houston, and the sheer magnificence of their church building meant that it was top on the list of sites I had to see when I arrived in Houston. Anyway, it wasn’t until the clock was approaching 7am that I hurriedly decided to stop deciding what to pack in the realization that I could miss my flight if I kept dillydallying…I got on the DLR at about 7.15 to start making my way to Gatwick Airport. Luckily for me, it took barely an hour and a half to get to Gatwick, I was there before 9am and boarded the plane without being in a mad rush not to miss it (thank goodness for online checkin).
The flight was pretty cool, I hadn’t been on a flight ten hours long before but the time flew by as I used it to catch up on movies that I hadn’t seen yet. I saw three movies in all including the new(ish) Bond (why did I even bother?) and Stranger than Fiction (interesting concept). The highlight of the flight was passing over the glaciered landscape of Greenland….the pilot interrupted the in-flight entertainment to announce to the passengers to take a look at the awesome scenery of Greenland as we passed over this mass expanse of rocky white ice. As I marvelled at the view, I wondered how populous this massive island could be, and indeed whose bright idea it was to call it “Green”. Anyway wikipedia tells me that it’s the third biggest island in the world and the country with the lowest population density, but don’t hold me to that, you know you can never really trust wiki sometimes…
10 hours later, at about 3pm local time, we landed in Dallas, where I had a 3 hour stop over before taking a connecting flight to Houston. What struck me immediately apart from the cowboy hats, trousers and boots being brandished by some men who were obviously arriving back home, I couldn’t help but notice the deep sense of Latin American culture in the air. It seemed that every other person was Hispanic and catching even just a hint of Spanish was like music to my ears. As I stood in the queue waiting to go through customs, I excitedly looked forward to arriving in Houston, quietly hoping I would experience more of the same flavour over there (and I wasn’t to be disappointed either!).
So after the three hour stopover in Dallas, I boarded the plane to take me to Houston. It was already 7pm local time, so by this time I was quite knackered. My body was saying 2am and I barely realised when we took off. I awoke as the plane started it’s descent to Houston. On arrival at George Bush International Airport, I was met by a friend who I had met a few years before on an internet site called Naijaryders (NR). He went by the name of LK (Louis Khan – not from mortal kombat, it’s an anagram of his Nigerian name). NR was an online forum where Nigerians in diaspora could go and network and chat with others like them across the US and other parts of the world. I met LK back in 2002 when the forum had its inaugural reunion in DC at memorial day weekend – I was one of two “UK Ryders” that graced the event. Many of us were able to form friendships that would transcend the realms of internet space and make a longer lasting impact in each of our lives. And this was the case here – with just a phone call from London, LK and E.I., his housemate who also used to frequent NR, were inviting me to stay at their home for the duration of my stay in Houston! And did these guys look after me or what? I was given a cell phone to use throughout my time there and I almost didn’t pay for a single meal in five days!
On Friday night, after LK had picked me up from the airport, we went directly to a home fellowship that he attends. Although we got there late, it was refreshing to see Christians meeting together in the same way in an entirely different part of the world. While we are sleeping in London, there is a bunch of young men and women in Houston (and elsewhere) meeting to fellowship together in Jesus’ name. After the meeting ended, I met a few other ex-NR members who I had previously only known by screen names and many other nice young ladies and gentlemen. Quite a few of them including LK were members of Dominion Chapel, the main parish of the Redeemed Christian Church of God (RCCG) in Houston. After the fellowship, I tagged along with LK and a few others for a more intimate meeting the 24 hour IHOP (International house of pancakes!). This meeting was to discuss ideas and the direction they had for Jesus House Houston, a church plant from Dominion Chapel that this young group of people had been called to be a part of.
The following day, Dominion Chapel’s singles ministry was having a careers event, so I went with E.I. as he was giving a speech at the event to the students who were in attendance. There was also a panel of more senior professionals, some of whom I was able to meet during the midway interval. The Dominion Chapel building was very nice and the set up of the church reminded me of our very own Jesus House. As you can imagine, what had really struck me about my hosts LK and E.I. on this trip was how much we had all spiritually matured in similar ways since our playful Naijaryder days despite having led totally separate lives. It’s ironic that before I landed in Houston, LK was worried that he’d have to take me out clubbing when that wasn’t really his scene anymore, while I was also worried about what he had in mind when he said “he’d show me a good time”. I also had the pleasure of meeting Pastor Bayo Fatugba, the head Pastor at Dominion Chapel. He is a delightfully pleasant man and I had the honour of having lunch with him and his team a few days later. I learnt that he had practised law for about ten years before he went into ministry full time to do what had really always been his passion – to serve God. After the careers event, I went with LK for a birthday party at a bowling alley, where I was able to meet even more “Naija Houstonians”. As the evening approached and night fell, I realised that my body was still on UK time – we got home sometime after midnight and I crashed straight away.
The next day was Sunday, so that meant church and my long awaited visit to Lakewood Church. Luckily for me, E.I. attended Lakewood so I went with him. We got there slightly after 11am and I jumped out of the car to get good seats while he went to park. I soon found that saying you’re from London can get you very far and I soon found myself sitting very near the front despite that area already being “full”. To give you an idea of how big Lakewood is, 42,000 people attended it’s opening service in 2003 when they took over the Compaq Centre from the Houston Rockets after they moved to their new arena following the 2002-03 basketball season. That’s more than 1% of the total population of Houston! In London, you’d have over 100,000 members if you had 1% of the population in your congregation. In which case, even taking over the new Wembley stadium wouldn’t be able to hold you all. And the Compaq Centre really is a magnificent building – as you can imagine it was the home of a team that was back to back NBA champions in the mid-nineties (a team which included MVP Hakeem Olajuwon). Having watched Lakewood on TV, I had always thought that it looked like a stadium of some sort, and it turns out that I was right! Currently, about 30,000 people attend their Sunday services.
In the absence of head Pastor Joel Osteen, Pastor Marcos Witt took both the English and Spanish services. A very energetic and witty man (no pun intended!), this was the first time I had heard him preach in English (his sermons on TV are in Spanish). And he preached about fear and how to overcome it. Apparently, the number one fear people have in life is not death, it is the fear of speaking in public speaking. Of over 500 known phobias listed, he mentioned some of the wackier ones like nudophobia (the fear of nudity) and panophobia (the fear of everything!). E.I. left after the main service, but I stayed behind to catch the Spanish service. In between I went to pick up a copy of Marcus Witt’s newly released book “How to overcome your fears”. However when I went to get the book signed there was a very long queue which they had closed off and I was told to return the following week. Once again, I used the “I’m from London” card and when I explained that I wasn’t going to be there the following week I was allowed to join the end of the queue and get the book signed. After the Spanish service, I went to peruse in the Lakewood bookstore until LK came to pick me up. As the evening wound down, we set off to rent a car for my remaining few days in Houston (I was flying to Dallas on Wednesday evening). As the week was about to start, LK and E.I. would both be at work so using a hired car was going to be the only way I would get around.
The final few days I spent in Houston were great. Soulbrotha, another young guy who was also a member of Naijaryders came by the house on Monday morning and we chatted for a few hours catching up on old times. He’s an up and coming Christian rap artist and was just about to drop his debut album the following weekend. I hadn’t met him in person until this trip, so it was great putting a face and real character to the internet persona (people are rarely how you imagine them to be when you’ve only chatted with them online!). After he left, I lounged for a while and it was late afternoon when I decided to eventually venture out on the roads of Houston to get myself to the Galleria shopping mall. Driving on the grand six-lane interstate highways was an exhilarating experience. The roads are big, the cars are big, and it was a stress-free driving experience – very different from the hassle of driving in a country where the roads are so small that one always has to think three steps ahead to give way to oncoming traffic. Being mobile greatly enhanced my enjoyment of this trip - I was able to meet and have lunch with friends, family friends and even Pastor Bayo. And ofcourse, I was able to do all the shopping that I wanted! On Tuesday evening, we met up with some other guys at a sports bar at the Galleria, where among other things, they were planning Soulbrotha’s album release party. It was another great evening and a fitting way to spend my last evening with these Houstonians before I left for Dallas. On Wednesday, I returned to Lakewood to pick up some of the books I had seen on Sunday. In the evening, LK took both E.I. and I to the airport to catch different flights, but this wasn’t before I had managed to leave my suit at their house – I had to get them to overnight it to me in Dallas.
It wasn’t until much later when I was back in London that I was asked if I visited NASA – you know, the guys that say “Houston, we have a problem!” in the movies. Well, I guess that gives me something to return to Houston to see, but there certainly weren’t any problems this time around – I’d had a fantastic five days, but it was time to experience a new city, the home of the Mavericks and the Cowboys! And there was a small matter of a men’s conference and retreat hosted by TD Jakes scheduled for the coming days. There was much to look forward to!
Live and Direct from Houston Texas!
Up until now I had never been beyond the East coast of the United States of America. NY, NJ and DC were the limits of my sojourns in the land of stars and stripes. But my world was about to get bigger – a whole lot bigger! I got home from work on Thursday night knowing that despite not having packed and not having had time to really plan my trip, I had to be on a plane at Gatwick at 10am on Friday morning…such was my exhaustion from yet another whirlwind week at work that I went to bed half packed, setting my alarm to get me up at 5am to finish packing and make my way to the airport.
I lazily dragged myself out of bed at the sound of my alarm to get ready, but despite my unprepared-ness, I had a distinct lack of any sense of urgency. At 5.30am I sat and watched Creflo Dollar, as I leisurely threw clothes which I deemed holiday worthy into my suitcase. Creflo, the senior pastor of World Changers Church in Atlanta, was one of many preachers on the Christian TV networks that I had become familiar with. Another was Marcus Witt, senior pastor of the Spanish congregation of Lakewood Church in Houston, and the sheer magnificence of their church building meant that it was top on the list of sites I had to see when I arrived in Houston. Anyway, it wasn’t until the clock was approaching 7am that I hurriedly decided to stop deciding what to pack in the realization that I could miss my flight if I kept dillydallying…I got on the DLR at about 7.15 to start making my way to Gatwick Airport. Luckily for me, it took barely an hour and a half to get to Gatwick, I was there before 9am and boarded the plane without being in a mad rush not to miss it (thank goodness for online checkin).
