Cheese Snobbery

Every day on the way to and from work I pass groups of uniformed school children. The Christian schools seem to have their kids in blue uniforms, while the Muslims are in green, girls all with hijabs to ensure their modesty. On the way back from work the other day I saw one of the young, maybe 6 or 7, Muslim girls on the way home with some friends. The girl was so preoccupied with her friends, and disheveled with her book bag and the whirl of bicycles, motorcycles and men with carts all around her that somehow she had managed to lose control of her uniform and was basically exposing most of her bare chest. I couldn’t help but laugh, because the hijab was still perfectly intact, keeping her hair out of sight and thus maintaining her modesty.

After work on Friday I tried hunting bats again, but was still unsuccessful. The woman that lives next door, and hosts the Dutch volunteer, Therese, came over and said, “I hear you enjoy the African dishes.” It seems that any time I am eating in public people are always surprised that I am eating the local food. Sometimes when I walk up to a food stall and ask what they have, they give me a funny look and say, “oh, no, we only have banku and t-zed.” I am left thinking, yeah, good, that’s what I came here for. I mean, what else would I be eating here? I am learning more and more though, that most westerners just really do not like the food here. The woman next door said, “you have done very well here. Therese does not take African dishes.” I was surprised and assumed she was exaggerating, but no, she doesn’t eat T-zed, fufu, kenkey, banku, or any of the lovely soups. I asked what she ate, and she shrugged,. “she has been here for four months, but still only eats spaghetti…and rice. I have had six volunteers live with me and only one of them has eaten African food.” I laughed thinking about how I had eaten bat the night before. I just couldn’t imagine spending that much time in a new country not learning to like the food. I didn’t like some of the dishes the first time I tried them, but I at least gave them second chances. I also believe that Europeans, having a better, and more defined, food culture than Americans have a natural attachment to some of their staples from back home. I thought that I missed cheese, but when told the Dutch girls this, they just laughed and said, “oh what? You miss that yellow cheddar cheese? Haha!” Admittedly, yeah, kinda, and I know it’s not the fancy artisan cheeses they are used to, and have a much stronger attachment to.

Word on the street (a text message from French girl Liz) was that there was some sort of a concert at the Picorna Hotel, and she told me to meet her at the Giddipass (lame, expensive, western restaurant that never has change) at 7:45, when they would be done eating. When I got there she was there with a traveling Dutch girl and two Canadian girls she knows that I had met last time I had been there. The Canadian girls were talking about how they secretly hoped to get really sick so they would have an excuse to leave early…and maybe just spend the last month in Holland instead. “We just really loved backpacking around Europe and we really want to go back! Especially Amsterdam!” I almost punched them in the face (not for liking Europe, but not appreciating how awesome it is here…and for coming to Africa and not realizing that it might…difficult. It’s not all giraffes, drums and khaki, kids), but instead suggested that we move on to the place with the entertainment. When we asked a girl outside the restaurant how to get there she insisted that it was far too early to go, so I suggested we go have a beer somewhere that was not the Giddipass. Liz and I agreed that the girls needed to go to the little “spot” with the drunken security guard and the bathroom with a dirt floor and a 4 foot wall. When we got there, we saw that there was a nearly identical spot across the street, except that they were bumping 2Pac, while the first place was basically silent. I herded the 4 girls (who inevitably attract a huge amount of attention that I am not used to) into the very cramped bar where about 7 guys were getting rowdy to “Changes”. They were pretty transfixed on the blessing from the lord that walked in at first, but I was able to hold all their attention by singing along all the words to the song, while the girls ordered. I was sitting next to the new Dutch girl, Joyce, and she was actually really cool, even though she admitted that after a month in the country she still didn’t like any of the local food. I forgave her because she has spent almost a year in Ethiopia, working with the missionaries of charity as a nurse, and loves the food there. She had also spent time volunteering in Namibia and South Africa. I kinda felt bad for her that she was leaving for Accra the next day with the two Canadian girls.

