In 1977 I think I took the Friday night shuttle from Lagos to Accra. Arrived at the appointed time and put my luggage down in the long queue of luggage and people in front of the appointed check-in desk. No one appeared behind it until close to takeoff time. Everyone in the queue immediately surged up to the desk in a jostling crowd, the more shameless elements shouting and waving wads of money above their heads.
Somewhat to my surprise I got onto the aircraft and found my numbered seat without having to bribe anyone. A young woman slid into the next seat and said: 'Hello Armel. I am Gladys. I meet you at Fela house when Jimmy Cliff was there.' I didn't recognise her but it was true all right. Another surprise. The flight reached Accra two or three hours late, after midnight. There wasn't a bus and I was strapped for cash in general and Ghanaian currency in particular. However Gladys was Ghanaian and her brother had come to meet her in an army lorry crewed by squaddies that he had somehow managed to hire or subvert. She was a trader and had a huge amount of luggage, soap and other goods bought in Lagos at high prices and destined for markets in Ghana where the prices in degraded cedis would be truly vertiginous. And they gave me a lift into town and dropped me at my appointed hotel.
Sounds fun in retrospect and I used to love that sort of thing, but the anxiety alone was quite wearing even in my thirties. Dunno if my innards would stand up to it these days.
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