Our Christmas Story

Until about a week before the event, Christmas in Ghana was looking like a solitary event. Many of the foreigners we had known had left the country, either to return home or to visit. The Ghanaian family I have been close with for eight years was busy preparing for an upcoming wedding (post forthcoming) so weren't doing anything special. We had plans to visit some of our good Ghanaian friends and deliver a few presents, but otherwise it was just going to be T and I. Terry has been down lately. The double whamy of turning 30 and his first Christmas out of the country had really gotten to him. Our efforts to craft a connection to the meaningful traditions of our home focused, perhaps not surprisingly, on food.

We had decided that Christmas morning we would try to make cinnamon rolls. In my house growing up my mother often made cinnamon rolls for Christmas morning, always with orange frosting. Growing up these were the kind that came out of a tube, because they were easy to make in the midst of all the hubub. Of course, in Ghana, there are no ready-made tubes of cinnamon roll dough just waiting to be baked. I did research on the web. When I usually approach a new recipe, I like to look around and get a sense of the variety so I can better identify the proportions and items that most of the good looking recipes have in common. Thanks to my love of Alton Brown and some experimentation with yeast breads in the past, I was also equipped with a descent sense of what the different elements were doing for the final product. I had finally put together a recipe that I thought would be quite good.

Just one problem: we were going to have to "bake" them in a rice cooker.

We don't have an oven here. In desperation, I have discovered that you can bake banana bread in a rice cooker. It takes a little adaptation, but it can be done. I even made two different kinds. With no alternative in sight, it was looking like rice-cooker cinnamon rolls. They might be goopey or gooey or, at worst, pasty and inedible. But at leasst they would be good for a story and a laugh. We would remember "that Christmas in Ghana" when we baked in a rice cooker.

Instead, the generosity of near strangers made the season memorable for a completely different reason. Through another friend, we recently met a new group of folks who are North Americans (a few British) who are here for several years. They were warm and welcoming, and before the end of the night, they had invited us along to a Christmas Eve dinner and holiday service.

Dinner was a gathering of foreigners who were staying in Accra for the holidays. Our gracious hosts served amazing lasagna, garlic bread, and salad. For dessert it was warm apple pie, chocolate dipped peanut butter balls, and oatmeal cookies. Sitting in a room filled with the voices and sounds of thirty people, eating only by the light cast from the Christmas tree, it suddenly seemed like Christmas.

Afterwards we went to a Christmas eve service. We heard the traditional Christmas passages read. We sang traditional Christmas songs. Actually, the songs were all the British version, and who knew the Brits had totally different words. The experience was very much like being in a hiccup in the Matrix, where things are mostly right, but something is a little off. At the very end of the service we did a traditional candlelight ending. Candlelight while singing Silent Night is a wonderful way to close out an Eve service. But I will say it works considerably better when you don't have to turn the fans off and suffer 90 degree heat just so you can keep the candles lit.

After the service Terry and I were joking about our impending experiment with "rice cooker cinnamon rolls." The other expats invited us to join them at their home for a Christmas brunch. We brought along our cinnamon rolls, cooked them in the oven, and they turned out divine! After brunch, we all returned to the living room, where we basked in tree-light and exchanged gifts in a somewhat abusive system where each person has the opportunity to "steal" a previously opened gift.

After brunch, we returned home, and decided to head out to the Internet Cafe to try to contact friends and family back home via Skype. We went to our favorite hang-out, Frankies.

Frankies was full of dapper looking Ghanaians celebrating Christmas with a special meal out for the family. Near us sat four women, all dressed in their "sunday best" and nine children, almost all under the age of eight. Although it is at a restaurant, a long table lined with hopeful little faces has the inescapable impression of holiday and family. The smallest boy sits just near me. I can see his tiny black patent leather shoes glint as he kicks his feet back and forth. He has a navy colored satin vest on over a light blue button shirt. The button shirt collar is popped as though he is some college hipster, but he doesn't seem to notice or mind. He sits across from an absolutely beautiful seven year old girl, her hair carefully in plaits and then tied up in pig tails with ribbons. The girl occasionally looks over at me, both charming and shy, interested in me, the foreigner. Finally their food comes out. They are all enjoying Chicken and Fried Rice, which has become something of a Ghanaian national favorite in the last four or five years. The mothers aren't eating, just sipping soda and laying back, watching contentedly as the children dig in to this special Christmas treat.