The flight was pretty cool, I hadn’t been on a flight ten hours long before but the time flew by as I used it to catch up on movies that I hadn’t seen yet. I saw three movies in all including the new(ish) Bond (why did I even bother?) and Stranger than Fiction (interesting concept). The highlight of the flight was passing over the glaciered landscape of Greenland….the pilot interrupted the in-flight entertainment to announce to the passengers to take a look at the awesome scenery of Greenland as we passed over this mass expanse of rocky white ice. As I marvelled at the view, I wondered how populous this massive island could be, and indeed whose bright idea it was to call it “Green”. Anyway wikipedia tells me that it’s the third biggest island in the world and the country with the lowest population density, but don’t hold me to that, you know you can never really trust wiki sometimes…
10 hours later, at about 3pm local time, we landed in Dallas, where I had a 3 hour stop over before taking a connecting flight to Houston. What struck me immediately apart from the cowboy hats, trousers and boots being brandished by some men who were obviously arriving back home, I couldn’t help but notice the deep sense of Latin American culture in the air. It seemed that every other person was Hispanic and catching even just a hint of Spanish was like music to my ears. As I stood in the queue waiting to go through customs, I excitedly looked forward to arriving in Houston, quietly hoping I would experience more of the same flavour over there (and I wasn’t to be disappointed either!).
So after the three hour stopover in Dallas, I boarded the plane to take me to Houston. It was already 7pm local time, so by this time I was quite knackered. My body was saying 2am and I barely realised when we took off. I awoke as the plane started it’s descent to Houston. On arrival at George Bush International Airport, I was met by a friend who I had met a few years before on an internet site called Naijaryders (NR). He went by the name of LK (Louis Khan – not from mortal kombat, it’s an anagram of his Nigerian name). NR was an online forum where Nigerians in diaspora could go and network and chat with others like them across the US and other parts of the world. I met LK back in 2002 when the forum had its inaugural reunion in DC at memorial day weekend – I was one of two “UK Ryders” that graced the event. Many of us were able to form friendships that would transcend the realms of internet space and make a longer lasting impact in each of our lives. And this was the case here – with just a phone call from London, LK and E.I., his housemate who also used to frequent NR, were inviting me to stay at their home for the duration of my stay in Houston! And did these guys look after me or what? I was given a cell phone to use throughout my time there and I almost didn’t pay for a single meal in five days!
On Friday night, after LK had picked me up from the airport, we went directly to a home fellowship that he attends. Although we got there late, it was refreshing to see Christians meeting together in the same way in an entirely different part of the world. While we are sleeping in London, there is a bunch of young men and women in Houston (and elsewhere) meeting to fellowship together in Jesus’ name. After the meeting ended, I met a few other ex-NR members who I had previously only known by screen names and many other nice young ladies and gentlemen. Quite a few of them including LK were members of Dominion Chapel, the main parish of the Redeemed Christian Church of God (RCCG) in Houston. After the fellowship, I tagged along with LK and a few others for a more intimate meeting the 24 hour IHOP (International house of pancakes!). This meeting was to discuss ideas and the direction they had for Jesus House Houston, a church plant from Dominion Chapel that this young group of people had been called to be a part of.
The following day, Dominion Chapel’s singles ministry was having a careers event, so I went with E.I. as he was giving a speech at the event to the students who were in attendance. There was also a panel of more senior professionals, some of whom I was able to meet during the midway interval. The Dominion Chapel building was very nice and the set up of the church reminded me of our very own Jesus House. As you can imagine, what had really struck me about my hosts LK and E.I. on this trip was how much we had all spiritually matured in similar ways since our playful Naijaryder days despite having led totally separate lives. It’s ironic that before I landed in Houston, LK was worried that he’d have to take me out clubbing when that wasn’t really his scene anymore, while I was also worried about what he had in mind when he said “he’d show me a good time”. I also had the pleasure of meeting Pastor Bayo Fatugba, the head Pastor at Dominion Chapel. He is a delightfully pleasant man and I had the honour of having lunch with him and his team a few days later. I learnt that he had practised law for about ten years before he went into ministry full time to do what had really always been his passion – to serve God. After the careers event, I went with LK for a birthday party at a bowling alley, where I was able to meet even more “Naija Houstonians”. As the evening approached and night fell, I realised that my body was still on UK time – we got home sometime after midnight and I crashed straight away.
The next day was Sunday, so that meant church and my long awaited visit to Lakewood Church. Luckily for me, E.I. attended Lakewood so I went with him. We got there slightly after 11am and I jumped out of the car to get good seats while he went to park. I soon found that saying you’re from London can get you very far and I soon found myself sitting very near the front despite that area already being “full”. To give you an idea of how big Lakewood is, 42,000 people attended it’s opening service in 2003 when they took over the Compaq Centre from the Houston Rockets after they moved to their new arena following the 2002-03 basketball season. That’s more than 1% of the total population of Houston! In London, you’d have over 100,000 members if you had 1% of the population in your congregation. In which case, even taking over the new Wembley stadium wouldn’t be able to hold you all. And the Compaq Centre really is a magnificent building – as you can imagine it was the home of a team that was back to back NBA champions in the mid-nineties (a team which included MVP Hakeem Olajuwon). Having watched Lakewood on TV, I had always thought that it looked like a stadium of some sort, and it turns out that I was right! Currently, about 30,000 people attend their Sunday services.
In the absence of head Pastor Joel Osteen, Pastor Marcos Witt took both the English and Spanish services. A very energetic and witty man (no pun intended!), this was the first time I had heard him preach in English (his sermons on TV are in Spanish). And he preached about fear and how to overcome it. Apparently, the number one fear people have in life is not death, it is the fear of speaking in public speaking. Of over 500 known phobias listed, he mentioned some of the wackier ones like nudophobia (the fear of nudity) and panophobia (the fear of everything!). E.I. left after the main service, but I stayed behind to catch the Spanish service. In between I went to pick up a copy of Marcus Witt’s newly released book “How to overcome your fears”. However when I went to get the book signed there was a very long queue which they had closed off and I was told to return the following week. Once again, I used the “I’m from London” card and when I explained that I wasn’t going to be there the following week I was allowed to join the end of the queue and get the book signed. After the Spanish service, I went to peruse in the Lakewood bookstore until LK came to pick me up. As the evening wound down, we set off to rent a car for my remaining few days in Houston (I was flying to Dallas on Wednesday evening). As the week was about to start, LK and E.I. would both be at work so using a hired car was going to be the only way I would get around.
The final few days I spent in Houston were great. Soulbrotha, another young guy who was also a member of Naijaryders came by the house on Monday morning and we chatted for a few hours catching up on old times. He’s an up and coming Christian rap artist and was just about to drop his debut album the following weekend. I hadn’t met him in person until this trip, so it was great putting a face and real character to the internet persona (people are rarely how you imagine them to be when you’ve only chatted with them online!). After he left, I lounged for a while and it was late afternoon when I decided to eventually venture out on the roads of Houston to get myself to the Galleria shopping mall. Driving on the grand six-lane interstate highways was an exhilarating experience. The roads are big, the cars are big, and it was a stress-free driving experience – very different from the hassle of driving in a country where the roads are so small that one always has to think three steps ahead to give way to oncoming traffic. Being mobile greatly enhanced my enjoyment of this trip - I was able to meet and have lunch with friends, family friends and even Pastor Bayo. And ofcourse, I was able to do all the shopping that I wanted! On Tuesday evening, we met up with some other guys at a sports bar at the Galleria, where among other things, they were planning Soulbrotha’s album release party. It was another great evening and a fitting way to spend my last evening with these Houstonians before I left for Dallas. On Wednesday, I returned to Lakewood to pick up some of the books I had seen on Sunday. In the evening, LK took both E.I. and I to the airport to catch different flights, but this wasn’t before I had managed to leave my suit at their house – I had to get them to overnight it to me in Dallas.
It wasn’t until much later when I was back in London that I was asked if I visited NASA – you know, the guys that say “Houston, we have a problem!” in the movies. Well, I guess that gives me something to return to Houston to see, but there certainly weren’t any problems this time around – I’d had a fantastic five days, but it was time to experience a new city, the home of the Mavericks and the Cowboys! And there was a small matter of a men’s conference and retreat hosted by TD Jakes scheduled for the coming days. There was much to look forward to!
The Sights and Sounds of Accra! (originally sent Oct06)
Hi Guys and Gals!
For your reading pleasure, the journal of our recent trip to Ghana - I hope you enjoy it! It is extremely long (I think the longest journal I've written so far) so you might want to print it out and read it later. I have just finished it and haven't proof read it at all, so excuse any grammatical or spelling errors!
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The Sights and Sounds of Accra
These are the memoirs of my first ever trip to Ghana. It’s been a great 4-day adventure, and an experience that has been laced with joy, sadness, excitement and utter surprise, each to varying degrees. When my brothers and I set out from Heathrow on Thursday for Accra, we thought that we were just going for our mum’s 50th birthday celebration on Saturday, but we got a lot more than we bargained for! It turned out to be a much bigger party than we had envisaged – 150 guests from different countries around the world convening at the La Palm Beach hotel in Accra signalled that my dad was really going all out to celebrate this milestone in his wife’s life. The choice of Ghana may not seem so obvious, but given that he went to University there and needed to relinquish a 30-yr promise of taking my mum to Ghana, then the choice was in fact perfect!
The journey actually started the day before we travelled on Wednesday – after working late, we literally had to drive across London in the middle of the night (with like 2-hour traffic on the A406) and to Reading and back, making sure we picked up all the big cardboard boxes that had the party gifts we were to take to Ghana with us for the festivities. After a full night of driving, we didn’t get back home till 6am (people were already on the way to work!), which gave us about 3 hours to pack before leaving for the airport. There weren’t really any complications at the airport, we left London as scheduled after 2pm and embarked on the 7 hour or so trip to Accra. For me, one of the big bonuses of this trip was that as Ecowas (Economic Community of West African States) citizens, Nigerians do not need visas to go to Ghana, so that saved the trouble of numerous embassy visits and appointments – finally that Green passport has been useful for something!
A word about the flight – too much turbulence! It didn’t help that I recently listened to a message in church where the speaker described how on a trip to Africa the plane he was in dropped by 1000ft suddenly in turbulence – the message may have been about overcoming fear but my remembering it during our own period of serious turbulence didn’t exactly help matters! Not much else to say about the flight – since we hadn’t slept all night, the initial plan was to sleep for the duration of the flight, but instead I decided to use it to catch up on movies I hadn’t seen. I started off with “Cars” – very deep and funny animated flick which really had me thinking over and over about the moral of the story. Then there was “Click”, typical slapstick Adam Sandler comedy about a guy who was using a remote to fast forward parts of his life he didn’t like – let’s just say that I was dying to fast forward the whole movie to the end! By the time I got half way through, I decided to see it through so that my time wouldn’t have been wasted – and in the end it actually had quite a deep message also – so I guess it wasn’t all a waste! I managed to squeeze in Lion King before we landed – yes, to all of you who said I had a deprived childhood for never watching this movie – eat your hearts out, I finally did it!
