T A B L E_T A L K Moving to a foreign land? Share tips on living abroad in Table Talk's Wanderlust area   Find a world of travel books -- new, rare and out-of-print -- at barnesandnoble.com Search by:  Keyword Title Author     R E C E N T L Y Walking on silk By Thomas Golembeski A massage teacher in Thailand changes a Westerner's life (02/22/99) This week in travel Wanderlust's select guide to the top travel-related news stories from around the globe (02/19/99) Don't go near the mountains By Dawn MacKeen From narco-tours to daily chit-chat about kidnappings, a stay in Cali, Colombia, is a plunge into the surreality of a pleasant nation engaged in an endless war (02/18/99) Captive in Kosovo By Susan Milligan A journalist finds herself caught in the middle of the Drenica Mountains with a guerrilla pressing a gun against her head (02/17/99) Losing it in Cambodia By Morrie Erickson Getting a haircut in Cambodia is a good deal -- especially if you like getting more than you bargained for (02/16/99) Browse the Wanderlust Feature archives Wanderlust's Official Travel Book Partner		{ D e a t h  i n  G h a n a } A SIMPLE SUCCESSION OF EVENTS IN AN AFRICAN VILLAGE LEADS TO A TRAGEDY -- AND A TRAVELER'S HAUNTING SENSE OF HOPELESSNESS. BY TANYA SHAFFER The events were these: At the main crossroads, near the village of Gowrie, in the Upper East Region of Ghana, my English friend Katie and I sat on the shaded cement porch of the fisheries building, waiting for a tro-tro to take us to Bolgatanga. We'd been with Aroko's family for a week. It was Monday, market day, and we were about to head to town to buy tomatoes, rice, palm oil and tinned milk for the compound. The air was still and very hot. Aroko was leaning against the fence nearby, talking softly with a friend. He pulled up to us on a bicycle. "A small boy fell in the water and we are going to get him out," he said, and set off. "Ooh," we said, and frowned. "That's worrying," said Katie. Half-standing, we watched the bicycle disappear down a dirt path between the high millet stalks. "It must be far, if he's going on bicycle," Katie said. "Mmmmm," I concurred. We sat back down. Small groups of people began to pass, heading down the same path, some cycling, some running, others walking purposefully. Small children shot by. Now we thought we should go too, but we'd just sent a man to fill our water bottles. So we stayed, discussing CPR and mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Neither of us was quite sure how these were done. Katie thought it was one breath to 15 presses, but that didn't sound right to me. People continued to pass. My copy of "Staying Healthy in Asia, Africa and Latin America" explained CPR and mouth-to-mouth, but it was in my bag, at Aroko's father's house in Bolga. We thought they were two different things, one to do with heartbeat and the other with breathing. The man returned with our water. "Should we go?" I inquired vaguely. The stream of people had all but stopped. "We don't know where it is," said Katie, glancing toward the place where the path disappeared into the dry stalks. I raised my arms to let a hint of breeze cool the sweat. Aroko and his friend returned. "Is he OK?" I asked, relieved. "The boy is dead," Aroko said. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - "You were in an extraordinary situation," my friend Colin said, eight months later, back home. He sat on the couch in my mother's Berkeley apartment, tracing with his fingertip the edges of a photo of Aroko's mother smilingly gutting a fish. "You're not brought up in a place where things like that happen. Besides, what could you have done?" N E X T+P A G E | "You shouldn't do CPR if you're not trained"   _________________________________ For more information: _________________________________