Chapter 5

Akwaaba

Albert was stuck in traffic across town, so a hotel receptionist called for another cab. I had a short time to go to the embassy and then the airport for my flight

Five minutes after ten o'clock, I had my visa stamp, yellow with a seal of The Black Star, the symbol of the Republic of Ghana. Three months multiple entry visa. They also told me I must have a YellowFever inoculation. Normally this is required at least 10 days before travel but they issued me with a waiver if I promised to get vaccinated before departure. Fortunately there was a travel clinic near the EU building where I got the vaccination and a card to prove I had received it. Albert got me to the airport for 10.45. Check-in had closed! I pleaded with the check-in agent and only after telling her I had no luggage and it was just to get the visa that had delayed me, she picked up her walkie-talkie and spoke French for a few moments, waited a few moments then spoke again and then to me: “You must hurry through fast track and gate C31 they can admit you if you will be there in less than fifteen minutes so you must run!”

I ran and ran feeling lactic acid building up. Having said that by not carrying any luggage really makes everything faster! As I was going through the metal detector I heard my name, “Mr. George Lunden traveling to Accra on Brussels Airlines, your flight is closing Gate C31.” I saw the gates 29,30 then at 31 there was a lady tapping on the computer. I did not see anyone lined up. I got to the gate with less than a minute to spare. This plane looked the same as the one I came here from New York. I managed to get a WiFi signal, got my phone and sent Osei Mensah a message: “Hi Osei this is Daniel's friend I am on a Brussels Airlines flight from Brussels landing 4.30pm”. My phone had one bar on the Wi-Fi signal as I took my seat on the plane. I got a message back.

“Hello George, I will be happy to welcome you to Ghana and have a nice flight. Osei.”

West Africa, here I come! A few days ago I was buying real estate in LA. My life just seemed like a weird dream. I wondered how the lovely Melissa had suggested Accra. I wonder if she somehow knew I was going there. The doors had just closed and an announcement came over the in-flight speaker system:

“Bonne après-midi. Ceci est votre capitaine Charles. Je vous souhaite la bienvenue à bord de ce vol qui vous mènera confortablement à Accra.” Then the same in Dutch and then in English. By the time they had just about finished the safety briefing in English, the plane had started accelerating down the runway. As we broke through the clouds, a less than an appealing smell entered my nose. My clothes were quite dirty! They were sticking to my skin and I had to use napkins to wipe off stains.

On this flight I ate and had 2 glasses of red wine and one martini that I had just finished when the mother of all migraines kicked in. Somewhere over the Sahara I really felt it. I asked for some pain killers, they did very little nothing. Most likely due to the past days stress and lack of eating and drinking not much healthy fluids but wine and a few caffeinated drinks triggered my rare but painful migraines. One of the air-hostesses noticed I was in pain came to me with a small can of orange juice, a wine glass and a bottle of Tabasco sauce. “A passenger with a severe migraine taught me this trick on a flight a few years ago. “Drink Tabasco straight then rinse with orange juice!” Seems crazy, but the pain I was in didn't allow me to ponder: I emptied two tablespoons worth of Tabasco into the glass, drank it straight then a glass of orange juice right after. Indeed, after a short moment the headache lifted. Though half an hour later it was back. Turns out the Tabasco trick gives only short relief. I later researched this, Tabasco contains Capsaicin which deactivates pain receptors. After 3 repeats and drinking a lot of juice and water, most of the pain was gone and didn't return.

I looked down and saw lush green forests followed by large patches of desert. I later learned these desert areas were not natural but the result of decades of deforestation of the rainforest. I was pleased to see that as we were over Lake Volta in south central Ghana the forest became again very lush. We descended through thick, dark gray clouds. There was a fair bit of turbulence. The captain came on: “Ladies and gentlemen, we have commenced our descent into Accra Kotoka Airport, where we expect to land in 25 minutes. We are passing through an area of thunderstorms so expect some turbulence.“ There were a few bumps here and there but didn't do anything to interrupt the cabin crew collecting the remaining service items. I looked out and saw some heavy thick gray clouds. A man on the opposite was on his laptop and he seemed frustrated. I asked him what was wrong. He said a web presentation was filling the whole screen.