Finally, we landed at Kotoka International Airport at about 9pm local time. As we stepped off the plane, I saw the sign “Akwaaba” at the entrance to the airport and I knew I was certainly in Ghana (I believe it means welcome?). The air was warm yet cool, and not too humid – quite a contrast to the sea of humid heat I was expecting and was used to from my trips to Nigeria (perhaps it was simply because we landed in the evening?). My dad had an old Ghanaian colleague who was on the same flight as us who had offered to put us up on the first night, before we moved to the La Palm Beach Hotel on Friday night, so we had met him on the plane before take off. However when we landed my younger brother Sola aptly pointed out that we didn’t even know whether we were being picked up from the airport. Luckily for us, our parents, who had flown from Nigeria on the same day, were at the airport to welcome us. So we went to my dad’s friend’s home in Achimota and we had dinner there and got acquainted with him and his wife before we were shown our rooms. It was barely midnight when we crashed – remember that it had now been 48 hours since some of us had slept!
Before we went to bed however, we did receive some really sad news. My parents were coming from the funeral of my first cousin, which was held in Lagos earlier that day. Quite tragically, he was among fifteen Lagos State University Students who died when the boat cruise they were on capsized about a week ago now. Although he had visited and stayed with us briefly some 10 years ago when we were still in Nigeria, we were never really close and never really in touch. My heart goes out to my uncle’s family because I can only imagine what they must be going through right now – a young promising life snuffed out way too soon – he was only 24 years old, and I understand that he used to play an instrument in his church. It was a sad reminder that sometimes life is way too short to lose touch with certain people, to harbour grudges with people you may never actually see again, or indeed to not cherish loved ones and people that you care about while they are around. May his soul rest in perfect peace.
So on Friday, we eventually lazily crawled out of bed around 10 or 11am, had breakfast and started getting ready to move over to the hotel. We had a long day of packaging gifts (that would be given to all the guests) ahead of us. I tried to get in touch with Mide and Tomi – they school in Ghana (Accra and Kumasi respectively) and they were in town. Their dad was my dad’s best man and had apparently introduced my parents back in the day. Their parents had also flown in from Lagos for the ceremony. Before I continue, to my Ghanaian brothers and sisters, I’ve really got to give it up to you – everything you’ve told me about Ghana is true. I am beginning to understand why so many Nigerians are now furthering their education in Ghana as a viable alternative to moving to the US or UK. You guys are truly more sophisticated, more organised and much cleaner than Naija (sorry all my Nigerian peeps, its true!). Okay, apart from Abuja. But if it’s a choice between Accra and Lagos, Accra takes it hands down! I haven’t been to Lag in nearly two years now, so maybe I need to go back to update my notes, but there were a whole lot of stores in Accra that I wouldn’t have dreamed of seeing in Naija – Wranglers Jeans, Woolworths, Nandos etc. Several branches of Barclays Bank were also littered across the city – guys, watch this space, I could ask for a transfer to Africa – if I pack up and move to Accra, then you'll know why! Meanwhile for Barclays, Nigeria is one of two NCCTs (Non-Compliant Countries and Territories), along with Myanmar (I know, I’d never heard of this island either!). Actually, stop press – I just checked and Naija was removed from this list in June – hallelujah!
After seeing some of the sights of Accra, we arrived at the hotel at about 3pm and waited for about an hour for our rooms to be ready to for us. In the meantime, we chilled out in the lobby meeting a lot of guests who were also arriving from all over (mainly the UK and Nigeria) for the festivities. You can’t imagine the number of times that we were approached by old friends of our parents who would say things like, “don’t you remember me?” or “I knew you when you were still a baby!” – but it was cool though! Friday was pretty uneventful, Tomi came to the hotel with her friend AJ and they helped with the packaging of the gifts, which we spent most of the afternoon doing. Mide arrived at the hotel later on and then we joined her friend Ngebi (from Cameroon) for dinner at Frankie’s, a restaurant in Accra’s famous Osu area aka Oxford Street. We went out to a couple of bars and clubs afterwards and by 2am or so we were ready to go home. We decided to go back to Mide’s to watch some home movies, but when we got there her selection of movies wasn’t that great and since we were all so tired anyway, we just crashed there until the next morning.
Saturday was finally here, this was my mum’s big day. We woke up at about 10am and took a taxi back to the hotel. On the way back we managed to see a few more sights and chatted with the taxi driver about Hearts of Oak and Asante Kotoko when we passed the football stadium. When we got back to the hotel, our parents and most of their guests where in the hotel restaurant having the buffet breakfast, so we joined them. We wished her happy birthday and grabbed something to eat as the buffet was closing. Again, most of the day was spent getting ready for the evening festivities which were due to start from about 8pm. We had loads more packaging to do for gifts that others had brought, so we sat and did this while watching Chelsea beating Portsmouth live on Supersport as well as the highlights of the other Premiership matches on Saturday. By 7pm, we were all running around all over the place, making sure that everything was in place for the big event. We all had to give speeches, my brothers and I, and also my mum and dad. My mum had brought the hairdressers to her room and she was working on her speech while they put finishing touches to her hair. At this point, it was literally a few minutes to 8pm, my dad called me into the adjoining room and then closed the door. He said to me that after the opening prayer and remarks, there was going to be a surprise that my mum didn’t know about. He proceeded to bring out 2 rings from his pocket and explained that he had gotten a priest for the ceremony and he was going to ask her to renew their marriage vows! My brothers and I were to be the page boys, so we were to bring the rings on a cushion towards them when called upon to do so! Whaaaaattttttt??? My mind was truly blown – I was almost speechless! This was truly on another level! What a special gift to give your wife on her 50th birthday!!!
My dad gave me the rings, and I left his room to finish off running some other errands that needed to be done before the ceremony started. I placed the rings carefully in the side pocket of my tuxedo – I kept checking my pocket every other minute just to make sure they were still there – I wanted to be absolutely sure they’d still be there when we needed to present them. My brothers eventually joined us at about 8.30pm and we walked down to the hall where the ceremony was to take place. With our parents not far behind, I whispered to my brothers what the plan was, and they were equally surprised – dad had kept that one quiet. I couldn’t help feeling like a secret agent, who was passing on highly classified information to his fellow secret agents. The intricacy of the planning was indeed second to none – our dad didn’t let us know what he was planning until minutes before the ceremony, because we didn’t need to know a moment before. When we arrived at the hall, which was in a building adjacent to the hotel reception, we were ushered to the entrance, where we were to be shown to our seats. At that point, a lady came up to my brothers and I and asked which of us was going to hold the plate (which the rings were to go on). My mum, within an earshot of us, heard this and asked what it was we were going to be holding, but my dad dismissed this and said it was nothing! Phew, that was a close one – even if she was suspecting something at this point, she couldn’t have guessed how big the surprise was going to be.
We walked into the hall and there was a band to our left playing some soft soulful jazz music and a dance floor, which was for later on in the evening, to the right. Ahead of us and down a few steps was the main part of the hall, well decorated with about 15 round tables for guests and a high table for special guests of honour, who included my dad’s best man and his wife, and the wife of my dad’s boss. My brothers and I were ushered to our table at the far left corner of the room, which were not exactly the best seats in the house, I might add. Never mind, I was planning on moving around with my camera the whole night to get the best shots of the high table, the speeches and of course, the renewal of the wedding vows. The ceremony eventually kicked off at about 9pm. After the opening prayer and remarks, it was announced that the couple were to be renewing their wedding vows. My mum’s jaw dropped – the look on her face was one of utter shock and disbelief – absolutely priceless! As the priest stood up and called them forward, you could see she was shaking. My dad read his vows and when my mum read hers with a quiver in her voice. This was like being in a movie! I really couldn’t believe my eyes….it is truly amazing to be able to witness your parents getting married – this was all I could think as I looked on in total awe. I never realised or thought that my dad was such a king of romance, but this was confirmed when he gave his speech afterwards – when he talked about how we won my mother’s heart back in the day, wooing her for the better part of four years, I began to see exactly how he was able to capture the heart of a woman as beautiful as my mother. And I dare say that he has done it again!
The ceremony continued with my mum’s sisters who had flown over from New Jersey and London giving speeches – they both mentioned how privileged and honoured they were to actually be there, having had to come from such a long way. I too sat at my table and could only marvel at how surreal it was to actually be at such an occasion. It felt special to be one of a select few who were in the room that night. It was the second time in a fortnight I had felt that way. A couple of weeks before, I had the privilege of being at the wedding of a Ghanaian friend of mine in Birmingham – it had the same feeling of exclusivity that wedding receptions I had previously been to didn’t have. Essentially, when you get married out of town, you can be sure that your whole community isn’t going to turn up at your reception uninvited. So you can imagine how extra-special “out of continent” must have felt. The ambience in the room that night is truly something that words fail to replicate. As the groom at his wedding, my Ghanaian friend gave such a heart warming speech about how his mother had sacrificed so much in moving to the UK to give her kids a better life, and I echoed his sentiments about my mother in my own speech that night. Olu, myself and Sola rendered our speeches in that order and we each showed a lot of appreciation for our parents in the best way we knew how to. We each presented our mother with a gift – let’s not get carried away and forget that this was her 50th birthday celebrations!
In between speeches we had nice spells of dancing, music and comedy. The first guy that played that night was Mark Tontoh, who was part of a band called Osibisa, which was part of my dad’s vast music collection when he met my mum back in 1976 (apparently, he was really into his music then – he still is!). Translated from the local language, Osibisa means “criss cross rhythms that explode with happiness”, and their music was a unique fusion of African, Caribbean, Rock, Jazz and Latin – you can imagine my surprise when I heard the guy singing in Spanish! The second act that played that evening was Malek Grayem. Apparently, he has four bands in Ghana and was the entertainment prefect at the same secondary school that my dad attended all those years ago! And for anybody looking for a good MC, I would recommend this guy called Holy Mallam (I think), who is a comedian that was flown over from Nigeria to MC the event – a lot more charismatic and funnier than many MCs I’ve seen in recent times!
My mum gave her heart-warming speech, thanking all the special guests and everyone else who had taken time out to be there on her big night. There were also closing speeches from a couple of the special guests of honour on the high table as the event began to wind down and draw to a close. By this time it was 2am and everyone was really tired. But even as the formalities were over and the event was coming to an end, there was still enough time for everyone to hit the dance floor one last time – and boy did the golden oldies show us how it was done back in the day or what? My dad especially, I couldn’t even be on the same dance floor as him! It was real nice to see him enjoying such moments as I know how hard he’s worked in life for his family, so he deserves to enjoy such moments and many more! The scenes that night were really reminiscent of one of those wedding movies where everyone is on the dance floor switching partners, being merry and basically just celebrating life – if only every moment could be like this.