Christmas in Ghana

Christmas in Ghana is a fascinating beast. I can tell that today, the day after Ghana's official celebration of Eid, Christmas began. It isn't because silver bells ring out from every street corner, and it sure isn't because of the snow. And although it is unfamiliar to me, Christmas in Ghana has its own sort of magic. There is something in the air here too, there are quite moments of family, there is some gift giving with all the excitement but none of the pressure. And, at least in Cape Coast, there is a sort of trick-or-treating mixed with a play on colonialism.



I can tell Christmas is upon us because each and every one of the main roads was horrifically choked with traffic. I don't know where the cars come from exactly, whether they drive in from afar to shop or visit family or just magically appear like some evil reverse-rapture. Tomorrow I have my last interview for my dissertation project before government workers break for the holiday. I will very likely have to walk the entire 3-4 miles between my house and the Ministries just to make it on time.

I can tell because it grows daily hotter, climbing up into the 90s. And we begin to feel the dusty hotness of the annual Harmattan winds that blow down from the Sahara.

I can tell because restaurants and stores are decked out. Christmas decoration, if not improved in quality, has certainly multiplied in quantity since I last spend the holidays here in 2003. I am convinced that part of this is the fortuitous coincidence that Ghana's national colors are red, yellow and green. Because Ghana just hosted its 50 year independence celebration last March, there are lots of red and green banners available in storage. More delightful still, while sitting in the internet cafe, I am currently being assaulted to some godforsaken electric Christmas music, the sound of so many tortured kazoos. And I think it is being produced by a quasi sentient strand of lights. Uh oh. I think the lights just winked at me. They know!

A friend who visited me here described Ghana as "100 percent market" because each and every available square foot of public space is formally and informally devoted to retail. This time of year, the ubiquitous street hawkers press their wares with extra eagerness. Each wood carving, painting, necklace or craft is wrapped in a smile and then tied with the ribbon of friendliness. Everyone has a story of why you should buy from them.

Gift giving in Ghana is an art I have yet to master, but one that I truly admire. Lately I have been disenchanted with gift-giving in the US. Too often we exchange lists of things we would like that our loved ones can mechanically check off. Or worse still, the pre-ordained exchange of gift cards. My sister loves gift cards, so often I am asked to buy her a specific gift card for Christmas and told she will give me one. While I can appreciate the convenience, it takes some of the magic out of it for me. This year we aren't sending gifts home and our families aren't sending us gifts here either. The postage (and potentially corrupt postal workers) just isn't worth it. But my husband and I will give gifts to several Ghanaian families.

This is always somewhat awkward for me, because I never know how a Ghanaian is going to react. I mentioned earlier on this blog that I gave my friend a few nice pots and pans that I brought her from the US, because good quality cookware is difficult to obtain and very expensive here. But apparently that is the kind of gift a mother gives a daughter for her wedding. On my second major trip to Ghana I gave my host mother a beautiful wind chime with angels on it. Folks here are very religious, and I was pretty sure she would like it. After I handed off the package, I dully followed her from room to room, eagerly waiting for her to unwrap it (like a typical American). She dutifully walked from room to room seeking the privacy to open the present in private (like a typical Ghanaian). I unwittingly had her cornered before she explained the custom to me.

Christmas with most Ghanaian Christian families is sort of what you would expect. Home decorations are uncommon but increasingly popular with the wealthy, including fake Christmas trees and bright sparkly garlands. Mothers and grandmothers gather in the kitchen and prepare a spread of traditional Ghanaian foods, which might include the spicy Jollof rice with fish, rich peanut soup with goat meat, boiled west African "yams" with a spicy spinach sauce, or even fried rice and chicken.

