Okay, well actually I think nobody knows our names exactly here, but today a momentous thing happened: we became "regulars."
I actually feel a little conflicted about this development. We are regulars at Frankies, and for all you former obrunyi's out there, you know all this implies. It is air conditioning, wireless internet, and a wide array of well-prepared Western food. You can get a stack of fluffy pancakes that rival any in the US, they make the best and possibly only Greek salad in Ghana. They have milkshakes and mochas. They have an awesome chicken schwarma sandwich. For all these reasons, I love them. And I am not alone. It turns out all the other obrunyi's love them too, so Frankie's is a classist establishment where middle class Ghanaians mix with the expat community in a small haven of Western food and comfort.
I used to resist Frankies, but even in that term--"resist"--I acede to its pull for me.
With each trip back to Ghana I have made more compromises, fused my American self with my Ghanaian self. The first time I was here I dressed according to custom, I woke at the crack of dawn, and I hand washed my own laundry every Saturday at 6 AM. On this, my upteenth trip back to Ghana I have made room for not eating Ghanaian food every day. We now pay someone to wash our laundry. When I need to get somewhere that isn't convenient to the main traffic roots I take a taxi. And we have been coming to Frankies. A lot. It is the best and fastest internet access near our home, and better still we can get on with our own computers, which is quite convenient. And for all this benefit the hourly charge is identical to the slower internet cafes.
If we come in the morning we customarily order coffees, although if I'm feeling indulgent I get a mocha, which they top with incredible real whipped cream. This makes me realize that cafes in the US use "whipped cream" not whipped cream. When we come in the afternoon we typically order two tonics (like gin and tonic, without the gin) and possibly some food if we haven't eaten.
Today we waltzed in at 3 PM. On the steps up I had been debating breaking the mold and ordering a chocolate shake. The waiters here are wonderful and they love us because we consistently tip well and don't run them around too much. I know that this love has a clear financial root, but it is still nice to be liked. Well at any rate today we sat down and one of the regular waiters dropped off menus and said something as he walked away. It sounded like "I'll get the drinks." I thought he meant he was serving someone else.
And then he comes back with two glasses of filtered ice, slices of lime, and two tonic waters. He smiles. He knows us and what we order.
Strangely both terry and I smile back. We had just been debating what to have and now that it is here, it is perfect.
I'm a regular.
Be Wise!
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
On plates
Plates are a funny thing in Ghana.
For starters, I LOVE a good coffee cup. That wide mouthed china white cup that holds the foam just so? It is the stuff of my dreams, a tangible feature that confirms my ideal of scholarly thinking. This is why (combined with some righteous environmentalism of course) I was so irritated when so many coffee shops in the US started switching to using only disposable, tall cups. Like some fragile, anorexic ideal of womanhood that invaded the squat, plump ideal of the romantic era, I resent these intruders. A cappucino is just not a cappucino when my foam is all crowded into that skinny necked abomination, more a "glass" than a coffee cup.
But in Ghana when you go somewhere they serve coffee, they still serve coffee like it is both an art and craft, not a matter of mechanical reproduction of a sterile medium. My coffee comes out in a rotund elegant bone-white urn. I pour this slowly into my squat china-white cup, resting on its saucer. Warmed cream comes out in a matching pitcher. Delightful.
And in the quirky way of Ghanaian restaurants, I notice that my sugar spoon is stamped with two hearts and the words "I love you." This gets me thinking. At the middle-range restaurants that use washable plastic plates, it is not uncommon to eat your way to the bottom of your plate only to discover things like "I love you" or "my dearest one" written there. It is not something understand very well. It may be an overly familiar sentiment between customers and owners originating in ideals of hosting that have migrated into the commercial setting.
Of course, it is equally likely that someone in Sri Lanka had a load of loving plastic plates that made their way to the Ghanaian harbor, where they were sold for cheap. You never know.
For starters, I LOVE a good coffee cup. That wide mouthed china white cup that holds the foam just so? It is the stuff of my dreams, a tangible feature that confirms my ideal of scholarly thinking. This is why (combined with some righteous environmentalism of course) I was so irritated when so many coffee shops in the US started switching to using only disposable, tall cups. Like some fragile, anorexic ideal of womanhood that invaded the squat, plump ideal of the romantic era, I resent these intruders. A cappucino is just not a cappucino when my foam is all crowded into that skinny necked abomination, more a "glass" than a coffee cup.
