A Wing and a Prayer

Sitting by the pool at the Intercontinental Hotel last Friday night, watching the Ghana vs. Uruguay World Cup match, I was still so jet-lagged, I could barely keep my head propped up.

But I do remember thinking how cool it would be if Ghana won, because I was scheduled to actually be in Accra on July 7th, when they'd be playing the Netherlands team. A few hours later, after Ghana's heartbreaking loss, I figured I'd at least get to join in at one of the consolation parties.

So imagine my pure horror yesterday when I realized that I couldn't get a visa at the airport in Accra. I'd have to apply for it at the Ghanaian Embassy in Nairobi. And it could take two days to process. And the Embassy closes at 3, which was about the time I was calling a friend to confirm my erroneous belief. Which meant there was only one day left to snag a Ghanaian visa before I had to board a plane to Accra.

Ya know, sometimes--in fact MOST times--I suspect that I subconsciously create drama in my life as the only way to ensure I still have a pulse. I push deadlines, wait 'til the last minute, flout rules, bust the budget...you name it. Come to think of it, one good blast of sex would probably cure me of this reckless adrenaline-seeking behavior. At least I'd like to think it would.

But until that fine day, I suppose I'll always find myself in scenarios like the one this morning. After creeping into the High Commission of Ghana, where I smiled my broadest smile, and adopting my meekest posture and most beseeching tone, I pleaded for an emergency visa, for travel within 24 hours. The young woman at the counter shook her head as she reviewed my materials, but I'm thinking my shtick must have gotten through. She told me to come back at 2 PM to pick up the visa.

Somebody up there must really like me.