And then there is Cape Coast at Christmas. Cape Coast was the capital during colonial times. It was the city I lived in when I first came to Ghana as a student in 2000. I went back in 2003 for Christmas. I remember, the drums start fairly early in the morning. They seem distant, but they are coming from everywhere. Bit by bit the sound gets closer. I go to our front door, and find a group of children and youth, all decked out in brightly colored home-sewn costumes. The oldest boys drum while the others dance energetically. It is thrilling and fun and fabulous. I am laughing with delight and clapping my hands and soon I am trying to join in. My Ghanaian host mother explains that they go from house to house performing, and each little costumed performer carries his own little box, much like the slot-topped boxes of school children on Valentines. They will drum and dance until you put coins into their box. Sometimes they come around in small groups, lead by an older boy in his young teens. Other times one or two will small children will come around escorted by an adult. Sometimes they come around shyly, sometimes they are quite bold. During Cape Coast's traditional parade of chiefs, held annually in August, these troops perform all together, and the children are joined by similarly costumed adults who do acrobatics. But at Christmas this little traveling performance is just for the children.

Merry Christmas everybody!

More Pirate This!

So we've been watching pirated Nip/Tuck, and like our Desperate Housewives cover, the first three seasons of Nip/Tuck have "Chibonics" summaries of each season. Having seen season one now, the description is remarkable accurate, asuuming you speak broken English and have no idea what is going on in the show. My favorite new phrases that I'll begin employing in my everyday speech:

west graciousness
mmm
shears the face evil (spirit) or (appearance)
continue the hobby which they suffer

and my personal favorite: "the perspiration"

Notice Famke Janssen's guest appearance is mentioned, as "acted that female pheonix in xmen." There are plenty of good times in these descriptions. We can play a game if you wish - a prize goes to the best translation of any sentence. Erin and I will judge. Good Luck!!!


Nip/Tuck Season 1

The Story has a family reputation is “the Macnamara-Troy” the surgical department reshaping surgery center by the south Florida to start, this family surgery center is Doctor Macnamara and Troy doctor. Besides tidies up the room the work, two soon march into middle-aged doctor similarly to have bothering individual life to need to worry about. West graciousness – Macnamara and wife’s sentiment appeared the crisis front, he diligently is trying to let two person of relations restore to is heavy. The Chrystie peaceful – Troy is fills the charm “the dandy”, he does not have the fixed sentimental life, the superficial natural scenery behind also is a lonely heart. Chrystie is peaceful because diverts attention the trouble which and so on other work creates west, all needs Enlai to solve for him. Begins in the first season, two surgeons walked because of drug lord chief Ess – standard Radow. Ess forces two people to implement the free surgery for him, moreover must along with call along with. West graciousness and wife Zhu Liya marriage exactly therefore appears the crisis. First was west graciousness and Zhu Liya a two people of child miscarries, meets west graciousness to inform to call the lucky elegant woman to cherish his child… … This in 2003 begins broadcasting the popular play collection, described two to be in the middle-aged crisis, the future boundless tidies up doctor Troy and Macnamara, fenced the prosperous chest for the of all forms character, attracts the fat, the denaturation… …

Nip/Tuck Season 2

The second season plot development, in the first season foundation, continues to let the leads pitifully, originally the first season ending as if happy people continue each other injury, is tenacious is not willing to understand the other people. Two enter 40 year-old man, participated in party actually not to have other with the son enrichment, several years before past event, mmm, was that rebel’s young people, his godfather, not merely was the godfather is that simple but he to have rebel’s reason, was inferior to said was deliberately bad almost does two good friends to have noisily to divide family property, but brothers which knew under the economical pressure and the ghost the friendship also together are working. But the person really has obtains has loses, Dr. Christian Troy has lost the person of mixed blood child which that lets him grow up. Mmm, has introduced a pp life training, moreover is very intelligent, even if the screenwriter writes she afterwards was letting National People’s Congress fall the eyeglasses, but the actor really was very attractive, acted phoenix female that in xmen. That becomes on of third season master lines shears the face evil spirit appearance, but this time commits a crime also compares is not that crazy, but two doctors both center incurred cough, on basically acting the leading role all that has tidied up surgery table.