But in Ghana when you go somewhere they serve coffee, they still serve coffee like it is both an art and craft, not a matter of mechanical reproduction of a sterile medium. My coffee comes out in a rotund elegant bone-white urn. I pour this slowly into my squat china-white cup, resting on its saucer. Warmed cream comes out in a matching pitcher. Delightful.
And in the quirky way of Ghanaian restaurants, I notice that my sugar spoon is stamped with two hearts and the words "I love you." This gets me thinking. At the middle-range restaurants that use washable plastic plates, it is not uncommon to eat your way to the bottom of your plate only to discover things like "I love you" or "my dearest one" written there. It is not something understand very well. It may be an overly familiar sentiment between customers and owners originating in ideals of hosting that have migrated into the commercial setting.
Of course, it is equally likely that someone in Sri Lanka had a load of loving plastic plates that made their way to the Ghanaian harbor, where they were sold for cheap. You never know.
Monday, October 8, 2007
Looking for a Good John
One of the blessings of Ghana is that it forces you to be more relaxed and have a sense of humor about yourself. It also teaches you to appreciate the many things you would otherwise take for granted. Like the toilet. The toilet, like the proverbial baseball umpire, is something that you don't notice unless it isn't doing its job well.
We just had a new toilet installed in our house. It's nice...except that it leaks. And I'm sorry to report that it leaks out of the exit pipe, if you get my drift. It's not massive, but it's a steady leak from every flush and a real pain. It means mopping sewage several times a day. This is another one of the glamorous features of research off the beaten path. We come up with creative solutions (which mostly involve going at any restaurant we visit), but it has really made me appreciate a good john. So for those of you who have taken your toilets for granted, I present a typology.
Toilets in Ghana tend to fall into three categories:
1. Fully functional, fully appointed. These are mostly at your very high end restaurant and hotels. We're talking a toilet, with a seat, that will flush when the handle is pulled. And, for bonus points, they provide toilet paper.
2. Functional but not fully appointed. Here you've got at least a bowl and it will flush when you pull the lever, but you may not have a seat and you probably don't have toilet paper. No one has spent more than six months in Ghana without looking at the semi-softness of newspaper in a whole new light. Because these toilets are quite common, you learn quickly to always carry a packet of travel kleenex and hand sanitizer.
3. Non functional. I ran into one of these yesterday, strangely enough at the bathroom of a restaurant affiliated with the UN Food and Ag Organization. Here there is just a bowl. No toilet paper, no seat, and no flushing. If you want to flush you have to go into the attached shower area, fill up a bucket and dump it in. This isn't exactly unfamiliar territory either. If you ever have to do this, be sure you dump the water slowly onto the side so it creates a nice circular flushing action.
So folks, as you go to your comfortable homes tonight and settle your little tushes on those luxury flushing toilets, appreciate what a grand innovation it is.
On the other hand, I found myself thinking of the underground tour of Seattle, and appreciating that at least we didn't have a toilet that "back flushes" and sends a spouting geyser of sewage into our home.
We just had a new toilet installed in our house. It's nice...except that it leaks. And I'm sorry to report that it leaks out of the exit pipe, if you get my drift. It's not massive, but it's a steady leak from every flush and a real pain. It means mopping sewage several times a day. This is another one of the glamorous features of research off the beaten path. We come up with creative solutions (which mostly involve going at any restaurant we visit), but it has really made me appreciate a good john. So for those of you who have taken your toilets for granted, I present a typology.
Toilets in Ghana tend to fall into three categories:
1. Fully functional, fully appointed. These are mostly at your very high end restaurant and hotels. We're talking a toilet, with a seat, that will flush when the handle is pulled. And, for bonus points, they provide toilet paper.
2. Functional but not fully appointed. Here you've got at least a bowl and it will flush when you pull the lever, but you may not have a seat and you probably don't have toilet paper. No one has spent more than six months in Ghana without looking at the semi-softness of newspaper in a whole new light. Because these toilets are quite common, you learn quickly to always carry a packet of travel kleenex and hand sanitizer.