10 minutes before landing the clouds cleared and the turbulence stopped. For the final minutes of the flights I saw a lot of Palm trees, nice colorful houses and swimming pools similar to flying over LA. I like being back in a warm climate. We touched down 10 minutes ahead of schedule. “Welcome to Accra. The local time is 4.30pm and the temperature is 31 degrees Celsius.” I wasn't all that sure what that was but remember when we had landed in Brussels from New York it was 5 degrees Celsius and just a tad less cold than New York there. The door opened and I felt this sweet flower type scented warm moist air hit me. It was nice and welcoming. They had us transfer to a bus which took us to the terminal where there is a small entrance that had a sign saying “Welcome to Ghana, Akwaaba” As I stood in line, I started sweating. I saw the immigration staff sitting behind their counters tapping away at computer keyboards and swiping passengers passports. What if the FBI had issued an international arrest warrant? The layout reminded me of a lot of US airports, especially JFK. The same type of booth, with immigration officers calling people over. Fortunately the man just tapped a bit on his computer keyboard, flicked through a couple of the pages of my passport, then stamped it and told me to hand in the customs declaration card to customs on my way out. He then smiled and said: “Welcome to Ghana, I hope you will enjoy your stay.”

Osei texted me to say the bus he was on from the Western Region had broken down and due to heavy rains there would be great difficulty continuing the journey to Accra so he wouldn't make it tonight. He was heading back and advised me to go to a hotel like Accra City. Passing through customs was easy and people were really friendly. Plenty of people were waiting outside and some very eager taxi drivers. They were almost fighting to get me. I went with the flow and got into one of the cabs. Normally the advice is, at foreign airports, beware of eager cab drivers. But after being shot at at JFK by the mafia one doesn't care about getting into a cab which may or may not charge too much. I asked this cab driver to take me to Accra city hotel and if $20 would be OK. $20 would do just fine. The ride was only about 15 minutes, but during that time I got to know a little about the driver who they call by the name Frank. Frank asked about my luggage or rather my lack of luggage. I told him I had left it behind and if he could recommend anywhere to get clothes. He turned into a side street into the Aerostar restaurant, opened the car window and called a street vendor who was carrying a bunch of very colorful African clothing along with souvenirs. Frank told me I could get some nice Ghana made local style clothes from this man. Perfect, I need clean clothes. To my luck, the man also sold tennis socks. My socks were the smelliest part on me right now. I looked at the socks. The vendor man said: “They are Ghana black stars football team socks”. I got seven pairs of those which is all the man had on him along with three shirts with Adinkra print and two red Dashikis.

Frank started talking about the things I should see in Ghana before leaving. I thought telling him about why I'm really here; escaping the mafia and FBI was too much for a fifteen-minute ride. I habitually checked the rear for any silver Audi or just mafia looking people. It did hit me, here, where there are very few white people, at least percentage-wise, if the New York-Russian mafia did manage to figure out I was here they would be easy to spot in a crowd. In fact, as long as I was the only white person around I felt very safe. Indeed, Frank told me that crime levels are low in Ghana and one should be roughly as safe as New York city, probably safer in fact. We pulled into Accra city, a 4+ star hotel. Very spacious and beautiful, comparable to a luxury hotel in the USA and prices thereafter too. At $200 a night I got a nice large air-conditioned comfortable room overlooking the pool. I got into the elevator, swiped the key card and pressed the #5 button. My room was at the end of the corridor. The door had an extra chain to lock which I did. Before going to sleep I checked behind the doors and under the bed for the mafia. I picked up a cold beer from the mini bar refrigerator and turned on the large flat-screen TV. Many channels too. I stopped at Fox Business. Maria Santiago was reading the news with many screens in the background and the double electronic ticker tapes with market data running across the lower part of the screen as usual. An image popped up on the left-hand side of the screen with mine and Daniel's face on it !