Nip/Tuck Season 3

The screenwriters continue the hobby which they suffer acts the leading role, the third season because that bt shears the face evil spirit the participation, nearly becomes the play, but writes a play also really is very can use the psychology and very many other factors, so long as has possibility each people all to be able to suspect, perspiration. Even if knew Dr. Christian Troy is impossible, or writes a play leads to suspect, mmm, self-is her one’s own mother trusts him, coughs, this season discovers his life experience very miserably. This season even more likes pp Kimber, even if the final screenwriter is insincere to her, coughs, or said too bt, actually the beautiful play looked many, some feeling, American how that many bt, mmm, should father have the belief, has the awe person, to child… … (This is real, last year or the year before last remembered any church parish bishop because this kind of scandal left office), this continuously understood very with difficulty, the perspiration, got off the subject, actually was thought sheared face evil that bt, devastated the beautiful woman, very indignation. The plot is darker, that juliy mother has not made clear dies did not have, individual understanding, has died, is juily massacres her not to be unimportant, but she the influence forever also is unable to juily to wear down.

The Busiest Shopping Day of the Year

For those of you who have seen Erin around the Holidays, she's a Christmas FANATIC. She has her favorite obscure Christmas song (Oh Bambino by the New Christy Minstrels), she craves an all-carols-all-the-time existence, and she loves decorating the instant Thanksgiving ends.

As you probably guessed, Ghanaians don't celebrate Thanksgiving (or other colonialist holidays we love so much), and the American ex-pat community is so small that the upscale grocery stores don't bother catering to our purchasing power. For our last Thanksgiving in Ghana we couldn't find a proper turkey at Koala, our local cosmopolitan grocery store—apparently Butterball Ghana Ltd. doesn't exist. Ultimately we purchased a turkey from a local poultry farmer for a price so exorbitant I'd rather not discuss it. This year we are living somewhere new, and our apartment doesn't have an oven (only stove). So this year, after celebrating a non-traditional, Ghana-style Thanksgiving (we watched the season one finale of Nip/Tuck and ate Indian food), we decided to try to make our Ghana Christmas more festive.

Earlier this week we went by Koala and found they were already selling Christmas decorations. We wandered the store, Erin's eyes bright with Christmas possibilities. After playing with lots of ornaments and petting some garland, Erin found a wiry artificial Christmas tree that went up to about my knee. For 20 whole dollars we could own the fake-tree version of Charlie Brown's infamous evergreen. We made a pact that the day after Thanksgiving we'd drop by Koala again and pick one up.

Later in the week, we spoke to some friends who had recently visited "Game" and "Shoprite" – two new stores in Accra. Our friends described Game as a "Target" doppelganger and Shoprite apparently looked like a typical US supermarket. Like Walmart, these places are supposed to have guaranteed low prices. On Thanksgiving we decided that we should take a ride out there to check out Christmas decorating options before fully committing to Koala's tree. The day after Thanksgiving we got up early, jumped in a tro-tro, and headed off for the new stores.

As we approached the stores we both glanced at each other with the "HOLY SHIT!" face. Game and Shoprite are located in "Accra Mall"…Accra Mall is a freakin' suburban US shopping mall! It is not "like" an American shopping mall, it "is" one. As you walk through the glass box of automatic doors, you feel awash with a wave of air-conditioned air. The mall is completely enclosed with faux-marble floors and high ceilings. The shops have full glass fronts and beautiful merchandise showcases. The bathrooms were nicer than your average American mall bathrooms…they were more like high-end department store bathrooms: marble appointments, cherry wood stall doors, turbo-charged hand blowers.

Granted, the mall is not completely finished yet. They are still constructing the second story, and the food court still looks like a concrete shell. That said, it has its two anchor stores up and running, along with, get this, a Sony Centre that rivals the one in Old Orchard Mall (for you Chicago/Evanstonians). Since Puma sponsors the Black Stars (Ghana's national soccer/football team), Accra Mall boasts a Puma store. It also has a handful of local and national clothing boutiques, a teacher/education store, a hair and nail salon, a Pottery Barn-like home store, and a mall optometrist.

It was as if, just in time for Christmas, we had found an oasis of American consumerism, a materialist Mecca, a slice of blue light special heaven.

