Accra, July 24, Part Two

Day Twenty-seven, continued

After returning home from Koforidua, I found myself back at the Osu Night Market—more specifically, back at Julie’s Spot, the drinking hole of my last visit. The Tufts folks—Nick, Kim, and Andy (plus Andy’s cousin, Mike)—had already beaten me to the punch and were two-ish drinks in when I arrived. What’s the best way to catch up? Nick thought a 20 pesewa shot of akpetshie was a good start ☺

We sat around for another hour or so, yammering about the joys of massages (we had noticed a massage parlor being advertised above Julie’s Spot) and arguing over the usage of the phrase “all y’all” (Mike from Minnesota being its biggest proponent). After another drink, around 9pm at this point, the stomach growling was audible so we decided to leave Julie’s Spot in search of some food. We walked less than 20 yards, when we came upon the lady that served Anthony Bourdain in his quest for the best Night Market food. Apparently this “auntie” had gained quite a reputation since the airing of his show, so she was within her full right to overcharge us for our feast that night. And by “overcharge,” I mean that she fed us until we were disgustingly bloated for about 7 US dollars per person.

We sat at a short picnic table and she brought us pork, red snapper, tilapia, and banku until we couldn’t handle it any more. The pork was my favorite for three reasons. One, there’s actually a paucity of pork in Ghanaian cuisine and I hadn’t had any in a while. Two, this stuff was covered in fat and skin…and although this neck is only red in the event of sunburn, I actually LOVED the flavoring that was added by the fatback and pork rind. Three, the spices she used were unbelievable. It was the South’s best tomato-based barbeque sauce mixed with Ghanaian chili powder. Aah! And it was served in a “cup” made out of newspaper ☺ What’s not to like?

I also had my first run-in with public urinals at the Night Market. Eeeehhhh. The small price I pay for drinking beer. Were it not for Kim’s addition of a little toilet paper (which she pulled out of her wallet like a public-urinal-professional), I would’ve been screwed. It was dark outside, and given the (lack of) cleanliness of the urinal, I actually think that was a good thing. What was probably inside would still be haunting me now had I truly seen it. Not to go into much more detail, but I do need to explain the women’s urinal briefly. It was a small “room” in the middle of the city. Roofless, but with four walls made out of concrete and stucco. When you go inside and drop trow, you are rarely alone. The room is about 10’ x 10’, so there’s plenty of room for company. Yeah. Just what I love…company…as I pee on the ground and look up at the stars praying for it all to end soon.

BUT, the trauma of the public urinal could not dampen the evening plans in store for us. Andy had already decided that we were going to go back to campus and climb “the tower.” We found a cabbie asleep in his car around the corner from the Night Market and woke him up with the promise of a healthy sum of money (relatively speaking) if he was interested in helping us pull off our feat. The tower is difficult to explain, mostly because I’m unsure of its purpose. I can’t tell if it was once a clock tower or a bell tower or a lookout tower. It’s white with red roof tiles (as are all buildings on campus), and it overlooks the home of the University’s Vice Chancellor. This would be a non-issue if it weren’t for the interesting fact that the new Vice Chancellor of the University of Ghana is none other than Kofi Annan. Andy paid the guard ten cedis (maybe a few cigarettes, too?) ☺ and we were through the locked gates, scampering across the courtyard that surrounds the tower.

For the second time tonight (number one being my walk to the public urinal), I wished I had brought my flashlight on this evening adventure. We climbed for what felt like ten hours…in all reality it was less than ten minutes and probably 80 stairs at the most. Everyone else had little flashlights built into the base of their cell phones and I didn’t. So jealous! From the top, we could see Greater Accra for miles in every direction. I looked straight down into the windows of the heavily guarded Vice Chancellor’s home (and I learned that Kofi’s not living there right now). We stayed up there for at least 30 minutes, walking around all four sides of the open balcony at the top. In one direction I could see all the evening lights of the burgeoning city of Accra and in the opposite direction, I could see the stillness and darkness of the foothills approaching the Volta Region. In some strange way, that view from “the tower” on campus sums up Ghana—this strange mixture of opulence and poverty that exists everywhere yet seems most noticeable in a developing country.

The Tufts folks were already home, but I was about a 5-minute ride from my hostel, so I jumped back in the taxi (the same one that signed on for our evening adventure in Osu). I rode through the tree-lined drives of campus with the windows rolled down, Dixie Chicks blaring on the radio and decided to sing the driver a few bars to let him know where I was from.