Living in Africa

Cultural confusion: Beautiful Dutch girl gets complimented by sincere African man and disaster strikes.

Straight out if the movies: Four good-looking, rugged guys on camels with meters of cloth wrapped around their heads to protect against sand and sun — dusty, dirty and starving. Dutch and American, they show their true colors when looking for food.

I’m hoping nobody is going to get hurt by this reptile that is taking on gargantuan proportions in my imagination. I see all four poised over the sink hole with sticks raised. I’m staying out of the way, no stick handy. No one seems to expect me, the useless expat, to take part in this, and I love them for it.

I had planned to eat mopane worms tonight, but instead I’m facing a hamburger and fries. I am not amused. Having traveled thousands of miles across the African continent I have arrived in a country with the exotic and lyrical name of Zimbabwe, land of the fabled Shona chiefs. And now see me sit here in a restaurant called the Silver Spur.

Why is this man here, in Ghana, running a restaurant? Is he a refugee from the law in Italy? Running from an Italian wife? The mafia? All three?