For Bread Alone

For my birthday last year, recognizing my preoccupation with all things related to my stomach, my ever-so-thoughtful roommate Jenny gave me a book about the joys of cooking and eating. Featuring essays from a selection of well-known authors about why they enjoyed eating well, it was entitled "Not for Bread Alone."

I'm afraid, however, that it was indeed for bread alone that I made my first trip outside of Ghana. With the excuse of having a visitor from the States, my fellow Fulbrighter Jen, her cousin and I hopped on the overnight bus to Togo - or, more properly, the Ghanaian border town of Aflao, where we went through the people-chute that is customs and arrived excitedly on the other side of the big "Akwaaba!" sign to find that Togo looked disappointingly similar to Ghana.*

Except for one key difference. Instead of the white, fluffy tasteless foam that Ghanaian bread-sellers carry around on their heads and offer to slather with questionable margarine, Togolese porters were instead carrying basins of crusty loaves paired with avocado, onion, and tomatoes. The first thing I did upon arrival was to buy a loaf. (The second thing was to buy another loaf.)

Don't get me wrong: Ghanaian bread is good for some very particular things, such as stopping a runny tummy or serving as an impromptu pillow when staying at a cheap guesthouse. But the French did the Togolese a service (amongst many disservices, clearly) when they introduced French-style bread. The culinary differences don't stop there: in response to Ghana's neighborhood chop bars, the Togolese offer the maquis, which line the wide boulevards of central Lome. We chose to eat lunch at one, where I enjoyed another loaf of French bread and a street-side salad with beets and carrots - another novelty for us Ghana residents.

Despite my tone so far, however - and in contrast to many Obruni visitors - I don't dislike Ghanaian food. In fact, it's refreshing to eat in Ghana, where you can often see the tree where your plantains originated and where the links between farm and plate (or plastic bag) are still clearly visible. Sometimes these connections are less appetizing than you would like (do you know where your chicken has been?) but you can be sure that nearly everything you consume will be locally-sourced and relatively fresh, or as fresh as it can be in a tropical climate with little refrigeration. (The soups are so thoroughly boiled that they kill off any bacteria anyway.)

When "locally raised" loses its appeal: in the gutter in front of our house

Since I've been meaning to write a post on Ghanaian food, I thought I'd introduce some of my favorites. There are much more comprehensive and articulate sites on Ghanaian cuisine, but I'll give you the quick-and-tasty. Most Ghanaian dishes feature a soup or stew paired with a starch - rice, beans, fermented corn, plantain, yam, or cassava. Many dishes combine several of the starches, such as plantain and cassava in fufu, a glutinous ball of dough especially popular in the Ashanti Region. The soups combine tomatoes with garlic, onions, and local vegetables (cocoyam leaves, eggplants, or okra) and peanut paste or palm oil. They are inevitably spicy, but vary along a spectrum from mildly piquant to empty-your-water-sachet-in-one-gulp hot.

My favorite combination is nkatenkwan, or peanut soup, with emu tuo, or mashed rice balls.

My favorite non-soup dish is waakye. Although only a seemingly simple combination of brown rice and beans, it is delicious when paired with the traditional accompaniments: shito, a spicy paste made of dried fish, ginger, and garlic; gari, or grated cassava; and tomato stew.

The picture below doesn't really do it justice, but another favorite is etoo, a combination of roasted, mashed sweet plantain, hot pepper, and ground peanuts, usually eaten with avocado and freshly roasted peanuts. My host family makes fun of me for eating it so often because it's considered a "village food," suitable mostly for farmers who want to fill their stomach in the morning before they go off to the fields for the day.

Another non-soup and also "non-native" food - so called because the main ingredient, refined white rice, is not produced in Ghana - is jollof rice, a spicy tomato dish mixed with pieces of meat and vegetables. It's usually accompanied by salad and served as an "occasional food" (because it's so expensive) at special festivities like my Auntie's New Year's party (although not exclusively: it's also available at many roadside eateries).