3. Non functional. I ran into one of these yesterday, strangely enough at the bathroom of a restaurant affiliated with the UN Food and Ag Organization. Here there is just a bowl. No toilet paper, no seat, and no flushing. If you want to flush you have to go into the attached shower area, fill up a bucket and dump it in. This isn't exactly unfamiliar territory either. If you ever have to do this, be sure you dump the water slowly onto the side so it creates a nice circular flushing action.
So folks, as you go to your comfortable homes tonight and settle your little tushes on those luxury flushing toilets, appreciate what a grand innovation it is.
On the other hand, I found myself thinking of the underground tour of Seattle, and appreciating that at least we didn't have a toilet that "back flushes" and sends a spouting geyser of sewage into our home.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
ArachnoRoachoPhobia
Ok, so I have a little arachnophobia. Erin has cockroach-o-phobia. We split critter killing duties in our household.
First night in the new place, I'm unpacking a bag we had left with our lovely friend Hannah. I'm unpacking it, and as I pull out some tupperware, right there in the middle of the bag is a GIANT (dead) spider. Oooky. I scream like a girl, "ERIN!!! There's a big-ass dead spider in the bag and you have to do something about it!" At this point, I trust the whole ordeal will be taken care of by my hero.
A short time later, Erin mentions to me that I have a "target" to aim for when I pee. The water is out for the whole block, so Erin couldn't flush the spider down the drain. NO FREAKING WAY. This only makes things worse...much of my fear of spiders comes from this story I heard as a kid about some construction worker who went to use a port-o-john, and was bitten on the ass by a black widow...he subsequently died of the poison. I was traumatized by this story as a kid, and would always check under the toilet seat for my imminent death in spider form. I mean, come on, can any of you come up with a worse way to die? Poisoned and slumped over in a portable toilet (probably without any toilet paper no less?).
So Erin's placement of the carcass in the toilet did little for my mental health - I did NOT want to use the bathroom that day...
That night, we decided to try the restaurant across the street, the "Banana Leaf" restaurant (or "Banana Leafz" restaurant if you trust the sign out front). Banana Leaf specializes in over-priced, over-salted, unappetizing food with "unique" service strategy - the owner's wife constantly hovers over your table (we were the only folks in the place, a bad sign), while the food takes FOREVER to reach the table. Well, while at the restaurant, I made sure to use their rest room, in an effort to avoid the toilet at home. Whew!
Later that evening after we've returned home, I run into the kitchen to get some water, and as soon as I turn on the light, a MASSIVE cockroach runs along the wall. That roach was about three and a half inches - and THICK. The house hasn't been lived in for a while, so in the absence of human inhabitants, apparently other life forms have taken over. It is my turn to take responsibility for the trespasser...With a toss of the shoe and a second whack for good measure, the problem was solved. Erin called from the other room "What was THAT?" "You don't want to know," I replied. "Was it a roach??" "Yes, I have to find a broom to take care of it." "Or you could just let it stay over night, and hope the ants take care of it..." In our old place, the ants were pretty crafty, and would take care of dead roaches for us - it was quite the arrangment. I kill, they clean up.
I followed Erin's advice, in the hopes that our local ecosystem would right itself. Sadly, the ants and I haven't signed a treaty, and the roach stayed where it was for me to clean up the next morning.
So, after the late night excitement with the roach, Erin and I went to bed (around 11). At three a.m., I come the realization that I had not only paid for awful food, but also a late night "emergency." I jumped from the bed, hustled to the toilet, flipped the lid, and PRAYED that my stomach would settle itself. The last thing I wanted was that spider to reanimate and attack. How bad Erin would feel if she found me poisoned on the toilet the next morning! After a few seconds ruling out other options, I closed my eyes, sat on the seat, and gave in. The spider had beaten me...Round One: Spiders 1, Terry 0.
First night in the new place, I'm unpacking a bag we had left with our lovely friend Hannah. I'm unpacking it, and as I pull out some tupperware, right there in the middle of the bag is a GIANT (dead) spider. Oooky. I scream like a girl, "ERIN!!! There's a big-ass dead spider in the bag and you have to do something about it!" At this point, I trust the whole ordeal will be taken care of by my hero.
