EXPAT FOODIE: HAVING SOMETHING TO EAT GHANA STYLE

by missfootloose on May 1, 2009 · 17 comments

in expat, Expat foodie, Expat life, Ghana

When living the expat life in exotic places, one of my favorite things to do is have lunch or dinner with friends in interesting local eateries, the sort of establishments you might not find in, say, Holland, or America. There are reasons for that, of course, but let’s not go into that. For years my husband and I lived in Accra, the capital of Ghana in West Africa, a town that abounds in fun places to eat. Just look at this photo by Koranteng Ofosu-Amaah and you know what I mean. So here’s a tale of one of my evenings out with friends. As all expats know, when you live in foreign lands it’s best not to cling too diligently to the rules and manners your mama taught you.

GOING FOR CHOP

My man and I are on our way to join a few friends for dinner at the Blue Gate, a fish place somewhere in Osu, the happening neighborhood of Accra, Ghana. We’ve not eaten there before, but as always we are eager for a new dining experience.

We find the eating establishment in a dark, narrow street crowded with people, goats and food stalls illuminated by kerosene lamps. Outside the restaurant’s gates, along the road, is the enormous charcoal grill with a number of good-looking fish sizzling away, tended by several bored-looking girls. Well, they’re young; they’d rather be dancing.

Inside the gates is the open-air terrace restaurant. We find the gang, already there, drinking beer and sharing a huge fish, eating with their fingers, the proper way. There is no silverware, but plastic bowls with water, a bit of tired soap, and small towels are available for the germ-conscious. The table is covered with a plastic cloth in garish colors with a fitting design of beer bottles. The lighting consists of a single fluorescent tube. All tables are occupied and the crowd is laughing and happy. This pleases me. I like happy people.

We are three Ghanaians, three Americans, one Canadian, one Swede and one Dutch person (me), in case this is of interest to you.

More beer is delivered to the table. If we want fish, the waitress informs us, we must go to the grill outside and choose one. So we do, selecting a big sucker of a swimmer, its exact identity unknown to us. In the mean time, we are invited to partake of the one already on the table. Also on the table is a plate with banku, pasty-white lumps of boiled, fermented corn mash, their squashed shapes resembling tennis balls tortured by misfortune. Banku has a slightly sour flavor, and is, let us say, an acquired taste.

We pick away at the fish while we listen to the entertainment, a Ghanaian songstress with a cheap guitar. She’s a Rasta Sistah, says our friend Tara, who has recently seen her at a party. The Rasta Sistah has a Rasta hairdo, dread locks, wears jeans and a scarlet blouse with long sleeves. Her black purse dangles off her shoulder while she treats us to her music. Her pretty face sports laughing eyes and a big mouth full of beautiful white teeth. She sings with enthusiasm, vigor and no talent. Her thumb strums the guitar with force, in the key of C only. She’s unabashedly loud, belting out sixties’ tunes and reggae songs, taking occasional liberties with the lyrics. For the fun of it, we join in now and again. “Tell me you lo-o-ove me only…” we all wail and she rushes up to our table to give us the full benefit of her C chord.

We all agree the girl has no singing talent, (but then, neither do we), but we admire her profoundly for having the guts to demonstrate this so publicly.

Someone with more talent is lotor-matic who took the photo of the Perfect God Restaurant, another wonderful example of a Ghanaian eatery.

In the mean time our mystery fish arrives, head and tail intact, and we all dig in with our fingers and eat to the Rasta Sistah blaring Let’s send praise to the Lord and we will feel awlright, which is comforting to know when partaking of food in a place like this.

The fish, rest assured, is delicious–crispy on the outside and cooked just right. The hot sauce and the vegetables that accompany it are flavorful and we all enjoy, our fingers getting stickier and greasier, as they should.

What do we talk about, you ask? We discuss spiritualists, juju, witches, and other dark and mysterious affairs. This is West Africa, what do you expect?

Another dark and mysterious affair is the restroom. When at some point I inquire as to its location, some vague hand signals point me into a general direction. As I wander off, a waitress appears and, hoping for a more definitive answer, I ask her where the ‘toilet’ is.

“Come with me,” says the waitress, and I follow her swaying hips into a gloomy building and down a long, dark corridor. It’s a good thing she’s wearing a white blouse–I follow the glow. She turns left, opens a door, walks in and points

“Here,” she states confidently.

In the semi darkness, I see her standing right next to a toilet, indeed. I glance up and see a comatose light bulb on a wire dangling down into the middle of the small washroom. “What about the light?” I ask. It’s not one of my brighter moments, shall we say.

“It has spoiled,” she says.

“Okay, thank you. I’ll do without.” As if I have a choice. I should learn to carry a flashlight in my purse, along with my tissues, duct tape, Valium, stun gun. All right, I’m kidding. About the Valium.

The waitress disappears through the door. I close it, finding myself now enveloped in deep darkness, if not in deep silence. The voice of our irrepressible chanteuse penetrates even the bowels of this building, assuring me cheerily, for the second time this evening, that ev’ry little thing gonna be awlright. Let’s hope so. I feel for a key in the door, find one and turn it. The lock works, which is not something to be taken for granted.