Where do I eat all these delicious-looking meals? I am lucky enough to live with an Auntie who's an excellent cook; I often enjoy the leftovers from her on-the-side catering business. But when I can't make it home for lunchtime, I do as most Ghanaians do, and visit a local food kioask, or "chop bar." Scattered (sometimes seemingly indiscriminately) around every town and ranging from single-dish plywood booths to full-service restaurants, these eateries serve local staples in the portion size of your choice, measured by how much you want to pay. You depart with your food wrapped handily in a series of plastic bags, like a set of polythene Russian dolls that serve as insurance against any soupy accidents. If I'm lucky enough, however, lunch even comes to me, via head porters who carry around particular foods - etoo, steamed corn, fried rice, and various fruits and nuts - in giant aluminum bowls balanced precariously on their noggins. At first their mysterious offerings were a source of great curiosity for me, but as I've gradually learned to distinguish between different forms (and quality) of street food, I've become a more discerning customer.

Finally, because it's a low-hanging fruit and I couldn't resist, you can try Pee Cola if you ever find yourself in Ghana's Brong-Ahafo Region. (I've only seen this soda once, and I owe it to Lucy for priming me to be on the lookout...)

Bon moire!

P.S. In case you distrust my characterization of Ghanaian food as delicious, you can cross-check with my father. Frustrated by my lack of posting, he took matters into his own hands last week and came to visit me in Ghana. (Travel and See!) You can find his pictures (none of the many meals we ate, alas) on facebook.

*The Ghana-Togo border runs through the former area of Togoland, a German protectorate that encompassed much of the traditional area of the closely-related Ewe and Mina tribes. Officially separated since a referendum in 1956, residents of Togo and Ghana's Volta Region continue to speak similar languages and share customs. I'll spare you the discussion on the impacts of culinary colonialism and the simultaneous determinism and triviality of borders...

Fake n' Shake

Lately I’ve had several people ask me if I’m still in Ghana, which leads me to conclude that I need to update my blog. And what better proof that I’m still here than more commentary on (relatively) recent news?

I’m not talking about the loss of Ghana’s Black Stars soccer team to the Egyptian Pharohs in the final of the African Cup of Nations, as unfortunate as that was, but another event from last month, one that was perhaps less likely to end up on the global news feed.

On Sunday, January 17th, several days after the big earthquake that destroyed Port-au-Prince, Ghanaians had an earthquake scare of their own. It was, however, literally only a scare – there was no earthquake involved. How does one have an earthquake scare without any tremors, you might ask? Many Ghanaians asked themselves that very question, but not before they fled their homes and took to the open streets in the middle of the night in response to a text message that mysteriously circulated around the country.

The message apparently read, “Today’s night 12:30 to 3:30 am, COSMIC RAYS entering Earth from Mars. Switch off your mobiles today’s night. NASA, BBC news, plz pass to all your friends.”

And Ghanaians did just that, visiting and phoning friends, family, and neighbors across the country to warn them. One reporter wrote that “love for fellow human beings manifested when some volunteers took it upon themselves to move from house to house to alert occupants to come out of their rooms to avert danger.” Somehow the message morphed into a warning about an impending earthquake, and before major radio stations and government officials began clarifying that the message was a hoax early Monday morning, hundreds of thousands of Ghanaians around the country had left their homes to stand outside.

In Kumasi, “horror-stricken residents… left the comfort of their rooms, spending the night outside in freezing weather conditions…” (It was 60 degrees.) Not everyone left in a hurry – “while some people rushed out of their rooms leaving behind their belongings, many were seen with their valuable assets, including TV sets, furniture, mattresses, cooking utensils and computers.”

In Accra, where I was staying with a fellow Fulbrighter at the University of Ghana, we both slept through her flatmate’s repeated attempts to wake us up. For better or worse, we missed the early-morning social that commenced on the lawn of the student hostel as students rushed blearily from their dorms and gathered outside. (Perhaps a sign that we are working too hard?) I didn’t hear about the event until the next morning, and then from more in-depth nationwide coverage in Tuesday’s papers, from which these quotes are culled.

From a sociological standpoint, it was fascinating, illustrating the penetration of Ghana’s mobile networks and showing how quickly information – and misinformation – spreads via social networks and mobile phones. It also has some bearing on my project, since I’m partly interested in whether mobile phones enable information about irregular immigration routes to spread more quickly. One prominent blogger, Ethan Zuckerman, wondered whether bad information spreads more quickly via mobiles than official clarifications from government leaders.