I really enjoyed this spot, as they were playing constant American rap songs that I knew the words to, even two Busta Rhymes songs! All the guys loved that, and they were really friendly. Though I realized quickly it was a really bad idea to go in there with 4 white girls. As I got preoccupied in my conversation with Joyce, the guys started to get exceptionally friendly with the other girls. As soon as I finished my beer, I told the girls to hurry with the beers they were splitting so we could get a move on. When we finally did, the group of guys all of a sudden seemed to get exponentially drunker, and when we left, the whole bar emptied onto the street. I literally had to grab one guys arm off of one of the Canadian girls and tell him to go back inside. He didn’t move, but he swayed alright, so I just kinda pushed him back inside. As we started walking two of the guys were still following us. I stopped, turned around and asked the guys, “where are you going?” One of them replied, “Picorna Hotel”, the same place we were headed. I wanted to yell, “which one of you actually TOLD these guys where we were going.” I was really annoyed, and I couldn’t really say that he couldn’t go. One of the guys, though, did go back to the bar pretty quickly. None of us knew how to get where we were going, and this guy said he would lead us. I didn’t trust him, so I kept a close eye on him and confirmed with passersby that we were still on the correct path to the Picorna. I realized I was back in the same mode I had been in India, when I always had to be extremely protective of the girls I was with. It is worth it to hang out with girls while traveling if they are fun, but I don’t know if this group of girls was worth my hassle.

When we arrived I checked my bike in (the girls were on foot) with security and we headed to the place to pay our entrance fee. This guy (whose name I never really learned) forced his way to the front of our group and spoke with the ticket seller. He turned to Joyce and said quietly, “it’s 12 Ghana Cedis for all of us,” about $10. Joyce handed over the 12 cedi and we all started to get out our money to pay Joyce. This guy started saying, “no no, put that away, put your money away, it’s taken care of, don’t worry.” I think he was trying to make us think that he had paid for us, when he clearly hadn’t. It was really bizarre.

As we entered, the girls found a spot to watch the show, and the guy asked if I wanted to take anything at the bar. I said I needed to go to the bathroom, so he grabbed me by the hand (a sign that he is trying to be my friend, and companion, but I just interpreted it has him still trying to get something from me) and walked me all the way to the bathroom, then waited for me and held my hand all the way back to the bar. He asked again, “will you take something before you sit down?”. Ok, yeah, I want a beer, so he walked me to the bar, and I asked for a Castle. “Just one?” they asked. “yeah, just one,” I said. I expected this guy to say that I wanted to but instead, he just said, “yeah, just one.” Oooh, clever man.

Just as I handed them a 5 Cedi bill, he quckly said, quietly, “oh, and one Star.”

I told them, “I am just getting one Castle,” as they started to grab a Star beer from the cooler.

“And one Star,” he repeated.

“Are you buying a Star?” I asked, then I turned to the bartender as he opened the Star, “I am only paying for one Castle.”

“Won’t you buy me a beer,” he asked. Normally I am pretty non-confrontational, but I was sick of this guy, especially after he conned Joyce for his entrance fee.

“Why should I buy you a beer?” I asked.

“Well…” he started to stammer, “I mean, I brought you here.”

“No, you followed us here. We paid for your entrance fee,” then I unleashed on him, “Is this what you see white people for? Do you think that if you see white people you can follow them around and just expect them to pay your way everywhere? No, it doesn’t work like that! This is not what I am here for!” I surprised myself, and the guy looked embarrassed. I saw the bartender put the bottlecap back on the beer and put it back on the cooler.

I walked back to where Liz and Joyce were standing in the back, while the two Canucks had sat in chairs in front of us. There was a big stage set up with traditionally dressed Ghanaian dancers and drummers performing in front of a banner that said something to the effect of “Ghana-Denmark Audio-Visual Collaboration.” I had a tough time getting into it at first because the guy was still with us, standing next to me, just kinda staring at me with this dejected look on his face. This guy, probably about our age, was not wealthy, but by African standards, he was far from poor, it was obvious by the clothes he wore. I wondered why he was still with us, and after maybe twenty minutes, he murmured to me, “please, I would just like some rice.” I was tempted, as it seemed it might make him leave, but I knew that wouldn’t be fair to the hundreds of other, poorer, people who I had refused money in about ten other countries. He kept asking, saying he was hungry, and I kept refusing. Eventually, he switched tactics.

“Please, I would just like some money for a taxi.”

“Why don’t you walk home?”

“I live very far, it is too far to walk, and I have school tomorrow.” I thought, if you have money for school, you have money for a taxi. Plus…isn’t tomorrow Saturday?

“It was not my choice for you to come here. Why is it my responsibility to get you home.”

“Do you know (such and such neighborhood)?”

“No.”

“Please, it is very far.”