“And now for the latest news from Wall Street, following the fraud at Reading-Nixon & Smedley, the FBI have issued arrest warrants against the brokers Mr. George Lunden of Westchester, New York and Mr. Daniel Kelly of Hoboken, New Jersey. At this point the FBI has been unable to make the actual arrests due to both suspects being out of the country with Mr. Lunden last located on a late flight to Brussels Tuesday evening, and Mr. Kelly has been in Budapest for the past two weeks. Mr. Lunden is also wanted in connection with a large quantity of cocaine found at his home. The illegal drugs would have fetched at least 200 million on the street. His girlfriend, who denies any knowledge, says that her boyfriend is deeply involved with an International drug cartel and that she fears for her life. Due to the severity of the drug charges, the FBI is expected to issue an international arrest warrant.”

I slumped back into the chair which fortunately was next to me or elseI would have fallen on to the floor. The paralyzing feeling came back. My head was spinning. This just can't end well! Surely Ghana must have extradition treaties with the United States and the FBI might even order a special plane to bring me back. As I looked around the quiet hotel room and out over the pool area and palm trees I contrasted the serenity of where I was with images in my head of being led in handcuffs onto an FBI charter flight with the Mafia death squad waiting for me in some sad U.S. high security jail.

I regained movement and stumbled into the elevator to go down to the lobby. On the 3rd floor a young couple came in, an Italian lady and a local guy. They were in a partymood. The lady was slightly drunk wearing a brightblue and red dress, the man smartly dressed in a white suit top with black trousers.

“Buenas noches señor” The woman smiled at me and she continued “Come and join me and my boyfriend for a night out it is his birthday. We are getting married this week.” “That's nice, happy for you two. Tho.. I can’t I am having a lot of business problems”. “Nooo tonight is party night and we are going out, you just have to come with us.” “I'm afraid the FBI or CIA will send a plane to pick me up and send me to a deep security prison cell in a New York State jail.”

The woman started laughing hard “You are so very funny, you Americans. Ciao Ciao” I wish I was joking. I made it to the bar, a nice, well-stocked bar with pretty much every drink you could imagine.

“Double whiskey please.” Three double whiskeys later, I decided it would be less painful to be arrested. Somewhat drunk, I told the bartender good night;“Tell the FBI I am in room 585 and I like to be buried anywhere in Chicago, when the Mafia gets me.” Okay, I was drunk. I've always been a lightweight. I looked out at the pool area outside. So pretty, with nice deck chairs, tables and lights. I could sober up a little outside. Palm trees between the pool area and the adjacent grass grounds which looked like a little park. I walked out and felt the lovely warm air. I really don't want to go to jail. As I walked by the pool I tried to just enjoy the moment because I was quite sure the FBI was halfway across the Atlantic by now.

My phone rang. I tried to find which pocket. Butt pockets. No, left, maybe....right? I grabbed the phone but it slipped out of my hand and landed on the floor. As I bent down to pick it up, Ilost my balance and fell right into the pool with a really loud splash. A British couple sitting in on of the boots started debating how to help me.

“Oh dear he's drunk I suppose we need to help him.” I heard the woman call out: “Simon just jump in!”