"Have a FUN-BELIEVABLE Christmas!" and "Guaranteed Low Prices Guaranteed!" signs greeted us as we entered Game. Game really does feel like Target. It is about the same size of a normal target, with about 20 aisles and departments around the outside – electronics, home, sporting goods, office supplies, etc. Game doesn't seem to sell clothes, but everything else is very similar to your low cost superstores. This is kind of amazing for Ghana. Max Mart and Koala, the other major superstores in Accra are about a quarter the size of Game. Rather than 20 aisles plus separate departments, Max Mart and Koala have about 3-5 aisles for each of their two floors. This is a fundamentally new shopping experience for Ghanaians.

"No Way!" Erin exclaimed, "They have Kit-Kat bars here for half as much as Koala or Max Mart!" Chocolate is usually hard to find cheaply here in Ghana, despite cocoa being one of Ghana's top three exports. Last year, the market was flooded with Lindt 70% cacoa chocolate bars, which we could buy for $3.50. Now there is a lack of supply and they are going for $8.00 a piece at Koala and Max Mart. Kit-Kat bars, which you can buy for $1.50 at Koala, were being "regularly" sold for 70 cents, and on sale today for 50 cents. WooHoo! We piled confections high in our cart.

We roamed the store for a while and found the sporting goods section. Erin tried out an "ab roller," and I played around with a cricket bat, trying to figure out why it was flat on one side and beveled on the back side. We checked out the wine section, and found a bottle of Hardy's Chardonnay (which won our wine tasting a couple of years ago) for about $7. We hugged some pillows. We browsed.

We turned a corner and voila! Christmas Central. Two aisles devoted to Christmas decorations. Rather than Koala's limited stock of trees (small and stumpy or large and pricey), Game had about 10 artificial trees to choose from, with a variety of colors (evergreen and snow white) and sizes. The smallest tree was about the same height as the Koala Charlie Brown tree, and at $5 it was a quarter of the price. Ultimately, we found a tree for $35 that is as tall as I am and looks rather full. We grabbed some lights, and some red and gold ornaments that resemble our decorations from home, and walked out of Game less $65 but rich in chocolate and holiday cheer.

We also visited Shoprite, which does resemble an American supermarket. A box of Corn Flakes and other dry cereal often runs you about $10 at other local grocery stores, but at Shoprite you can get you flakes on for only $3.50 a box. They also had frozen pizzas, and tv dinners, conveniences which other stores in Accra don't offer (too bad we can't heat up a pizza without an oven). As we browsed around Shoprite, I noticed how we and the other obrunis were the only folks with full shopping carts, and how the Ghanaians seemed to be walking around, cartless, taking it all in, but without really purchasing anything. It made me wonder about the longevity of the Accra Mall. While there were plenty of shoppers, there wasn't much buying. The boutiques seemed completely empty (except for the salon). Ghanaians haven't been socialized into mall shopping, and it seemed that for them, the mall was merely a spectacle of consumerism (a tourist destination), and a marker of class, rather than a viable shopping option. Without disposable income, a culture of consumerism, or the practice of filling a shopping cart, I wonder if this beautiful, modern mall will survive.

On the one hand, I don't want to encourage rampant materialism in our Ghanaian friends. On the other hand, it felt really nice to "go to the mall" the day after Thanksgiving. As sad as that might sound, it felt like home. It felt like the beginning of the Holidays.

Me and My Day Planner

I have a green day planner and a black moleskin notebook and they go with me everywhere. The moleskin is where I take interview notes, because audio recording makes most people uncomfortable here, and because direct quotes are not as important at this stage as the essence of the information conveyed. In the front of that notebook I have my cell phone number and an exorbitant reward for anyone who finds it (lost or stolen) and returns it to me…no questions asked.

I have a planner, which is a good thing, because I would be hopeless managing my schedule here without it. Every day contains notations about who I am interviewing where and when, plus usually some indication of the directions to get there because there is no such thing as a rationalized address. The day usually also includes indications of who I am supposed to call to set up an interview, as well as who referenced me to that person. Days often also include details that I want to look up and download from the internet: a report from the Ministry of Finance’s webpage, a paper from The Bank of Ghana, the survey summary from the Association of Ghanaian Industries, the CV for a particular academic who does related work and download articles. That sort of thing.

