Chick in a Bucket

One of the things to which we've all had to adjust is the sporadic, or in some cases, the entire absence, of basic services such as electricity, water, sewage disposal and regular garbage pick ups.

Since August of 2006, residents have suffered with the Ghana government imposed "load shedding" program, whereby the electricity is switched off for 12 hours as a time, every other day. If you're lucky, as we are, you use a standby generator to, well, stand by. Ours is small, but plenty loud, with a decibel level not unlike three lawn mowers running simultaneously. And it's plenty expensive to run: it costs about $20 for 12 hours worth of gas. If we ran our generator each and every time the lights were off, we'd be spending on average $300 a month. Plus whatever we have to pay the Ghana Electric Company for their, ahem, kindness, which amounts to about $35 a month.

So, what we do, to save money, our sanity and our hearing (did I mention how LOUD the generator is?), we try to leave the house during day time lights off, so that during the hottest part of the day, we're out doing something else, like hitting the beach or playing football, it doesn't matter what, just something. When we get home we've (hopefully) only got an hour or so to wait for the lights to come back on. Basically, the money we'd have spent on gas for the generator goes to Star Beer for me and Sly and sodas for the kidlets.

When it comes to night time lights off, though, I can't live without A/C, or at the very very least, a ceiling fan. I know what you're thinking -- what a WUSS. Yes, I am.

There are two choices, as I see it, and neither of them involves me melting in a puddle of sweat. Either the generator gets filled, or we sleep somewhere where there IS electricity. Of late, that destination has been my brother-in-law's house in the exclusive area of East Legon, a suburb of Accra. It's a big lovely house, but it's lonely. It needs us. And (BONUS), they have lights off on a schedule exactly opposite us! If we're "lights off" on Sunday night, their house is "lights off" Sunday day. Works great and we can almost totally avoid "lights off" if we plan it right.

And there's even a well on the property, so we don't have to rely on the Ghana Water Company. I mean, the mess with our electricity is because our dam is too low. Helloooo! It's only a matter of time, the way I see it . So the well is, well, swell. The water just comes right up out of the ground. All the water you can ever need. There's only one "minor problem" -- the guest bathroom has no shower curtain.

I really hate bucket baths... I could never be an Amish (all you Witness fans will know what I'm referring to). I like, no, I need the water to come down on me all at once, in steady strong rivulets (oh, and hot water would be a big plus!). I want want Joan Crawford had (and all you Mommy Dearest fans will know what I'm referring to). Some day soon, I will have a shower like that.

But, when a bucket is all you've got, you deal with it, right? Right. Now, what I see as a burden, someone else sees as a blessing. A picture is worth a thousand words.



Oh, that "minor problem" I mentioned... well, I can fix that 1-2-3. The real question is, "Should I?" I guess not. Just another sacrifice a parent has to make for the sake of their kids happiness. Now, when do I get my stained glass window?

No More Crabs

Well, this sorry sight, a tiny bowl of crab legs, is the last legacy of our latest road trip, to the village of Atiav; Atiavi is a small fishing villages in the Volta Region, and about a 2 hour drive from my home in Tema. Our good friend, Herbie, is from Atiavi, but he is an old-timer from NYC, as well, with a love of fish and fowl of all kind.

Years ago, when we lived in the Washington, DC suburb of Hyattsville, Maryland, our summer was never really over until Herbie came for a visit from the Big Apple, and we went down to the Potomac fishmerman's wharf and bought a bushel of blue claw crabs.

In Ghana, we've enjoyed all sorts of gifts that the ocean or rivers have deigned to share with us: tilapia, cassava fish, red fish, river perch, ocean perch, octopus, you name it. But one thing missing, has been the crabs we came to love in the States.

Then, an amazing thing happened: One day, Herbie happened to mention that in his village, it was the time when crabs were most abundant. Apparently, the seasons alternate, either the crabs thrive (eating baby tilapia) or the tilapia thrive (eating baby crabs). He told Sly and me that we were in the middle of the crab season! well, how could I possibly pass up even the remote chance to enjoy these luscious crustaceans? Herbie immediately picked up his handy dandy cell phone (thank God, Alexander Graham Bell and Nokia for this wonderful little invention!) and we were assured that on the day of our choice, we'd have two baskets of luscious crabs. I am so ready!

So... Road Trip! Tuesday morning, we pick up Herbie, since he's the middle man. We've got two plastic laundry baskets in the back, a couple of Hefty-like trash bags and a set of cooking tongs in my pocketbook. We are ready!