Before the Englishman was able to the bartender beat him to it and jumped in and pulled me to the stairs. The Englishman helped me up the stairs. He gave me a towel and asked if I was OK. I said I needed to call the American Embassy. Why did I say that I didn't know? The bartender told me he would call them. The Englishman found my phone and handed it to me. Daniel had sent me a WhatsApp message;

“Remember the intern we had last summer? Carlos. I forgot his last-name. And how he was fired for alleged spying or snooping around the office? I think he might be able to help us please. Do you remember his last name”

I remember we had a summer intern who was in charge of general word processing duties, taking down memos and organizing the company's main email in-box. He was fired after only a month, and Simon and Russell said they couldn't trust him after Sally had seen him put printed papers in his backpack. I can't at the top of my head remember the guy's name. But I knew what Daniel was getting at. The bartender came back with a cordless phone and I dialed the number:

“The embassy is closed, our business hours are Monday through Friday nine-thirty am until five pm. If you are a U.S. citizen in Ghana and require urgent assistance key in your Social Security number followed by hash..” My heart started beating This is a way to surely tell them where I am but I wanted this to end I keyed in832.…. The automated voice continued, “Enter your zip code and date of birth in format month day and four digit year”. I entered the zip and date of birth I heard “Just a moment” followed by a US dialing tone. The other end picked up.

“This is a U.S. consular assistance center in Kentucky, how may I help?” I told them I needed to talk to someone at the embassy and that the only trouble I was in was back home.

“You're calling from Accra Ghana sir?. The embassy there will open nine thirty in the am local time sir. “

“Mam, is there not anything in your system telling me I am in deep trouble?”

“No sir I don't have any such information at the moment, if you visit the U.S. embassy in the morning you can get information there, do you need the address?”

“I'll find it, thanks.”

I got back to my room, took off my wet clothes and washed them out with some of the shampoo so at least I would have some fresh clothes by morning and got into bed. I woke up after a dream. In my dream there were US army helicopters like the ones used in Vietnam. Under the helicopters were Russian mafia men with automatic weapons. My ex-girlfriend was piloting the helicopter. I ran for my life past the pool to try to take shelter past the palm trees, but as the helicopters descended the men jumped down with glider parachutes. The wind from the helicopters rotor blades shook loose coconuts from the trees and I picked some up and threw back (with amazing strength and accuracy) at the helicopters. This delayed the men getting to me but I heard them shooting at me. I woke up in a pool of sweat breathing heavily. I looked around. Everything was calm. I walked up, opened the window and looked up. No helicopters. I felt relieved at first but I kept thinking that they are still coming for me. I wanted to run away. Maybe going to surrender myself to the embassy was a bad idea. I could hide in the rain forest deep inland or head to some other countries. I went into the bathroom and took a shower. It calmed me down. I turned the TV on. Flipped through the channels nearing Fox Business. I dreaded what news was on. Relief. Just a documentary about coffee production in Bolivia and Chile I just remembered Carlos last name “Andres”. I WhatsApp “Carlos Andres” to Daniel.

Five minutes later Daniel responded, “I found a couple lets call them, here are some.” I wrote down the numbers on a note besides the phone, too tired now. I decided I would need all the powers for the next day. One Melatonin and two Benadryls later I was out into deep.

I woke up around 7am. I felt a sense of relief again. I was still free in my hotel room. I was looking for clothes. As I had pressed the socks against the towels they were by now dry, as was my only pair of underwear. The shirt was still wet so I put on the blue dashiki and headed for the reception where they booked me a taxi. Whilst I let me skin dry from the shower I booted the laptop. It got as far as the Windows 7 login screen. I hit Ctrl + alt + delete and tried a few words with numbers known to Natasha. Pradabag2012, Dolce&Gabbana. No luck. I gave up, got dressed, packed the laptop into the black plastic bag which the colorful shorts came in yesterday. As I got downstairs, just before the lobby I noticed a gift shop. In there I found a nice embroidered backpack. I checked the price tag, it came in at $45. The lady told me it was hand made with Ghanaian made thick cotton colored with Akan Adinkra patterns in all the main colors with Red, Green, Yellow, Blue and Black being dominant. The lady who sold it to be It was perfect for the laptop with room for more things. I tried it and the laptop fit perfectly.

