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I traveled to Ghana to document the Carter Presidential Center’s efforts to eradicate guinea worm disease, a hideous parasitic illness afflicting those in the poorest regions of Africa and Asia.

I was told before I left that I should not miss visiting the town of Elmina, a beautiful fishing village on the coast with a Dutch slave fort where a previous generation had been kidnapped and shipped like kindling across the ocean.

On a day with nothing planned I hired a driver in Accra to take me on the journey to Elmina. I got into his car and he promptly introduced himself as Jimmy Carter. I exclaimed: “No Way!” and told him of my mission for the Carter Center.

It seemed like destiny to both of us that we were connected that day. He told me he admired the man so much that people began calling him by that name.

Elmina truly was one of the most powerfully beautiful places I have ever seen. The slave fort overwhelmed me with its’ sense of devastating history. After a few hours we decided to eat.

We both ordered the local beer, which came in larger than life bottles with a huge star on the label. I’m not sure what the alcohol content was, but the star seemed prophetic. I had one. Jimmy had two.

It began to rain and we decided it was time to go. Behind the wheel, Jimmy Carter drove with a new sense of abandon. It was dark, raining, his windshield wipers barely worked and the road was littered with potholes. He never lifted his foot from the gas pedal.

We veered frighteningly close to the edge of the road, nearly hitting a continuous stream of pedestrians whose faces emerged and quickly vanished in the darkness. It was a harrowing ride as we hurdled through the African night and I began to pray.

At one point I thought of asking him to stop the car, fearing for my life but I remembered advice from a friend on my first taxi ride through New York City: “Just pretend you’re watching a movie!”

A few hours later we arrived back at my hotel. Drained but alive and thankful that I could work another day for the other Jimmy Carter.

Photos: from top: Elmina, Jimmy Carter in Plains, Jimmy Carter in Africa

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8 Responses to “The Day Jimmy Carter Almost Killed Me”

1. jingle davis says:

   June 5, 2009 at 9:59 am

   you’re a terrific photog, billy. i had no idea you were talented in that arena, too. jingle

   Reply
2. Dallas says:

   June 5, 2009 at 10:52 am

   Great story and hauntingly beautiful photograph, Billy.

   Reply
3. Carol Carter says:

   June 5, 2009 at 11:16 am

   Nice story, Billy. I think I’ll call myself Jimmy Carter from now on, too.

   Reply
4. Terri Evans says:

   June 5, 2009 at 11:35 am

   I have had the pleasure of reading this story before. It was memorable then and a pleasure to see it here. I am enjoying your writing so much, despite how you continue to shame us all with the very best art to accompany your stories.

   Reply
5. lmann108 says:

   June 5, 2009 at 12:39 pm

   fun to read. Elmina is magical. Cape Coast as well. something in those towns really touched my soul. thanks for the brief visit…. Jai Ghana!!

   Reply
6. James says:

   June 6, 2009 at 3:06 pm

   I’ve ridden that stretch several times in cars and in overloaded tro-tros and seen a number of accidents on the way. I had the experience of riding “shotgun” in one tro-tro in which the driver prayed loudly every time we started up again after a stop. Don’t know if it was his driving skills, blind luck, or divine intervention, but we made it without a scratch.

   Reply
7. Claude Sitton says:

   June 8, 2009 at 9:55 pm

   What’s this “tro-tro” business? That particular and most colorful conveyance was known as a “Mammy Wagon.” Got its name from the market mammies who were the backbone of the Gold Coast economy and later that of early Ghana after Free-DUM in ’57, as E. T. Mensah and his high-life band pronounced it. Don’t forget who sold the unfortunates who were dropped through that hole in the castle courtyard and into boats from the European slave ships lying offshore at Cape Coast. It was the Ashanti and other warriors from the tribes in the jungle rain belt.

   Reply
8. Billy Howard says:

   June 8, 2009 at 11:30 pm

   A history lesson from the master! Thanks for stopping by the Dew Mr. Sitton, your presence here, and any comments you wish to make are welcome….more welcome yet, perhaps a story or three from you!

   Reply

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