ACCRA,
Ghana – I’m just back from a 60-hour trip to five African countries – pretty hard
to imagine – that included a stop here and in Senegal, Guinea, Liberia, and
Sierra Leone. We went to assess the Ebola response in the three most-affected
countries (Guinea, Liberia, and Sierra Leone), and one of the biggest
complicating factors (beyond the health risk) was the travel: two nights on a
plane, one night here at a hotel.
Getting in a run was critical for
my stamina, even if it meant a few hours of sleep. I made it to the hotel lobby
by 5:30 a.m. and asked the clerk for a nearby route. He told me to stay inside the
hotel perimeter because it was dark out. I said I wanted to go outside and he
told to run the perimeter outside the hotel. I gave up. At the front entrance,
I saw a security guard and he pointed me toward Independence Square.
I crossed a highway after waiting
15 seconds for traffic to clear and ran down a broken sidewalk, passing vendors
already setting up stalls that sold warmed-up breakfast foods and coffee. I ran
for seven or eight minutes until I came to a major highway – Independence Square
was likely to my left. But in front of me was a narrow road opening to an
infinite horizon – it could be the Atlantic.
I took the narrow road. It was
semi-abandoned, dark except for pools of light from street lamps. I passed a
few men, picked up my pace, and reached a guardhouse in front of a small hotel.
I could hear waves.
The guard was asleep. I gently called
to him and he lifted his head. I asked about getting to the ocean, and he
kindly said, yes, follow me, and he led me through the hotel lobby, a back
patio, and to a locked gate, which opened up to the Atlantic Ocean -- the eastern
shore, less than a week after I had been to the western, in Maine.
I felt a bit dizzy as I navigated
crude wooden steps to the beach. It felt like I was walking into a completely new
world. I stopped and steadied myself. The dark was starting to lift, the scene unfolding.
The beach was wide and soft, except the packed sand near the tide line. The
ocean stretched as far as I could see. I saw a few runners and walkers on the
beach, far in the distance. That gave me confidence to go on.
I reached water’s edge and thought
for a moment about taking off my shoes, shirt, glasses, and watch, and jumping
into the ocean – it was 80 degrees and humid. I thought better of it. I couldn’t
read the scene. Enough people watching me. Not enough to stop a thief.
I picked up some beautiful shells
and then ran along the packed sand, passing people who said nothing. I saw a
young boy just a few feet into the surf, his head facing the beach as gentle
waves curled over his shoulders. I saw three middle-aged bountiful women, who
were walking into the ocean, holding hands, backs bare, singing about Jesus.
Then I saw in the distance a
fishing boat and a dozen men pulling in a substantial fishing net from the shore.
I decided to run to the boat and turn back. But as I neared it, a man started running
toward me. He waved his arms and held his hand out as a policeman would: Stop.
I stopped and help up my hands as if I didn’t understand. He vigorously jabbed
his hand toward the beach behind me. I understood. I turned around instantly
and headed back. I didn’t look back. I had run into something off-limits and I
was getting out.
I kept a good pace. I passed the
three women again who were on the beach now, holding hands in a circle, heads
turned skyward, singing and shouting. I passed silent men sitting in the sand.
I averted my eyes. I went to the gate by the seaside hotel, but it was locked,
and so I quickly picked my way through abandoned lots that were strewn with
garbage, chunks of concrete, and a small pack of dogs, until I reached a road.
I kept my pace.