Whilst I waited in the lobby I called Daniel. I told him I was going to the embassy. He was a bit hesitant. The FBI could have the laptop. Who knows what was on it. It was better for them to figure it out and he was sure they had a specialist IT. department which could read just about anything from any device, at least from a Windows laptop. I looked for anything inside the SD-card slot or CD -Rom but there was nothing attached. I pushed the laptop back into the back-back. There was no card reader in the laptop for these chips. If there was one there before, it had been removed. I asked Daniel if he was safe. He didn't want to worry me so he hadn't told me he was actually now in Sofia, Bulgaria. When he got back to the Budapesthotel room where he had stayed, he found the room ransacked and bits of his belongings strewn around. He had traveled on buses through Serbia and narrowly avoided Schengen exit control. He is now at Sofia airport on his way to Ghana via Istanbul, Turkey to join me. He had had enough of near-misses with the Mafia.

“What about a visa?”

“I got a one-year Visa last April ago I had planned to look for my son believe it or not but I never went. It is still valid. I will connect via Istanbul and arrive this evening.” Daniel told me when he arrived he had gone ended up in a modern, developing part of Sofia and met a handsome African-American looking guy. The guy stopped his car had helped him find his way when he had tried to find a hotel and was wandering along a dark road. This guy told him he is not from the United States but actually a Nigerian Medical Doctor who had invested in a couple apartments and now looking to invest in a small tech start up making apps for medical applications. Daniel was good on the eastern European markets so they got talking and the man introduced himself as Sammy. Sammy had to go back to his wife who had come along for the trip but Daniel could stay in one of Sammy's apartments where a tenant had just moved out for the night. In the morning Sammy and the wife brought Daniel breakfast and they all drove to the airport, the couple were catching a morning flight also, back to Cologne where they live. Funny thing Daniel said “The Doctor was concerned about my health?”I asked him at that point what he meant. Daniel recalled the conversation. The Nigerian doctor, said that I don't look well and he had seen this in patients. Before working in Germany he had worked for two years in South Africa. There a lot of patients had this look. But also in Europe and in his home country. I wanted to ask him more but at the same time I was busy and he was busy. He asked about my weight. I didn't know as it was ages ago I stepped onto a scale but I admitted I was on hole number five on my belt. I usually was on hole two or three. I had a slight whitish layer around my eyes and on my forehead it looked almost like frost. He said it could be a type of fungus. I had to excuse myself to go to the bathroom. He asked me how often I did that and I said about five times a day. I said to Daniel that if he think he wasn't well it was alright for him to stay and seek a doctor. But he said he would feel more at home in Ghana than in Hungary, Bulgaria or Turkey where he had never been before. If anything bad went down he'd rather be in a fully English-speaking country. “Let's get this checked out as soon as we're settled OK” I told Daniel. Daniel wanted to tell me he already had some weeks ago but he was scared of the results. I put the phone down in my pocket and quickly took the elevator back up to my room and placed the jar with chips in the safe. Back down to the lobby the taxi had arrived. The driver smiled and said “Makyee-o” but I didn't understand. He thought maybe I was living in Ghana as I already was trying more local clothes. “Makyeeo[mach-e-oo] means good morning in Ashanti-Twi which is one of the main languages of Ghana I was told. The driver taught me a few more words.

“eti-sen – how are you”

“me hoye – I'm fine”

“me yare – I'm ill”

“me-daasi – Thank you”

I like it sounds beautiful and has a lot of vowels. The roads were surprisingly clear as we passed a huge, very modern building with many Ghanaian flags by the front fence. The driver pointed it out as the Ghanaian parliament and seat of government, Flagstaff house. Sun was out blazing though I learned the 90 degree heat comes after lunch. There is a lag of several hours between sun coming up and it is getting hot. A bit further, we entered a neighborhood which looked not too dissimilar to Beverly Hills, nice big houses and beautiful gardens. Many of the houses were foreign embassies and agencies. The biggest building with large grounds and heavy fencing was the USA embassy.