It’s 3am and guests are leaving – I’m totally shattered so I retreat to my room to crash while Olu and Sola take our cousin Della out to see the night life in Accra. She had missed her flight from London on Friday, thanks to some rather bizarre circumstances surrounding some really atrocious customer services with Virgin on Friday, so she had to take the BA flight which only got her to Accra on Saturday night, just in time to catch most of the ceremony. She was instrumental in sorting out all the gifts for the party that we had carried to Ghana, and many thanks must go to her from us for all the effort she put into arranging the party gifts!
I’m up by 9am on Sunday, and getting ready for the church thanksgiving service we were having and also packing to check out of the room. Again, we had the buffet breakfast at the hotel and headed for the church at about 11am. I met some French speaking colleagues of my dad who had read my journals from my time in Nice last year (didn’t realise that he used to send these to his friends!), and we conversed in what little French I remembered for a bit. They were very encouraging about my level of French and it was nice to be able to understand them and say a few words, one day I hope I’ll be able to pick up French again properly and maybe even return to France, I think it’s a difficult language, but a very beautiful language to speak if you learn it properly! Anyway, I digress – we had the thanksgiving service and they recognised people who were celebrating birthdays, including my mum, and they also recognised the whole Nigerian party (that’s us), who had come to Ghana to witness my parents renewing their vows. After the service, we returned to the hotel and we basically chilled out for the rest of the day. We hung out in the lobby a bit, saying bye to a lot of the guests who were leaving, and we even had time to watch Arsenal totally hang Reading out to dry! As it approached the evening, we decided to go out to buy some last minutes souvenirs as our flight to return to the UK was for 10.30pm that evening. After getting a few things, we returned to the airport, said goodbye to Mide, Tomi and their parents, and also to our parents who were staying back and then travelling to Kumasi the following day for their second honeymoon (at least that’s what I’m calling it!). We left the hotel at about 7.30pm with our Aunt who was returning to the UK on the same flight as us.
I would say that getting on the plane and the journey back itself were pretty uneventful, but this story would not be complete if I didn’t mention the behaviour of the Ghanaian custom officers, both on our arrival and departure from the country. On arriving on Thursday, a customs guy at the exit of the arrival lounge was trying to demand the visa in Sola’s passport – they would have taken us for a ride if we weren’t sure that we didn’t need a visa. And on leaving Ghana on Sunday, at the departure gate, the guy was trying to claim that a “security feature” was missing from Olu’s passport – of course he just wanted money, so we handle the situation calmly and after 45 minutes or so of claiming that his superior on his way to inspect the passport – he quietly returned the passport when he realised that he wasn’t going to get anything out of us. So, we arrive back in London at 6.30am on Monday morning. The story should end here, except that our exit from Heathrow airport was so eventful that it is definitely worth a mention (bear with me, I know this is longer than usual, if you’ve come this far then well done!). Yet again, we were stopped by customs, this time supposedly because their sniff dog was a bit too interested in Sola’s hand luggage for there not to be drugs in it. They used this as their excuse to empty every single one of our suitcases and hand luggage we had. After observing how they selectively let loose the guard dog on only certain passengers passing through customs – I had to conclude that the dog was a bit clueless and really was just excited to be smell different aromas from around the world. I tempered my impatience by telling myself that they were only doing their jobs, but I couldn’t help thinking that it was all a bit of a joke, how they looked in every single nook and cranny of our boxes like they really expected to find some kind of illegal substance?
So after brazing our last brush with customs, at least until our next trip, I decided to go to the British Airways counter to buy my ticket to Naija for Christmas, however when I got there my credit card was not being accepted. While I was on the phone to the credit card company to sort out the issue, I noticed a young black guy (baggy jeans, Tims, Bling bling chains, ring and watch – you get the picture) come up and try and talk to me. I initially ignored him as I was on the phone, but he actually waited till I was done on the phone before he proceeded to beg me for money to get to Norwich. My first reaction was what my first reaction usually is when strangers beg me for money – it was “I’m sorry, I can’t help you”. But he kept on and I realised the desperation in his voice when he went as far as saying that he would leave his luggage or watch or anything with me (I guess as collateral), until he could get the money to pay me back. I asked him a few questions and it turns out that he was a Portuguese national, who had grown up in Houston Texas, and he had arrived from Portugal this morning to England for the first time ever and with just 20 euros. I decided to help this guy get to Norwich because I knew that nobody else would, especially with the “young black youth” image he had going. In fact he told me that the police had asked him to leave the airport because they had noticed that he was begging passengers for money. In fact they even told him how to connect to Norwich. Before we left, I went back to the BA counter for the 3rd time and my frustration was heightened when I realised that my payment was still not going through, but I calmed down when I realised that perhaps I had gone there not to buy that ticket, but in fact to help our young friend Mutaro. His story was that he had gotten a job at a factory in Norwich through a Portuguese agency and he was going to work there to get started while he was in England for 8 months to save money to go to University and to realise a dream in the US (a dream he preferred not to say what it was, but that I’ll know it when I see it happen…). While I was careful, I wasn’t too worried about whether his story checked out, he did have an American accent, and when I asked him what languages he could speak, he said 5 including Spanish, French, Portuguese and English (and his folks are from Guinea-Bissau, so maybe their native language?). So any fears I had were kind of allayed when I tested his Spanish and French for a few minutes and it was very clear to me that he was fluent in both.
So we made our way towards terminal 3 to meet Olu and Sola to get the underground, and I was going to escort to Mutaro to Liverpool Street and help him with his ticket to Norwich - this was a young 21-year old guy who it was very clear to me had no idea of how he was going to get around, not to mention the fact that he had no money to get to where he was going. After we got our underground tickets, we were about to go down the escalators to get the train, when suddenly a policewoman came out of a room and bundled him inside very quickly. At this point, we began to ask ourselves whether it was the right thing to do to help him – I mean the moment anything becomes a police issue, then we really ought not to get involved or make it our business. But Olu said to me that if we left now, then the guy would still be in the same position as he was before even if the police let him go. So we bided our time, and after about 20 minutes, they let him go, and the policewoman explained that sometimes they just do random checks – the truth however, as he previously mentioned to me was that they had been monitoring him on cctv so they needed to check him out before he left the airport due to his “suspicious” behaviour while he had been hanging about the airport. Who knows, perhaps he had found these three customers for whatever dodgy dealings he was involved in and was leaving the airport with them. Afterwards when we were on our way, he told me how scared he was when they called him into the room and interrogated him for 20 minutes.
As we talked on the way to Liverpool Street, it became clear to me that despite the fact that his father was pretty well off and had homes both in Portugal and the US, he didn’t have a great relationship with his father, and in fact, was trying to be his own man, by coming to England to make something for himself, even without his father’s knowledge. This struck me as rather strange – it must be a serious wedge between father and son, for a son to leave the comfort of his father’s home and go to a country he has never been to before without any money to work in a factory. I told him about the story of the prodigal son in the Bible (at this point he mentions his family is Muslim but he doesn’t practice), and basically advised him to always honour his parents no matter what – and do what he can to make the relationship between himself and his dad better. Before we got to Liverpool Street, I tried to give him some advice about surviving in the UK – I told him to talk more clearly with less slang, and told him to forget about that whole business of wearing his baggy jeans half way down his boxers – he seemed very appreciative for all the advice. It was about 11am when we got to Liverpool Street Station, and after buying his ticket and giving him some lunch money, we parted ways. He couldn’t find the words to express his gratitude and I basically told him that God orchestrated our meeting in this way and that one day when he has found his feet in life, God will put him in positions to help others in similar ways.
I got back home eventually just before midday and crashed for a few hours. It certainly has been a long and very eventful four days. Now back to the hustle and bustle of real life tomorrow! Look out for the pictures from Accra – I will be sending them very soon!
For your reading pleasure, the journal of our recent trip to Ghana - I hope you enjoy it! It is extremely long (I think the longest journal I've written so far) so you might want to print it out and read it later. I have just finished it and haven't proof read it at all, so excuse any grammatical or spelling errors!
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The Sights and Sounds of Accra
These are the memoirs of my first ever trip to Ghana. It’s been a great 4-day adventure, and an experience that has been laced with joy, sadness, excitement and utter surprise, each to varying degrees. When my brothers and I set out from Heathrow on Thursday for Accra, we thought that we were just going for our mum’s 50th birthday celebration on Saturday, but we got a lot more than we bargained for! It turned out to be a much bigger party than we had envisaged – 150 guests from different countries around the world convening at the La Palm Beach hotel in Accra signalled that my dad was really going all out to celebrate this milestone in his wife’s life. The choice of Ghana may not seem so obvious, but given that he went to University there and needed to relinquish a 30-yr promise of taking my mum to Ghana, then the choice was in fact perfect!
The journey actually started the day before we travelled on Wednesday – after working late, we literally had to drive across London in the middle of the night (with like 2-hour traffic on the A406) and to Reading and back, making sure we picked up all the big cardboard boxes that had the party gifts we were to take to Ghana with us for the festivities. After a full night of driving, we didn’t get back home till 6am (people were already on the way to work!), which gave us about 3 hours to pack before leaving for the airport. There weren’t really any complications at the airport, we left London as scheduled after 2pm and embarked on the 7 hour or so trip to Accra. For me, one of the big bonuses of this trip was that as Ecowas (Economic Community of West African States) citizens, Nigerians do not need visas to go to Ghana, so that saved the trouble of numerous embassy visits and appointments – finally that Green passport has been useful for something!
A word about the flight – too much turbulence! It didn’t help that I recently listened to a message in church where the speaker described how on a trip to Africa the plane he was in dropped by 1000ft suddenly in turbulence – the message may have been about overcoming fear but my remembering it during our own period of serious turbulence didn’t exactly help matters! Not much else to say about the flight – since we hadn’t slept all night, the initial plan was to sleep for the duration of the flight, but instead I decided to use it to catch up on movies I hadn’t seen. I started off with “Cars” – very deep and funny animated flick which really had me thinking over and over about the moral of the story. Then there was “Click”, typical slapstick Adam Sandler comedy about a guy who was using a remote to fast forward parts of his life he didn’t like – let’s just say that I was dying to fast forward the whole movie to the end! By the time I got half way through, I decided to see it through so that my time wouldn’t have been wasted – and in the end it actually had quite a deep message also – so I guess it wasn’t all a waste! I managed to squeeze in Lion King before we landed – yes, to all of you who said I had a deprived childhood for never watching this movie – eat your hearts out, I finally did it!