A short time later, Erin mentions to me that I have a "target" to aim for when I pee. The water is out for the whole block, so Erin couldn't flush the spider down the drain. NO FREAKING WAY. This only makes things worse...much of my fear of spiders comes from this story I heard as a kid about some construction worker who went to use a port-o-john, and was bitten on the ass by a black widow...he subsequently died of the poison. I was traumatized by this story as a kid, and would always check under the toilet seat for my imminent death in spider form. I mean, come on, can any of you come up with a worse way to die? Poisoned and slumped over in a portable toilet (probably without any toilet paper no less?).
So Erin's placement of the carcass in the toilet did little for my mental health - I did NOT want to use the bathroom that day...
That night, we decided to try the restaurant across the street, the "Banana Leaf" restaurant (or "Banana Leafz" restaurant if you trust the sign out front). Banana Leaf specializes in over-priced, over-salted, unappetizing food with "unique" service strategy - the owner's wife constantly hovers over your table (we were the only folks in the place, a bad sign), while the food takes FOREVER to reach the table. Well, while at the restaurant, I made sure to use their rest room, in an effort to avoid the toilet at home. Whew!
Later that evening after we've returned home, I run into the kitchen to get some water, and as soon as I turn on the light, a MASSIVE cockroach runs along the wall. That roach was about three and a half inches - and THICK. The house hasn't been lived in for a while, so in the absence of human inhabitants, apparently other life forms have taken over. It is my turn to take responsibility for the trespasser...With a toss of the shoe and a second whack for good measure, the problem was solved. Erin called from the other room "What was THAT?" "You don't want to know," I replied. "Was it a roach??" "Yes, I have to find a broom to take care of it." "Or you could just let it stay over night, and hope the ants take care of it..." In our old place, the ants were pretty crafty, and would take care of dead roaches for us - it was quite the arrangment. I kill, they clean up.
I followed Erin's advice, in the hopes that our local ecosystem would right itself. Sadly, the ants and I haven't signed a treaty, and the roach stayed where it was for me to clean up the next morning.
So, after the late night excitement with the roach, Erin and I went to bed (around 11). At three a.m., I come the realization that I had not only paid for awful food, but also a late night "emergency." I jumped from the bed, hustled to the toilet, flipped the lid, and PRAYED that my stomach would settle itself. The last thing I wanted was that spider to reanimate and attack. How bad Erin would feel if she found me poisoned on the toilet the next morning! After a few seconds ruling out other options, I closed my eyes, sat on the seat, and gave in. The spider had beaten me...Round One: Spiders 1, Terry 0.
Hello Lights! Goodbye Kettle! (A minidrama)
Well, this is a bit ironic after writing a post romanticizing the loss of electricity (what is the opposite of bitter grapes? sweet grapes? where you sweeten something you know you are stuck with anyway? No--I meant what I wrote). We asked our new landlady when we should expect the next blackout, and she said never. Allegedly, as of October 1 there are no more scheduled blackouts. Now there are just run of the mill blackouts if they are doing service on the lines or something goes wrong at our power station. Yowza. Thrilling.
Additionally we just got new bright lights installed in the living room and today we're getting a new toilet. All sorts of new stuff. We could really use a new bed, as I can feel each of the wood slats, but in some odd way it isnt really uncomfortable.
We did have a scandal yesterday. It went like this.
Erin: I'm going to clean out this electric kettle. How exciting, I never had an electric kettle or hotpot in college. I love this. My mom always said to clean coffee pots with a mix of vinegar and water (pouring some vinegar and water in). Now we just plug it in and let it boil a bit.
Terry: (5 minutes later) Umm, do we need to watch the pot?
Erin: No, i dont think so. We should let it run for a while.
(unspecified amount of time later)
Terry: (shouting from other room) Oh Shit! We have a problem!
Erin: What?! What's wrong? Are you hurt? (racing into kitchen)
Terry: (frantically waving dishtowel to dissipate smoke. acrid smell of burning rubber) Fire!
Erin: Fire?
Terry: Well, smoke. Hot. Yikes
Erin: Unplug it
Terry: I did!
Erin: Oh shit. I can't believe I ruined the freaking kettle. (Looks at plug). Good grief, its all melted to hell. One of the prongs from the kettle even came out and is all embedded in this plastic goo mess. Sheesh.
Terry: Look how hot its glowing. The water must have been boiled away for a while.
Erin: I'm really really sorry. I can't believe I did this. You warned me too.
Terry: It's okay.
Erin: You are a better person than I am. I can't believe you can resist doing a little "I told you so" dance. You were right.