I paid the driver and got out. Heart racing and I walked up to the security guards, two large U.S. Marine Corps soldiers type guys, maybe they were marines. I showed one of them my passport. I was directed into the grounds and to another guard and waiting room. An electric fence opened and closed behind me. Then a set of metal doors. There were quite a few people here mostly locals for visas to the United States. I took a number for inquiries. 18 and we were at 14. I saw a few other non locals probably Americans I presumed. The Embassy is USA alright everything American, the furniture, the waiting room chairs the same as you see in many social security waiting rooms back home, the gray-speckled linoleum floors, the curtains. In the corner a largestars and stripes flag on a stand. On the wall a large photo of President Trump followed by a number of smaller photos of previous US presidents. On the other site a large TV showing different US cities and landmarks. I walked over to the water machine a few times then back to my seat. The waiting to be seen numbers were at 6. I got my phone out and sent a text to Carlos. Within a minute, he responded. I watched the numbers, still at 6. I went out into the hallway and called Carlos. I decided to tell him what had happened. He was not surprised he said, and he had seen the news at his end.

“Simon Smedley has bought lavish apartments and houses in Moscow and South America. His main operation used to be run from his Moscow apartment where he spent most of his time until about 10 years ago when he has since spent his time in New York city.”

I asked about the laptop but Carlos told me the real information was hiding on some kind of proprietary memory chips. I told him I had some of those but I couldn’t get them to be read although the laptop had a card reader (like the oneI had never seen before), I hadn’t been able to get past the password on the laptop.

Carlos said he found a bunch of card readers, he took one and he wanted to try a chip but decided it was too risky at the time. He had also overheard a conversation between Simon and someone else on the phone about that “anyone finds out about this, theymust be eliminated.”

He said he could send it via express like FedEx or something. I would toget back to him as I wasn’t sure where I could time the package to get to me. I thanked him andwalked back to my seat.

As I watched the numbers edge closer to 18 my heart started beating faster. At number 17, time seemed to stop. Then came my number came. I walked up to the counter. A brown haired white woman in her late 20s smiled and greeted me. I tried to think about how to explain myself.

“I am George Lunden [stuttering], and I have been implicated in the Reading-Nixon and Smedley finance affair, and I saw on the news the FBI wants to talk to me”.

The woman looked again at my passport and took it. “Let me find out what we can do, Mr. Lunden,I'll be right back.”

I started sweating and looked around the room wondering if anyone overheard the conversation. It took some time, and several minutes later she came out with an older man. “You can step in here sir” and they opened a door to the office. I walked up a couple of stairs into a hallway and to a large meeting room. There was a phone on the table. The man introduced himself as the U.S. Ambassador to Ghana, Mr. Gareth Jackson. He said he had received a memo that the arrest warrant was issued last night and would be carried out today before noon by the local police. I told him my side of the story, includinghow I was chased and shot at at JFK and that was the main reason I left. I showed him the images I had saved of the cocaine on the bedroom table and Natasha in bed with the guy. I then brought out the laptop and told him:

“As you know my ex-girlfriend, Natasha was involved in a drug Mafia operation supplying a large part of the current cocaine in USA. I got this out of the house before I was shot at at JFK by two maskedmen. I took off my jacket and shirt and showed him the dressing which was slightly covered in blood. I haven't been able to retrieve what is on the laptop but I know they really wanted laptop.”

Mr. Jackson started dialing on the phone, introduced himself and asked for Detective Miller.

“Just a moment... This is Miller.”

“Good morning, this is Gareth Jackson US Embassy in Accra, we spoke yesterday about George Lunden, he's in herenow, in his possession he has a Lenovo laptop serial number TW..... and a Blackberrycell phone”.

Ambassador Jackson pressed the mute button. “I want you to repeat everything you told me to Detective Miller, I'm hoping you could be back at your hotel this afternoon, I can't give you any promises.” He un-muted the line and I was back on the phone with the FBI.

Half an hour later, Detective Miller rounded up. I was asked to email over the photos from my phone and surrenderit to the ambassador for immediate shipment back to FBI.