Finally, we landed at Kotoka International Airport at about 9pm local time. As we stepped off the plane, I saw the sign “Akwaaba” at the entrance to the airport and I knew I was certainly in Ghana (I believe it means welcome?). The air was warm yet cool, and not too humid – quite a contrast to the sea of humid heat I was expecting and was used to from my trips to Nigeria (perhaps it was simply because we landed in the evening?). My dad had an old Ghanaian colleague who was on the same flight as us who had offered to put us up on the first night, before we moved to the La Palm Beach Hotel on Friday night, so we had met him on the plane before take off. However when we landed my younger brother Sola aptly pointed out that we didn’t even know whether we were being picked up from the airport. Luckily for us, our parents, who had flown from Nigeria on the same day, were at the airport to welcome us. So we went to my dad’s friend’s home in Achimota and we had dinner there and got acquainted with him and his wife before we were shown our rooms. It was barely midnight when we crashed – remember that it had now been 48 hours since some of us had slept!
Before we went to bed however, we did receive some really sad news. My parents were coming from the funeral of my first cousin, which was held in Lagos earlier that day. Quite tragically, he was among fifteen Lagos State University Students who died when the boat cruise they were on capsized about a week ago now. Although he had visited and stayed with us briefly some 10 years ago when we were still in Nigeria, we were never really close and never really in touch. My heart goes out to my uncle’s family because I can only imagine what they must be going through right now – a young promising life snuffed out way too soon – he was only 24 years old, and I understand that he used to play an instrument in his church. It was a sad reminder that sometimes life is way too short to lose touch with certain people, to harbour grudges with people you may never actually see again, or indeed to not cherish loved ones and people that you care about while they are around. May his soul rest in perfect peace.
So on Friday, we eventually lazily crawled out of bed around 10 or 11am, had breakfast and started getting ready to move over to the hotel. We had a long day of packaging gifts (that would be given to all the guests) ahead of us. I tried to get in touch with Mide and Tomi – they school in Ghana (Accra and Kumasi respectively) and they were in town. Their dad was my dad’s best man and had apparently introduced my parents back in the day. Their parents had also flown in from Lagos for the ceremony. Before I continue, to my Ghanaian brothers and sisters, I’ve really got to give it up to you – everything you’ve told me about Ghana is true. I am beginning to understand why so many Nigerians are now furthering their education in Ghana as a viable alternative to moving to the US or UK. You guys are truly more sophisticated, more organised and much cleaner than Naija (sorry all my Nigerian peeps, its true!). Okay, apart from Abuja. But if it’s a choice between Accra and Lagos, Accra takes it hands down! I haven’t been to Lag in nearly two years now, so maybe I need to go back to update my notes, but there were a whole lot of stores in Accra that I wouldn’t have dreamed of seeing in Naija – Wranglers Jeans, Woolworths, Nandos etc. Several branches of Barclays Bank were also littered across the city – guys, watch this space, I could ask for a transfer to Africa – if I pack up and move to Accra, then you'll know why! Meanwhile for Barclays, Nigeria is one of two NCCTs (Non-Compliant Countries and Territories), along with Myanmar (I know, I’d never heard of this island either!). Actually, stop press – I just checked and Naija was removed from this list in June – hallelujah!
After seeing some of the sights of Accra, we arrived at the hotel at about 3pm and waited for about an hour for our rooms to be ready to for us. In the meantime, we chilled out in the lobby meeting a lot of guests who were also arriving from all over (mainly the UK and Nigeria) for the festivities. You can’t imagine the number of times that we were approached by old friends of our parents who would say things like, “don’t you remember me?” or “I knew you when you were still a baby!” – but it was cool though! Friday was pretty uneventful, Tomi came to the hotel with her friend AJ and they helped with the packaging of the gifts, which we spent most of the afternoon doing. Mide arrived at the hotel later on and then we joined her friend Ngebi (from Cameroon) for dinner at Frankie’s, a restaurant in Accra’s famous Osu area aka Oxford Street. We went out to a couple of bars and clubs afterwards and by 2am or so we were ready to go home. We decided to go back to Mide’s to watch some home movies, but when we got there her selection of movies wasn’t that great and since we were all so tired anyway, we just crashed there until the next morning.
Saturday was finally here, this was my mum’s big day. We woke up at about 10am and took a taxi back to the hotel. On the way back we managed to see a few more sights and chatted with the taxi driver about Hearts of Oak and Asante Kotoko when we passed the football stadium. When we got back to the hotel, our parents and most of their guests where in the hotel restaurant having the buffet breakfast, so we joined them. We wished her happy birthday and grabbed something to eat as the buffet was closing. Again, most of the day was spent getting ready for the evening festivities which were due to start from about 8pm. We had loads more packaging to do for gifts that others had brought, so we sat and did this while watching Chelsea beating Portsmouth live on Supersport as well as the highlights of the other Premiership matches on Saturday. By 7pm, we were all running around all over the place, making sure that everything was in place for the big event. We all had to give speeches, my brothers and I, and also my mum and dad. My mum had brought the hairdressers to her room and she was working on her speech while they put finishing touches to her hair. At this point, it was literally a few minutes to 8pm, my dad called me into the adjoining room and then closed the door. He said to me that after the opening prayer and remarks, there was going to be a surprise that my mum didn’t know about. He proceeded to bring out 2 rings from his pocket and explained that he had gotten a priest for the ceremony and he was going to ask her to renew their marriage vows! My brothers and I were to be the page boys, so we were to bring the rings on a cushion towards them when called upon to do so! Whaaaaattttttt??? My mind was truly blown – I was almost speechless! This was truly on another level! What a special gift to give your wife on her 50th birthday!!!
My dad gave me the rings, and I left his room to finish off running some other errands that needed to be done before the ceremony started. I placed the rings carefully in the side pocket of my tuxedo – I kept checking my pocket every other minute just to make sure they were still there – I wanted to be absolutely sure they’d still be there when we needed to present them. My brothers eventually joined us at about 8.30pm and we walked down to the hall where the ceremony was to take place. With our parents not far behind, I whispered to my brothers what the plan was, and they were equally surprised – dad had kept that one quiet. I couldn’t help feeling like a secret agent, who was passing on highly classified information to his fellow secret agents. The intricacy of the planning was indeed second to none – our dad didn’t let us know what he was planning until minutes before the ceremony, because we didn’t need to know a moment before. When we arrived at the hall, which was in a building adjacent to the hotel reception, we were ushered to the entrance, where we were to be shown to our seats. At that point, a lady came up to my brothers and I and asked which of us was going to hold the plate (which the rings were to go on). My mum, within an earshot of us, heard this and asked what it was we were going to be holding, but my dad dismissed this and said it was nothing! Phew, that was a close one – even if she was suspecting something at this point, she couldn’t have guessed how big the surprise was going to be.
We walked into the hall and there was a band to our left playing some soft soulful jazz music and a dance floor, which was for later on in the evening, to the right. Ahead of us and down a few steps was the main part of the hall, well decorated with about 15 round tables for guests and a high table for special guests of honour, who included my dad’s best man and his wife, and the wife of my dad’s boss. My brothers and I were ushered to our table at the far left corner of the room, which were not exactly the best seats in the house, I might add. Never mind, I was planning on moving around with my camera the whole night to get the best shots of the high table, the speeches and of course, the renewal of the wedding vows. The ceremony eventually kicked off at about 9pm. After the opening prayer and remarks, it was announced that the couple were to be renewing their wedding vows. My mum’s jaw dropped – the look on her face was one of utter shock and disbelief – absolutely priceless! As the priest stood up and called them forward, you could see she was shaking. My dad read his vows and when my mum read hers with a quiver in her voice. This was like being in a movie! I really couldn’t believe my eyes….it is truly amazing to be able to witness your parents getting married – this was all I could think as I looked on in total awe. I never realised or thought that my dad was such a king of romance, but this was confirmed when he gave his speech afterwards – when he talked about how we won my mother’s heart back in the day, wooing her for the better part of four years, I began to see exactly how he was able to capture the heart of a woman as beautiful as my mother. And I dare say that he has done it again!
The ceremony continued with my mum’s sisters who had flown over from New Jersey and London giving speeches – they both mentioned how privileged and honoured they were to actually be there, having had to come from such a long way. I too sat at my table and could only marvel at how surreal it was to actually be at such an occasion. It felt special to be one of a select few who were in the room that night. It was the second time in a fortnight I had felt that way. A couple of weeks before, I had the privilege of being at the wedding of a Ghanaian friend of mine in Birmingham – it had the same feeling of exclusivity that wedding receptions I had previously been to didn’t have. Essentially, when you get married out of town, you can be sure that your whole community isn’t going to turn up at your reception uninvited. So you can imagine how extra-special “out of continent” must have felt. The ambience in the room that night is truly something that words fail to replicate. As the groom at his wedding, my Ghanaian friend gave such a heart warming speech about how his mother had sacrificed so much in moving to the UK to give her kids a better life, and I echoed his sentiments about my mother in my own speech that night. Olu, myself and Sola rendered our speeches in that order and we each showed a lot of appreciation for our parents in the best way we knew how to. We each presented our mother with a gift – let’s not get carried away and forget that this was her 50th birthday celebrations!
In between speeches we had nice spells of dancing, music and comedy. The first guy that played that night was Mark Tontoh, who was part of a band called Osibisa, which was part of my dad’s vast music collection when he met my mum back in 1976 (apparently, he was really into his music then – he still is!). Translated from the local language, Osibisa means “criss cross rhythms that explode with happiness”, and their music was a unique fusion of African, Caribbean, Rock, Jazz and Latin – you can imagine my surprise when I heard the guy singing in Spanish! The second act that played that evening was Malek Grayem. Apparently, he has four bands in Ghana and was the entertainment prefect at the same secondary school that my dad attended all those years ago! And for anybody looking for a good MC, I would recommend this guy called Holy Mallam (I think), who is a comedian that was flown over from Nigeria to MC the event – a lot more charismatic and funnier than many MCs I’ve seen in recent times!
