by Asabea Ashun
Chapter 11
2 October, Kotoka International Airport, Accra
Jason walked out of Accra’s Kotoka International Airport and felt like he’d landed in a war zone. Army tanks were milling around the airport and every third person was dressed in military fatigues. Just three weeks ago when he left, everything seemed normal. Suddenly, Jason was not so sure he wanted to be back in Ghana.
He looked around him frantically, wondering how safe he was. He’d expected Araba at the airport but she was nowhere to be found. He dragged his carryon across the very busy road in
front of the terminal and just as he almost reached the curb on the other side, he heard a gunshot. What the hell! Jason threw himself on the ground and tried to put the case on top of him. With his legs poking out in the road, he dragged himself across, fully over the curb and started the tortuous ascent down the stairs, careful to keep sliding on his belly. There were shouts all around him as soldiers’ screamed orders and civilians caught in the fire screamed out in fear. All he knew was he needed to get to Pokuase, to Margaret and Peter Ankrah, his nearest safe haven. By this time, he’d managed to make it down the first flight of stairs so he raised his head ever so slightly to look around him and saw a pair of army-issue boots. He lowered his head in resignation as two very strong hands dragged him to his full height and looked squarely into his face.
“Who are you?” asked the soldier.
“Jason Arthur – Beck,” he said with fear. Already, he had wet his pants and he was letting out gas like he was a beer factory.
“And where are you going?”
“Home. I just arrived from Toronto and I was on my way to Pokuase.”
“Come with me,” the soldier gruffly ordered and Jason meekly followed back up the stairs to stand docile behind the soldier as he belted out orders to those who were clearly his subordinates. Jason was bundled into the back of an army jeep and quietly sat with his cuffed hands in his lap, looking out the window and wondering what the hell had gone wrong with his new country.
They passed by the new Holiday Inn and behind the Aviation Road. The driver passed right through the red light and turned left on the road leading to Burma Camp Military Base. Suddenly, the jeep swerved as a shot hit the vehicle and Jason and the occupants of the jeep fell to the ground. They sped off at 150km/hr, swerving shots and driving wherever there seemed to be space.
“WHAT IS GOING ON?” Jason shouted above the noise.
No one was listening to him and by the end of the twenty minute hell ride, he’d pieced enough information together to know that there was a state of emergency and somehow, China and America were involved. What he had to do with it he had no idea and no one was telling him.
“Excuse me,” he motioned to one soldier. “I’m Canadian.”
One soldier laughed an eerie laugh that sounded like they’d heard it all before. Every American claimed to be Canadian when it suited them. This fool thought they had no idea. They dragged him out of the vehicle, uncuffed him and then hit his head with the butt of a Kalashnikov.
He crumpled to the ground and all went black.