“After you have emailed over the photos and surrendered your laptop you may write down a couple of contacts from your phone as long as Ambassador Jackson supervises you, do not delete or manipulate anything on the phone, we will be back in a couple of hours and you are to be detailed by the local police until we have deliberated, is that clear?”

“Also I need to get holdof the other co-accused, Mr. Daniel fix me, please get him to get in touch as soon as possible”

Ambassador Jackson would let me know once they got some news on the laptop. He placed it in a sealed bag, then a large white Tyvek bag with large letters written across it, reading: “Do not open outside the U.S. diplomatic material.”

“This will work in your favor, I'm shipping this to the FBI now.”

Ambassador Jackson picked up the phone again then turned over to me. The FBI has said that based on this new information which they would check out and based on that I was shot at I should not contact the local police to have me arrested this stage but I am urged to return to the United States as soon as possible. He told me I needed to get my gun shot wound looked at asap. He told me to come with him. We walked to the car park. He drove me to Ridge Hospital nearby. There was a queue of people. As a non-citizen I paid the admission fee and was told to wait. The Ambassador said he didn't mind killing some time here. He was also keen to find out the extent of my wound and maybe even get some photos to send back to the FBI.

After twenty minutes a doctor came and escorted me into his office. He introduced himself as Dr Isaac. Ambassador Jackson waited outside. The doctor a tall man in his early 50s started talking to me. I told him I was shot at by some men in New York city. I then said a doctor on the plane had dressed the wound. “He did a very good job. I don't see any infection but you should take some antibiotics. He called for a nurse to bring him a box of Septrin and another of Flagyl, two broad spectrum antibiotics which should cover the immediate risk. The nurse started cleaning the wound again, I felt the pain again, not as much as before. Doctor Isaac took out a flashlight to get a good visual inspection. He paused and said “Do you know how many times you were shot?”

I told him “They fired several shots at me but I think only one bullet hit me and it exited which is what the doctor on the plane to Brussels told me. He put on disposable gloves and started feeling further below at my right side by the rib cage. “Feel this? He said.” I felt some pain. I had felt this ever since I got on the plane at JFK but I assumed it was a bruisefrom hitting something. “I see an entry wound, but there's no exit wound.” I think we should X-ray you. He walked me out and I saw Ambassador Jackson coming towards us. “I think he may have a bullet in him,” said the doctor to the Ambassador.

He wrote a referral to x-ray and surgery. I was told to pay 5000 cedis deposit at the cashier. Fortunately I carried $5000 on me as I thought I might need it. I paid $1300 in dollars at the cashier. I went up a couple of flights of stairs for X-ray. Another doctor was at the X-ray room. They had a newer type computerized x-ray. He told me to take off my shirt which I did. I stood in front of the machine. I heard a sound and then the doctor told me to come over. He showed me the image which was being built. “See that. You have a small metal object about two centimeters above the side of your liver. It looks like a bullet and it needs to come out. I will call Dr Isaac as he is a surgeon.”

Dr. Isaac came in moments later. The doctors in the examination room talked for a while in front of the X-ray monitor. Dr. Isaac told me he would fit me in for surgery now. It was a fairly easy procedure as the bullet was located a few centimeters inside. A nurse got me a wheelchair and we took the elevator up another floor.

They got me into a small room with a surgery table. The room was quite warm and the windows were open. Dr. Isaac started cleaning the wound. He and the nurse put on gloves. Another nurse, a male, came in. He also put on gloves. Dr. Isaac said he would use local anesthesia. He prepped the syringe and injected it a few times around the wound. He tapped with an instrument a few times at the area. He asked if I could feel anything. I couldn't. The whole procedure only took a few moments. Then I heard the sound I had only heard in movies. The sound of a bullet falling into a metal tray. What a relief! I told the doctor how good that felt. He replied “It was a couple of years ago I last dealt with a gunshot wound. Fortunately we do not get these often here.” The male nurse sewed