This planner is the el-cheapo-est one that they had at Target on the day that I decided I needed a planner. I think it was $2.50. But organizationally it is fabulous. I love the way it is laid out, so it has always fit the bill. It is laid out by week, and the boxes for the days are beg enough to write in. it has a section in the back for recording to-do lists. Anyone who has seen me make lists knows how this warms my little heart. But recently I noticed a feature I had previously overlooked: each week has some motivational quote at the top.

Some are kind of touchy feely: “Our feelings are our most genuine paths to knowledge” –Audre Lorde. Or overly obvious and cliché: “I believe that life is a learning experience” –Gail Devers. But the last few weeks, when I have been out getting interviews have been more a kick in the butt towards action:
“You must do the thing you think you cannot do.” –Eleanor Roosevelt
“Distance is nothing; it is only the first step that is difficult.” –Marie Anne Du Deffand
“To tend, unfailingly, unflinchingly, towards a goal, is the secret of success.” –Anna Pavlova

This has been strangely useful, because my dissertation involves at least two distinct phases, plus pheriphery informational interviews throughout. First I have to survey approximately 20-30 local experts on their perceptions of bureaucratic quality in the Ghanaian government. Then I use that information to select cases. This means I have to start over again and again. There is no getting in with one group and then comfortably returning to that group day after day. There is just getting up the guts to call another person who has not yet heard of you and sell the project and convince them to give me time. Then when I have cases picked out, there is once again the starting of asking permission to study that group from several supervisors in the hierarchy. The work is fascinating and engaging, but all the starting can sometimes be trying. Especially when it is 95 degrees outside and I am already caked in alternating layers of sweat, dust and pollution.

I’ll grant that some of the quotes are pretty decent, and the part of me that did public speaking in high school still has affection for a rousing quotation from some long dead source of wisdom. Ultimately thought, there is something motivational, but it is not so much from the quotes themselves: rather it is the hovering threat that my potential for inaction might be shamed by some hinky quotation in some cheap day planner.

Bootleg this

Bootleg media is funny. We were recently watching the first season of Ugly Betty. The main menu for the disc features a photo of the entire cast with the large title “Ungly Betty.” Really? Unlike the legions of lawyers interested in the copyright standards, I have found myself highly amused by the copywrite standards of some of these bootlegs being sold on the street.

Recently my fascination with bootleg print copy has led me to the following query: Can words make you feel drunk? And I mean physically simulate that sense of staring forward while the room is spinning a bit and people are talking and just enough of it makes sense that you are sure you are hearing English and it is getting all f*ed up in your central processor, thanks to the recent tequila bath. To this end, we share with you the word-for-word plot summary on the back of a Chinese sponsored bootleg copy of the third season of Desperate Housewives, which of course we would never purchase, being law abiding citizens.

Wisteria lived in the street so a group of housewives: Possession of fourchildren as a child and a husband general Strongwoman Lena Te; always keep the situation of single mothers Susan; always spick-and-span appearance Britten; have to give up marriage and the cause of the derailment but before offering Jiaburuier. Their life seems perfect, but I do not know why always unruffled. Mary suicide story from the gunfire began. In which a shot after a series of seemingly impossible conspiracy and the murder took place in these seemingly ordinary housewife around. Do they cause, family, emotional what should we do?

I am drawn to this paragraph like the verbal equivalent of those damn dot pictures, where if you cross your eyes and weave around stupidly in front of it you are eventually supposed to be able to see a sailboat. I keep reading thinking I will somehow be able to discern the grammatical rules of Chinese by looking at the patterns, and that will somehow make the whole thing make sense.

But mostly, I just want to know what a Jiaburuier is. It appears to correspond to a Chinese character that looks like a capital J with a mustache. Those with theories should feel free to post them here.

John Legend Concert

This past weekend Terry and I were given VIP tickets to a John Legend concert. More accurately it was an “all day” music festival held in Independence Square, a large outdoor venue on the Ocean. The festival was supposed to have musical acts from 1 PM to 1 AM. Terry and I knew that the main acts wouldn’t come on until later in the night, so we ate dinner at home and headed out around 8 PM. As our taxi approached Independence Square we could see a big stage set up with lights, and a large crowd milling around outside. The event was coordinated by a group called “Creative Storm” and so a multitude of young men and women in black t-shirts with white writing were more or less effectively shepherding the crowd. We went through the constructed outer gate that prevented those without tickets from getting a good outside view.