My mum gave her heart-warming speech, thanking all the special guests and everyone else who had taken time out to be there on her big night. There were also closing speeches from a couple of the special guests of honour on the high table as the event began to wind down and draw to a close. By this time it was 2am and everyone was really tired. But even as the formalities were over and the event was coming to an end, there was still enough time for everyone to hit the dance floor one last time – and boy did the golden oldies show us how it was done back in the day or what? My dad especially, I couldn’t even be on the same dance floor as him! It was real nice to see him enjoying such moments as I know how hard he’s worked in life for his family, so he deserves to enjoy such moments and many more! The scenes that night were really reminiscent of one of those wedding movies where everyone is on the dance floor switching partners, being merry and basically just celebrating life – if only every moment could be like this.
It’s 3am and guests are leaving – I’m totally shattered so I retreat to my room to crash while Olu and Sola take our cousin Della out to see the night life in Accra. She had missed her flight from London on Friday, thanks to some rather bizarre circumstances surrounding some really atrocious customer services with Virgin on Friday, so she had to take the BA flight which only got her to Accra on Saturday night, just in time to catch most of the ceremony. She was instrumental in sorting out all the gifts for the party that we had carried to Ghana, and many thanks must go to her from us for all the effort she put into arranging the party gifts!
I’m up by 9am on Sunday, and getting ready for the church thanksgiving service we were having and also packing to check out of the room. Again, we had the buffet breakfast at the hotel and headed for the church at about 11am. I met some French speaking colleagues of my dad who had read my journals from my time in Nice last year (didn’t realise that he used to send these to his friends!), and we conversed in what little French I remembered for a bit. They were very encouraging about my level of French and it was nice to be able to understand them and say a few words, one day I hope I’ll be able to pick up French again properly and maybe even return to France, I think it’s a difficult language, but a very beautiful language to speak if you learn it properly! Anyway, I digress – we had the thanksgiving service and they recognised people who were celebrating birthdays, including my mum, and they also recognised the whole Nigerian party (that’s us), who had come to Ghana to witness my parents renewing their vows. After the service, we returned to the hotel and we basically chilled out for the rest of the day. We hung out in the lobby a bit, saying bye to a lot of the guests who were leaving, and we even had time to watch Arsenal totally hang Reading out to dry! As it approached the evening, we decided to go out to buy some last minutes souvenirs as our flight to return to the UK was for 10.30pm that evening. After getting a few things, we returned to the airport, said goodbye to Mide, Tomi and their parents, and also to our parents who were staying back and then travelling to Kumasi the following day for their second honeymoon (at least that’s what I’m calling it!). We left the hotel at about 7.30pm with our Aunt who was returning to the UK on the same flight as us.
I would say that getting on the plane and the journey back itself were pretty uneventful, but this story would not be complete if I didn’t mention the behaviour of the Ghanaian custom officers, both on our arrival and departure from the country. On arriving on Thursday, a customs guy at the exit of the arrival lounge was trying to demand the visa in Sola’s passport – they would have taken us for a ride if we weren’t sure that we didn’t need a visa. And on leaving Ghana on Sunday, at the departure gate, the guy was trying to claim that a “security feature” was missing from Olu’s passport – of course he just wanted money, so we handle the situation calmly and after 45 minutes or so of claiming that his superior on his way to inspect the passport – he quietly returned the passport when he realised that he wasn’t going to get anything out of us. So, we arrive back in London at 6.30am on Monday morning. The story should end here, except that our exit from Heathrow airport was so eventful that it is definitely worth a mention (bear with me, I know this is longer than usual, if you’ve come this far then well done!). Yet again, we were stopped by customs, this time supposedly because their sniff dog was a bit too interested in Sola’s hand luggage for there not to be drugs in it. They used this as their excuse to empty every single one of our suitcases and hand luggage we had. After observing how they selectively let loose the guard dog on only certain passengers passing through customs – I had to conclude that the dog was a bit clueless and really was just excited to be smell different aromas from around the world. I tempered my impatience by telling myself that they were only doing their jobs, but I couldn’t help thinking that it was all a bit of a joke, how they looked in every single nook and cranny of our boxes like they really expected to find some kind of illegal substance?
So after brazing our last brush with customs, at least until our next trip, I decided to go to the British Airways counter to buy my ticket to Naija for Christmas, however when I got there my credit card was not being accepted. While I was on the phone to the credit card company to sort out the issue, I noticed a young black guy (baggy jeans, Tims, Bling bling chains, ring and watch – you get the picture) come up and try and talk to me. I initially ignored him as I was on the phone, but he actually waited till I was done on the phone before he proceeded to beg me for money to get to Norwich. My first reaction was what my first reaction usually is when strangers beg me for money – it was “I’m sorry, I can’t help you”. But he kept on and I realised the desperation in his voice when he went as far as saying that he would leave his luggage or watch or anything with me (I guess as collateral), until he could get the money to pay me back. I asked him a few questions and it turns out that he was a Portuguese national, who had grown up in Houston Texas, and he had arrived from Portugal this morning to England for the first time ever and with just 20 euros. I decided to help this guy get to Norwich because I knew that nobody else would, especially with the “young black youth” image he had going. In fact he told me that the police had asked him to leave the airport because they had noticed that he was begging passengers for money. In fact they even told him how to connect to Norwich. Before we left, I went back to the BA counter for the 3rd time and my frustration was heightened when I realised that my payment was still not going through, but I calmed down when I realised that perhaps I had gone there not to buy that ticket, but in fact to help our young friend Mutaro. His story was that he had gotten a job at a factory in Norwich through a Portuguese agency and he was going to work there to get started while he was in England for 8 months to save money to go to University and to realise a dream in the US (a dream he preferred not to say what it was, but that I’ll know it when I see it happen…). While I was careful, I wasn’t too worried about whether his story checked out, he did have an American accent, and when I asked him what languages he could speak, he said 5 including Spanish, French, Portuguese and English (and his folks are from Guinea-Bissau, so maybe their native language?). So any fears I had were kind of allayed when I tested his Spanish and French for a few minutes and it was very clear to me that he was fluent in both.
So we made our way towards terminal 3 to meet Olu and Sola to get the underground, and I was going to escort to Mutaro to Liverpool Street and help him with his ticket to Norwich - this was a young 21-year old guy who it was very clear to me had no idea of how he was going to get around, not to mention the fact that he had no money to get to where he was going. After we got our underground tickets, we were about to go down the escalators to get the train, when suddenly a policewoman came out of a room and bundled him inside very quickly. At this point, we began to ask ourselves whether it was the right thing to do to help him – I mean the moment anything becomes a police issue, then we really ought not to get involved or make it our business. But Olu said to me that if we left now, then the guy would still be in the same position as he was before even if the police let him go. So we bided our time, and after about 20 minutes, they let him go, and the policewoman explained that sometimes they just do random checks – the truth however, as he previously mentioned to me was that they had been monitoring him on cctv so they needed to check him out before he left the airport due to his “suspicious” behaviour while he had been hanging about the airport. Who knows, perhaps he had found these three customers for whatever dodgy dealings he was involved in and was leaving the airport with them. Afterwards when we were on our way, he told me how scared he was when they called him into the room and interrogated him for 20 minutes.
As we talked on the way to Liverpool Street, it became clear to me that despite the fact that his father was pretty well off and had homes both in Portugal and the US, he didn’t have a great relationship with his father, and in fact, was trying to be his own man, by coming to England to make something for himself, even without his father’s knowledge. This struck me as rather strange – it must be a serious wedge between father and son, for a son to leave the comfort of his father’s home and go to a country he has never been to before without any money to work in a factory. I told him about the story of the prodigal son in the Bible (at this point he mentions his family is Muslim but he doesn’t practice), and basically advised him to always honour his parents no matter what – and do what he can to make the relationship between himself and his dad better. Before we got to Liverpool Street, I tried to give him some advice about surviving in the UK – I told him to talk more clearly with less slang, and told him to forget about that whole business of wearing his baggy jeans half way down his boxers – he seemed very appreciative for all the advice. It was about 11am when we got to Liverpool Street Station, and after buying his ticket and giving him some lunch money, we parted ways. He couldn’t find the words to express his gratitude and I basically told him that God orchestrated our meeting in this way and that one day when he has found his feet in life, God will put him in positions to help others in similar ways.
I got back home eventually just before midday and crashed for a few hours. It certainly has been a long and very eventful four days. Now back to the hustle and bustle of real life tomorrow! Look out for the pictures from Accra – I will be sending them very soon!
The Road to Germany 2006 Part II (published Sep06)
The conclusion to the Road to Germany, the journal of our 3-day, 18-hour road trip from London to Stuttgart to see England play in the World Cup. We pick up from where we left off, returning from Stuttgart after the England vs Ecuador game in the middle of the night in very stormy weather, wondering how we were ever going to make it back to Cologne that night…
9.00pm – We get on the highway – it has no lights and the visibility is really poor. It’s absolutely pouring and for the first time in my life, I find myself driving for survival, and not to get to my destination asap. At 50mph, our ETA at Cologne is 2am! To be on a dark highway in the middle of the night in pouring rain in a foreign country can be pretty daunting to say the least. It reminds me of when I left high school back in Nigeria and it took 25 hours to complete an 8-hour trip back home. My dad insisted on driving at night after police in Ughelli had held us up for hours for refusing to give them a bribe after they asked for the receipt for a 10 year old stereo system we had in our possession (Nigerian readers will understand what I mean!). The visibility was similarly poor then and we ended up having an accident and the three of us sleeping on one single bed in a village called Patani! But that’s a story for another time and place – God forbid anything of the sort to happen here, but you can see the places my mind is going…
11.00pm – The weather clears up and although we should stop at least every 2 hours, we are afraid to exit the highway for fear that we might lose our way…the GPS is long gone, we have no map and route planners cannot help you if you go off the route, if you know what I mean…
12.30am – Somehow, we make it back to Cologne ahead of schedule. But we get lost again! After about an hour of circling the area, the penny drops and we realise that there are two Richard Wagner Strabes at opposite ends of Aachener Strabe. We get back to Angie’s at 2am and go straight to bed. We have a long journey back to London tomorrow.
Monday 26th June
8.00am – We are getting ready to leave. We need to be back at Calais by 2.40pm to catch our train on the Euro tunnel back and it’s an estimated 4-hour trip
11.15am – After finding time to visit the Dome in Cologne and get some souvenirs, we hit the road back to Calais. Sele finally takes the wheel and ends up doing all the driving today – how else can we say, “WE drove to Germany”?
2.45pm – Three and a half hours later, we arrive in Calais to catch our 3.12pm train. WE MADE IT! And with time to kill… The trip back to Calais was much smoother and we didn’t get lost once, despite Bambo’s concerns about me driving – he will claim that his stellar route mapping and sign reading skills made all the difference. After going through customs, we make a quick stop to relax. The time is 2.55pm! We still have LOADS of time, I’m thinking to myself, as we get out to stretch our legs.
