Expat life in Ghana

You eat with your fingers. Plastic bowls of water, a bit of soap, and small towels are available for the germ-conscious. Clearly this is not the year 2020.

Once upon a time, before the year 2020, in a land far away, I found myself trapped, stuck in a tiny space and desperate to escape, but . . .

Here she was, a lapsed Lutheran female in a smelly animal market trying to buy a sheep from a long-robed male Muslim trader. Oh, the things you learn!

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.

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?