Aside from sleepy faces and general sheepishness on Monday morning, however, little was lost by the the great Fake n’ Shake of 2010. As is common in Ghana, the situation quickly turned into cause for community socializing. Many Ghanaians gathered in churches to pray, while the seaside city of Cape Coast’s Ecobrigade team thoughtfully cleaned the beaches so people could sit and lay down their sleeping mats more comfortably. One newspaper noted that “although the whole thing turned out to be a hoax, it showed the Ghanaian camaraderie and sense of belongingness.”

It is indeed comforting to know that you live in a place where your neighbors will wake you up when there’s danger – even if you sleep through it.

P.S. For the record, I’m here until the end of July.

New year, new blog (in name, at least)

Ghanaians are incredibly hospitable. Enter into any home and you'll be “invited,” or asked to take part in a meal. Even when not intended to be taken literally, it's a thoughtful gesture to welcome visitors.

Ghanaians are equally considerate of visitors in another regard – their transportation signs. I don't refer to signs by the side of the road, but rather the phrases printed on the actual vehicles themselves. The mottoes stamped on the back of taxis, trucks, and tro-tros are clearly meant to alleviate travelers’ confusion and address visitors' vexing and urgent questions. “Travel and See,” for example, answers such vital questions as “Will we get there in time?” “Does this bus actually go to Accra?” “Will the bottom fall off mid-trip?” and “Will I arrive in one piece?” More resignedly, but no less optimistic, is “Still, we travel,” which encompasses the ethos of travel in Ghana like no guidebook can. Other signs are more proclamations or warnings than answers: “Observers are worried” thoughtfully reminds anyone standing close enough to a certain blue truck that its heavy load of yams is poorly secured and its steering capacity probably suspect. (Alas, I did not take a picture of that particular vehicle, or you can be sure it would have been the header for my blog by now.)

These mottoes provide the added benefit of absorbing bored or restless travelers’ attention while waiting for a car, which may stretch for several hours, as they ponder the philosophical meaning of the often opaque phrases. After significant time spent waiting in lorry parks and jostled on rickety buses in the past month, traversing remote areas to interview returned migrants and their family members, I think I’ve cracked the code.

As I’ve interviewed people around Ghana, I’m struck by how often people cite their desire to “travel and see” what others talked about as a key factor in their decision to leave the country. Migrants’ family members, for example, want to know if the stories they’ve heard from their relatives about snow, skyscrapers, and salaries are as exciting in person as in emails, and irregular migrants say they want to “travel and see” for themselves whether it’s difficult to find a job as a low-skilled worker in Europe, despite warnings from friends that it is. But it’s more than an urge to confirm what others have told you – it’s the desire to explore and learn, to broaden your experiences in a way only a journey outside your familiar domain can. Rather than just a motto on the back of a tro-tro – fitting as that placement is – “travel and see” is shorthand for a universally shared curiosity about people, places, and ideas beyond your own experience, with the implication that encountering those differences enriches you.

The phrase extends well enough into the popular imagination to inspire youth literature; I found this book in the supermarket the other day on the “school fiction” shelf, sharing space with “Kwame goes to the market” and “Basic Design and Technology for Form Three.” (Although I initially couldn’t justify spending GH 5 on it, the cashier at the market accidentally overcharged me and told me to take GH 5 worth of store credit, since he couldn’t change the receipt, so I got a copy guilt-free.)



The book is about two boys’ first family vacations, one to the town of Cape Coast and one to the town of Wa in the Upper West region. Awed by finally seeing everything they’d read about in school, from the Cape Coast castle to the animals (hippos!) along their trip, they write all their observations down, the better to regale their friends with stories. They return from their trips with appetites whetted for more travel – budding young migrants, perhaps?

After what feels like constant trips between different Ghanaian cities, I’m no longer quite as excited as the two boys in the book for long drives. I share their curiosity, however; the desire both to explore and to confirm what others have said about migrants' motivations drives me to trek around on the back of motorbikes and pleasantly harass unsuspecting friends of my host families for interviews.

And so the new year brings a new blog title. Not that the old one was bad – thanks Meagan! – but I find this one so suitable for my project and my experiences that I must rename it. I hope a new title will invigorate my lethargic posting – one of my New Year’s resolutions was to update my blog more frequently. I intended to post this entry on Jan. 2nd, however, so you can see already how successful I’ve been at keeping it. Hey, I'm just setting the bar low to measure my progress over the year...