3.01pm - Bambo suggests we start making a move, as the gates will probably shut 5 – 10 minutes before departure. We get to the gates, but something doesn’t seem right: They are all shut and there’s no one in sight. How do we get through??? Then we notice an electronic sign, reading “Les portes fermes 15 minutes avant le départ”! In our rest and relaxation, the gate had closed. The only lane that is open is blocked off on our left, with the entrance 100m back.
3.02pm – We can’t afford to miss our train – there are no cars behind us, so in our desperation, and after a quick change of driver, cue some serious James Bond style reversing! Ours is the last car to get on the train at 3.06pm. We are barely on the train when it starts moving… phew!! That was extremely close!
2.45pm (local time) – We arrive back in Folkestone and hit the M20 straight away, in an effort to make it back home within six hours.
4.20pm – We arrive back home 6 hours and 5 minutes after leaving Cologne. It’s been an amazing trip, but we are happy to be home after 1,200 miles of driving!
Epilogue
So that’s it folks – The journal of how we made it to the World Cup – on the Road to Germany! It’s been a great experience; we’ve driven through five different countries visiting Brussels, Maastricht, Cologne and Stuttgart along the way and we’ve hung out with Germans, Brazilians, Ghanaians and the Dutch. Getting the GPS was a great idea even though it didn’t work out exactly as planned, although getting lost in random back roads in the middle of Germany made the experience all the more fun and worthwhile (if getting lost can ever be a worthwhile exercise!) – we’ll have to remember to actually re-charge the batteries next time – and fix the cigarette lighter in the car which we never realised didn’t work until we needed it to plug in the GPS!
Finally, we would say that we learnt how to make the best of situations when things don’t exactly go our way (better to learn this in trivial circumstances) – At first I was busy almost wishing we didn’t stop in Maastricht in the first place (while we waited in the town centre over an hour), but soon we were enjoying the atmosphere and taking lots of photos of the beautiful scenery – It really added to the whole experience; and every other time we got lost just became another experience that we could laugh and joke about afterwards. It’s just like in life, sometimes all we do is grumble about where we are without really realising and thanking God that where we are is not so bad after all, that in fact it is actually a beautiful place and a testimony to His goodness. And much like when we lose our way and find the right path again, we should be able to laugh and joke about the times when we were lost and praise God that now we’ve been found.
So with that we’ll leave you, and watch this space! Our next road trip will be in 2010 for the next World Cup, and you are welcome to join us! Did I hear you say the next World Cup is in South Africa? Don’t worry, you organise the ride, we’ll meet you on the other side!
9.00pm – We get on the highway – it has no lights and the visibility is really poor. It’s absolutely pouring and for the first time in my life, I find myself driving for survival, and not to get to my destination asap. At 50mph, our ETA at Cologne is 2am! To be on a dark highway in the middle of the night in pouring rain in a foreign country can be pretty daunting to say the least. It reminds me of when I left high school back in Nigeria and it took 25 hours to complete an 8-hour trip back home. My dad insisted on driving at night after police in Ughelli had held us up for hours for refusing to give them a bribe after they asked for the receipt for a 10 year old stereo system we had in our possession (Nigerian readers will understand what I mean!). The visibility was similarly poor then and we ended up having an accident and the three of us sleeping on one single bed in a village called Patani! But that’s a story for another time and place – God forbid anything of the sort to happen here, but you can see the places my mind is going…
11.00pm – The weather clears up and although we should stop at least every 2 hours, we are afraid to exit the highway for fear that we might lose our way…the GPS is long gone, we have no map and route planners cannot help you if you go off the route, if you know what I mean…
12.30am – Somehow, we make it back to Cologne ahead of schedule. But we get lost again! After about an hour of circling the area, the penny drops and we realise that there are two Richard Wagner Strabes at opposite ends of Aachener Strabe. We get back to Angie’s at 2am and go straight to bed. We have a long journey back to London tomorrow.
Monday 26th June
8.00am – We are getting ready to leave. We need to be back at Calais by 2.40pm to catch our train on the Euro tunnel back and it’s an estimated 4-hour trip
11.15am – After finding time to visit the Dome in Cologne and get some souvenirs, we hit the road back to Calais. Sele finally takes the wheel and ends up doing all the driving today – how else can we say, “WE drove to Germany”?
2.45pm – Three and a half hours later, we arrive in Calais to catch our 3.12pm train. WE MADE IT! And with time to kill… The trip back to Calais was much smoother and we didn’t get lost once, despite Bambo’s concerns about me driving – he will claim that his stellar route mapping and sign reading skills made all the difference. After going through customs, we make a quick stop to relax. The time is 2.55pm! We still have LOADS of time, I’m thinking to myself, as we get out to stretch our legs.
3.01pm - Bambo suggests we start making a move, as the gates will probably shut 5 – 10 minutes before departure. We get to the gates, but something doesn’t seem right: They are all shut and there’s no one in sight. How do we get through??? Then we notice an electronic sign, reading “Les portes fermes 15 minutes avant le départ”! In our rest and relaxation, the gate had closed. The only lane that is open is blocked off on our left, with the entrance 100m back.
3.02pm – We can’t afford to miss our train – there are no cars behind us, so in our desperation, and after a quick change of driver, cue some serious James Bond style reversing! Ours is the last car to get on the train at 3.06pm. We are barely on the train when it starts moving… phew!! That was extremely close!
2.45pm (local time) – We arrive back in Folkestone and hit the M20 straight away, in an effort to make it back home within six hours.
4.20pm – We arrive back home 6 hours and 5 minutes after leaving Cologne. It’s been an amazing trip, but we are happy to be home after 1,200 miles of driving!
Epilogue
So that’s it folks – The journal of how we made it to the World Cup – on the Road to Germany! It’s been a great experience; we’ve driven through five different countries visiting Brussels, Maastricht, Cologne and Stuttgart along the way and we’ve hung out with Germans, Brazilians, Ghanaians and the Dutch. Getting the GPS was a great idea even though it didn’t work out exactly as planned, although getting lost in random back roads in the middle of Germany made the experience all the more fun and worthwhile (if getting lost can ever be a worthwhile exercise!) – we’ll have to remember to actually re-charge the batteries next time – and fix the cigarette lighter in the car which we never realised didn’t work until we needed it to plug in the GPS!
Finally, we would say that we learnt how to make the best of situations when things don’t exactly go our way (better to learn this in trivial circumstances) – At first I was busy almost wishing we didn’t stop in Maastricht in the first place (while we waited in the town centre over an hour), but soon we were enjoying the atmosphere and taking lots of photos of the beautiful scenery – It really added to the whole experience; and every other time we got lost just became another experience that we could laugh and joke about afterwards. It’s just like in life, sometimes all we do is grumble about where we are without really realising and thanking God that where we are is not so bad after all, that in fact it is actually a beautiful place and a testimony to His goodness. And much like when we lose our way and find the right path again, we should be able to laugh and joke about the times when we were lost and praise God that now we’ve been found.
So with that we’ll leave you, and watch this space! Our next road trip will be in 2010 for the next World Cup, and you are welcome to join us! Did I hear you say the next World Cup is in South Africa? Don’t worry, you organise the ride, we’ll meet you on the other side!
Friday, May 11, 2007
The Road to Germany 2006 - Part I (published Aug06)
The World Cup may be over for another 4 years but this time around we were lucky enough to be invited (by people in “high places” and with connections) to see our first ever World Cup match live – England’s second round match-up versus Ecuador. All we needed to do was show up in Stuttgart for the game. Five days before however, things did not look pretty. There were no direct flights and the few non-direct flights to Stuttgart were exorbitantly expensive, no doubt because of the World Cup. With no hotels being available either, I became discouraged, and began thinking it wasn’t really worth the hassle… until Sele said to me “why don’t we drive to Germany?” I’m like huh? Are you off your head or what? You and who will drive to Germany? But then he mentioned that a colleague at work does London to Cologne in 6 hours all the time. A friend from University lives in Cologne and had already invited us over despite the match being in Stuttgart. I had a quick look at the map of Germany online, and Cologne was on the way to Stuttgart…well sort of anyway! I called up one of my boys who had driven to France a few times and asked him all the necessary questions:- Can we use our UK licenses in Europe? How do we cross the channel? What side of the road do they drive on in Europe?
Got home that Tuesday night and my housemate suggested we invested in a GPS to help us navigate the European roads. We ordered it on Wednesday and received it on Thursday. On Friday, went to pick up our match tickets and had a chance to test out the GPS. Wow, my days of reading A-Z’s may well be over. On the way back home it went dead, but I wasn’t worried – charging it up overnight would not be a problem.
So here is a recount of our European adventure, driving across the continent – I know what you’re thinking – we must be ardent England fans to go such great lengths to watch the game live, right? Well, the truth is (and we only discovered the full extent of this in hindsight), you don’t get gifted Sky Box tickets to see a World Cup match on your home continent and not go because you can’t afford a flight! We may have won the match, but the game certainly wasn’t the highlight of our trip:- Saturday 24th June 6.25am – We leave the Docklands to catch the Euro tunnel train at 7.58am. We say a short prayer before leaving – neither of us has ever driven on the other side of the road, so the journey ahead of us seems quite daunting - obviously we are worried that we won’t be able to hack it or understand the signs. Plus, Sele has hardly done any motorway driving before, so it is very likely that I am going to have to drive the whole trip.
7.25am – We arrive at Folkestone, where the Euro tunnel departs from. We are handled pretty roughly at customs. They seize our passports, ask us to step out of the car and ask all sorts of questions – “Do you own the car? Are you carrying any weapons, or explosives?” What sort of profiling is this, we thought – they are letting everyone else through… They are about to start searching the car when our passports come back clean, so they send us on our way.
7.45am – We board the Euro tunnel train and we’re getting ready to depart. We’re still praying for journey mercies! This is all new territory you know and quite exciting too…we’re calling and texting our loved ones like there’s no tomorrow…
9.29am (local time) – Arrival in Calais. We hit the highway straight away to get to Cologne in 6 hours. Bambo has a bet on at work (friendly bet, no money involved!) that we can do London to Cologne within 6 hours.10.15am – Our plan to get cheaper petrol on the continent fails as we find to our dismay that it costs about 140 cents per litre – not much different from the UK. 11.10am – We arrive in Brussels less than 4 hours after leaving home. Not bad. Cologne is only 2 hours away, and satisfied that we could have made the whole trip within 6 hours, we decide to relax and enjoy the ride. It occurs to Bambo that we’re going to pass close to Maastricht enroute to Cologne and that Fola’s people are there, so we decide to pay them an impromptu visit. After calling Fola to get the address and phone number, we turn on the GPS to get us to Maastricht. 12.16am – It all starts to go wrong. The GPS goes dead after just 30 minutes. We stop to ask for directions from a guy who doesn’t speak English! Bambo’s French may be lousy, but he understands just enough to get us to Maastricht.
