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		DEATH IN GHANA | PAGE 1, 2, - - - - - - - - - - This is what plays in my mind: A 7- or 8-year-old boy (or 6?) walks into a dark cement irrigation tunnel with water up to his neck, holding a fishing net, slips and is unable to regain his balance, clutching at the cement walls, slippery with algae, trying to scream, water filling his lungs as he gasps, his heart pounding, and his friends sitting on the grass eating groundnuts and swinging a rope strung with fish and eels, the day's catch, as 20 minutes go by, 30, an hour, and they start to wonder, "Where is Azureh? He's been a long time." They call "Azureh? Azureh!" They wade in and try to peer into the tunnel, calling his name into the hollow echoey place. No response and they're afraid to enter -- they try throwing in a rope, they talk some more, call his name. Finally one runs for help. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - "You're not used to that kind of heat," said my mother, closing the refrigerator door. "And you shouldn't do CPR if you're not trained." - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - This time I rise and follow Aroko down that path -- one foot in front of the other, the high dry grass scratching my calves, my legs heavy in the heat, taking hat and sunglasses off, wiping away sweat, putting them back on. We follow the voices, come out to the spot where people stand on either side of the canal peering into the tunnel. Above them on a bridge, where a wheel, secured by a heavy iron chain, controls the dam, people pound against the chain with a rock, trying to break it so the wheel can turn to lift the cement gate; the water from the reservoir rushes through and carries the body of a 6- or 7-year-old boy out of that dark stone tunnel into air and light and waiting people of all ages standing on the bank shouting and gesticulating as if these things could bring him back. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - "There would've been choices at every step," Colin said. "If you'd followed, then you would've had to decide whether or not to dive in. Then whether or not to interfere. To try procedures you're not sure how to use." "If he was in all that time, he would've been long dead when you arrived," said my mother. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - As we see the body emerge, carried on the swell of water, Katie and I push our way through the crowd, "Is there a heartbeat?" "Try mouth-to-mouth" -- "Oh God, did you check for vomit?" "Is his chest rising?" If only I had that book! Fear of raising false expectations, disapproval of touching the dead, chill of putting your lips against his cold ones, wondering if there are amoebas in the water and knowing it's useless, he's been in so long; what makes you think you can -- but you've got to try, because what would you be if you didn't try? Trying more for you than for him, and if that's true, who the hell are you to practice your peculiar cultural rites on the body of this boy? - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Here is what happened after Aroko said, "The boy is dead": We changed locations. We were sitting beside a chain-link fence, under a tree. Two men were talking, a few feet away, sharing an orange. A repeated phrase of English jumped out of the Frafra conversation: destiny to die in water, destined to die in water. Aroko pointed to a boy across the street, his big belly sticking out above brown shorts, skinny legs, to one of the neighborhood boys who smiled shyly and said softly, "Namba," as he passed the compound every afternoon, carrying water or a bunch of groundnuts or a string of fish. Aroko said, "The boy was like this." An orange peel hit Aroko's arm. He looked up. "Eh!" called the man. "Azureh was tall. He was never like this boy." SALON | Feb. 23, 1999 Tanya Shaffer is a writer and actress living in San Francisco.   _________________________________ For more information: _________________________________