The event was reasonably attended, particularly considering the odd marketing, but the crowd was dwarfed by the vast size of the venue. When we first arrived there was no live act on stage. They were piping reggae through the big speakers. We walked around the outer edge of the square, which was ringed with booths. Most booths sold some kind of food and drink or various rasta do-dads. I have never seen the likeness of Bob Marley fashioned onto so many trinkets. I couldn’t help but think the man himself probably would have been a little taken aback.

We wandered over to the VIP section. The VIP section was just off to the left of the stage and had seats and a canopy overhead. We went in and sat down to chat for a while. Eventually there was a spurt of activity, some mic checking. Then people came on stage to announce the next act, but this was essentially an almost endless chain of each person coming out to MC fanfare, and then simply hyping up the arrival of the next person. Something like this:

Person 1: You know you love her, she is your black queen of Africa, so all you rastas out there make some nnooooooiiiise for Black Coffee!

Rahhhhhh

Black Coffee: Yeah yeah. Yeah yeah. Hello beautiful people. You feel jah love? You feel jah love tonight? Then lets hear you get loud for MC Kofiiiiiiiiiii!

MC Kofi: Whas up? You having a good time tonight? Yeah, I know you are feeling the love. Can you feel the love? I want to hear your love. Because you loooooove Soul Delite!

Etc.

This went on for maybe 25 minutes. It got a little mind numbing after a while. Then at one point twenty-five guys in identical tshirts and baggy jeans all came on stage. We exchanged a look. Was this the act that all that announcing had lead up to? It worked something like this: 23 guys crowded together in the back and did a sort of uncoordinated thuggish bounce move, occasionally waving hands in the air. Two guys came forward with microphones. Recorded music started playing. Then every once in a while one of the guys would lean forward into the microphone and go:

UUUGH!

This amused me endlessly. I could barely contain myself. I looked over at Terry, snarled one side of my lip up for emphasis, and said in my best guttural voice: UUUNGH!

This side show comedy went on for about six minutes. Then one of the previously announced folks (was it Black Coffee? MC Kofi?) came on and said we should “give it up” for whoever that was. I clapped because heck, the Ungh! Talent show had amused me.

Having just sort of gotten the crowd fired up, a new set of people crowded on stage, including a middle aged white guy. Uh oh. This was the first sign of trouble. The folks on stage then spoke for 20 minutes about how this was a benefit concert (this was news to me) to benefit the people in Northern Ghana whose lives and farms had been devastated by recent floods. It probably hasn’t made international news or reached you all, but the floods were terrible for people in the North. They are already anticipating that it will cause lots of trouble down the road with food shortages.

I don’t know about you but I have always found extravagant benefit events troubling. I don’t want my money to consistently mediate the relationship between myself and my fellow human beings in need. Moreover, I find something offensive and distasteful about a lavish evening where some fraction of the proceeds, after event costs, will trickle down to those in need. But from a practical end I can also tell you that mixing a “rocking” musical concert with horrific details about the lives damaged by flooding is an impossible combination of “lets make some nooooise” and “oh my God this is so horrific and depressing.” It just doesn’t work as an awareness raising venue when half the folks in the crowd, furthermore, are rastas stoned out of their minds.

Terry was antsy. A friend of ours had come by and said that John Legend was going to be the last act of the night, meaning he wouldn’t be on until midnight. There was no way we could stay out that late because we would have to wake someone back home to let us in the gate. If we couldn’t stay for John Legend, he didn’t want to sit through any more “uhgn” charades. I persuaded him to stay for one more set.

And just then a bunch of guys came out on stage. Only unlike before, these guys started picking up a variety of instruments and holding them as though they had some training. Sure enough, Black Coffee came out. Short and sweet: “Here he is folks, five time Grammy winner, Mr. John Legend!” We didn’t even need to be instructed to make noise.

He was a wonderful charismatic showman. His songs are glorious and his voice sweet. At one point he brought a woman up on stage to dance with him and I thought she would probably die happy. I was sad to leave at the end. All in all a wonderful night.

And I still occasionally get to sneak up behind terry and go “UNGH!” for kicks.