The flight to Accra

London’s Heathrow Airport is the picture of efficiency. It is open and airy and everything is well marked. They even staff areas with courteous attendants to answer questions and politely direct you. Even the security check, a laborious process in the States that seems at any moment ready to devolve into chaos, is at Heathrow somehow managed with patience and care.

Upon finding our gate we began to feel excited, noting that we had in crossing the threshold to gate A10 suddenly become the minority. The seats were occupied by Ghanaians returning home, each dressed crisply and carrying their hefty, 90-proof duty-free bags.

The six-hour flight passed comfortably, helped along by a couple of cans of Fuller’s London Pride beer, and for Shawn an Ambian, some wine, and a couple of vodka tonics. It’s a bit like traveling with Lindsay Lohan.

As we prepared for our final descent, the pilot announced that it was nearly 8 p.m. in Accra, cloudy, with humidity at “just about 100 percent.” And to think people laughed at my sponge clothing® idea.