By Ekow Bentsi-Enchill, Reuters correspondent
The Chairperson beckoned for me. Hesitantly, I sauntered towards the bench. I was
apprehensive, not knowing what to expect. My heart fluttered around in my chest like a butterfly, yet onwards I marched for lack of another option. She motioned for me to relinquish my camera, the very extension of my being, and reluctantly I handed it over. “Had the profusion of clicks and flicks that emanated from my shutter angered her in some way?” “Had I taken a picture I shouldn’t have?” She opened her mouth to speak. “Can I take a picture of you?” she inquired, and immediately my body warmed up, my disposition a metamorphosis from petrified to relieved. I graciously accepted and gave her a quick tutorial on the workings of the camera and the art of focusing, after which she offered me her chair! Latching onto the opportunity, I sat down with immediacy and offered her my Press Corps reflective vest. By now the blood coursing through my veins was at its hottest and at its fastest. Overwhelmed and overcome by the wealth of power bestowed upon me by the chair, I was hyperventilating. Trying to hide my utter and complete excitement, I obeyed her order to smile and flashed her my widest smile possible. Longing to stay put in the alluring chair, I stalled by looking away from the camera and succeeded in eliciting more time in the seat of glory. Nevertheless, as with all good things my few minutes of fame came to an end, and soon after I was back in my reflective gear, reunited with my camera and taking pictures.