I stand for a while, wondering how to proceed, until my eyes begin to adjust. The faintest bit of silvery moonlight is filtering in through a tiny window. After another minute or so, I see the barely perceptible contours of the white toilet taking shape in the darkness. Bingo, I am in business, be it carefully.

I can even find the flusher handle, and it works, it really does. Gingerly I trace my way back to the door, unlock it and move into the shadowy hall way, where I find a small sink, with running water, if no soap or towels.

You think this is bad? Clearly, you’ve led a sheltered life.

Back at the table, I find my friends looking over the bill, checking additions and making divisions. We have nourished our bodies with food and drink, our souls with song and laughter–all for the sum of three bucks a piece.

Ghana, what a wonderful country.

* * *

QUESTION: As an expat living in a foreign country, what local food do you, or did you, enjoy eating there?

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{ 16 comments… read them below or add one }

intlxpatr May 1, 2009 at 4:12 pm

LLLOOOLLL! Hey! Running water! Aren’t jean skirts for wiping your hands on after washing? It’s all good! Your meal sounds fabulous, fresh food, freshly prepared and great conversation . . . 🙂 You are leading a fabulous life.

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intlxpatr May 1, 2009 at 4:15 pm

Oops! We eat often in the souks, grilled meat or fish, appetizers made of fresh eggplant and garbanzo beans or parsley, and the most wonderful bread in the world.

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Miss Footloose May 1, 2009 at 8:14 pm

intixpatr, I love Middle Eastern food. Just received a big bag of sumac and another one of za’atar from Palestine to use in my own cooking — do you use them in Kuwait?

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GutsyWriter May 3, 2009 at 4:31 am

Once again a beautifully told story. I expected something weird to happen in the bathroom though. You built the tension up and I thought, “Oh my, what now.” The fish sounds delicious. I was wondering what kind of vegetable you had though?

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Miss Footloose May 3, 2009 at 2:14 pm

Hi Gutsy Writer,

Thanks for the compliment! I did and do love writing these stories. The vegetables were carrots, cabbage and tomatoes, found the world over, I think!

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The pale observer May 4, 2009 at 4:07 pm

Great write up! As a Canadian Accra resident I have been many times to Blue Gate – even with the gang you refer to!!! I always make sure to pee before I go there though….

Nothing beat a cold star and a plate of hot grilled tilapia with veggies and hot pepper – and no forks or knives of course!!!!

🙂

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Miss Footloose May 4, 2009 at 5:55 pm

Pale Observer, I had a hunch you’d been at the Blue Gate with the same gang! 😉

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Kajsa Hallberg Adu May 5, 2009 at 6:55 pm

YEah, isnt Ghana wonderful. Ill be sure to check out this space more often in the future. And your story has inspired me to tell what I once went through in search for a “washroom” in a Ghanaian restaurant…coming soon on my blog.

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LadyFi May 7, 2009 at 9:07 am

Love this portrait of eating out.. and what a great restaurant – yam with palava sauce… Love it!

In China I enjoyed eating spicy tofu. Here in Sweden, they do good food, but often with creamy sauces that I can’t eat… They do a wonderful Easter bun called a semla and delicious cinammon swirls too!

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Vanessa Rogers May 11, 2009 at 2:42 am

What a fun piece. I hate chicken feet. I hate how it looks when people eat it. And honestly, there is so little meat on it, I don’t why Koreans even bother!

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bettyl August 10, 2009 at 6:09 am

Wow. You are much more adventurous than I will ever be!

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Xander September 29, 2009 at 8:47 am

I’m so curious to get to Ghana– so far I’ve really been confined to Southern Africa, with a few forays into the East and North. The fish sounds awfully tasty…

Eating is definitely one of the chief reasons I travel, and one of the top things I enjoyed about living in Asia. They’re so passionate about good food in Thailand and Vietnam, that by eating where the locals ate, I almost never had a bad meal. Eating where the tourists ate, however, was not always as successful… -X

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Emefa October 8, 2009 at 3:33 am

I stumbled, fell into your blog and I can’t get up to leave!
Your writing is impeccable – and I love your stories about Ghana 🙂 If I find the strength to leave here tonight … I will be back, believe me I will 🙂

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Miss Footloose October 8, 2009 at 12:05 pm

@ Emefa, welcome! I am happy you enjoy my stories. I’ll be looking for your return 😉

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Anonymous November 5, 2009 at 10:04 pm

Ah, yes. West Africa, so of course discussions of juju, mystics and dark, titilating mysteries fo all sorts.

What else, after all, do people in this country of many millions discuss? Certainly not politics, sports, the arts that anyone else in the world discusses.

Please don’t let objectivity or general good sense hold you back from shooting forth impressive stereotypes.

Nigerian-American male

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Miss Footloose November 7, 2009 at 2:33 am

@ Anonymous, it is what it is. Our Ghanaian friend, a psychologist, started the discussion. Life everywhere has many parts.

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