Ghana comes to life early in the morning. I slept fitfully, as the pillows were hard and lumpy, and the linens smelled of goat. I smell of goat.
When I came out of my room, Serwa asked me to come look at the chicken she bought. It was alive and in a bag in the kitchen. She gave me a huge plate of fried plantains and vegetables for breakfast. I asked her to please give me smaller amounts. I don’t want to insult her, but in this heat, I cannot eat large plates full of spicy and heavy foods. I tried explaining to Serwa and Abeeku that when it is very hot, Americans tend to eat light.
Serwa stayed home to cook, and I went to the Pentecostal Church with Abeeku. All the women sat on the right and the men on the left, but Abeeku insisted that I sit with him, so that made me a bit uncomfortable. I was impressed that for this particular service, most of the talks were led by women. I got that they had recently returned from a women’s conference. There was a woman soloist with a beautiful, powerful voice. The prayers reminded me of what one would hear in a fundamentalist Christian church in the US. This was the first time I’ve heard speaking in tongues since I was an undergrad. Near the end, I had to go to the front of the church and introduce myself. As a confirmed agnostic, I find the religious atmosphere challenging. It is even more than one finds in the US bible belt.
Abeeku continues to tell me he must visit me in the US, and they’ve asked me if I can send several of netbooks to them from the States. I worry that the expectations of the people here are far beyond my capabilities.
When we returned to the house, I pulled out my computer to take some notes. Abeeku was quite interested. He asked me who taught me to use the computer, and I came to realize that he had never been on one, though he has bought and sold several. So I opened Word and showed him how to type his address.
We sat on the front porch in the afternoon, and Serwa came outside with Abeeku’s cousin Gideon carrying a large wooden bowl, a tall wooden pole, a bowl of water, and chopped plantain and cassava to make fu-fu, the staple carbohydrate of Ghanaians. You pound the vegetables and gradually add water until it looks like a great wad of pie crust mix. I had a hand at it and also brought out the camcorder, another gadget Abeeku saw as a new toy. I tactfully said I needed to save the space for my work.
Gideon is applying for university. He had about a 33 on his national exam. He wants to be a graphic designer. Apparently Abeeku is his guardian. Peter later told me that if you do worse than 24 you won’t get into a good Ghanaian university.
Serwa brought me a bowl with a large wad of fu-fu on the bottom covered with a spicy peanut soup and topped with a chicken leg. The soup was good, but the spice made me fight back sneezing. The fu-fu is pretty tasteless, but heavy, once again. More than I could eat. The chicken was good, but I was expected to eat it all – I mean bones and all. I told Serwa we don’t eat bones in the US, and she was happy to eat them for me.
Oh, I forgot to mention, I had to eat this meal completely with my right hand. I don’t mean a utensil in my right hand. I mean with my HAND. It was just one more interesting experience for this baby to the culture (me).
I got a slight mental break during the Ghana Angola football match 4-6 (Ghana won). As I watched, I was dripping sweat. I noticed the scent of chicken fat mixed with sweat hanging in the air. I suddenly felt exhausted.
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