The road for most of the trip is great, as it's been fixed up and has now very few potholes. We make a single pit stop just a bit east of Sogakope, to eat at a local chop bar. Herbie has the usual: light soup, fish and fufu. The kids and I snack on fried fish and kenkey. (Oh, have I mentioned that is about 9:00 am?) Naturally, I attract some attention... I can imagine the conversation among the children who came to watch us eat, "Look! There's an obroni eating kenkey and shitor!"

Food finished, destination Atiavi. At about 10:30 we reach the village. After a short wait, a fish monger comes with our basket of crabs and brings them to the outside porch. Beautiful angry crabs, all with their claws up and in defensive posture. Usually, the claws are removed as soon as they're caught... too much of a pain (literally and figuratively) to deal with. Fortunately, though, Herbie mentioned this to me, and I requested they not be amputated. I can see from where I'm sitting in the other room that they're huge! They start transferring them to our laundry basket and I send Alex out with the tongs. I am so excited! Price = 100,000 cedis or about $11.00.

Another fish monger comes with her crabs, claws removed, since she wasn't "aware" as they like to say. Okay, she's seen me. Crap. Obroni tax. Price has just been jacked up. This basket full, sans claws, is 110,000 cedis or about $12.25.

We're ready to hit the road while the crabs are still alive. Last, but not least: Sly and I bring out a large bag of Alexandra's clothes and shoes that she has outgrown. One of Herbie's good friends was killed in a car accident two years ago, leaving behind a young wife and a baby girl. Alex's hand-me-downs help keep her in clothes, and most likely can be found worn on most of the little girls in the village. In the old days, I'd have sold these on e-Bay and fetched a pretty penny for them. This is worth so much more.

When we get back to Tema, as we drop Herbie off to go back to his farm, we hand him out a dozen crabs. Once home, we start the process of sorting and cooking the crabs. Sly likes the female, I like the males, the kids like the claws. Once we've finished sorting and counting, the final tally is 120 crabs.

Since that day about 3 weeks ago, Sly has made several large pots of crab soup, I've made about 3 dozen crab cakes, and 2 great big bowls of crab salad, and the kids have picked through about 100 claws. It's been fun, but we're down to the dregs now, and no one is that anxious to suck out the tiny bit of meat left in these little legs, so our watchdog, Memphis, will enjoy what's left, in that bowl in the picture.

Cost: about $23 for crabs, $22 for gas, $5 for food and drinks enroute, a mere total of $50. A bushel of crabs from Maryland is about $185. And we came away from Atiavi with much much more than just crabs.

What a trip.

Light Soup, Fufu and Diet Coke... It don't get much better than this

Living in Ghana can take a great deal of adjustment for an obroni. I know that for some, the main challenge is getting used to the lack of fast food restaurants like McDonalds, Taco Bell and (my New Jersey favorite) White Castle. In Ghana, you've got your choice of Papaye (chicken), Southern Fried Chicken (chicken), Chicken Inn (chicken) and Galitos (chicken) with a Pizza Inn (pizza) for a change of pace.

For other foreigners, the difficulty lies in the lack of one stop supermarket type shopping for meat, vegetables, milk, dairy, frozen food, canned goods, bread, etc., here you go to a green grocer for your vegetables, a butcher for your meat (cow meat or goat meat, and they'll cut the meat off whatever part of the carcass you point to), a cold store for your frozen foods. If you're lucky (and rich), you can buy at MaxMart, which has a little bit of everything, though you pay through the nose for it. For someone pinching pesawas, MaxMart is out of their league.

For still others, the issue was learning to enjoy the local foods. Now, my husband is Ghanaian, so as a family, we're used to the things we see boiling up in a pot on the stove. Funny, true story: Many years ago, when my husband lived in NYC at 3333 Broadway, his Ghanaian roommate invited an American lady friend home to dinner. That day, Wisdom was making a typical Ghanaian meal, a kind of very spicy soup with meat. Now, this lady friend happened to wander into the kitchen while Wisdom went to get something from the bedroom, and she remarked aloud to him how nice the soup smelled (and light soup does smell very good). So, she went over to the stove, opened the lid of the pot, and saw a rich tomato broth bubbling away. Mmmmm. She went to the drawer, grabbed a spoon to dip in and taste, and just as she did that, the goat head, teeth and all, bubbled up to the surface. Eeeeeekkkkkk! By the time Wisdom finished what he was doing, his lady friend was gone. Note to Ghanaians reading this: When inviting American friends over for light soup with goat meat, remember this story.

