THE CARIBBEAN RESTAURANT

On Wednesday morning I received an invitation that I was not going to decline. The invitation was to attend a buffet and games night at a new spot in Osu (an area of Accra) called The Caribbean Restaurant (which is an appropriate name as it is the only one in the city). The buffet of Caribbean food and the promise of a chance to play dominoes (something that I have not done since I left Toronto was alluring).

The day before I had been in the same area, which is a decent journey from Sakumono. I had gone to meet with Bella who I met through Layata. Bella and I had some lunch, went for a long walk to see her old neighbourhood, and then had some ice cream at Frankie’s on Oxford Street before heading home.

With the invitation I headed out to Osu. My first plan was to get my haircut at a spot that I found when I had first come to Accra a few months ago. Once I was finished with that, I still had a couple of hours left before the event was scheduled to begin. I took the opportunity to walk around Oxford Street, looking at the various stores and vendors. After making my rounds, I took of 30 minutes in an internet café. Just as I signed in some guy approached me asking where I am from and put out his fist to daps me saying, “respect”. I was not in the mood for dealing with the artificial friendliness of some tourist hustler, and it was awkward to have this guy that I don’t even know sitting there hang over my shoulder watching me check my email. I asked the guy if he worked in the café. I figure he took what I said as a closed door, as he got up and left.

After briefly checking my email, I decided I would go to the street level ice cream patio at Frankie’s and people watch.

It did not take very long for some people to approach me. I was sitting on a stool just watching people and it was clear that some people were also watching me. One guy came up to me with the most repetitive hustle line, “Hello, where are you from?”. He then asked me what my name was, and told me his name was John. Not that there are not John’s in Ghana, but I felt like he was lying.

I still had an hour before I would walk down the street to The Caribbean Restaurant, so I entertained the conversation. Not much later another guy came and sat beside me, grinning at me like we went way back. I spoke with this guy who said his name was John for awhile about why people always come up to foreigners with that same line “where are you from?” and that it almost always means that they want to hustle you or beg something from you. Eventually, he started telling me ‘his story’. His mother had just passed away, he lost his job, he was waiting for his friend from England who had not showed up and he needed tro-tro fare to get back home. Quelle surprise!

My intuition was telling me that he was lying, so I asked about the life that he is living and the situation that he is in. I was speaking with him about some scriptures, and he gave the impression that he was interested. He then attempted to counteract the message of empowerment with some statement that he said was in the Bible (which isn’t). When I caught him on that he stumbled with his words.

What he was asking was would convert to about 80 cents Canadian, and going against my intuition I decided to go against my intuition. As I gave him the 10,000 cedis, I told him about my intuition and that even he lied to me and tricked me, it’s God that he is accountable to. I gave him the benefit of the doubt.

He then left the Frankie’s patio and headed to sit with some other sitting in the shadows on a bench across the street.

The guy who had sit beside me with the overly familiar grin, then began to speak with me. He said a few things, just making small talk, before he asked me why I had insulted him back at the internet café. It was the same guy! I told him that I did not intend to insult, but him staring over my shoulder while I was logging into my email account was awkward. I really did want to know if he worked there, because I did not know why he was making my business his.

He seemed to understand, and then confirmed my suspicion that the guy was lying. Apparently, ‘John’ lived in the area and did not need a tro-tro. I felt upset with myself for not following my intuition. While thinking about that, this next guy asked me to go inside and buy some ice cream for us to eat. I looked at him, and asked ‘What?’. He replied, “I’m not begging you, we’re friends now”, and put out his fist for a dap. I just looked at him and told him that I was not buying any ice cream. It was really an absurd situation.

By that time, the Caribbean buffet was about to begin. I got up and headed toward the restaurant. On my way, however, I saw ‘John’ pestering a bewildered looking White lady and what seemed to be her two daughters. I approached and asked, “Hey, don’t you have a tro-tro to catch?”. Just as he began to manufacture a lie as a response, I told him, “Oh yeah, you live in Osu so you don’t need a tro-tro”. He tried to say something to challenge what I said, but I told him, “you don’t have to convince me of your lies, that’s between you and God”.

The exchange was just enough of a distraction to allow the lady and her daughters to slip away and up the stories of Frankie’s.

I then headed down the street and went to the buffet. When I got there, there wasn’t much happening. Kary, a co-worker from JHR, said that she would be on her way shortly. In the meantime, I began teaching one young woman working at the restaurant how to play dominoes.

When the buffet did come, it was pretty nice. There was rice and peas, fried plantain, fried fish, and stew chicken. They also were providing rum punch. I didn’t really get to play dominoes, but I ate well. Though Kary came, she was more occupied with helping the restaurant owners host the other guests. Instead of sitting alone, I approached a table with three ladies. Interestingly, I found out that they were visiting from New York.

One of them was part of what is called Moorish Science, which I found interesting. It is basically and Black Nationalist Islamic movement. Another one of the ladies was doing her Masters in Drama and play writing at Columbia. That was really interesting to me as I have been advised on a few occasions that Columbia would be ideal for my academic interests. The third lady have her Masters in Social Work, and was entertaining the idea of working for a few years in Ghana. My Grandmother gave me a book written by Maya Angelou called “All of God’s Children Need Traveling Shoes”, which is about her time in Ghana. I was reminded of Maya’s story by this third young lady. The latter two with both of Ghanaian parentage and were visiting for their Grandmother’s funeral. The other woman, was a friend and had accompanied them.

The conversation at the table got to be much more interesting as a man named Richard, born in Ghanaian and raised and schooled in the US, joined the us. Not much later, another American guy who was planning to settle in Ghana was also at the table. He was from Virginia and had that chubby warm persona that seems to be common in the southern states of the US.

I did not say much, but did a lot of listening. One moment though stood out to me. The woman that was studying at Columbia, Josee, mentioned her program, I told her that I was writing a play. She looked at me and asked, “Is it your first play?”. I told her, “yes”. Now that I think of it, it wasn’t my first. I had not thought of that then, but that is irrelevant. She then looked at me like a puppy and said, “Oh, bless your heart”.

I thought of that exchange quite a few times afterwards. I felt so underestimated by her. I think back at Maya Angelou’s story though, there is a part where she was inquiring about a writing job and was rudely insulted by the receptionist. She may not have written for that particular newspaper, but the Nobel and Pulitzier Prize committees, and the US President saw her skill as fitting of their recognition.

It’s interesting, maybe that’s how the guy at the internet café felt?

After a few hours, it was getting late, it was dark, and I had a bit of a distance to travel. That was my first time in Accra late at night alone taking a taxi. It was a good growth experience and I made it home safe and sound.