12.40pm – We can’t find the way to Fola’s house so we hang out in the town centre and soak up the culture while waiting for a cab to take us there. The weather is great and you can feel the World Cup fever here – the Dutch expect their team to do very well at this World Cup. 2.30pm – We eventually get there and hang out with his brother, whilst recharging the GPS and phones. We work out that we have to leave by 4pm to get to Cologne in time to watch the Germany vs Sweden game on German soil (kick-off 5pm). We don’t have tickets and it’s not even being played in Cologne, but we reckon that the atmosphere should be electric, being in the host country of the World Cup while their team is playing!
3.00pm – Fola’s parents get home, and it’s great to see them before we leave. They obviously want to feed us before we hit the road, but awkwardly, we tell them that we are fasting (remember that the whole church fasted for the month of June), and it’s not that we want to be impolite. They are very understanding and give us lots of food for the road!
3.45pm – We depart for Cologne. By this time we’ve resorted to “GPS rationing”, that is, only to be turned on if absolutely necessary. 4.35pm – The GPS saves us after getting lost twice! It should now be smooth sailing from here! We’ve just crossed the border into Germany! 4.45pm – Apparently there is no speed limit on the German Autobahn. We’re doing 100mph at one point, but a few cars are whizzing past us at speeds no less than 150mph! That’s just crazy insane! We later discover that these German highways with limitless speeds are of almost mythical fame.5.05pm – Just as we are approaching Cologne, the GPS goes dead again! Imagine approaching London on the motorway without knowing which exit to take! 6.30pm – After driving round Cologne aimlessly for over an hour, we stop at yet another fuel station to ask for directions to Richard Wagner Strabe (Street). Miraculously, it is only 5 minutes away! Angie picks us up and we go to a bar to catch the dying minutes of the Germany game. Jubilant scenes on the streets afterwards show an excitement about the German team not seen for many years. 10.00pm – After catching the start of the Argentina Mexico game, we head off to a party with our hosts. Sunday 26th June 11.30am – We set out to Stuttgart, knowing that it will take at least 3 hours to get there. Kick-off for the England game is 5pm. We want to get there well ahead of time to enjoy the atmosphere. Nothing much to report on this trip, we start reading the road signs better and don’t need to turn on the GPS.
3.00pm – We arrive at the stadium in Stuttgart and make our way to the Sky Box with our hospitality passes, where we finally meet the guys who got us the tickets. We could go on and on about the VIP treatment we received, but we won’t……let’s just say, “If Carlsberg showed hospitality…”
5.00pm – Match kicks off.
5.45pm - We catch a glimpse of Victoria Beckham at half-time, who has reserved the Sky Box next to ours. We are very very grateful that we can stop “waiting” at 6pm, because it would have been a shame not to be able to sample the buffet and enjoy the first class service in the Sky Box! Everyone else had got stuck in well before kick-off!6.16pm – Bend it like Beckham. The only real moment of quality during the game. 6.50pm – Everyone has realised that the match winner’s wife will be walking past us at full-time. Cue some shameful paparazzi style behaviour. They say if you can’t beat them….. 6.55pm – We have dinner at the stadium after the game before heading back to Cologne. 8.30pm – As we are about to leave Stuttgart, a huge storm breaks out. We try to turn on the GPS but it goes dead immediately. At this point we realise that perhaps the mains adaptor doesn’t recharge the batteries after all….
9.00pm – We eventually get on the highway – it has no lights and the visibility is really poor. It’s absolutely pouring and for the first time in my life, I find myself driving for survival, and not to get to my destination asap. I can’t even see 20 metres ahead of me and I’m really worried that we’re going to have an accident, and we’re moving along at a snails pace………
How are we ever going to make it back to Cologne in pitch darkness, terrible weather, no map and no GPS, and driving at 30mph? Find out next month, in the final instalment of the Road to Germany…….
Got home that Tuesday night and my housemate suggested we invested in a GPS to help us navigate the European roads. We ordered it on Wednesday and received it on Thursday. On Friday, went to pick up our match tickets and had a chance to test out the GPS. Wow, my days of reading A-Z’s may well be over. On the way back home it went dead, but I wasn’t worried – charging it up overnight would not be a problem.
So here is a recount of our European adventure, driving across the continent – I know what you’re thinking – we must be ardent England fans to go such great lengths to watch the game live, right? Well, the truth is (and we only discovered the full extent of this in hindsight), you don’t get gifted Sky Box tickets to see a World Cup match on your home continent and not go because you can’t afford a flight! We may have won the match, but the game certainly wasn’t the highlight of our trip:- Saturday 24th June 6.25am – We leave the Docklands to catch the Euro tunnel train at 7.58am. We say a short prayer before leaving – neither of us has ever driven on the other side of the road, so the journey ahead of us seems quite daunting - obviously we are worried that we won’t be able to hack it or understand the signs. Plus, Sele has hardly done any motorway driving before, so it is very likely that I am going to have to drive the whole trip.
7.25am – We arrive at Folkestone, where the Euro tunnel departs from. We are handled pretty roughly at customs. They seize our passports, ask us to step out of the car and ask all sorts of questions – “Do you own the car? Are you carrying any weapons, or explosives?” What sort of profiling is this, we thought – they are letting everyone else through… They are about to start searching the car when our passports come back clean, so they send us on our way.
7.45am – We board the Euro tunnel train and we’re getting ready to depart. We’re still praying for journey mercies! This is all new territory you know and quite exciting too…we’re calling and texting our loved ones like there’s no tomorrow…
9.29am (local time) – Arrival in Calais. We hit the highway straight away to get to Cologne in 6 hours. Bambo has a bet on at work (friendly bet, no money involved!) that we can do London to Cologne within 6 hours.10.15am – Our plan to get cheaper petrol on the continent fails as we find to our dismay that it costs about 140 cents per litre – not much different from the UK. 11.10am – We arrive in Brussels less than 4 hours after leaving home. Not bad. Cologne is only 2 hours away, and satisfied that we could have made the whole trip within 6 hours, we decide to relax and enjoy the ride. It occurs to Bambo that we’re going to pass close to Maastricht enroute to Cologne and that Fola’s people are there, so we decide to pay them an impromptu visit. After calling Fola to get the address and phone number, we turn on the GPS to get us to Maastricht. 12.16am – It all starts to go wrong. The GPS goes dead after just 30 minutes. We stop to ask for directions from a guy who doesn’t speak English! Bambo’s French may be lousy, but he understands just enough to get us to Maastricht.
12.40pm – We can’t find the way to Fola’s house so we hang out in the town centre and soak up the culture while waiting for a cab to take us there. The weather is great and you can feel the World Cup fever here – the Dutch expect their team to do very well at this World Cup. 2.30pm – We eventually get there and hang out with his brother, whilst recharging the GPS and phones. We work out that we have to leave by 4pm to get to Cologne in time to watch the Germany vs Sweden game on German soil (kick-off 5pm). We don’t have tickets and it’s not even being played in Cologne, but we reckon that the atmosphere should be electric, being in the host country of the World Cup while their team is playing!
3.00pm – Fola’s parents get home, and it’s great to see them before we leave. They obviously want to feed us before we hit the road, but awkwardly, we tell them that we are fasting (remember that the whole church fasted for the month of June), and it’s not that we want to be impolite. They are very understanding and give us lots of food for the road!
3.45pm – We depart for Cologne. By this time we’ve resorted to “GPS rationing”, that is, only to be turned on if absolutely necessary. 4.35pm – The GPS saves us after getting lost twice! It should now be smooth sailing from here! We’ve just crossed the border into Germany! 4.45pm – Apparently there is no speed limit on the German Autobahn. We’re doing 100mph at one point, but a few cars are whizzing past us at speeds no less than 150mph! That’s just crazy insane! We later discover that these German highways with limitless speeds are of almost mythical fame.5.05pm – Just as we are approaching Cologne, the GPS goes dead again! Imagine approaching London on the motorway without knowing which exit to take! 6.30pm – After driving round Cologne aimlessly for over an hour, we stop at yet another fuel station to ask for directions to Richard Wagner Strabe (Street). Miraculously, it is only 5 minutes away! Angie picks us up and we go to a bar to catch the dying minutes of the Germany game. Jubilant scenes on the streets afterwards show an excitement about the German team not seen for many years. 10.00pm – After catching the start of the Argentina Mexico game, we head off to a party with our hosts. Sunday 26th June 11.30am – We set out to Stuttgart, knowing that it will take at least 3 hours to get there. Kick-off for the England game is 5pm. We want to get there well ahead of time to enjoy the atmosphere. Nothing much to report on this trip, we start reading the road signs better and don’t need to turn on the GPS.
3.00pm – We arrive at the stadium in Stuttgart and make our way to the Sky Box with our hospitality passes, where we finally meet the guys who got us the tickets. We could go on and on about the VIP treatment we received, but we won’t……let’s just say, “If Carlsberg showed hospitality…”
5.00pm – Match kicks off.
5.45pm - We catch a glimpse of Victoria Beckham at half-time, who has reserved the Sky Box next to ours. We are very very grateful that we can stop “waiting” at 6pm, because it would have been a shame not to be able to sample the buffet and enjoy the first class service in the Sky Box! Everyone else had got stuck in well before kick-off!6.16pm – Bend it like Beckham. The only real moment of quality during the game. 6.50pm – Everyone has realised that the match winner’s wife will be walking past us at full-time. Cue some shameful paparazzi style behaviour. They say if you can’t beat them….. 6.55pm – We have dinner at the stadium after the game before heading back to Cologne. 8.30pm – As we are about to leave Stuttgart, a huge storm breaks out. We try to turn on the GPS but it goes dead immediately. At this point we realise that perhaps the mains adaptor doesn’t recharge the batteries after all….
9.00pm – We eventually get on the highway – it has no lights and the visibility is really poor. It’s absolutely pouring and for the first time in my life, I find myself driving for survival, and not to get to my destination asap. I can’t even see 20 metres ahead of me and I’m really worried that we’re going to have an accident, and we’re moving along at a snails pace………
How are we ever going to make it back to Cologne in pitch darkness, terrible weather, no map and no GPS, and driving at 30mph? Find out next month, in the final instalment of the Road to Germany…….
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