Anyway, I digress. Ghanaians believe in spicy food. Sorry, and with all due respect, Spanish, Indian, Thai, Chinese, got nothing on the "heat" that emanates from Ghanaian food. The logic is the hotter the food, the more you sweat, the more you sweat, the greater the evaporation on your body and the more you cool down. Internal air conditioning. Works for them. Not for me. Most everything that a Ghanaian eats is hot, and the peppers that they add to their soups is not for the faint of heart. Yes, we've got green peppers and red peppers and ordinary jalapenos, which are more likely going to go into my food. But the ones that really get the blood flowing is the scotch bonnet or the even more incendiary habaneros. How hot, you ask? Click the link to get an idea.

http://www.ushotstuff.com/Heat.Scale.htm

Oh, another aside if you don't mind, one of the forms of punishment (or torture, in my opinion), is the "peppering" of the eyes. It is still done here, though mostly in remote villages and typically by older people who believe in the discipline it invokes. It would certainly make me think twice about being naughty.

Anyway, light soup. I made some a few weeks ago for my husband. Sly had to bring the car to the mechanic, and it's not like you drop your keys in a night box and wait for a phone call saying the car's ready. Here, to avoid any potential problems, i.e, missing hub caps, fire extinguisher, hazard triangles, exchanged tires, etc., you wait with the car. Your physical presence also acts as a deterrent from your back seat becoming a shady comfortable bed during the mechanics' noon time siesta. So, Sly's waiting for the car, and I know he's going to be hungry when he comes home, cause there's no chop bar where he is.

There on the counter, beginning to soften a bit too much, is a big bowl of tomatoes bought at the market the other day. This is where Betty Crocker leaps into action. We've got the tomatoes, we've got hot peppers (naturally, no self-respecting Ghanaian family would be caught dead without them), we've got onions and ginger. In the freezer is some tilapia that Sly smoked and some okro (okra for you Americans) from our own plants out back. For spices, I've got ground red pepper, ground dried smoked shrimp, and sea salt from the village of Denu, which happens to be where my mother-in-law is from (the salt is so beautiful and white, you want to lick it off your palm... I know, I'm weird, but take a look at it, and imagine how nice it would be edged on a margherita glass!).


All the makings of a wonderful (I hope) soup. Put it all together, light soup with smoked fish. (Note, this picture is not mine, courtesy of Ghanaweb... had it been mine, that would have been Diet Coke!)




Sly said it was great, and loved being able to tell his friends that "Babs made it!" Of course, the proper accompaniment to this meal, as every Ghanaian knows, is fufu. I don't do fufu. I do eat fufu, I just don't make it. Fufu is not something you whip up on the stove in a kitchen. It is actually a two person job, and unless you're a professional, it can be dangerous. Only kidding. Well, a little. The fufu pounder risks aching shoulders and massive blisters on the palms from wielding the over-sized pounding stick (just ask my friend, Felicia, who is Ghanaian born but lived in relative splendor in NYC over the past decade) . The fufu turner risks burned (the cassava and plantain having just come from a pot of boiling water) and smashed (it's a matter of timing) fingers. Done properly, it is a wonderful soft smooth mass that goes down easily.

I found a video blog on fufu preparation, so if you're interested in the "real" way to make it, please click on the link. And no, not me in the picture at the end (I don't wear skirts).

http://youtube.com/watch?v=slnR67C_TAY

So, what did I miss most? Diet Coke. Those of you who know me from way back when, know that I was addicted to diet soda. I used to buy it weekly by the case, 3 for $10 from Giant, and would go through at least a 6 pack a day. Coming to Ghana, well, no Diet Coke. Regular Coke, Sprite, Fanta, Pepsi, Mirinda, even Crush. Once in a great while, you can find Coca Cola Light in a can, imported from the UK or the Middle East, for about $1 a can and it just didn't taste the same. Even so, when I felt the need this was salvation, and for me a great splurge, cause I'm really a bit tight fisted.

Then, about 2 weeks ago, the local Coca Cola bottler introduced, drum roll please, Coca Cola Light! Locally made and bottled, in plastic or glass. And get this, it tastes like TaB! Yeah! Those of you who are wondering, "What the hell is TaB?" Well, just the first (and best) diet soda invented! Though overshadowed by Diet Coke, it's still being produced in the US, but you've got to search for it. Yesterday, my wonderful husband bought me my very own crate of Coca Cola Light. Yippeee!!!!!