“No. Sorry”

He eventually disappeared, but in the meantime, I was thinking, I wish I had money for a taxi to get from home to here and back. Instead, I have to ride my back in the dark, where someone might try to rob me again. But that was my choice, and I am not an opportunist relying on foreigners. I think the reason that I have not had to deal with this kind of thing very often here is that I am usually alone, or with one other foreigner or a Ghanaian, drawing much less attention.

The entertainment was good, but this guy had put me in a foul mood. There was a Danish rapper, who wasn’t bad, but it was kind of a ridiculous thing to see at first. Toward the end, though, he started beatboxing, and he was actually really good, and the crowd went nuts. There was a half-caste (mixed white/black) performer who was pretty good, but she seemed disappointed in the lack of energy from the crowd. At one point the people who had organized the event came on stage to talk about…something. It was two Ghanaian men and two Danish women, who were elaborately dressed in traditional African dress and jewelry. I laughed hysterically when Joyce said under her breath, “wear your own damn clothes.” A few minutes later she said, “Come on, it’s not like any African women get to wear clothes that nice, why should you get to?” I had to give her mad props for saying that.

It seemed that, while the audience was predominantly Ghanaian, the majority of foreigners in Tamale had made it here for this concert. Most of the foreigner girls were somehow dressed like they were going out to a club. I really hoped that they had not wasted space in their suitcases on their chunky belts impractical shoes. I was glad that the girls I was with were dressed relatively conservatively so as to attract just a bit less attention.

The Canadians and Joyce left around 11:00 as they had to get up early for their flight to Accra, but Liz, surprisingly wanted to stay, even though she had been feeling sick all week from some bad water she had drank. I was tired and wanted to go too, but I stuck it out to the end, through two repetitive reggae bands and plenty of white girls dancing in front of the seated audience with their new Ghanaian friends. We left at two, and I led Liz to a taxi, then had an incredibly fast and adrenaline-filled ride back home.

Saturday, Valentine’s Day, was originally supposed to be kind of an event. Awine and a couple of his friends and I were planning to chip in on a dog (about $2.50 each) and have a little feast. They say that it is good to eat dog because it will chase away bad spirits. This is because dogs can see well at night, which has given them the reputation of being fearless against the evil spirits that lurk after dark. Unfortunately, though, somebody bought the dog they were planning to get, so we just ate rice balls and soup instead. I had tried hunting bat again, and on my first shot, I nailed one right in the head. All of the bats around him flew away, but the one I hit stayed put, and did not fall. It’s wings were half-way extended, and I am pretty sure I killed it right then and there. I tried for a while to hit it again, but the rubber on the sling-shot started to tear. So now I think we have a dead, rotting bat in the tree. I suck at this game.

Liz came over to join us for dinner (under the condition that “there’s no bats nor dogs nor rats nor frogs:, even though she said she had eaten dog in Korea) and afterward we headed to the much anticipated “entertainment” at the Stadium that night. The three of us (I don’t know what ever happened to Awine’s friends that were planning to come) took a taxi in to town and met up with Awine’s girlfriend and then took a taxi to the stadium. We were all under the impression that it would be a concert of some sort, but when we got there around 9:00 and paid our exorbitant $4 cover, the main part of the stadium was dark, and the “entertainment” was in a space within the stadium. We were probably among the first 20 people to arrive, and it seemed that all that was happening was a DJ and a deserted dance floor. We decided to go to a bar first, since there was not one in the stadium.

On the way to a nearby bar somebody came up from behind me and grabbed me around the waist. Admittedly I am still a bit jumpy and it freaked me out, until I realized it was a kid that I had met outside a soccer game a few weeks before. He laughed at me, and I was a bit embarrassed. He followed us all the way to the bar, which I didn’t mind, because he was a friendly guy who didn’t expect anything from us except for some attention. We spent about two hours at the bar. Liz and I each nursed one beer, while Awine just had some juice and his girlfriend guzzled down two beers. I was sure he enjoyed that.

When we got back to the stadium there was probably a hundred people just hanging around the entrance. Some of them were selling stuff, others socializing, and quite a few kids doing who knows what. Inside, the dance floor was now packed, but Awine did not seem in the mood to dance and neither was Liz. It all turned out to be kind of boring. Awine’s girlfriend was drunk, and he seemed annoyed with that. We stayed there for about an hour and a half, and then took a taxi back in to town, going our separate ways. I was glad, though, that I did not have to ride my bike back home. At one point Awine’s girlfriend fell onto a gate in front of a home and knocked it open as she hit the ground. I wanted to laugh, but judging by the look on Awine’s face I knew it would be a bad idea.