Our Accra journey is certainly proving challenging so far. Around 10 days ago we heard that our container had cleared customs and could be delivered the following week. Oh the joy as that light at the end of the tunnel seemed to shine a little brighter! Moving to a new country is always a rollercoaster journey of ups and downs and that high was immediately followed but an all-time low. A mere few hours after the container update we heard that we had lost our second house choice, and once again the light was snuffed out altogether. It took 12 weeks to loose house number one and 6 weeks to loose house number two. To get into the reasons why is just not possible on a public forum and indeed I will get no pleasure from describing them, only frustration. Our concerns about the process have been raised and we have little choice but to try and move forward. We have now chosen house number three and so the clock is re-set once again, 12 weeks to try and secure the property with no guarantees it will go through.
The problem with living in a hotel in Accra is that sense of feeling like a caged animal. The hotel has events on most days and at weekends our little chalet gets surrounded by a cocktail of loud music. There is no peace and quiet and it’s not the type of city where you can just go for a walk or take a trip to the movies. Peter cannot unwind at the golf course when his clubs are in storage and I have yet to find confidence to run anywhere but in the gym. And so frustrations rise. If we could have walked away, got in a car or on a plane and just left, then we probably would have done. But there is nothing relaxing about getting in a car here, and anyway, where would we go? We need a bubble, a bubble of our own space, of quiet, of our things, but without a house that bubble does not exist.
We have now, finally, been offered a temporary furnished apartment, while we wait for house number 3 and our belongings. Why we weren’t offered this earlier I’m really not sure. There seems no sense of time here. It’s a common complaint that things don’t happen when they should and there is no understanding from the locals of why this is a problem. You could say that this lack of time perception is part of the culture here and the delays we are having to face are all part of moving to Ghana and understanding their ways. Of course there is a limit to how long we can remain in limbo, patiently waiting to get a permanent home, trying to keep our frustrations down. For the first time I do now have to question, will we get there in the end? Or will this whole experience taint our feelings for Ghana and send us running, anywhere but here.