In my world, Ghana is now complete.

Independence Day - Our Day

Yesterday, America celebrated it's 231st Independence Day, and while I wasn't physically there to enjoy the barbecues, parades and fireworks, in my heart, I was there, and that will have to be good enough. God Bless America, land that I love.

Today, right here in Ghana, it is also "Independence Day," of a very different sort. You see, it is "Our Day," or the official last day of school. So, with very little coaxing, cajoling, coercing, shaking or screaming (from me), and no moaning, crying or whining (from them), our morning routine began. By 6:00 a.m. they were dressed and ready, only waiting for their taxi driver to collect them. Of course, he doesn't normally come until just around 6:40, and so by 6:20 Alex was nearly beside herself with anxiety and begging Daddy to "call brother Ekow and ask him where he is!"

"Our Day" is very special, you see, and any Ghanaian can tell you, that this is the most important day in a child's school year. They get to do nothing, and they get to wear mufti not doing it! In other words, NO UNIFORMS! Now, in the U.S., the uniforms at school issue is a very hot, highly debated topic. Not here. With very little exception, all school age children in Ghana wear uniforms. In public schools, it's standard yellow and brown; private schools can express themselves as they see fit, some schools even have the school name and symbol imprinted on the fabric itself. Regardless of how nice and neat and polished the kids look, THEY ALL HATE IT!!

So, today, my brood gets to wear their civvies. Alex looks her little cute self as usual, capri styled jeans with floral embroidery, a striped cloth tie belt and a floral button down shirt, hair pulled back in a pony. The boys, especially 12 year old Sean, have gone for the modified gangsta look. No doubt, it will be un-modified some time today, when they are not in direct sight of Mommy, Daddy or the school Head Master. The sneakers will be un-tied, the belt will be un-cinched, the tee shirt will be un-tucked; everything will hang loose. If Michael had a fake gold tooth, he'd have slipped that on, too.

After what to wear, the next big issue is money. Alex suggested yesterday that ¢200,000 (or about $22) would be enough. I think not. Sean has been pestering me about this for ages now, and we've finally negotiated it down to ¢45,000 for him (about $4.75) and ¢35,000 ($3.50) each for Mike and Alex. More than enough, I think.

This money will be thrown away. Yes, thrown away. No doubt, Alex and Mike will have lost some of it; as always, it somehow just "slips through their fingers." Mike wore pants with 7 pockets, and I made him put 5,000 cedis in each one in an effort to staunch the flow. What remains, he will waste on that rip-off kebab and sausage seller who intersperses the tiny pieces of meat and sausage slices with big bits of onions (and do you know ANY kid who eats onion willingly?!), and then sells them to these poor suckers, I mean naive children, for ¢5,000 each! Mike would almost kill for these, and one "Our Day" actually bought 8 of them. Anyone for Pepto Bismal?

Now, "Our Day" actually happens 3 times a year; once before the Christmas Break ("Our Day" number 2 in celebration value) and then again before Easter (a "crappy" Our Day according to my kids, since they have to wear their uniforms). But this "Our Day" is the Big One. And usually, there are tons of things to do: watch videos, play Nintendo, be a goalkeeper in the football match, jump around in the bubble bouncer, eat kebab, popcorn, cotton candy. All those things that can make a mother's hair turn gray (or stomach turn, depending).

So, off the kids went today, with high hopes and filled pockets (literally and figuratively). What happened once they left (i.e. their happiness quotient) was based on a number of factors, not the least of which was weather, which is very unpredictable in July, and how much money they have in comparison to their friends.

Afternoon editing (4:07 pm GMT)

Well, here's the synopsis of the day:

Sean: It sucked, this was the worst "Our Day" ever. It rained all day and they didn't let us do anything, but check out this cool necklace I bought (ummm, they're dog tags).

Michael: It wasn't the worst "Our Day." Even though I had a lot of money, it seemed it went fast (Mom's Note: DUH). Mawuli and Shaiwu had more money than me. I only ate one kebab.

Alexandra: ZZZZZ. She fell asleep within moments of walking through the door.

The bottom line is, even though the day may have "sucked," it's still the Last Day of School. First term re-opens September 11th. Pray for me.