Additionally we just got new bright lights installed in the living room and today we're getting a new toilet. All sorts of new stuff. We could really use a new bed, as I can feel each of the wood slats, but in some odd way it isnt really uncomfortable.
We did have a scandal yesterday. It went like this.
Erin: I'm going to clean out this electric kettle. How exciting, I never had an electric kettle or hotpot in college. I love this. My mom always said to clean coffee pots with a mix of vinegar and water (pouring some vinegar and water in). Now we just plug it in and let it boil a bit.
Terry: (5 minutes later) Umm, do we need to watch the pot?
Erin: No, i dont think so. We should let it run for a while.
(unspecified amount of time later)
Terry: (shouting from other room) Oh Shit! We have a problem!
Erin: What?! What's wrong? Are you hurt? (racing into kitchen)
Terry: (frantically waving dishtowel to dissipate smoke. acrid smell of burning rubber) Fire!
Erin: Fire?
Terry: Well, smoke. Hot. Yikes
Erin: Unplug it
Terry: I did!
Erin: Oh shit. I can't believe I ruined the freaking kettle. (Looks at plug). Good grief, its all melted to hell. One of the prongs from the kettle even came out and is all embedded in this plastic goo mess. Sheesh.
Terry: Look how hot its glowing. The water must have been boiled away for a while.
Erin: I'm really really sorry. I can't believe I did this. You warned me too.
Terry: It's okay.
Erin: You are a better person than I am. I can't believe you can resist doing a little "I told you so" dance. You were right.
Monday, October 1, 2007
Stream of Consciousness: Electricity
i have known since living in africa that being without electricity is incredibly thought provoking. this is something like the effect of driving your car without a radio. it makes you talk. if you cant talk, it makes you think. and in those radio silences I always had such good thoughts, and it makes me wonder if i drown them out all those other times.
friday night the lights went out for four hours and i could hear there was a drum circle somewhere. and we lay be candlelight and i said i want to be the kind of person who just goes out and investigates and joins that drum circle. and terry is very much too shy for that, but eventually i convinced him to at least go to our gate and check it out. we leaned against the gate in the odd brightness of the moon with all the surrounding darkness without the electricity. it turns out the sound was the beginning of a three night funeral party, and it was hosted inside the neighbor's compound. knowing that it didnt seem appropriate to try to join, or we felt too shy at least. still when i returned to laying in the candlelight i felt better for having tried.
it makes me want to host 'lights out' parties where no electricity is allowed.
friday night the lights went out for four hours and i could hear there was a drum circle somewhere. and we lay be candlelight and i said i want to be the kind of person who just goes out and investigates and joins that drum circle. and terry is very much too shy for that, but eventually i convinced him to at least go to our gate and check it out. we leaned against the gate in the odd brightness of the moon with all the surrounding darkness without the electricity. it turns out the sound was the beginning of a three night funeral party, and it was hosted inside the neighbor's compound. knowing that it didnt seem appropriate to try to join, or we felt too shy at least. still when i returned to laying in the candlelight i felt better for having tried.
it makes me want to host 'lights out' parties where no electricity is allowed.
The Eagle Has Landed!
A big collective sigh of relief. We finally moved into our own place! As lovely as it was to stay with our friend Victor (and we certainly got a lot more quality time that only roomies get), it is nice to finally be able to unpack our things.
We still have one more load of things to bring over. Because apparently we overpacked, at least relative to the size of Ghanaian taxis. You'd think we'd moved here for four years or something. But still, nice to flop over on ones own bed. The settling in will turn to nesting when we finally stock the pantry and start cooking in our new house.
On more academic note, I found out the World Bank has a new survey whose results i am VERY interested in. So I have been wrestling their frustrating interface for nearly an hour. How can something that seems to determined to LOOK helpful be so utterly the opposite?
We still have one more load of things to bring over. Because apparently we overpacked, at least relative to the size of Ghanaian taxis. You'd think we'd moved here for four years or something. But still, nice to flop over on ones own bed. The settling in will turn to nesting when we finally stock the pantry and start cooking in our new house.
On more academic note, I found out the World Bank has a new survey whose results i am VERY interested in. So I have been wrestling their frustrating interface for nearly an hour. How can something that seems to determined to LOOK helpful be so utterly the opposite?
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